Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I do not own The Ranger’s Apprentice or any of the characters involved except Hueven.
The sun shone high in the clear blue sky over Castle Araluen. The village below bustled with people going about their day-to-day lives. As they moved to and fro, none of them seemed to notice a figure slip past them in the shadows of back alleys. The figure stopped at the edge of the opening into the main street and peered around the corner. He wore a mottled black-and-gray cloak that concealed his features, save for a shock of dark hair that crept out from below the hood of his cowl.
Ahead of him, a finely dressed nobleman was mounting the small set of steps into his carriage, a servant sat at the ready, the crop for the horses held in his hand.
“That’s him, all right,” the figure thought.
He slipped back into the alley, doubling around so he would come up on the carriage from behind. He quickly approached the rear of the carriage and slipped under it, grabbing some of the support beams in its undercarriage and bracing his feet to hold himself in place. As he hung there, he heard the driver shout at the horses and the crack of the crop.
“Hyah!”
The carriage lurched to life as the horses began to pull on the yoke. The figure waited, thankfully the crowded streets meant the carriage’s movement was slow and frequently interrupted by sudden stops that he could use to rest his limbs by dropping to the ground below. But as the carriage began to reach the edge of town, he felt the pace increase as the whole vehicle’s bouncing and jostling became more pronounced with each imperfection in the road.
“That’s far enough, I’d think.”
He reached up ahead of him toward the front of the carriage, careful to make sure each grip of his hands and feet was solid before releasing another to continue. After a few painstaking minutes, his hand appeared from the undercarriage, and he gripped the bottom of the driver’s seat. With a grunt of exertion, he kicked off with his feet and pulled up with his arms, hauling himself up and onto the seat next to the driver. The man’s eyes had gone wide with the sudden appearance of the figure, and he pulled on the reins to stop the carriage.
“Smart man,” the figure said, “Now get out of here before things get messy.”
The driver needed no further encouragement, bolting off the seat and down the road back toward town.
“Jenkins? Why have we stopped? What’s the meaning of this?” The nobleman’s voice called from inside the carriage.
The figure leapt down from the driver’s seat and moved toward the side door.
“Jenkins! Answer me, damn you!” the nobleman called.
The figure grasped the handle of the door and threw it open, drawing a gasp of surprise from its occupant.
“Y-you!” He stammered, “I-I haven’t done anything! Why are you here!?”
“Oh, Lord Montegue, we both know that’s not true,” The figure answered as he climbed into the carriage opposite Lord Montegue.
“I assure you, whatever you think I’ve done is false! I would never betray His Majesty!”
“Aye, so you claim, but-”
He was cut off as Montegue tried to dash for the still-open door of the carriage, but the figure kicked it closed with his foot, hard. The door slammed into Montegue’s head first, bouncing back from the force before the figure kicked it closed again. While Montegue was still dazed from the sudden impact, he darted across the carriage, and a knife seemed to appear in his hand of its own accord.
“Now, you’re going to tell me everything I want to know. Clear?”
Montegue went to nod, but felt the knife at his throat and instead replied, “Y-yes!”
“You stand accused of aiding traitors to the crown. Is this true?”
“I didn’t know they were traitors! They came to me to ask for weapons! Last I checked, that was a legal trade in Araluen?”
“Aye, it is, but not when those same weapons are used to launch an assault against one of the Fief Castles!”
“What?”
“Redmont, two months ago, surely you’ve heard about how a ragtag bunch of insurrectionists attacked the walls and were repelled?”
“I-I had no idea! I swear to you, I want nothing to do with their rebellion! And I give you my word that if they come crawling back to me, I’ll turn them in straightaway!”
The figure shook his head as his gaze broke away from Montegue’s, “Swear to me that’s the truth of it.”
“I swear! On my parents’ graves! May they rest in peace.”
The figure seemed content with that and released Montegue’s doublet.
“You-you’re letting me go?”
“Aye. But don’t make me regret it. I was sent to kill you after all. Get out of Araluen, take your wealth, and never return here. Am I understood?”
Montegue was already nodding, but the figure could see the look in his eyes and quickly slid his knife up to Montegue’s throat again, “I mean it. If I catch so much as a whiff of your return, I will personally come back to finish the job. Am. I. Clear?”
“Y-yes, crystal clear!”
“Good.”
The figure stepped back and slipped out the door, opening it just enough for him to get out and closing it again without a sound. To Montegue’s panicked gaze, it looked like he had just phased through the wall of his carriage.
“J-Jenkins!” He shouted, “Damn you, Jenkins! Get back here!”
The figure slipped away, smirking to himself as he heard Montegue’s call for his driver.
“Well, not bad,” he said to himself as he started back toward town.
He made his way to the stables, where he found his horse waiting for him. It was a larger breed, but not as large as the horses ridden by knights and soldiers. He smiled as he ran his hand along its neck.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, old friend.”
The horse whinnied in response, “No trouble. How’d it go?”
