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Halt was leaving the war council compound when he noticed the approaching riders. He recognised Gilan and a weight lifted off his shoulders. Whatever devilry Morgarath had planned, Halt felt better knowing Will was out of harm's way. Or as out of harm's way as anyone could be these days. Being in the middle of a war encampment might not be safe, but as long as Will was beside him, Halt wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Duncan would be able to think clearer knowing Cassandra was alright as well.
The parental comparison made Halt pause for a moment, before shrugging it off as something they could deal with after the war.
His relief was short-lived however, when he quickly realised something was amiss with the fast approaching riders. He saw that Gilan was on Blaze, Horace was on his battle horse, and Tug… had an empty saddle. Will wasn’t here. Tug would have never left Will behind, so that could only mean…
Everything went hazy - Halt’s vision, his hearing, even the feeling in his hands - before horrifying clarity rushed back in at full speed. He stumbled forward as the riders began to dismount.
‘Where’s Will? What happened!?’ He demanded.
Gilan could barely look at him. ‘Halt…’ His voice was thick, and caught in his throat.
‘He was captured.’ Said a young voice to the side, and Halt turned his gaze on Horace. The boy was covered in dirt and dust, tear tracks marked down his face. Horace tried to continue to speak, but Halt couldn’t hear it. All he could picture was Will being cut up by Wargals, Daniel dying beside him, his promise to look after the baby and how he’d failed, and Will, the bright, wonderful boy he’d come to love being-
Gilan stepped beside Halt, putting a steady hand on his back. ‘We need to report to the King. Immediately.’
The authority in his voice grounded Halt somewhat, reminding him of their duty. He also realised there was another member missing from their party. ‘Cassandra?’
Horace looked confused, but Gilan minutely shook his head at Halt, before gesturing for Horace to follow them. ‘We’ll explain everything, Halt, but Horace’s report requires urgent action. I’m sorry.’
Halt nodded, letting Gilan lead him back to the command tent. They were Ranger’s. They were at war. The crown princess was missing. Will was missing. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead. Halt was going to kill Morgarath. All these thoughts flew through Halt’s mind, and before he knew it they were inside the war council pavillion.
Duncan looked up when they entered, and Halt saw the moment the realisation struck him too. The way his face fell as soon as Cassandra didn’t enter with them. The other men in the room went silent, looking from the newcomers to their King. Crowley looked to Halt as well, realising the absence of another figure.
‘Report.’ Duncan said. He leaned heavily against the table holding the map, but his voice still carried command.
Gilan stepped forward. ‘Your majesty, this is Horace Altman, the Redmont battleschool apprentice who accompanied myself and the ranger apprentice Will to Celtica. The company of the Fifth Lancers and I intercepted him returning from Celtica. He informed us that the- the girl they were travelling with and Will were captured. They were last seen alive.’ Gilan stumbled when mentioning Cassandra, due to guilt over telling a father his daughter was lost again, or to hesitation on how much to reveal to those in the room, Halt wasn’t sure. ‘He has critical information on Morgarath’s war plans.’
Duncan’s eyes had closed, allowing himself a moment of grief, before he rose up to his full height. ‘Anyone who is not in my immediate council or delivering a report, leave. Now.’
Two battlemasters and a page quickly left the tent. Sir David and two of the other senior Barons were present, although Arald was absent. Duncan sat heavily on his throne while Gilan brought Horace forward. Crowley came to stand by Halt, who remained silent as a shadow by the entrance, his entire focus on what Horace was about to say.
‘Your majesty, I…’ Horace bowed deeply, overwhelmed in his first audience with the King. ‘The plans you have from Morgarath are false. They were planted, the forces on the beach and fens are a feint. The true attack is to come from the north, by Thorntree Forest.’ There was muttering from the Baron’s and Duncan held up a hand to silence them, and gestured for Horace to continue. ‘There was another attack to come from the south, a combined force of Wargals and Skandians that were to cross the bridge over the Fissure. But we destroyed the bridge.’
‘The Fifth Lancers carried on ahead to contain the situation, while I escorted Horace back.’ Gilan added in.
Everyone in the room was quiet, taking all that in and the absolute disaster they would have faced, before looking to the King.
‘Ranger Gilan, you trust this apprentice?’
‘I do, my lord.’
‘As do I.’ Halt said, his voice gravelly but carrying across the space.
‘Call in a page.’ Duncan said, and a bell was rung signalling for a senior page to enter. ‘Get a message to the battlemasters of Greenfield and Holsworth and have them reposition their men to face north towards Thorntree. Gather two dozen pages and wait for my command.’ He ordered, and the page bowed before running off to deliver the news. Duncan looked back at Horace. ‘Tell me everything that happened from when Ranger Gilan departed.’
