Ranger's Apprentice 3 & 4 Bindup (36 page)

Evanlyn was watching Will practising his shooting. It was something that Halt had insisted on, once they had reached the relative safety of Hallasholm. Will's speed and accuracy had fallen far below the levels that Halt found acceptable and he wasted no time making his apprentice aware of the fact.

‘Remember the golden rule?' he'd said, after he'd watched Will shoot a dozen arrows at different targets set up in a semi-circle in front of him, at ranges varying from fifty metres out to two hundred. Most of Will's arrows flew wide of the more distant targets, and it took him far too long to fire the set of twelve shots.

Will had looked up at his mentor, knowing how badly he'd shot. Halt was frowning, and shaking his head slightly. It made matters worse that Horace and Evanlyn had chosen that moment to come and watch.

‘Practise?' he'd replied glumly and Halt had nodded.

‘Practise,' he affirmed. As they'd walked out to collect the arrows he'd fired, Halt had dropped a consoling arm around the boy's shoulders.

‘Don't feel too badly about it,' he told him. ‘Your technique is still good. But you can't expect to spend the winter making snowmen in the mountains and retain your edge.'

‘Making snowmen?' Will replied indignantly. ‘I'll have you know things were pretty rough up in the mountains …' He stopped as he realised that Halt had been pulling his leg. He had to admit that the Ranger was right, however. The only way to attain the almost instinctive accuracy and speed with the bow that was the hallmark of a Ranger was to practise, constantly and assiduously.

Over the following days, he took himself to the practice area and gave himself over to the task of perfecting his skills once more. As his old skill returned, along with his strength and fitness, a small crowd would follow and watch. Even though Will couldn't boast the skill levels of a fully fledged Ranger, his ability was far above that of normal archers and he was watched by Skandians and some of the slaves with a deal of respect.

Evanlyn and Horace, however, seemed to find plenty of other things to fill their days – riding and hiking in the nearby woods, or sometimes taking a small skiff out on the bay. Of course, they had asked Will to join them, but each time, he had replied that he had to attend to his practice.

There were times when he could have gone. But even on these occasions, his feelings injured, he begged off, claiming the need for extra work sessions.

The practice sessions were intensified when Erak produced the double knife scabbard that Will had been
wearing when he and Evanlyn had been captured by the Skandians. Erak, a true hoarder, had kept the weapons and now saw fit to return them to their rightful owner. A word from Halt let Will know that he would soon be tested for his knife throwing skills as well. Experience had taught Will by now that the long months without practice would have eroded his abilities in this area too. So he set about restoring them. The township of Hallasholm soon rang to the repetitive thud of his throwing knife and saxe knife striking point first into a target of soft pinewood.

As each day passed, his accuracy and speed improved with both the bow and the knives. He was beginning to recapture that smooth, flowing action that Halt had drilled into him over so many hours in the forest outside Castle Redmont.

Now he switched easily from target to target, his arm raising or lowering the bow to adjust for the variations in distance, his eyes wide open, seeing a total sighting picture that included the bow, the arrow and the eventual target. He was pleased that Evanlyn had chosen today to come and watch his practice session. He felt a savage exultation as arrow after arrow thudded into the targets, striking either in the centre or close enough to make no difference.

‘So,' he said casually, as he released two arrows at two widely varying targets in quick succession. ‘Where's Horace today?'

The arrows thudded, one after another, into their respective targets and he nodded to himself, turning ninety degrees to loose another at one of the targets set closer in.

Another hit. Another thud.

The girl shrugged. ‘I think you made him feel guilty,' she replied. ‘He thought he'd better get some practice in. He's working out with some of the Skandians from Erak's crew.'

‘I see,' replied Will, then paused to put an arrow into one of the farthest targets, watching it arc smoothly through the air before burying its point in the centre ring.

‘And why didn't you go along to watch him?' He felt a little pleased that Evanlyn had chosen, finally, to see how proficient he was becoming, and hadn't bothered to watch her constant companion of the past few days. Her next words dashed that small glow of pleasure, however.

