Ranger's Apprentice 12: The Royal Ranger Read Free

and he swung it in a backhanded strike.
    But, fast as he was, the Ranger was even faster. He had been expecting some sudden, defiant movement like this as the desperation had been mounting in Wheeler’s voice. He took a swift half step backwards and the saxe came up to block the wagoner’s dagger. The blades rang together with a rasping clang, then the Ranger countered the wagoner’s move with his own. Pivoting on his right heel, he deflected the dagger even further with his saxe and followed the movement with an open-palmed strike with his left hand, hitting Wheeler on the ridge of his jawline.
    The wagoner grunted in shock and staggered back. His feet tangled in the bench he’d been sitting on and he stumbled, crashing over to hit the edge of the table, then falling with a thud to the ground.
    The wagoner lay there, unmoving. An ominous dark stain began to spread across the turf.
    ‘What’s going on here?’ The steward moved from behind the serving table, with his two assistants in tow. He looked at the Ranger, who met his gaze steadily. Then the Ranger shrugged, gesturing towards the still figure on the ground. The steward tore his gaze away, knelt and reached to turn the heavy figure over.
    The wagoner’s eyes were wide open. The shock of what had happened was frozen on his face. His own dagger was buried deep in his chest.
    ‘He fell on his knife. He’s dead,’ the steward said. He looked up at the Ranger, but saw neither guilt nor regret in his dark eyes.
    ‘What a shame,’ said Will Treaty. Then, gathering his cloak around him, he turned and strode from the tent.

THE FIRST STREAKS of light were staining the eastern sky. In the parkland surrounding Castle Araluen, birds began singing to herald the coming day – at first in ones or twos, but gradually swelling into a general, joyous chorus. Occasionally, one could be seen flitting between the well-spaced trees, in search of food.
    The large castle drawbridge was currently raised. That was a matter of course. It was raised every night at nine o’clock, even though Araluen had been at peace for some years now. Those in command of the castle knew that the peace could be shattered without warning. As King Duncan had said some years previously, ‘No one ever died from being too careful.’
    There was a small wooden footbridge in place across the moat – little more than a pair of planks with rope hand rails. It could be quickly withdrawn in the event of an attack. At its outer end, a pair of sentries stood watch. There were more lookouts on the castle walls, of course.Multiple pairs of eyes scanned the well-tended parkland that stretched for several hundred metres on all sides of the castle, and the thickly wooded forest beyond.
    As the two sentries watched, one of them nudged his companion.
    ‘Here she comes,’ he said.
    A slim figure had emerged from the trees and was striding up the gently sloping grassed field to the castle. The newcomer was dressed in a thigh-length leather hunting vest, belted at the waist and worn over a long-sleeved, thick woollen shirt and wool breeches. The breeches were tucked into knee-high boots of soft, untanned leather.
    There was nothing about the figure to indicate that it was a girl. The sentry’s knowledge arose from the fact that this was a regular occurrence. The fifteen-year-old girl often sneaked away from the castle to hunt in the forest, much to the fury of her parents. The castle sentries found this amusing. She was a popular figure among them, bright and cheerful and always ready to share the proceeds of a successful hunt. As a result, they turned a blind eye to her comings and goings, although they didn’t advertise the fact. Her mother, after all, was the Princess Regent Cassandra, and no low-ranking soldier would risk her ill favour, or that of her husband, Sir Horace, the premier knight of the Kingdom.
    As Maddie – or, to give her her formal title, Princess Madelyn of Araluen – came closer, she