His reaction frustrated and infuriated Cassandra. She was making a genuine attempt to restore their friendship to its former basis, but she was too young to realise that all the trappings of royalty and wealth, things she took for granted and gave no account to, could only serve to distance Will from her.
‘Doesn’t he see that I’m the same person I always was?’ she asked her mirror in frustration. But, in fact, she wasn’t. Evanlyn had been a frightened girl, her life at constant risk, reliant for months on the wits and courage of her young companion to keep her safe. Then she in turn had become the saviour, the one who nursed a confused, frightened boy back to health.
Cassandra, on the other hand, was a beautiful, immaculately groomed princess, whose station in life was so far above Will’s as to be unattainable. One day, he realised, she would rule as Queen, in her father’s place. It wasn’t her personality that had changed. It was her position. And both she and Will were too young and inexperienced to overcome the inevitable strain that such a social gulf put upon their relationship.
Oddly enough, at the same time, she found herself becoming more closely aligned to Horace. Accustomed to the formality of life as an apprentice knight and the strictures and protocols of court life at Castle Redmont, Horace was unfazed by Cassandra’s rank. Of course, he deferred to her and treated her with respect. But then, he always had done so. Horace’s simplistic and uncomplicated approach to life led him to accept things as they were and not seek complications. Evanlyn had been his friend. Now, the Princess Cassandra was too. There were certain differences in the way he might be expected to approach her and address her, but this sort of formality had been part of his training.
When she finally broached the subject of the widening gap between herself and Will, Horace merely counselled patience.
‘He’ll get used to the way things are,’ he told her. ‘He’s a Ranger, after all, and they’re sort of … different … in their ways. Give him time to adjust.’
So Cassandra bided her time. But Horace’s comment about Rangers stayed with her and she determined to do something about that situation.
And there was, she knew, a perfect opportunity for that in the very near future.
Duncan had declared a formal banquet to celebrate the safe return of his only daughter and invitations had been carried to the fifty baronies in the Kingdom. It would be a massive event.
It took a month for the invited guests to assemble, and then the immense dining hall in Castle Araluen saw an evening unrivalled since Duncan’s own coronation, twenty years prior.
The feasting went on for hours, with the castle servants labouring under trays of roasted meat, huge pasties, steaming fresh vegetables and confectioneries designed to dazzle the eyes as much as the taste. Master Chubb, the Kitchenmaster at Castle Redmont, and one of the finest chefs in the kingdom, had travelled to the capital to oversee the affair. He stood in the kitchen doorway, watching in satisfaction as the nobles and their ladies devoured and destroyed the fruits of the kitchen staff’s labours for the past week, and idly cracking his ladle on the head of any unwary waiter or kitchen worker who came within reach.
‘Not bad, not bad,’ he muttered to himself, then directed another servant to take yet another special dish for the enjoyment of ‘young Ranger Will’, as he termed him.
Eventually, the massive feast was over and the entertainment was due to begin. The King’s harper was nervously tuning his strings – the heat of the packed dining hall had caused them to stretch unevenly – and mentally reviewing the lyrics to the heroic ode he had written, celebrating the rescue of the Princess Royal from the jaws of death by three of the kingdom’s worthiest heroes. He was still wishing that he had managed a better rhyme for ‘Halt’. The best he had come up with so far was to affirm that he was a man ‘well worth his salt’, which seemed, in the face of things, to be underselling the value of the legendary Ranger.
Before he was called upon, however, King Duncan rose from his seat to address the huge crowd. As ever, the vigilant Lord Anthony was on hand and, at his monarch’s signal, he pounded his steel-shod staff on the flagstones of the dining hall.
‘Silence before the King!’ he bellowed, and instantly, the babble of talk and laughter in the huge room fell away to nothing. All eyes turned expectantly to the top table.
‘My lords and ladies,’ Duncan began, his deep voice carrying without seeming effort to every corner of the hall, ‘this occasion is one of great pleasure for me. For a start, we are here to celebrate the safe return of my daughter, the Princess Cassandra – an eventuality that brings me more joy than you could possibly comprehend.’
The hall rang with cries of ‘Hear! Hear!’ and enthusiastic applause.
‘The other source of pleasure to me tonight is the opportunity to reward those who were responsible for her safe return.’
This time, the applause was louder and more prolonged. The audience was delighted to see Cassandra safely back with her father. But they knew the main business of the evening was the rewarding of the three companions who had brought her there.
‘First,’ said Duncan, ‘would the Ranger Halt please step forward.’
There was a murmur of interest in the crowd as the slightly built figure, for once without the anonymity of his grey and green cloak, stood before the King. Several of those at the rear of the hall stood to get a better view. Halt’s reputation was known throughout the Kingdom, but relatively few of those present had ever seen him in the flesh. That was due in no small part to the Ranger predilection for secrecy, of course. Now there were more than a few expressions of surprise at the legendary Ranger’s diminutive size. Most of those present had formed a mental picture of a longbow-wielding hero of majestic build who stood just under two metres high.
