Free Icebound Land by John Flanagan Page B

alongside the youth. Horace was a tall boy and his battlehorse stood several hands higher than Abelard. The Ranger found himself having to look up at the young face. It was set in determined lines, he noted.
    “And what do you think your apprentice master will have to say about that when he finds out?” he asked.
    “Sir Rodney?” Horace shrugged. “He knows already. I told him I was leaving.”
    Halt inclined his head in some surprise. He’d expected that Horace would have simply run away in his attempt to join him. But the apprentice warrior was a straightforward type, not given to guile or subterfuge. It was not in Horace’s character to simply run off, he realized.
    “And how did he greet this momentous news?”
    Horace frowned, not understanding.
    “Pardon?” he asked uncertainly and Halt sighed quietly.
    “What did he say when you told him? I assume he gave you a good clout over the ear?” Rodney wasn’t known for his tolerance of disobedient apprentices. He had a quick temper and the boys in Battleschool often felt the full force of it.
    “No,” Horace answered stolidly. “He said to give you a message.”
    Halt shook his head in wonder. “And the message was?” he prompted, and noted that Horace shifted uncomfortably in his saddle before answering.
    “He said, ‘Good luck to you,’” the boy replied finally. “And he said to tell you that I came with his approval—unofficial, of course.”
    “Of course,” Halt replied, successfully masking the surprise he felt at this unexpected gesture of support from the Battleschool commander. “He could hardly give you official approval to go running off with a banished criminal, could he?”
    Horace thought about that and nodded. “I suppose not,” he replied. “So you’ll let me come with you?”
    Halt shook his head. “Of course I won’t,” he said briskly. “I don’t have time to look after you where I’m going.”
    The boy’s face flushed with anger at Halt’s dismissive tone.
    “Sir Rodney also said to tell you that you could possibly use a sword to guard your back on your travels,” he said. Halt regarded the tall boy carefully as he spoke.
    “Those were his exact words?” he asked, and Horace shook his head.
    “Not exactly.”
    “Then tell me exactly what he said,” Halt demanded.
    Horace took a deep breath. “His exact words were, ‘You could use a good sword to guard your back.’”
    Halt hid a smile.
    “Meaning who?” he challenged. Horace sat his horse, flushing furiously, and didn’t answer. It was the best reply he could have made. Halt was watching him closely. He didn’t take Rodney’s recommendation lightly and he knew the boy had courage to spare. He’d proven that when he’d challenged Morgarath to single combat at the Plains of Uthal.
    But there was the chance that he might have become boastful and overconfident—that too much adulation and praise had turned his head. If that were the case, however, he would have answered Halt’s sarcastic challenge immediately. The fact that he hadn’t, but merely sat in front of him, face set in determined lines, said a lot about the boy’s character. Strange how they turn out, Halt thought. He remembered Horace as somewhat of a bully when he’d been younger. Obviously, Battleschool discipline and a few years’ maturity had wrought some interesting changes.
    He considered the boy again. Truth be told, it would be handy to have a companion along. He’d refused Gilan because he knew the other Ranger was needed here in Araluen. But Horace was a different matter. His Craftmaster had given permission—unofficially. He was a more than capable swordsman. He was loyal and he was dependable. And besides, Halt had to admit that, since Will had been taken prisoner, he’d missed having someone younger around him. He’d missed the excitement and the eagerness that came with young people. And, God help him, he’d even missed the endless questions that came with them as