But Bacari knew the trick too. He had used it himself, many times. And now he simply stepped to one side and the saxe went spinning past him. He laughed.
He was still laughing when Will's throwing knife, drawn and thrown the moment the saxe had left his hand, buried itself in his heart. He looked down and saw it for a fraction of a second before his sight went black and his legs collapsed underneath him.
'I don't need you alive any more,' Will said coldly. Forty-one The small red deer bent its head to the grass to eat. Then some instinct warned it and the head came up again, the large ears twitching to catch any faint sound, the nose quivering for any scent of danger. Its senses told it that danger lay to the left, downwind, and it began to turn its head in that direction.
It was the last move it would make. The arrow came out of nowhere, hissing through the air and burying its razor-sharp broadhead in the animal's heart. With a low grunt of surprise, it tried to gather its hind legs under it to spring away. But there was no strength left in them and the little animal buckled to the grass.
Will rose from concealment, pushing back the cowl of his cloak. After so long on the road, they were short of food. The deer would give them fresh meat and strips to dry over the fire as well. He felt a faint sense of regret at having to kill the beautiful animal, but knew it was necessary.
Quickly, he field-dressed the deer where it lay. He whistled and Tug appeared from a clump of trees a hundred metres away, trotting towards him. He looked at the deer, which they had been stalking for over two hours.
It's not very big. Is that the best you could do?
'No sense killing more meat than we need,' Will told him. But he could see the little horse was unconvinced. He tied the deer's carcass behind the saddle and mounted up for the ride back to their camp in the trees.
Two days had passed since his final confrontation with Bacari. In that time, he had been amazed by the speed of Halt's recovery. The grey-bearded Ranger was still weak, of course. That was a result of the after-effects of the strain the poison had placed upon his body, and the fact that for several days he had eaten little but a few mouthfuls of broth.
But the fever, the disorientation, the morbid swelling and discolouration of his arm were all long gone. He was his old self again, and chafing to be back on the road.
In this matter, Malcolm had objected.
'You need rest. Complete rest for at least four days. Otherwise, you're likely to have a relapse,' he told Halt, in a firm tone that brooked no argument.
Of course, Will knew, Halt would have argued in any other situation, regardless of Malcolm's tone of voice. But he seemed to be deferring to Malcolm's judgement, at least for the time being.
There was another problem that had been weighing on Will's mind. He felt he should escort Malcolm back to Grimsdell. The healer's work was finished here and Will knew he had other responsibilities back in the dark forest that he called home. The road to Macindaw was an uncertain one, through wild, potentially dangerous territory, and Will felt an obligation to see Malcolm safely home. After all, he thought, the little healer had no weapons skills and his field craft was virtually nonexistent. But to do so would only delay their pursuit of Tennyson even longer.
It was Malcolm who solved the problem when Will had tentatively raised the subject with him.
'I'm coming with you,' he said simply.
That possibility hadn't occurred to Will. He stopped, a little surprised. Then he saw several problems with the idea.
'But Malcolm, it's going to be dangerous…'
The healer's lip curled. 'Oh deary, deary me,' he said, in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice. 'I'm so frightened. Perhaps I should throw my apron over my head and burst into tears.'
Will made a placating gesture, realising that his remark could have been taken as insulting. Realising, in fact, that it had been taken as insulting.
'That's not what I meant,' he began and Malcolm seized on his words.
'Oh? So you mean it's not going to be dangerous? Then there's no problem if I come along, is there?'
'No. I meant… I mean, I'm not questioning your courage…'
'I'm glad to hear it,' Malcolm said coldly. 'Exactly what are you questioning then?'
'Look, it's just…' Will paused, aware that he should choose his words carefully. He hadn't seen this acerbic side of Malcolm's nature before. He didn't want to make him angry again. Malcolm gestured for him to continue. 'I mean, we'll probably have to fight them and you're not…' Malcolm's brows drew together. Will had always thought of the little man as bird-like. Now, with those drawn brows, balding head and beaked nose, he looked positively vulturine.
'What, precisely, am I not?' he asked. Will was beginning to wish he had never begun this conversation but it was too late now to go back.
'I mean to say… you're not a warrior, are you?' It was weak, he knew. But Malcolm could hardly dispute the fact.
'So you're worried that I'll be a burden to you?' Malcolm asked. 'You'll have to look after me when the fighting starts?'
'No!' Will said. But he said it too quickly. In fact, that was exactly what he was worried about. Malcolm said nothing for a few seconds, simply raised one eyebrow in disbelief. Will found himself wishing that people would stop using that facial expression. It was becoming overdone.
'May I remind you,' Malcolm said finally, ' that I have been known to reduce a big, brave, famous Ranger to a state of near-gibbering terror?'
'Well, that's a bit rich,' Will said hotly. 'I certainly wasn't gibbering!'
'You weren't far from it,' Malcolm pointed out and Will's mind flashed back to that night in Grimsdell Wood, where voices spoke to him out of the dark, threatening and warning him. And where a gigantic figure suddenly towered over him in the mist. He had to admit Malcolm was right. He hadn't been far from it.
'Look, Will,' Malcolm continued, in a more conciliatory tone, 'I'm not a warrior, that's true. But I've survived in a hostile world for quite a few years. I have methods of my own. And there's another point. There's Halt.'
He saw that got Will's attention. The young Ranger's head came up, a worried look on his face, as if he suddenly feared that Malcolm had been hiding something about Halt's condition.
'Halt? What about him? He's all right now, isn't he?'
Malcolm raised his hand to allay Will's concern.
'He's fine. He's doing very well. But he is weak still. And from what I've seen of him, he's going to want to start out after this Tennyson person much sooner than he should. Am I right?'
Will hesitated. He didn't want to be disloyal to Halt, but he sensed that Malcolm was spot on.
'Yes. Probably,' he admitted.
Malcolm nodded several times. 'Just so. Well, he's a patient of mine. And I feel a sense of responsibility to him. I'm not going to ride off and let him undo all my good work. I need to be with you to keep an eye on him.'
Will considered what he had said for some time. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Finally, he nodded.
'All right,' he said. Then he smiled. 'I'll be glad to have you along.'
Malcolm smiled in return. 'I promise you, Will, I can look after myself. And who knows? I might even surprise you and make myself useful.'
For the past few days, when he wasn't checking on Halt, Malcolm had taken himself away from the camp site and built a small fire. He busied himself mixing and boiling potions and drying them out in the sun and over hot rocks to form a brownish powdery residue. As he worked, an acrid smell rose from the chemicals. Whenever Will asked him what he was doing, the little man had smiled enigmatically.
'Just making myself useful, that's all,' he would reply.