‘I did,' she replied. ‘But after you've seen two people whack at each other for several minutes, you develop a sense of
déjà vu
. I thought I'd come and see if you'd improved since the other day.'

‘Oh, really?' Will replied, a little stiffly. ‘Well, I hope you don't feel you've wasted your time.'

Evanlyn looked up at him. He was facing away from her, firing a sequence of shots at three targets – one at fifty metres, one at seventy-five and one at a hundred. She could hear the stiff tone in his voice and wondered what was bothering him. She decided not to answer the question. Instead, she commented on the three-shot sequence, as all three arrows found their mark.

‘How do you do that?' she asked. Will stopped and turned towards her. There was a genuine note of enquiry in her voice. It wasn't just an idle question.

‘Do what?'

She gestured towards the three targets.

‘How do you know how far to lift the bow for each
distance?' she asked. For a moment, the question left him nonplussed. Finally, he shrugged.

‘I just … feel it,' he replied, uncertainly. Then, frowning, he tried to elaborate. ‘It's a matter of practice. When you do it over and over again, it becomes sort of … instinctive, I suppose.'

‘So, if I took the bow, could you tell me how high to hold it for that middle target, for instance?' she asked and he cocked his head to one side, thinking the question through.

‘Well … it's not just that. I suppose I could, but … there are other factors.'

She leaned forward, her face querying, and he continued.

‘Like your release … it has to be smooth. You can't snatch at it or the arrow goes off line. And your draw weight would probably vary.'

‘Draw weight?'

He indicated the tension on the bow string as he pulled it back to full draw. ‘The longer your draw, the more weight you put behind the arrow. If you didn't draw exactly the same distance as I did, the result would vary.'

She thought about the answer. It seemed logical. She pursed her lips thoughtfully and nodded once or twice.

‘I see,' she said. There was a slight tone of disappointment in her voice.

‘Is there some kind of problem there?' Will asked and she sighed deeply.

‘I was kind of hoping that maybe you could show me how to shoot so that I could actually do something when the Temujai turn up here,' she replied, more than a little downcast.

Will laughed. ‘Well, maybe I could – if we had a year to spare.'

‘I don't want to be an expert,' she said. ‘I thought maybe you could just show me one or two basic things so I could … you know …' She tailed off uncertainly.

Will shook his head apologetically, regretting the fact that he'd laughed at her.

‘I'm afraid the real secret is a whole lot of practice,' he said. ‘Even if I showed you the basics, it's not something you can just learn in a week or two.'

She shrugged again.

‘I suppose not.' She realised that her request had been unrealistic. She felt foolish now and seized the opportunity to change the subject. ‘Is that when Halt thinks they'll get here – a week or two?'

Will fired the last arrow in the set and laid his bow down.

‘He said they could be here then. But he thinks they'll take a little longer. After all, they know the Skandians aren't going anywhere.' He gestured to her to accompany him as he collected his arrows and they started across the practice field together.

‘Did you hear his theory?' she asked him. ‘About attacking here because they want the Skandians' ships?'

Will nodded. ‘It makes sense when you think about it. They can overrun Teutlandt and Gallica almost as they choose. But they'd be leaving a dangerous enemy behind them. And the Skandians could raid them anywhere along the coast, hitting them where and when they choose.'

‘I can see that,' Evanlyn replied, tugging one of the
arrows from the fifty-metre target. ‘But don't you think his theory about invading Araluen is a little far-fetched?'

‘Not at all,' Will replied. ‘Hold them closer to the head as you pull them out,' he said, indicating the next arrow as she reached for it. ‘Otherwise you'll break the shaft, or warp it. There's no reason why the Temujai should stop at the Gallican coast. But if they tried to transport their army by ship without taking care of the Skandians first, they could be in big trouble.'

Evanlyn was silent for a few seconds. ‘I suppose so,' she said eventually.

