Halt's Test (Gone Wrong)

Chapter 2

Halt woke up at dusk, still tired and very uncomfortable as the bark dug painfully into his back and he was cold. He missed his warm cloak, which lay draped across the back of his chair back in his room, with all his weapons. Any one of the weapons would have served to take down his captor, though he'd have needed a sharp weapon to cut his way through the rope around him, so not his strikers.

Though he could have thrown his strikers, his hands were bound in front of him, in his lap, and he could manage a throw, though it likely would have missed or not caused enough damage.

He hadn't slept particularly well either, and had kept waking throughout the day, partially because the sun kept waking him up, and partially because he was nervous. By contrast, his captor seemed to have had a good day of sleep, as he seemed to not be tired as he packed up his bed roll and had another meal.

Halt yawned. He was thirsty but didn't want to degrade himself to begging for water just yet, so he didn't say anything to the man who'd captured him. The man cut Halt loose from the tree and checked his knots around Halt's wrist. Halt resisted the temptation to punch his captor in the nose with his bound hands, it would do nothing except bring him trouble.

Halt's cut across his knuckles had scabbed, and Halt had to keep it in a loosely relaxed position, or he'd break the scab, it'd start bleeding and it would hurt him. The blood had dried around his fingers annoyingly, but he couldn't do anything to it until the wound was properly scabbed, as he couldn't clean it and bandage it. It would scar, and it might get infected, and Halt couldn't think of anything worse than being captured and done who knows what to and being sick.

His only hope was Crowley. Where on earth the man was and why he hadn't reached Halt was a question Halt couldn't answer - he tried his hardest to avoid the thought, which was more and more likely now, that the man had done something to Crowley, drugged him or hurt him badly or killed him in his sleep.

Killing Crowley was really the only sensible answer, but Halt tried his hardest not to believe it. His friend couldn't be dead, he couldn't believe the Commandant and one of the most proficient weapon's masters in the world would be taken down by a simple assassin. But he'd been captured by that same assassin, so maybe it wasn't so unlikely.

He shuddered, thinking of what could have happened. This was a serious problem for Araluen. If they could capture a Ranger and walk right in and out of Araluen, then King Duncan was in great danger. And without Crowley...

Halt was forced to walk that all night and rest by day. He found sleeping during the day unnatural, but he had no choice about it, so he tried to sleep. The sun made his sleep patchy, when it reached his face past the leaves it woke him, and so he felt very tired as he walked. Eventually he resigned himself and asked his captor for water, his parched throat grating as he formed the words. He was silently given water, not much water at all, a cupful, but Halt had worked with less. It was water, that was all he'd need.

At dawn, they settled down to rest on their second day of traveling. The man ate, but this time he gave Halt some food and water, so little that Halt privately nicknamed his portion 'Starvation Rations'. It was very little, when you think about the fact that Halt had spent the night walking and that was his biggest meal that day.

But Halt was a Ranger, he wasn't going to whine or complain like others might have. His captor settled down to sleep on his bedroll, while Halt tried his hardest to sleep while tied to a hard tree in the cold. If he hadn't been a Ranger, that would be an impossible task.

It was around noon when Halt woke suddenly, a cry of fright dying in his throat as he desperately gasped for breath, heart racing as he stared around in confusion, trying to distinguish the real world from the fake. His gasps slowed as he realized where he was, and tried not to wake his captor.

To his surprise, he noted his captor was already awake, dark eyes fixed on Halt from under his hood, expression hidden beneath his mask. Halt ignored him, busy trying to slow his racing heart and desperate gasps for air as he calmed himself down, reminding himself where he was, and that the nightmare wasn't real.

As he returned to rational thought, Halt groaned to himself, letting his head relax against the tree. His nightmares had returned. He hadn't had them for over a year, not since Morgarath and the battle of Hackham Heath, and they were now returning back again. They were frightening nightmares, ones that made even Halt, who was the width of a bear and twice as tall, afraid to sleep. He was more afraid of sleeping than of being exhausted as he walked that night, so he stayed awake that day.

His captor returned to sleep, seeming slightly conflicted - or maybe it was worry, but that wasn't likely - and Halt glanced around the forest, spotting scurrying squirrels scampering up shady trees. The sun was out, but little showed in the forest beneath the trees. The fallen leaves decorated the forest floor liberally, and fallen branches lay around the trees lazily.

Halt contented himself watching the squirrels gathering nuts after he'd given up trying to escape or scheming ways to make his captor pay. He was trying to avoid both thoughts of Crowley's potential demise and reliving his dreaded nightmare.

Eventually the sun began to go down, the forest shaded in shadow once more, and Halt's captor woke up, fed Halt his Starvation Rations, untied him and they began the walk again.