The Icebound Land- Character Reaction

34

When they got back, Crowley took the book from the table. He flipped through the pages, raising an eyebrow. "We'll get done with this before the day's over," he remarked.

Halt glanced over at the next book stacked on top. "The Battle for Skandia," he said. Everyone exchanged a glance.

HORACE ROSE IN HIS STIRRUPS AS KICKER REACHED A FULL GALLOP. He held the long ash pole out to his right-hand side, at right angles to his body and the line of travel. Ahead of him, standing unmoving in the middle of the field situated in front of the castle, Halt drew back the string of his longbow until the feathered end of the arrow touched the corner of his mouth.

"Nice to know you remember how to shoot a bow," Crowley teased. Gilan snickered, while Halt glared at them both.

Horace urged the battlehorse to an even faster pace, until they had reached maximum speed. He glanced out to his right, to make sure the helmet that he had attached to the end of the pole was still in the correct position, facing Halt. Then he looked back at the small figure on the grass before him. Halt snorted indignantly.

He saw the first arrow released, spitting from the bow with incredible force and speeding toward the moving target. Then, in an almost incomprehensible blur of motion, Halt's hands moved and another arrow was on the way.

Almost at the same time, Horace felt a double concussion transmitted down the length of the ash pole he held out, as the two shafts slammed into the helmet within the space of half a second.

"Good thing that wasn't your head," Gilan said cheerfully. Horace raised an eyebrow.

"Thanks, Gil," he said dryly.

He allowed Kicker to ease down to a canter as they passed Halt, taking the horse in a wide circle to come to a stop before the Ranger. Halt now stood with his bow grounded, waiting patiently to see the result of his practice. Horace let the pole and the attached helmet dip to the ground in front of him. Both shafts, incredibly, had found their way through the helmet's vision slits and into the soft padding that Halt had put inside to protect the razor-sharp arrowheads.

As Halt took the old helmet in his hands, Horace swung his leg over the pommel and slid to the ground beside him. The grizzled Ranger nodded once as he inspected the result of his target practice.

"I have a name," Halt muttered.

"Not bad," he said. "Not bad at all."

Will smirked. "Thought not bad wasn't good." Halt rolled his eyes.

Horace dropped the end of his reins, allowing Kicker to wander off and crop the short, thick grass that grew on the tournament field. He was puzzled and more than a little worried by Halt's actions.

After the challenge had been issued and accepted, Deparnieux had agreed to return their weapons. Halt claimed that he had not fired an arrow in weeks and would need to hone his skills for the combat. Deparnieux, who practiced his own combat skills daily, saw nothing unusual in the request. So the weapons had been returned, although the two Araluens were watched closely by at least half a dozen crossbowmen whenever they practiced.

"Like any of them could land an accurate hit on Halt," Crowley scoffed.

"You're forgetting Horace was there, too," Halt said. Crowley nodded.

"True."

"If you're done talking about me getting hit with a crossbow," Horace said pithily.

For the past three days, Halt had instructed Horace to gallop down the field, the helmet held out on the end of a pole, as he fired shafts at the eyeholes. Every time, at least one of the two shafts had found its mark. Generally, Halt managed to put both arrows through the tiny spaces he was aiming at.