‘It's only a theory, after all,' Will replied. ‘Maybe they're just making sure their flanks are secure before they move into Teutlandt. But Halt says you should always plan for the worst case scenario. Then you can't be disappointed.'

‘I guess he's right about that,' she replied. ‘Where is he, anyway? I haven't seen him around for a few days.'

Will nodded his head towards the south-east. ‘He and Erak have gone to scout the Temujai advance,' he said. ‘I think he's looking for a way to slow them down.'

He collected the last of his arrows and stowed them in his quiver. Then he stretched and flexed his arms and fingers.

‘Well, I guess I'll shoot another set,' he said. ‘Are you staying to watch?'

Evanlyn considered for a moment, then shook her head. ‘I might go see how Horace is doing,' she said. ‘I'll try to spread the encouragement around.' She smiled at him, waggled her fingers in farewell, and strode off across the field, back towards the palisade. Will watched her slim, upright figure as she walked away.

‘You do that,' he muttered to himself. Once more, he felt a flutter of jealousy as he thought of her watching Horace. Then he shook the feeling off, as a duck shakes water away. Head down, he began to mooch back to the firing line.

‘Women,' he muttered to himself. ‘They're nothing but trouble.'

A shadow fell across the ground beside him and he glanced up, thinking for a moment that Evanlyn might have changed her mind. After all, the prospect of watching two muscle-bound hulks whacking each other with practice weapons was a little boring, he thought. But it wasn't Evanlyn, it was Tyrell – blonde, pretty, fifteen years old and the niece of Svengal, Erak's first mate. She smiled shyly at him. Her eyes were amazingly blue, he realised.

‘Can I carry your arrows back for you, Ranger?' she asked and he shrugged magnanimously, unclipping the quiver and handing it to her.

‘Why not?' he said and her smile widened.

After all, he thought, it would have been churlish to refuse.

The pine had fallen several years back, finally defeated by the weight of snow in its branches, the insidious rot at the heart of its massive trunk and one too many seasons of gale force winter winds. Even in death, however, its neighbours had tried to support it, keeping it from the ignominy of the ground, holding it in the grip of their tangled branches so that it lay at an angle of thirty degrees to the horizontal, seemingly supported between heaven and earth by its closely packed fellows.

Halt leaned now on the rough bark that still coated the dead trunk and peered down into the valley below, where the Temujai column moved slowly past.

‘They're taking their time,' Erak said, beside him. The Ranger turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

‘They're in no hurry,' he replied. ‘It's going to take them some time to get their wagons and supply train through the passes. Their horses don't like confined spaces. They're used to the open plains of the steppes.'

The cavalry army continued its slow advance. There seemed little order to their march, Halt thought, frowning. There were no outriders, no patrols screening the flanks of the mob of men, horses and wagons as they made their way towards Hallasholm, ninety kilometres to the north.

Halt, Erak and a small party of Skandians had come south-east, moving over the mountains, along steep, narrow paths where the Temujai cavalry found it more difficult to move, to scout the invaders' progress. Now, as he watched them, a thought struck him.

‘Mind you, we could make sure they moved a little slower,' he said softly. Erak shrugged impatiently at the idea.

‘Why bother?' he asked bluntly. ‘The sooner we come to grips with them, the sooner we settle this.'

‘The longer they take, the more time we have to prepare,' Halt told him. ‘Besides, it bothers me to see them just ambling along, taking no precautions, riding in no order. It's too damned arrogant.'

‘I thought you said they were smart?' the Skandian queried and it was Halt's turn to shrug.

‘Maybe it's because they expect you to simply come at them head-on when they finally reach Hallasholm,' he suggested. The Skandian war leader considered the thought, looking a little offended by it.

‘Don't they give us any credit for strategy?'

Halt tried to hide a grin. ‘How
would
you plan to fight them?'

