Chapter Text
The rendezvous point, as they had decided earlier, was by the archery range. Will was the first to ghost his way across the Gathering Ground, but the rest of YEET trickled in soon enough.
“What’s the plan now?” Skinner asked, seemingly appearing from the trees ten meters away. “Our cover’s blown.”
Will had given the subject a lot of thought as he moved unseen towards their rendezvous, turning their options over in his mind, debating the weaknesses and strengths of each course of action. “We’re in too deep to back out,” he said. “But since we’ve basically been exposed, we can hardly go undercover and cause more chaos.”
“Waiting it out seems to be the smartest option,” Derrick interjected.
“And let our mentors beat each other to a pulp?” Clarke asked.
“I doubt that’ll happen,” he said. “They were holding back, couldn’t you tell? Like playfighting, but Ranger-level.”
All but one, Will thought, remembering the look on Halt’s face as he’d sprang for Meralon. He felt something in his chest constrict as he realized his mentor had done that on his behalf, had done it because Meralon had insulted Will.
“Oh, good,” Skinner was saying. “So we just ride it out, see what happens?”
“Our mentors are probably going to turn on us soon enough,” Derrick said. “I say we make a decent base that we can retreat to, an easily defendable position.”
Will suddenly recalled an event that had happened four years previously, something that had precluded his selection as an apprentice Ranger. There had been a close shave with a patrolling sergeant, he remembered, and he had climbed the wall of Castle Redmont to escape notice. And earlier still, he had climbed the tree in the Ward the night before Choosing Day, perched on a branch ten meters above the ground, and Alyss had been unable to find him.
Strange how people never seem to look up.
“The trees,” Will said. “We’ll scout them out from the trees.”
Ironically, the tree that Will chose was a fig tree, overlooking the eastern edge of the Gathering Ground. He had climbed a fig tree the day he had gotten into the Corps; now, with the Rangers in utter disarray, he was climbing one again.
He navigated its waving branches with special care, aware that a hasty movement could catch the attention of any one of the fifty Rangers below. He hoped the others were doing the same, then snorted quietly to himself. Of course they were. Any first-year apprentice would know to do that.
From his perch ten meters above the forest floor, he could see the entire Gathering, from the Commandant Tent in the very center to the archery range on the western border. The brawl that had erupted earlier had broken up, but Will wasn’t sure it was over yet. He scanned the rows of tents, watching for movement in his peripheral vision.
“What’s happening?” hissed Clarke, unable to see from his concealed position behind the trunk.
“There’s something behind the tables over there. See it?” Derrick said from the next tree over.
Will spotted a flash of quick-moving green and gray. Moments later, a brown blur sailed through the air and disappeared behind another table, followed by an outraged shout.
“It’s the sugarholics,” Skinner said. “They’re fighting… who is that?”
Even from this distance, Will caught the distinctive flash of red hair. “Halt’s sugarholics versus Crowley and the Beans,” he reported. “I think they’re besieging each other for use of the tables.”
“What about the third group?” Clarke asked. “Leander’s milk-milks, or whatever the hell they call themselves?”
“In hiding, if they’re smart,” said Skinner.
“No way. Samdash would want to be in the thick of it,” Derrick said. Will agreed; Samdash was the most impulsive of the Corps, a firebrand like Crowley with a worse attitude.
“The question is,” Derrick continued, “where is he? We can’t have them sneaking up on us, because then we’d really be in trouble.”
Will swore. The trees were defensible, but there was nowhere to retreat if they were overrun. He made a quick decision. “Nick, Liam, Skinner,” he said. “I’m putting you on watch for Leander and his allies. Don’t let anything surprise us. I’m going down there to look for them.”
“I’m coming with you,” Clarke responded instantly.
Will’s first instinct was to protest, but then he thought better of it. Clarke was the best apprentice at hand-to-hand fighting, mainly because he was already taller than the average Ranger and twice as broad. He was competent at unseen movement for a Ranger—and by anyone else’s standards, competent was very good.
Basically, he wasn’t Horace. A smile tugged at Will’s mouth as he remembered his boyfriend and wondered how life was going for him as a knight in the Royal Guard.
