The Kings of Clonmel (Ranger's Apprentice, #8)

by John Flanagan

You’ll be a good teacher when you get your own apprentice.” Will looked at him, slightly horrified by the prospect. There was the responsibility, not to mention the constant distraction of having a young person at his heels, asking questions, interrupting, racing off at tangents before thinking through a problem. . . . He stopped as he realized he was describing his own behavior as an apprentice.

Will strummed a chord experimentally. “I tuned it,” Berrigan told him, and Will frowned as he adjusted the top string. “So I see,” he replied, straight-faced, and a ripple of amusement went through the audience.

“My friends will pay you if you release me,” he said. Halt regarded him, head tilted quizzically to one side. “No they won’t,” he replied scornfully. “They’ll do their best to kill me. Don’t be so ridiculous—and don’t take me for a fool. It annoys me, and you’re in no position to do that. I might change my mind about my plans for you.”

“You can swim, I assume?” “Yes. I can swim,” Colly said. “But I’m not going jumping off some bluff just because you say so!” “No, no. Of course not. That’d be asking far too much of you. You’ll jump off because if you don’t, I’ll shoot you. It’ll be the same effect, really. If I have to shoot you, you’ll fall off. But I thought I’d give you a chance to survive.” Halt paused, then added, “Oh, and if you decide to run downhill, I’ll also shoot you with an arrow. Uphill and off is really your only chance of survival.”

Will realized, not for the first time, that he would never get the last word with this horse.

Colly, lying on his side, looked up at him. “My jacket?” Halt raised an eyebrow impatiently. “Your ears aren’t cramped,” he said. “ Take off the jacket.”

“Questions, questions, questions!” he said. “Now that I remember what you were like, I wonder if I haven’t made a horrible mistake. Would you mind terribly if I said hello to my wife before we go any further?”

“Hard rations build character,” Halt said philosophically. Horace looked mournfully at him. Already the vast helping of lamb stew he’d eaten the previous evening was nothing but a dim memory. “They also build hunger,” he said.

“I thought you said hard rations build character?” Will said, managing to stay straight-faced. Halt looked up at him with some dignity. “I have character,” he said. “I have character to spare. It’s young people like you two who need their characters built.” “I’ll build mine tomorrow,” Horace said through a mouthful of food.

“Funny,” he said, “those bandits were completely disabled. That strange chord hit them like a ton of bricks, didn’t it?” “It certainly seemed to,” Halt agreed. “Yet I couldn’t help noticing,” Horace went on, “that as they were staggering and suffering and terrified, not one of them dropped his sword.”

“You spoil that horse,” Halt said. Will glanced at him. “You spoil yours.” Halt considered the thought, then nodded. “That’s true,” he admitted.

And our friend Tennyson just calmly strolled up and told them to be off. And off they went.” “Not before his followers sang at them,” Horace reminded him. Halt nodded. “That’s true. A couple of verses and the bandits were staggering around, hands over their ears.” “The singing was that bad?” Will asked, straight-faced.

“Oh, it’s a case of they think I’ll think that they’ll do A, so they’ll do B because I wouldn’t think they’d think of that but then because I might think I know what they’re thinking they’ll do A after all because I wouldn’t think they’d think that way,” Will said. Halt looked at him for a long moment in silence. “You know, I’m almost tempted to ask you to repeat that.” Will grinned. “I’m not sure I could.”

“You mean I’m going to have my own cult?” Horace asked, and Halt nodded reluctantly. “In a way. Yes.” Horace beamed. “Then perhaps you two might start showing a little more respect. I rather like the idea of having you as acolytes.”

Give any opponent a chance to surrender, but don’t take risks with him. Something can always go wrong in a duel. A snapped girth, a cut rein, a lucky blow that gets through your guard. Don’t take chances.

“What’s Horace looking so enigmatic about?” Will asked. A faint trace of a smile touched Halt’s lips. “Someone gave him a stale fish,” he said, and was gratified by Will’s puzzled reaction.

“You can’t talk to the King like that,” Sean said with some force. Halt held his gaze for several seconds before he replied quietly. “I’m not talking to the King.” He jerked a contemptuous thumb at his brother. “He is.”

I’m really not interested in being King. I prefer to work for a living.

Halt seemed more antagonized by the fact that his brother didn’t like coffee than by the fact that he had stolen the throne from him.

Break this cult of his. Roll it back and destroy his power! It’s built on an illusion anyway. Offer them another illusion.” “What?” Ferris asked. “What illusion do I have?” “The illusion of your own authority,” Halt said sarcastically.

In his life, Halt had faced Wargals, the terrible Kalkara, blood-mad Skandians and charging Temujai hordes without a quaver. But a bad-tempered landlady was a different matter altogether. “Nothing,” he told her meekly.

“That’s a nasty cough you’ve got there,” he said. “I thought I’d stumbled on Sleeping Beauty and her ugly sister,” said another voice, “waiting for the kiss of true love to wake them from their slumbers. Forgive me if I didn’t oblige.”

“That’s a strange noise you make when you’re wide awake,” he said, the smile evident in his voice. “What is it they call it? Oh, yes, snoring. Quite a talent. Most people can only do it when they’re asleep.”

Be a bit difficult if the situation were reversed. Hard to put more beard on.”

He wished he weren’t going to die while he was annoyed. It seemed such a petty emotion.

“Should I curtsey to you, good King Halt?” “You do and I’ll give you a clip over the ear,” Halt growled,

“What about lunch?” he asked. His hopes of a meal sank as he saw that familiar lift of Halt’s eyebrow. “What about lunch?” Halt replied. Horace shook his head despondently. “I knew I should have told you after we’d eaten,” he said.