There was a pause, then Erak replied reluctantly, ‘I suppose I'd simply wait till they reached our position then … attack them head-on.' He looked carefully at
the shorter man, but Halt was being very obvious about not saying anything further. Finally, Erak added, in an injured tone: ‘But there's no need for them to simply
assume
that.'

‘Exactly,' Halt replied. ‘So perhaps we should give them something to think about. Something to put them a little off balance – and maybe put a little doubt in their minds.'

‘Is that good strategy?' Erak asked and the Ranger grinned at him.

‘It's good therapy, for us,' he replied. ‘And besides, an enemy with a worm of doubt working away at his mind is less likely to make bold and unexpected moves. The more we can dissuade them from doing the unexpected, the better it will be for us.'

Erak thought about the point. It seemed logical. ‘So what do you want to do?' he asked.

Halt looked around at the twenty warriors who had accompanied them.

‘This Olgak,' he said, indicating the young leader of the troop. ‘Is he capable of following orders, or is he a typical Skandian berserker?'

Erak pursed his lips. ‘All Skandians are berserkers, given the right conditions,' he replied. ‘But Olgak will follow orders if I give them.'

Halt nodded his understanding. ‘Let's talk to him then,' he said.

Erak beckoned the broad-shouldered younger man to join them. Olgak, seeing the signal, moved forward, his axe swinging easily in his right hand, his large circular shield on his left arm. He looked expectantly at Erak but the Jarl gestured towards Halt.

‘Listen to what the Ranger has to say,' he ordered, and the young man's eyes turned to Halt. The Ranger studied him for a few moments. The clear blue eyes were guileless and straightforward. But he saw a light of intelligence there. He nodded to himself, then gestured to the Temujai army below them.

‘See that rabble down there?' he asked, and when the younger man nodded, he continued, ‘They're riding with no formation, with no covering scouts, and with their supply wagons and support personnel mixed up with their warriors. They don't usually travel that way. Do you know why they're doing it now?'

Olgak hesitated, then shook his head, frowning slightly. Not only didn't he know, he didn't know why it should be important for anyone to know such a thing.

‘They're doing it because they feel safe,' Halt continued. ‘Because they believe you Skandians are simply going to wait for them and meet them head-on.'

Olgak nodded now. They had reached a point that he understood. ‘We are, aren't we?'

Halt exchanged a glance with Erak. The Jarl shrugged. Skandians took a simple view of things.

‘Well, yes, you are,' Halt admitted. ‘Eventually. But for now, it might be nice to make them a little less comfortable, mightn't it?' He paused, then added, with a slight edge in his voice, ‘Or do you enjoy seeing them swan through your country as if they're on holiday?'

Olgak pursed his lips, looking down at the invaders. Now that the Ranger had mentioned it, they did appear to be having an altogether too easy time of things, he thought.

‘No,' he replied. ‘I can't say I enjoy seeing that. So what are we going to do about it?'

‘Erak and I are going back to Hallasholm,' Halt told him, feeling the Skandian leader stiffen beside him as he said it. Obviously, the Jarl had been looking forward to a little skirmish and he wasn't thrilled to hear he was going to miss it. ‘But you and your men are going to raid their lines tonight and burn those wagons.'

He pointed with the end of his longbow to half a dozen supply wagons, trundling carelessly along at the edge of the army. Olgak grinned and nodded his approval of the idea.

‘Sounds good to me,' he said. Halt reached out and laid a firm grip on his muscular forearm, compelling the younger man to meet his steady gaze.

‘But listen to me, Olgak,' he said intensely. ‘You are going to hit and run. Don't get tangled up in an extended fight, understand?'

The young Skandian was less pleased with that command. Halt shook his arm fiercely for emphasis.

‘Understand?' he repeated. ‘We do not want you and these twenty men to go down in a blaze of glory when you burn those wagons. And do you know why?'

Olgak shook his head – a small, reluctant movement. Halt continued.

‘Because tomorrow night, I want you to move along the column and burn more wagons – and kill a few more Temujai while you're at it.'

