Halt's Test (Gone Wrong)

Chapter 1

Halt was startled awake by something cold, metallic and serrated coming to rest under his chin, tickling his neck uncomfortably. "Do not move." An unfamiliar voice hissed by his ear as Halt froze, opening his eyes instantly.

His room was pitch black, and he could see nothing of the man who now held a knife to his neck. Halt was unarmed, the knife he always placed under his pillow was already gone, it had been the first thing he reached for on reflex when startled awake. How his captor had known about it, he didn't know, Halt had never told anyone about his little trick and though a few of his closest friends had seen it in practice, he'd never really told them either. He did trust his friends, fellow Rangers, but it was better safe than sorry. Being weaponless left him entirely at the mercy anyone who thought it would be good fun to attack a ranger.

But he was in Castle Araluen, not sleeping under a tree while patrolling in his fief, Redmont. The castle was made to be impenetrable, no one other than known people or guards entering. Bribes rarely worked, as traitors were hunted down with a vengeance and the pay the guards already got was rather high.

Apparently the man who was capturing him was very good at his job, and had either crept past the guards (not likely), or bribed them (likely), or distracted them somehow (possible), but the last one meant that the traitor would have to be someone the guards knew.

"Sit up, slowly. And if you make a sound, you're dead." The knife came a bit closer, tickling his skin uncomfortably. This man wasn't joking with his death threats, Halt noted, and complied, admittedly taking his time, but no one was counting and the man didn't seem to care.

Slowly, Halt sat up, the knife moving with him. "Hands in front of you." Was the next order, and Halt unwillingly obeyed, again, slower than usual. The knife slipped away, only for a second, then Halt found its point poking his chest, not gently, as the man roughly and tightly tied his wrists together. He must have been holding the knife between his wrists, which was a difficult trick to manage when actively moving his hands, so his capturer had some skill in his trade.

Halt tried the oldest trick in the book and clenched his fists, but the man was wise to such tricks, and hit Halt's knuckles with the sharp blade of his knife, drawing a line of blood. Halt was startled by the sudden pain but did not cry out as blood started to flow out of the cut. He quickly relaxed his hands, and the man tightened the knots.

"Now, up. Don't try running, I'll catch you with my throwing knife." With a sinking heart, Halt knew his captor's words were true. Running with bound hands was just a bad idea, and if the man had a throwing knife, then running meant death. Of course, the man could be bluffing, but Halt wasn't going to risk it, that was a terrible idea.

Halt knocked back the covers of his bed gently, careful to get a tiny amount of blood onto his sheets to leave as clues for Crowley to track, though he winced while doing so. Crowley was asleep in the next room over since Halt was visiting him at Castle Araluen, but Halt wasn't going to call out to him and risk his own death. He swung his legs off the bed, then stood up, the knife moving to a position behind his shoulder.

Halt was tempted to try to disarm him, but he had no idea what other weapons his unseen capturer had with him, and didn't try anything, standing there in the dark, struggling to remain calm. He rarely got caught, and hated it when he did get caught and detained, but he'd never been captured when he wasn't on a mission before, and when he was entirely unprepared. Or his preparation had been undone by the man he was being captured by.

The man grabbed Halt's arm and directed him out of the dark room into the corridor, which was lit up by the open window at the end of the hallway. He led Halt to the window, past Crowley's room and a few other rooms, shadowy doorways with oakwood doors. There was no one to be seen in the hallway, and no one saw them leave, the guards responding to a fire on the other side of the castle and temporarily off their posts.

Halt twisted his head to snatch a glance at the man behind him, but all he learned from the glance was that he was dressed in dark clothes, with the hood up and cowl covering his face completely. He didn't have time to look for any weapons, but he didn't see any glaringly obvious ones, like a longbow. Halt was led to the window, where he realized a rope was tied, leading down the wall to a gate through the castle walls. This really was a security hazard that Duncan needed to know about. "Down."

Halt obeyed, thinking if the man took time to slide down the rope he could try to run away, but the man was sliding down as soon as Halt let go of the rope, giving Halt no chance to run. He shrugged to himself at the futility of his situation, the captor ignoring the small motion entirely.

His captor walked over to Halt and grabbed his wrists, brushing Halt's cut carelessly, ignoring his wince of pain as he tied a longer rope to Halt's wrists, making a leash so Halt escape without any sort of sharp item, of which he had none. He had a fleeting wish that his oakleaf had a sharp edge - it would be an interesting idea to bring up to Crowley - if he made it back - but he knew it wouldn't be practical, he'd stab himself when the oakleaf twisted under his shirt.

Now the captor finally sheathed the knife and tied a loop of the rope around one of his own wrists, so Halt couldn't flee, before turning and striding off towards the gate. Halt had to follow, ignoring the cut dripping blood down his fingers. But now he finally got a view at his captor, even if it was only from the back.

He wore a long dark grey cloak, good for blending in inside castles but not so good for forests, though in the dark it would be good enough. He was around Crowley's height - so not very tall, but still taller than Halt. He had a sword at his waist, a pack on his back and an unstrung recurve bow and quiver of arrows - it hadn't peeked over his shoulder like a longbow would, so Halt hadn't noticed it earlier. Halt had seen when the man slid down the rope that the man had a piece of cloth like a shawl under his cloak that covered his hair entirely from sight, and a bandanna covering his nose and mouth, leaving only his eyes visible.

They went through the unlocked gate and into the forest, which was at first familiar to Halt, but eventually, they got far enough away that he stopped recognizing the trees from his and Crowley's hunting trips, and grew bored of identifying the trees by their bark and leaves - one of the pointless things he'd learned as a prince - and concentrated on the walking along on leaves and twigs, watching his step so he wouldn't twist an ankle.

His captor walked entirely silently, barely disturbing the ground, and it made Halt wonder at the man. Had he been a hunter or poacher before he decided that working for whoever wanted Halt dead or captured paid better? But Halt could only hypothesize, and he gave up on that pretty quickly, and returned plotting a way to escape.

But there was none. They ended up walking for hours, till the sun started to rise, and Halt was exhausted, his head hanging slightly as he tried to hide the extent of his exhaustion. Halt had been on a tiring mission with Crowley the day before and hadn't gotten much sleep before he was captured. Now after a good night of walking through the forest, Halt was tired.

The man tied Halt's back to a tree, winding rope around him tightly, but allowed him to him sit down and rest. He himself ate, bread, cheese and water, while seated on a rock watching the forest in silence, but he didn't offer Halt any, and Halt didn't humble himself to ask for any.

Halt was a trained Ranger, and he quickly forced himself to fall asleep, knowing he'd need the rest no matter how much his instincts screamed for him to stay awake and watch his captor.