“After you, then,” he said, dragging himself out of the reverie. “Derrick, if we get in trouble, come after us.”
Derrick grinned. “You can count on it.”
Clarke’s boot caught on a twig as he dropped to the ground. It snapped, and the sound seemed to echo through the clearing like a thunderclap. Will froze, his hands clinging to the branch for dear life, his left foot dangling in midair and his right scraping for purchase against the trunk.
Above him, Derrick made the All Clear hand signal; Will let out a pent-up breath and continued the descent. Sorry, Clarke mouthed as he dropped to the forest floor. Will shrugged, letting him know there were no hard feelings.
The two ghosted through the rows of campsites. There was no trace of Rangers anywhere, but there were plenty of Ranger horses, happily cropping grass in the absence of their masters. They looked up as Will and Clarke passed, ears pricked in curiosity. It was amazing how they were all looking at him the same way, Will thought. The liquid eyes seemed to ask, Now, what kind of silly thing are you up to now ? He wondered suddenly if other Ranger horses could read him as well as Tug did.
He was so preoccupied by the thought that he barely saw Clarke’s closed fist: the Ranger signal for Stop. Will nearly walked right into him.
“What?” he asked. In response, Clarke pointed to a burlap sack of arrows propped against a nearby tent. Will recognized it as the bag that held the arrows used for apprentice assessments. They were rubber-tipped and wouldn’t do any permanent damage, but he knew from experience that they left nasty bruises.
His first thought was that Halt had gotten them to use against the Beans, but his mentor wouldn’t have left the whole sack lying around. Then he noticed a series of odd indentations in the ground and bent down to study them more carefully. They were side by side with a series of footprints, and his first thought was that the owner had been using a cane. Then Will noticed that all the footprints had been made with the same foot, which meant their owner only had one foot. Berrigan.
Will recalled his inscrutable expression and shook his head in amazement. Whose side, exactly, was that man on?
“Are you thinking the same thing I’m thinking?” Clarke asked, scanning the area. It wouldn’t do to walk into a trap, he thought.
“I think you are,” Will said. “You take the arrows back and I keep scouting?”
“Sure thing.” Clarke shouldered the bag. “Don’t get caught.”
“I’ll do my best.”
And with that, Will continued farther into the Gathering Ground.
At the first sign of voices, he froze in place, balancing precariously on the balls of his feet.
“...assessments in an hour,” said Leander’s voice. It was coming from a nearby tent. Will estimated he was about ten meters away. “Are those still happening?”
“I would assume so,” Samdash said. “Unless things really are that bad.”
Nearby, the sugarholics and the Beans were still going at it. Will heard a muffled curse and shrank as far as he could into the tiny shadow provided by the afternoon sun.
There was silence from inside the tent as well. Then, “Are they still fighting?”
“Yeah, it’s been—what was that?” The voices cut off. “I thought I heard someone coming.”
Will fought every instinct in him to keep from looking up in surprise. Only absolute stillness could save him now. Trust the cloak.
Suddenly, a group of men seemed to materialize from thin air less than twenty meters away. Will shouted in surprise and threw himself to the side just in time to avoid Crowley’s men, who charged Leander’s tent.
Leander burst from the tent as Crowley himself appeared on the scene, holding a pail in his arms. He tossed its contents over Leander, soaking him from head to toe, followed by the pail itself.
“Why, you—” Leander dodged it and flung himself at Crowley, trying to smother him in a sopping wet hug. The Ranger Commandant twisted away, but not fast enough to evade Leander’s cloak, which caught him full in the face.
“Gah!” Crowley’s eyes bugged. Will caught a whiff of the liquid at the same time and gagged. Spoiled milk.
Not one member of the Milkers escaped the barrage. There was so much of it that, in some places, the dirt turned a muddy beige color. Will wondered where Crowley had found all the milk. He had a sudden mental image of the Beans raiding a creamery and making off with the dairy supplies.
Halt and Gilan chose that moment to arrive on the scene. They were a two-person battering ram, Gilan wielding a branch like a sword and driving the other Rangers back. Will’s eyes met Halt’s for a split second, and surprise flitted across his mentor’s face.