The idea was beginning to appeal to the younger man now as he started to see the sense of it.

‘And if you're all killed on the first attempt, no matter how glorious it may seem at the time, by tomorrow the
Temujai will simply continue on as they are, won't they?' the Ranger asked him. Olgak nodded his understanding.

‘Then each night, I want you to hit a different part of the column. Burn their supplies. Set their horses loose. Kill their sentries. Get in and out fast and don't let them trap you into a standing battle. Stay alive and keep harassing them. Got the picture?'

Olgak nodded again, now more convinced of the good sense behind the plan. ‘They'll never know where we're going to hit them next,' he said enthusiastically.

‘Exactly,' Halt said. ‘Which means they'll have to set guards along the entire column. They'll have to post extra sentries at night. And all of that will slow them down.'

‘It's like coastal raiding isn't it?' the young Skandian said, thinking how the wolfships would appear from over the horizon without warning on an enemy coast and attack unprepared settlements. ‘Do you only want us to do it at night?' he added.

Halt thought for a minute.

‘For the first couple of days, yes. Then pick a spot where you can withdraw quickly into the trees and uphill – somewhere their horses won't follow easily – and hit them in daylight. Maybe towards the end of the day – or the beginning.'

‘Keep them guessing?' Olgak said and Halt patted his arm approvingly.

‘You've got the idea,' he said, smiling at the younger man. ‘And remember the golden rule: hit them where they aren't.'

Olgak pondered that. ‘Hit them where they aren't?' he asked finally, sounding uncertain.

‘Attack in those places where their troops are spread thinnest. Make them come to you. Make them chase you. Then fade away before they really make contact. Remember that part. It's the most important of all. Survive.'

He could see the younger man understood the idea. Olgak repeated the word to himself. ‘Survive,' he said. ‘I understand.'

Halt turned and looked at Erak, raising an eyebrow. ‘Is there any reason why you should make it an order to Olgak that he's not to get tied down in a fight, Jarl?' he asked. Erak turned the question to the younger man.

‘Well, Olgak, is there?' he said and the troop leader shook his head.

‘I understand what you have in mind, Ranger,' he said. ‘Trust me. It's a good idea.'

‘Good man,' Halt said quietly, then he turned to face the question he knew was coming from Erak.

‘And what will we be doing while Olgak and his men are having all the fun?' the Jarl asked.

‘We're going back to Hallasholm to start preparing a reception for our friends down there,' Halt told him. ‘And while we're at it, we might send another half dozen parties out to harass the column the way Olgak will be doing. Everything we can do to slow them down will help us.'

Erak shuffled his feet in the snow. He looked, Halt thought, remarkably like a child who has been told he must hand over his favourite toy.

‘You could do that,' he said finally. ‘Maybe I should stay and give Olgak and his men a hand?' But Halt shook his head, the ghost of a smile touching the corners of his mouth.

‘I need you back with me,' he said simply. ‘I need your authority behind me if I'm going to be able to get things organised.'

Erak opened his mouth to reply, but Olgak interrupted.

‘The Ranger's right, Jarl,' he said. ‘You'll be more valuable at Hallasholm. And besides, you're getting a little long in the tooth for this sort of work, aren't you?'

Erak's eyes widened with anger and he started to say something. Then he noticed that Olgak was grinning broadly and realised that the younger man was joking. He shook his head warningly, glancing at his own broadaxe.

‘One of these days, I might just show you how long in the tooth I am,' he said meaningfully. Olgak's grin widened. Halt regarded the two of them for a moment, then, slinging his longbow over his right shoulder, he turned and led the way back to where Abelard was tethered, along with the pony that Erak had reluctantly ridden when they came on this scouting expedition. He gathered Abelard's reins in one hand and turned back to the troop leader.

‘I'm sure you'll do a good job, Olgak,' he said. Then, glancing sidelong at the still indignant Jarl, he added quietly: ‘You're obviously a very brave young man.'