“Oh, you know. He cowered, begged for his life. I had to play up the theatrics a bit since he seemed to not get the message the first time.”
“Did you have to kill him?”
“No, thankfully. I detest when I have to kill them.”
He led the horse out of the dimly lit stables and out into the bright sunshine.
“So, where to now?”
“Well, I need to make my report. But…”
“But?”
“I can do that via courier.”
“Wouldn’t He want you to give it in person?”
The figure laughed, “Hardly. He can’t be bothered when one of us comes to him with a report. Least of all me.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Positive. Now, come on. Let’s get home.”
He swung himself up into the saddle, and once he was secure, clicked his tongue to send them on their way. His horse started into a steady lope that quickly ate up the distance toward a small forest further down the road. As they went, the figure smirked as he saw Motegue’s carriage abandoned on the side of the road.
“Seems he took your words to heart.”
The figure chuckled, “I shouldn’t be surprised to find him roughin’ it further down the road. What say we give him a good fright, get him moving again if we do?”
“I think you’re letting this get the better of your judgment.”
The figure paused, “Perhaps you’re right. When did you get to be such a good moral compass?”
“One of us has to.”
“Implying I’m not?”
The horse did not reply that time.
“Am I ever going to-”
“No, you won’t.”
“You didn’t even know what I was going to say!”
“I did, and you won’t.”
The figure huffed as he settled into the saddle, “Fine then. Be that way,” he grumbled.
The pair continued their journey for the remainder of the day, and the figure was surprised when they did not encounter Montegue on the road. As they pulled off to the side of the road to make camp, he let his horse’s reins drop to the ground.
“Going to scout around, let me-”
“I will.”
He glared at his horse, who turned one massive eye on him.
“Well?”
The figure sighed before disappearing into the shadows nearby, slipping from one scant piece of cover to the next as he surveyed the surrounding area. After he finished his lap, he returned to the makeshift campsite.
“No one for a good quarter kilometer,” he reported.
“Thank goodness, I was worried we’d get attacked in our sleep.”
“I could do without the sarcasm. It’s going to be a rough night; rain clouds are coming in pretty fast. Looks like a nasty storm, too.”
“Oh joy…”
The figure quickly unbuckled his saddle from his horse and set it down on the ground, then rubbed him down with a rough brush from inside one of the bags. He unfolded a small leather bucket and set it on the ground before grabbing a bag of grains and pouring it out for his horse.
“Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll pour you some water.”
“Could just get a second bucket.”
The figure did not deign to reply as he set about preparing his own nightly meal. A piece of dried jerky and hardened bread that was already a few days old.
“Trail rations, my favorite,” He joked.
“I could do without your sarcasm,” his horse whinnied.
He bit off a piece of jerky before setting his meal down and retrieving the canteen he used to keep water on hand for his horse, and poured it into the bucket.
“There, happy?”
His horse did not reply as he began to lap up the water from the bucket.
“You know, there’s a rumor that’s been floating around for a while, that even the old Rangers used to talk to their horses like we do.”
“We’re an intelligent breed.”
“Right, but to talk to us?”
“To be fair, you aren’t a Ranger yourself.”
“Point taken. But, still, a little strange, don’t you think?”
“No stranger than a man talking with his horse.”
The figure opened his mouth to retort, then shook his head as he grabbed his meal and set to eating. It only took him a few minutes, then he stood up and stretched before grabbing his tent and bedroll from the saddlebag. He set to work, propping up the tent, then unrolling the bedroll. Once everything was secure, he retrieved an old blanket from his pack and laid it over his horse’s back.
“Best I can do, old friend.”
“I’ll manage.”
He nodded, then led his horse to a more secluded part of the clearing, hoping it might provide some cover from the rain. He then moved back to his pack and started grabbing his essentials, moving from the saddle to the tent and back again in small trips. As he made the last one and deposited his bow inside his tent, he heard the first patter of rain hitting the material.
“Just in time,” he said to himself before rolling into his bedroll.
He fell asleep quickly, content in the fact that his horse would warn him of any dangers long before they got close. The night passed quickly, and the storm grew ever more dangerous, but the figure remained inside his tent, dry but not quite safe.
The next morning dawned bright, and the figure rolled out of the tent to examine the damage. His eyes widened in shock as he saw his saddle had been turned over in the wind and was a good three yards from where he had left it.
“You alright out there!” He called, “Didn’t get blown away, did you?”
He heard a whinny in response, and smiled to himself in relief… then panicked as he realized what kind of whinny his horse had used. He scrambled out of the tent, but was too late as he heard a whizz fly by over his head and slam into the center pole of his tent.
“I’d appreciate it if you could stay where you are and answer my questions,” a grizzled voice called to him.
He held his hands up and looked in the direction of the arrow. There, faintly visible in the treeline at the edge of the clearing, was the figure of a man. A massive longbow held at the ready, an arrow nocked on the string. The figure's eyes widened.
“No way…”
“First, your name,” the man called.
The figure swallowed the lump in his throat, then called to the man.
“My name is Hueven.”