Crowley took advantage of his distraction and swept Halt’s legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Without thinking, Will leapt forward and seized the nearest object he could—a clay pot—and upended the contents over Crowley’s head.
Sticky honey drizzled out of the pot and landed with an audible splat on Crowley’s face.
All movement sputtered to a stop as all Rangers in the near vicinity turned and stared at Will, who was still holding the honeypot with numb fingers.
“Oh, well done,” Gilan said into the silence, patting Will on the shoulder. Will took an involuntary step back, shocked by what he had just done. The honeypot slipped from his grasp and shattered on the ground with a too-loud crash.
The noise broke the spell. With a cry of outrage, Alun surged forward. Gilan moved to meet him, and the rest of the Beans attacked with renewed vigor. Before he could retreat, Will was caught in the tide of veteran Rangers.
Each of his senses felt as sharp as a knife’s edge, letting him block attacks before he even registered they were there. He ducked and twisted away, trying to slip through the crowd. The world was a whirl of gray and green, cloaks and bodies as insubstantial as shadows. It was the most disorienting thing he’d ever seen.
Aches and bruises blossomed down his hands and forearms, which were taking too many hits. They were already beginning to stiffen, and his shoulders screamed out in protest every time he raised his arms, and yet he sensed that the Rangers were still holding back with every blow. Will had never fought an opponent of this caliber in his life, not even the Temujai Kaijin. He rolled desperately to the side, trying to escape the jabs that rained down on his shoulders.
Then a battlecry pierced the din, a hair-raising, blood-chilling yell that stopped the fighting cold: “YEET!” Apprentices burst from between the tents, strikers in hand. Rubber arrows flew, fired by the rear reserve of YEET led by Derrick.
Will stayed on the ground, wary of the flying arrows, but a wide grin split his face.“Nice of you to show up!”
“One riot, fifty Rangers,” Skinner said, returning the grin.
Their assailants fell back but pushed again almost immediately, several recognizing their apprentices in the fray. A harried first-year instantly retreated, his mentor in hot pursuit, shaking his fist and yelling about “kids these days”. Will winced, feeling a sudden twist of empathy in his chest for the kid.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Derrick draw breath to give the order to shoot again—and then suddenly, Halt let out a piercing whistle that made his ears ring.
Bright tongues of fire split the sky as flaming arrows arced downwards towards Leander’s tent. Will pinched himself as they struck the canvas and stuck there, wondering if he was dreaming. Surely no one would be crazy enough to use real fire arrows in a prank war?
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the waterproof oils in the cloth flared and caught, and the entire tent went up with a whoosh of flame and sparks. Mentors and apprentices alike froze mid-blow, turning towards the conflagration. Crowley and Gilan, entangled in some sort of headlock, staggered closer to the fire before Crowley yelped and threw his weight down, away from the flames.
His cloak trailed behind him, too close to the blaze. Will opened his mouth to shout a warning, but too late: Crowley yelped again, higher in pitch this time, as the fabric caught flame. He unclasped it and stamped on it furiously. Will caught Skinner’s eye as they both stifled a laugh at the sight of their Commandant frantically trying to put out his cloak.
“Let me help you with that!” Samdash suddenly appeared out of the chaos, grinning maniacally, and emptied a pail of milk over Crowley’s head. Merron caught on to the idea and dashed forward with another pail, dumping it in his face.
Crowley’s mouth hung open, his hair and clothes utterly soaked, as he reached up with one hand and wiped the old milk from his face.
“I’m debating if committing a double homicide is going to be worth all the fucking paperwork,” he said slowly. “Because–”
And Derrick, an angelic smile pasted to his face, chose that very moment to seize the last pail of milk and throw it over the Corps Commandant.
Will heard a strange sound from behind him, an alien sound that was also oddly familiar—
Halt was laughing. Deep, belly-shaking, doubling-over laughing. It was infectious, and a broad smile broke out over Will’s face. Crowley mopped his face again, spluttering, but after a split second, he started laughing too.