Now, he bowed his head to the King. Not for the first time, Duncan found himself studying the Ranger’s shaggy, uneven haircut. It had obviously been recently trimmed in honour of the event but Duncan couldn’t help grinning. Halt had been at Castle Araluen for over a month, surrounded by servants, valets and, above all, skilled barbers. Yet apparently, he still chose to cut his own hair with his saxe knife. Duncan realised the crowd was waiting while he appraised Halt’s tonsorial efforts. He gathered his thoughts and continued.
‘Halt has already stated that his restoration to the ranks of the Ranger Corps is sufficient reward,’ Duncan said and once again there was a murmur of surprise.
‘As on so many occasions before this, I stand in debt of one of my most loyal officers and I accede to his wishes in this matter. Halt, I owe you more than any King ever owed a man. I will never forget all you have done.’
And at that, Halt inclined his head once more and slipped back to his seat, moving so quickly and unobtrusively that most of those present didn’t realise he was gone and their startled applause died stillborn.
‘Next,’ Duncan said, raising his voice slightly to still the buzz of conversation that had broken out, ‘let the warrior apprentice Horace stand forward.’
Will slapped his friend on the back as Horace, an apprehensive look on his face, rose from his seat and moved forward to stand at attention before the King. The crowd waited expectantly.
‘Horace,’ Duncan began, straight-faced but with a hint of laughter in his eyes, ‘it has come to our attention that you travelled throughout Gallica in the guise of a fully qualified knight …’ He made a show of consulting a note on the table before him, then added, ‘The Chevalier de Feuille du Chêne – the Oakleaf Knight.’
Horace gulped nervously. He knew, of course that the tale of his exploits had been told. But he had hoped that officialdom would turn a blind eye to the fact that he had no right to pose as a knight.
‘Your majesty, I’m sorry … I sort of felt that it was necessary at the …’
He realised that Duncan was eyeing him coolly, one eyebrow raised, and then it dawned on him that he had committed a grave breach of etiquette by interrupting the King. Belatedly, he stopped, and came to at
tention once more as the King resumed.
‘As you know, I’m sure, it is highly irregular for an apprentice to bear an insignia or to pose as a knight, so now it is necessary that we rectify this irregularity.’ He paused.
Horace was about to say, ‘Yes sir,’ then realised he’d be interrupting again and said nothing.
Duncan continued. ‘I’ve conferred with your Baron, your Battlemaster and the Ranger Halt and we all agree that the best solution is to regularise the situation.’
Horace wasn’t sure what that meant but it didn’t sound good. Duncan made a signal and Horace heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind. Glancing sideways, he saw Battlemaster Rodney coming to a stop beside him, holding a sword and shield before him. In a daze, Horace saw the device on the shield – a green oakleaf on a field of white. He watched in awe as Duncan stepped down from his dais, took the sword and touched him lightly on the shoulder with it.
‘Kneel,’ Rodney hissed out of the corner of his mouth and Horace did so, then heard the next words ringing in his ears.
‘Arise Sir Horace, Knight of the Oakleaf, and ensign in the Royal Guard of Araluen.’
This caused bedlam in the crowd. It was virtually unheard of for an apprentice to be knighted in his second year and then to be appointed as an officer in the Royal Guard – the elite force who garrisoned Castle Araluen. The nobles and their ladies went wild with delight.
‘Get up,’ Rodney hissed again and slowly, a huge grin spreading over his face, Horace rose and took the sword from the King’s hand.
‘Well done, Horace,’ the King said quietly. ‘You’ve more than earned it.’
Then he shook the hand of his newest knight and indicated that he might return to his seat. Horace did so, the faces around him in a blur. He saw only the huge, delighted grin on Will’s face as his friend pounded him on the back in congratulation. Then the crowd was hushed again and this time both boys heard the King’s voice:
‘Would the Ranger apprentice Will stand forward.’
Even though he had assumed that such a thing might happen, Will was caught unprepared. He hurried from his seat, stumbling as he went, and finally regained his balance to stand before the King.
‘Will, your Ranger Corps have their own ways and their own regulations. I’ve spoken to your mentor Halt, and to the Corps Commandant, and unfortunately it’s beyond my power to rescind your period of training and declare you a fully qualified Ranger. Halt and Crowley insist that you must complete your full period of training and assessment.’
Will swallowed nervously and nodded. He knew that. There was still so much he had to learn about his craft, so many skills he had to develop. Horace’s natural talent was sufficient for the King to waive his further training. But Will knew that could never be the case for him.
‘However,’ Duncan continued, ‘I can offer an alternative. It is within my power to appoint you as a lieutenant in the Royal Scouts. Your masters have agreed that you are totally qualified for such an appointment and will release you from your apprenticeship if that is your wish.’
The assembled people gave one concerted gasp of surprise. Will was speechless. The Royal Scouts were an elite force of light cavalry, tasked with the responsibility of training the Kingdom’s archers and scouting ahead of the King’s army in battle. Scout officers and recruits generally came from the ranks of the nobility and the appointment was virtually the equivalent of a knighthood.
It meant honour, prestige, rank and recognition, compared to another three years of grinding study and application as an apprentice.
