The Lost Stories (45 page)

Will stared at his hands on the table. He did have a lot of urgent work waiting back at Redmont. But this was Tug! He looked up at Bob.

“I don't have a horse. What can I do without a horse?”

Bob smiled reassuringly. “I'll lend you a horse. I have plenty of retired Ranger horses here. Not as spry as Tug, maybe, but good enough for a few days.” He saw Will wavering and he reinforced his argument. “Will, there's nothing you can do here. You'll sit around watching Tug and worrying about him. And he'll know you're worried, and that will affect him.” He paused, then added, “It could delay his healing.”

That did the trick. The thought that he might have an adverse effect on his horse's convalescence was enough for Will. He came to a decision.

“I'll pack my gear. Would you get the horse ready?”

Bob leaned across the table and gripped his forearm.

“Good lad. And I imagine you'll be wanting to say good-bye to Tug.”

It took an enormous effort to leave Tug in the barn. Will stood patting his neck and muzzle for some minutes, speaking gently to him. Old Bob stayed out of earshot, giving them privacy. Then, finally, sensing that Will didn't know how to tear himself away, he coughed to attract his attention.

“Time to go, Will Treaty. Cormac is ready and waiting for you.”

Will hugged Tug's neck one last time, gently touching the bandaged wound with a forefinger.

“I'll be back in five days,” he said.

Tug shook his head, but it was a more gentle action than his normal, boisterous movement.

Will's eyes filled with tears and Tug nudged him with his head.

Dashing the back of his hand across his eyes, Will turned quickly and walked out of the barn into the bright sun.

Cormac was a chestnut, with a light-colored mane and tail. He was somewhat taller than Tug, but with the same shaggy coat and solid, muscular look that all Ranger horses shared. Old Bob had put Will's saddle and bridle on him and tied the Ranger's camping gear in place behind the saddle.

Will judged that he was a few years older than Tug. But he still looked fit and energetic—and he was vaguely familiar. Will had the sense that he had seen him somewhere before.

“Will, this is Cormac. Cormac, this is Will,” Old Bob said as he handed the reins to Will. He slapped the chestnut on the neck affectionately. “He's a good horse, this 'un. He'll serve you well for a few days. Mebbe not as fast as he was five years ago, but he'll still run all day for you—and keep going into the next day as well.”

“That's the way you train them, Bob,” Will said, with an attempt at a smile.

Bob noticed and slapped him on the shoulder. “That's the spirit, Will Treaty! Off you go then. I'm sure you have all sorts of important work to do. And never fear, I'll take good care of Tug.”

Will nodded his thanks and went to put his foot in the stirrup. Then he hesitated.

“Do I need a permission phrase?” he asked.

Bob laughed. “No. I told you, Cormac is retired. Once we retire them, we teach them they don't need a permission word.”

Will swung up into the saddle, albeit a little suspiciously. He sat for a second or two, waiting to see if Cormac would react. But the chestnut simply turned his head and looked curiously at him. Bob let go a wheezing cackle of laughter.

“Don't trust me, eh?” he said. “I told you. He's retired. Now get going!”

Will touched his heels lightly to Cormac's side and the horse responded immediately, moving off at a trot. His gait was a little different from Tug's, but it was smooth and even. He had a spring in his step too—as if he were glad to be back at work.

“I'll see you in five days,” Will called over his shoulder. Bob waved a hand in acknowledgment, then nodded approvingly as Will, with only the slightest touch, set Cormac into a smooth, easy canter.

The horse's tail came up as he ran.
This is fun.

“Glad you think so . . . ,” Will began, and then stopped, surprised that he was talking to his temporary mount. Maybe all Ranger horses responded this way.

THE NEXT FIVE DAYS PASSED IN A BLUR. IF HE HAD BEEN ASKED TO recount what happened or what he had done, Will would have been at a loss.

