Ranger's Apprentice Quick Stories

Stranger in the Kingdom

"Oh, alright, one more time," Halt relented, rolling his eyes in a playful manner.

"Oh, thank you Halt! You're the best!"

"Yes, yes, I know," the young boy said, waving a dismissive hand. "You'd better go hide! I'm going to count faster this time! One... two... three..."

Halt smiled as he heard the squeal of excitement from beyond his closed eyes. His sister was so easily amused at this game, he thought. It was so simple, and yet Caitlyn had been playing it for hours with Halt. Ferris was somewhere unknown. Probably in the town square with the commoners, as he usually was.

"Forty-eight... forty-nine... fifty!"

As he reached the decided number, he removed his hands from his eyes and peered around the hall. Cailtyn, having learned over the past hour not to hide directly within sight, had taken off toward the main hall. Halt had listened to her footsteps when he'd been counting.

"I'm coming to find you!" he called playfully, and shook his head as he heard his younger sister's giggling.

"You're really not good at hiding," he muttered under his breath, grinning at his sister's failure to remain silent. Halt crouched down, sneaking along the hall toward the main room where he knew Caitlyn would be.

Suddenly, he heard a sharp intake of breath. He stood up, his body tense. The sound had been one of shock and fear. And it had been Caitlyn that had gasped.

"Caitlyn?" Halt called, his heart beginning to race at the thought of what could have happened. "Caitlyn, where are you?"

He sprinted around the last bend of the hall and spilled into the main room. Almost instantly, he felt himself knocked back as he ran into something solid. He landed with a thud on his backside. Remembering Caitlyn, Halt leapt to his feet immediately, awkwardly drawing the sword that his parents insisted he keep on his side. He hated the weapon, but he would use it if he had to.

Halt found himself staring up into the dark eyes of an older man. His hair was white, making him look a bit older than he might have actually been. He was dressed in strange attire.  A plain pair of breeches tucked into riding boots, and a brown jerkin underneath a cloak. A mesmerizing cloak, Halt realized, that had strange patterns all along it, making it difficult to focus on. The man had a longbow slung across his shoulder, and a quiver of arrows at his back. His belt, Halt noted, held a double scabbard that contained two knives, one which was considerably larger than the other.

"Hullo," the man said kindly, and Halt instantly knew the man wasn't Hibernian. Araluen, more like, from his accent.

"Where is my sister?" Halt demanded instantly, holding the sword out. The man only raised an eyebrow, looking at the weapon. He seemed rather unimpressed.

"That weapon doesn't seem to suit you, does it?"

Halt balked, unsure how the man had so easily recognized Halt's dislike for the sword.

"I-" Halt began, but shook himself to clear his mind. "Who are you and where is my sister?"

The man turned his eyes back to Halt, raising his eyebrow higher.

"Have you thought of using a bow? You look to be built like an archer much more than a swordsman."

Again, Halt couldn't help but stare in shock. Halt had been shooting a bow for years now, and he actually preferred the weapon, though he wasn't sure how this man could know that.

"Tell me who you are, or I'll-"

"My name is Pritchard," the man said evenly, his voice easily cutting through Halt's threat. Halt glanced away for a split second, looking for his sister. As if reading his mind, Pritchard continued. "I'm afraid the mere sight of me scared your sister, and she took off down this hall. I assume this leads to the throne room?"

Halt decided that if this man was going to attack him, he would have done so already. Keeping a weary eye on Pritchard, the young boy stepped back and sheathed his sword.

"Why are you here?" Halt asked, carefully ignoring the man's question. He noticed with interest that Pritchard had seemed both shocked and approving of Halt as the boy had sheathed his sword.

"I'm here to meet with your parents," Pritchard explained. "I'm seeking refuge."

"Refuge?" Halt asked curiously. "Refuge from what."

For once, Pritchard seemed to show a bit of emotion, wincing at the question.

"It would seem I'm no longer welcome in Araluen," he said painfully, turning to walk down the hall. Halt regarded him with new interest, rushing to follow alongside him.

"What did you do?" he asked before he could stop himself. Pritchard turned an amused eye on him.

"I did nothing," he replied, rather forcefully. "Unless you count remaining loyal to the King as wrong. My kingdom is in turmoil. I'm afraid there is little hope left."

Halt nodded. Young as he was, he'd still overheard his parents' discussions about the goings-on in the eastern kingdom of Araluen.

"I don't know if my parents will give you refuge," he told Pritchard softly. "It might bring Clonmel into a war with Araluen if they find out we are harboring a fugitive."

Pritchard smiled at the young man. He had a wonderfully quick mind on him, the man thought.

"I just want permission to live in your land, not here with you," Pritchard said. Halt nodded. Perhaps, he thought, his parents could permit that.

"You never told me your name," Pritchard said as they neared the throne room. Halt looked up at the man.

"Halt," he said, extending a hand. Pritchard shook it, his eyebrow raised once again in a way that made Halt feel as if he was being judged. "Prince Halt O'Carrick of Clonmel. Heir to the throne."

To Halt's surprise, Pritchard only nodded, seemingly unfazed by the news that he was in the presence of a prince. Clearly, this man was used to royalty.

"And how old are you, Halt?"

Halt frowned. He wasn't sure why that was so important, but he shrugged.

"I'll be fifteen next week," he said, watching Pritchard closely.

The man seemed to be considering something deeply, and Halt desperately wanted to know what it was.

But at that moment, Halt's parents walked into the room, led by a trembling Cailtyn, and Halt knew his chance of finding out what had been on Pritchard's mind was long gone.