And yet …
In his heart of hearts, Will knew it was not for him. It was tempting, to be sure. But he thought of the freedom of the green forests, of the days spent with Tug and Halt and Abelard, of the fascination of learning and perfecting new skills and the intrigue of always being at the heart of events. That was a Ranger’s life, and when he compared it with the protocol and etiquette, the formality and restrictions of life in Castle Araluen, he knew, for the second time in the space of a few years, what he really wanted.
He turned to look for some hint of advice from Halt, but his master was sitting, eyes cast down to the table, as was Crowley, a few places away. Then, his voice seeming unnaturally loud in the expectant silence of the room, he replied:
‘You do me great honour, your majesty. But my wish is to continue my training as an apprentice.’
And now the babble of surprise rose to fever pitch in the room. Rangers were, as everyone agreed, different. And most people present simply could not understand Will’s choice. Duncan, however, could. He gripped Will’s shoulder and spoke to him alone.
‘For what it’s worth, Will, I think you’ve chosen wisely. And for your ears alone, your Craftmasters tell me that they believe you will be one of the greatest of the Rangers in the years to come.’
Will’s eyes widened. To him, that knowledge was sufficient reward. He shook his head.
‘Not as great as Halt, surely, your majesty?’
The King smiled. ‘I’m not sure anyone could be that great, wouldn’t you agree?’
And with his hand still on his shoulder, he turned the lad around, to where Crowley and Halt were smiling warmly at him, making a space between them for him. The applause as he sat down was polite but a little confused. Nobody could really understand Rangers, after all.
There was one small pang of sadness in Duncan’s heart as he turned towards the place where his daughter was sitting. His lips were already forming the words: ‘I tried,’ but when he looked, Cassandra was gone from the room.
Two days later, Will and Halt rode out from Castle Araluen, heading for the cottage by Castle Redmont. From time to time, Halt glanced fondly at his young friend. He knew Will had made a big decision and he knew his mind was troubled. He suspected it was to do with the Princess. Since the banquet, Will had tried to see her several times, to explain his decision. But she had been unavailable.
He sensed that Will wanted to be alone with his thoughts as they rode to the south-west, so he kept his peace, resolving to plunge the boy into a regimen of unremitting hard work and training that would give him no time to ponder his heartbreak.
Behind the riders, two figures on a terrace of the huge castle stood watching, dwarfed by the soaring turrets and buttresses. Evanlyn raised a hand in farewell and Horace put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
‘He’s a Ranger,’ the newly made knight told her sympathetically. ‘And people like us can never understand Rangers. There’s always a part of them they keep to themselves.’
She nodded, unable to speak. The early morning mist that was cloaking the riders seemed to be thickening for a moment, then she blinked rapidly, and realised that it was tears misting her eyes. As they watched, the sun finally broke through and washed Castle Araluen in a pale golden light.
But Will was riding to the south and he didn’t notice.
John Flanagan’s bestselling Ranger’s Apprentice adventure series originally comprised twenty short stories, which John wrote to encourage his twelve-year-old son, Michael, to enjoy reading. The series has come a long way since then. Now sold to nineteen territories worldwide, the series has appeared on the New York Times Bestseller List and is regularly shortlisted for children’s book awards in Australia and overseas.
John, a former television and advertising writer, lives with his wife, Leonie, in the Sydney beachside suburb of Manly. He is currently writing further titles in the Ranger’s Apprentice series. Visit John Flanagan’s website, www.rangersapprentice.com, to find out more about John.
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www.rangersapprentice.com.au
On his first top-secret mission, can Will save a new ally from a terrible curse?
Five years have passed since the Skandians and the Araluans made their treaty, and Will h
as finally become a Ranger, with his own fief to look after. He soon learns that even sleepy little islands have problems to keep him on his toes.
Then he and his old friend Alyss are thrown into a terrifying new adventure, investigating the truth behind rumours of sorcery in a remote northern fief. As he stands in Grimsdell Wood, with the horrific, ghostly Night Warrior looming above him, Will must ask himself one question: is there a rational explanation … or does sorcery really exist?
Out now!
In the north, he knew, the early winter gales, driving the rain before them, would send the sea crashing against the shore, causing white clouds of spray to burst high into the air.
Here, in the south-eastern corner of the Kingdom, the only signs of approaching winter were the gentle puffs of steam that marked the breath of his two horses. The sky was clear blue, almost painfully so, and the sun was warm on his shoulders. He could almost have dozed off in the saddle, leaving Tug to pick his way along the road, but the years he had spent training and conditioning in a hard and unforgiving discipline would never allow such an indulgence.
Will’s eyes moved constantly, searching left to right, right to left, close in and far ahead. An observer might never notice this constant movement, as his head remained still. Again, that was his training: to see without being seen; to notice without being noticed. He knew this part of the Kingdom was relatively untroubled. That was why he had been assigned to the Fief of Seacliff. After all, a brand new, just-commissioned Ranger was hardly going to be handed one of the Kingdom’s trouble spots. He smiled idly at the thought. The prospect of taking up his first solo posting was daunting enough without having to worry about invasion or insurrection. He would be content to find his feet here in this peaceful backwater.