Halt and Lady Pauline were both away from Redmont, attending to a diplomatic problem at one of the fief's subsidiary castles. The mayor of one of Celtica's largest towns had absconded with the town's treasury and was claiming diplomatic immunity in Redmont Fief. The Celtic king had sent soldiers after him to bring him back. This was understandable, and while Baron Arald had no intention of protecting the thief, the Celtic king's action was technically a breach of the treaty between Araluen and Celtica. Neither country had the right to send armed troops over the border. Baron Arald had sent Halt to escort the miscreant back to Celtica, and Lady Pauline to persuade the Celtic troops to keep their hands off the criminal until he was back in their jurisdiction.

Halt could have convinced them himself, of course, but his methods were liable to be a little more direct than Pauline's and Arald was hoping to avoid piling one diplomatic incident on top of another.

With Lady Pauline thus engaged, it had fallen to Alyss to attend the biannual Diplomatic Service meeting at Castle Araluen. Will found a note to that effect on the table of the little cabin in the woods.

But if Will had thought he might spend a lonely week in the cabin, worrying about Tug, he was quickly disabused of the notion. A report came in of a band of brigands preying on lone travelers in the northern part of the fief. Accordingly, Will set off in a borrowed wagon, disguised as a peddler of household goods. He traveled through the area where the bandits were known to be operating, selling his wares at remote farms and building up a sizable amount of money in the process. The bandits were watching him, as he knew they would be, and once they were satisfied that he was ripe for the plucking, they stopped him on a lonely stretch of road with heathland on either side.

There were four of them, so Will had them seriously outnumbered.

He gave them one warning, identifying himself as a King's Ranger, but they chose to attack. Within seconds, three of them were on the ground, nursing arrow wounds to arms and legs. The fourth, his eyes wide with terror, tossed his sword away and fell to his knees, begging for mercy.

Will allowed them to bandage their wounds, then tied their hands together. He strung them in a line behind the peddler's cart to walk back to Castle Redmont for trial. One of them pleaded for gentler treatment.

“Please, Ranger, we're hurt bad. Can't we ride in the cart?”

Will glanced at him coldly. In his present mood, he had little sympathy for the bandits, who had left several of their former victims wounded and bleeding by the roadside.

“I'm doing you a favor,” he said, and as the man frowned, about to ask a further question, he added, “I'm letting you enjoy the fresh air and open spaces. You'll see little of either for the next ten years.”

So the time passed and the fifth day found him cantering Cormac back to the farm where Bob trained horses for the Ranger Corps.

The horse shook his head, enjoying the freedom of the road and the opportunity to stretch his legs. Ranger horses loved to run.

Will smiled. “You've been a good companion and I'm grateful,” he said, patting the chestnut's neck affectionately. “But I'm hoping Tug will be on the way to healing.”

Cormac tossed his head.
I can understand that. But if you ever need me. . .

“I'll come calling,” Will said. As they rode out of the trees and followed the long track leading up to Bob's cabin, Will eagerly scanned the paddocks on either side. At first he saw nothing, then his heart lifted as he spotted a familiar gray shape in the distance, running for the sheer joy of it in the crisp autumn sunshine.

“Tug!” he shouted eagerly, and touched his heels to Cormac's sides. The chestnut responded instantly and broke into a gallop. The gray horse heard the drumming hooves and swung to run toward them, cutting diagonally across the large paddock.

Will reined in, waiting for him.

The gait, the movement, the way the little horse tossed his head. It was all so familiar. Will actually laughed out loud at the sight of his horse as the shaggy gray came up to the fence that delineated the paddock.

Then he frowned. It was so like Tug. Yet it wasn't him. This horse was considerably younger. There was no sign of the white hairs that had begun to show around Tug's muzzle over the last few years. And now that they were closer, Will could see a small diamond-shaped patch of darker hair on the little horse's left front leg, close by the hoof. It wasn't Tug. Yet, in so many ways,
it was.