Horace gathered his thoughts before recounting the past few days, starting with their encounter with the Wargals and decision to follow them. Halt felt pride swell in his chest when Horace said it was Will’s idea, and a conflicting weight of guilt that it was done from Halt’s own advice. He could see a similar conflict in Duncan when Horace mentioned that the girl insisted on going with them. Then there was the discovery of the bridge, Will’s reconnaissance into the mountains and overhearing of the Skandian’s plans, and their own subsequent plan to burn the bridge.
Crowley and Sir David interjected with questions occasionally, but the King remained silent until Horace explained how their trio had been separated. How Will had run back across the beam to relight the left pillar, and how Evanlyn had followed to warn him about the Wargals.
‘And why did she go and not you?’ Duncan said, emotion colouring his voice for the first time since they entered the tent. This was a father speaking, not a king.
Horace’s head bowed in shame. ‘I wanted to. But the beam was so unstable, and I was so much heavier and have no head for heights and- and she just ran. I don’t even know how she made it. And I wanted to help but I knew an attack was still coming from Thorntree and we were the only ones who knew and s-someone had to- I didn’t- I wanted to-’ Tears were streaming down Horace’s face, and Gilan disobeyed protocol to put a hand on his arm.
Duncan looked shameful now, and quickly wiped at his own eyes. ‘I apologise. You did the right thing warning us. Please, continue.’
Horace was still trying to contain his tears, and Halt is overwhelmed with just how young he looks. He’s just a boy. Only Will’s age, trying to do the right thing in such an uncertain time. The King apologising to him seems to have only thrown Horace off, who looked to the ground as he hurriedly explained how Will held off the enemy while Evanlyn restarted the fire.
Halt felt like he’d been struck when he heard that Will stayed behind on purpose. Crowley’s hand around his arm was the only thing that kept him upright. There had been doubt when Halt chose Will as an apprentice. Arald and Pauline were worried he was influenced by his promise to Daniel. Which was ridiculous, Halt had never been sentimental. He had watched over Will because of his parents, but that had led to him seeing Will’s natural talent and ethos for being a ranger. No one had doubted him after the boar hunt, let alone after the kalkara. But hearing that Will had willingly given up his life to burn that bridge and keep their kingdom safe, Halt’s never been so proud and so angry in his life.
‘Something hit Will,’ Horace continued, and Halt clenched his fists, reigning in his anger for a more useful time. ‘He went down. I- I think he was still alive. Evanlyn tried to fight but she was overpowered. The Skandians took them back into the Fissure. It all happened so fast, I’m so sorry Halt.’ Horace said, turning to the ranger. Halt looked at him in surprise, seeing matching expressions of grief and guilt on Horace and Gilan’s faces. He didn’t blame them. Not for a moment. This was war, there was no sense to it. He could blame Will for his selfless heroism. Or the Skandians for their warmongering. And he definitely blamed Morgarath. But he didn’t blame the two young men before him. Halt inclined his head, indicating such, and Horace let out a breath. Gilan only looked away, shaking his head, still blaming himself.
‘And you’re positive the bridge is destroyed?’ Sir David asked.
Horace nodded, a grim delight in his eyes. ‘It’s at the bottom of the Fissure. Will and Evanlyn made sure of that.’
‘Then they’ve sacrificed themselves for us to have a fighting chance.’ Duncan said quietly. The statement sent a melancholy wave through those present, thinking of the two young people captured in order to try and save their kingdom. There’s quiet for a moment, before Duncan stood, his voice gaining power. ‘Let’s make sure it’s not in vain. Have all the senior Barons, battlemasters and ranger’s report here as soon as possible. We need a new strategy for the Thorntree attack. Young Horace, thank you for your service to your country. You and Ranger Gilan can clean up and rest, but report back here in half an hour. We may need more details. If you’ll excuse me, I need a moment.’ Duncan retreated to his private chambers, and the others in the tent broke apart, off to complete their orders. Horace and Gilan looked at Halt as they left, but he and Crowley remained motionless.
Only after the tent had emptied did Crowley turn to him. ‘I’m sorry about Will.’ He said softly, and Halt swallowed down the lump in his throat. ‘And I’m sorry, I wish you had time to grieve. But we need you, Halt.’
‘I know.’ He muttered. ‘Just, I need a moment.’
Halt was a leading strategist. Duncan was the king. They were needed to win the war, no matter the loss. The monumental loss. Halt took a breath, hand gripping the bow slung over his shoulder. Whether the war was won or not, Morgarath was going to pay in blood.