“I didn’t know Halt was capable of that,” Gilan whispered to Will, and they made eye contact and doubled over in a fit of hysteria.
“It’s not every day I get to see Crowley set on fire,” Halt said, dabbing at his eyes.
“You know, this is all very touching, but the Gathering Ground is currently also on fire,” Clarke noted. Halt shot him a withering glance, but Clarke remained resolutely unwithered. “It’s starting to spread,” he said. “And we’re all out of milk.”
“Bucket chain!” Harrison yelled. “Fetch water buckets from campsites! Give them to Merron and Alun!”
Will, the ghost of a smile still on his face, dashed to the nearest campsite and seized the pail of water next to the tent. It splashed over the edges as he ran back, soaking the sleeves of his cloak. He handed it off to Lewin, who turned and flung the water over the tent. The flames quelled for a second, then flared up again. He ran off for another bucket and gave it to Alun.
“Sorry for splitting your lip earlier,” Will said, grinning.
“It’s fine.” Alun tossed the water onto the tent and gave the bucket back to Will, raising an eyebrow as he did. “As long as you don’t do it again.”
Slowly, the blaze burned itself to embers and ashes, and gray clouds obscured the sun as it began to rain. “That was close,” Halt said, coming up to stand next to Will.
“Brave words from the man who started the fire,” Crowley said. His red hair was dark with soot, and there was a smudge of it on his nose. His cloak, trailing listlessly behind him, had been burned to tatters. He looked at it ruefully. “That was my favorite cloak,” he said.
Crowley probably would have said the same thing no matter which cloak had been burned, but Will tactfully refrained from pointing that out.
“The fire did what it was supposed to,” Halt said shortly.
“And that was?”
“Re-unify the Corps. Think about it,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall Crowley. “How long would we have rioted without a common goal to bring us back together? How far would this petty argument have gone?”
Crowley’s mouth opened, then closed again. “You—you still owe me for the tent,” he spluttered.
“Oh, in that case,” Halt said easily, “it was all Berrigan’s idea.”
Will caught Berrigan’s eye through the crowd, and he winked, very slowly. It was.
Utter, paranoid silence descended on the Gathering Ground as the Rangers broke camp. The crevices of tents were checked; saddlebags were packed, emptied in fits of suspicion, and repacked. There were overly polite farewells and handshakes as the individual members of the Corps departed, not to see their comrades again until the following year.
Which, in light of recent events, was probably a good thing. Crowley had ordered that the Rangers collectively purge the day’s events from their memories, and that if anyone ever, ever, mentioned it again, their cloaks would be ceremonially lit on fire. (At this, Berrigan remarked that no amount of cloak-burning would bring back Crowley's own. For a moment, it seemed that the whole debacle might be set off again before cooler heads prevailed).
Halt and Will maintained a companionable silence as they packed their belongings and prepared to leave. Will glanced at his northseeker and set a course for Redmont, waving a goodbye to Derrick, newly appointed Ranger to Martinsyde fief.
“That way,” he said, turning Tug to the west. They would head in that direction until they reached the Salmon River, and then they would swing north. He turned in his saddle, watching the Gathering Ground recede into the distance. A lazy spiral of smoke still curled over the clearing, dark against the red sunset.
The companionable silence lasted twenty minutes until, rather surprisingly, Halt broke it. “So, when do you think the follow-up Gathering will be?” he asked over the drumming of their horses’ hooves.
“What?” Will frowned, taken aback. “We’re going to another Gathering this year?”
“No.” His mentor shook his head. “ You’re going to another Gathering this year. You need to finish your fourth-year assessments.”
Will groaned, then brightened suddenly, thinking about the members of YEET. He liked the idea of seeing the rest of the apprentices again before they all graduated and went their separate ways.
“Oh, and, Will?” Halt raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, Halt?”
“If you ever bring up that accursed organization again, I’ll throw you into a duck pond.” He touched his heels to Abelard’s side, sending him flying ahead. “Along with a cartload of tea leaves.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Of course I would,” Halt said immediately.
But as Will urged Tug alongside him, he thought he caught the barest hint of a smile on his mentor’s face.