The horse nickered a greeting, then shook himself, rattling his mane in exactly the way Tug did. Cormac returned the greeting. The gray looked expectantly at Will, but Will was too confused to speak. Finally, tossing his head, the gray horse turned and galloped off, going back the way he had come.

Will didn't reply. He tapped his heels against Cormac's sides and they cantered up the track to Bob's cabin.

Here, another surprise awaited them. Another chestnut was standing outside the cabin, almost identical to Cormac. But he was younger, Will realized, much younger. The two horses greeted each other like old friends and Will realized where he had seen Cormac before.

“You were Crowley's horse,” he said to Cormac. “But your name was Cropper.”

As he said the name, the horse outside the cabin raised his head in recognition.

“This is Cropper now,” said Crowley as he emerged from the cabin and walked toward them. “That's the way we do it. When we retire a horse, we change his name, and we give the old name to the new horse.”

Cormac moved eagerly toward the Ranger Commandant, and he fondled the horse's muzzle affectionately. “Hullo, old friend,” he said softly. Then he glanced up at Will. “Step down, Will. We need to talk.”

Will swung down from the saddle, a vague sense of unease growing within him.

“Crowley?” he said. “What are you doing here? How's Tug?”

Crowley put a reassuring hand on the young Ranger's shoulder.

“Tug's doing fine,” he said. “He's a lot better than when you saw him last. In fact, here he comes now.”

He pointed and Will turned to see Old Bob leading his horse out of the stable and toward the cabin. At first sight, he seemed totally recovered.

“Tug!” he called, and the horse looked up and whinnied eagerly. Bob released the lead rein and made a gesture toward Will. Without further urging, Tug trotted toward his master and Will's heart suddenly sank.

“He's limping,” he said. The limp had become evident as Tug increased his pace.

Crowley nodded. “He is. Bob's done all he can, but the muscle damage was too great to heal completely. I'm afraid he'll always limp, Will.”

Tug butted his head against Will's chest in his familiar way, then he began nosing around his pockets, searching for the apple that he knew would be there. Will helped him find it and the little horse crunched it blissfully. But Will's head was still whirling as he absorbed Crowley's last statement.

“He'll always limp?” he said. “But how can I . . . ?” He couldn't finish the question. Suddenly, he sensed what was coming. The talk of retired Ranger horses; the two chestnuts, virtually identical; and the young gray he'd seen in the paddock—all those facts came together to form one obvious, terrible conclusion.

“We're going to have to retire him,” he said dully. It wasn't a question and he saw Crowley and Bob nodding in confirmation.

“It's the way we do things, Will,” Crowley told him. “Our horses can only serve us for fifteen or sixteen years. Then they begin to lose the speed and agility and stamina that we rely on so much. So this would have happened in the near future anyway. The injury has only brought the inevitable a little closer.”

“But . . . this is Tug!” Will said, his eyes blinded by tears. “This is no ordinary horse! He's Tug!” He came to a sudden decision and raised his head defiantly, angrily wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. “I don't care if he limps. I don't care if he's not as fast or as agile as he used to be! He's my horse and I'm keeping him!”

He reached for Tug's bridle, but Crowley caught his hand gently and stopped him.

“That's not possible,” he said. “It's not the Ranger way.”

“Then I'll retire as well. If I can't have Tug, I no longer want to be a Ranger!”

They all started with surprise as Tug reared back, his ears flattened against his head.

“Tug?” Will said, bewildered by the horse's anger. But Tug shook his head now, rattling his mane.

“But . . . I need you, Tug. I can't imagine going on without you,” Will said.

Old Bob and Crowley exchanged a glance. They were familiar with the uncanny bond that formed between a Ranger and his horse. Both of them knew that a strange form of communication grew up over the years. Crowley experienced it himself with Cropper. They withdrew to allow Will to talk to the horse without embarrassment or awkwardness. Tug butted him gently once more, the anger gone now.