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On the last night of his life, Halt could not sleep.
He sat in the darkness, his back leaning against a rough stone wall, his shoulders shuddering slightly. The air was chilly, almost cold now, a sharp contrast from the suffocating heat of the day. His face was a swollen mask, a jumble of throbbing pain intertwined with odd numbness; it felt strangely detached, as if it didn't belong to him anymore.
He listened to the even breathing of his friends. Erak and Svengal were snoring soundly, never bothered by what tomorrow would bring. Horace and Cassandra lay wrapped in each other's arms, no longer caring how inappropriate it might look; they'd been talking in hushed whispers for a long time after the sun had set, but finally they'd settled, exhaustion and strain of the past week taking hold. Selethen had remained awake for the first half of the night, keeping his silence, possibly ruminating over the recent events just like Halt was now. In the end, he too was able to muster enough peace of mind to find some rest. And Gilan — Gilan slept fitfully, tossing and turning, waking and falling back asleep with the same restlessness he'd exhibited in the daylight. Halt, though...
He'd failed all of them.
All of them, and more.
And because of this, in spite of his Ranger training and better judgment, he found himself hopelessly, insuperably awake. It was not grave danger and dire prospects they were facing — to those, he became used long ago. What kept him up was not the future. It was the past.
He replayed it in his head over and over again, trying to find the turning point when everything went irreparably wrong. To find the mistake.
The mission was an utter and complete disaster. It still felt bizarrely unreal, as if his mind could not quite conceive such a horrendous blunder to be the actual state of affairs instead of a mere possibility. Of course there had been screw-ups — plenty, in fact. There always were. But the truth of it, plain and simple, was that while he'd lost a fair share of battles, he was yet to lose a war.
This might not be a big one, as wars go, but it was no less fatal.
The treaty with Skandia broken, Gilan and he killed, the Crown Princess imprisoned, possibly executed as well, and hell only knew what other sorts of calamity. And that was not even the full scope of his failure.
Not for the first time this night, his thoughts circled back to Pauline. His wife. All those years he hadn't had as much as a sliver of hope, and now it was true. Pity, it ended right after it began. The wedding was still as vivid and fresh in his memory as if it'd happened yesterday, and so distant it could've been a lifetime away. He should be back there with her. It was their honeymoon after all, wasn't it?
The notion was so ridiculous he might've actually laughed, if not for his wrecked face.
They should be making up for the time they'd lost. It seemed what they'd got was all they would have.
And it was supposed to be an easy mission. Oh, Pauline. Have I not told you I don't have enough courage for diplomacy? She'd always been so strong. Stronger than he could even pretend to be. It brought a tinge of solace, to know she would be able to pull through.
If only he could have the same certainty with Crowley.
A bird chirped outside, some kind he didn't recognize. A sign that dawn was slowly approaching upon them.
Maybe at least Will was alright. Maybe. He wished dearly he could truly convince himself of it, but it was not easy. Not when he'd sent him alone, and certainly not after he'd realized-
It was their third day in captivity, one filled to the brim with scorching sun, debilitating heat and mind-numbing march over unchanging dusty ground. There was no warning, no premonition. One moment it just hit him, with clarity of the summer sky and force of a charging battlehorse.
Red Rocks. Redmont. The similarity so blatantly obvious it was almost impossible to miss.
And yet he'd missed it.
He stumbled and fell to his knees, too stunned to react when the rope around his wrists pulled him forward. He didn't care. He barely even noticed. Soon he felt kicks landing on his ribs, along with another jerk on the rope, more violent this time. It didn't matter, because all he saw was his apprentice, dying of sunstroke and dehydration somewhere in the middle of a desert.
If Will was not careful enough...
No. Will was fine, because he had to be. All those years as Ranger had taught Halt that hope was hollow, and yet he still, astonishingly, believed. And this strange faith, which his heart stubbornly refused to relinquish, even while his mind mocked its wishful naivety, whispered to him another old truth — that anything may happen anytime, and until the very last moment, tables could still turn.
A soft rustling of clothes came from where Gilan lay, soon followed by a sound of approaching footsteps. Not quite a sound, in fact. Just a feeling. His former apprentice was without peer when it came to silent movement, but then, Halt's defenses were well honed by years of Gilan's and Crowley's unceasing attempts at sneaking up on him.
"Gilan," he whispered a greeting, letting just a tad of amusement seep into his voice. "Weren't such an early bird in the days of yore, were you?"
Not bothering to grace him with a reply, Gilan plopped down beside his former mentor, so close their arms brushed, and only then launched a counterattack.
"Bold words for someone who hasn't slept at all this night."
"How would you know I haven't?"
"Just a feeling," Gilan said with a barely perceptible shrug. "Have you?"
"No. Though if you are as tired as you sound I have nothing to regret, for apparently sleep is grossly overrated."
"Perhaps it didn't work very well, but at least I've made an effort."
"And where has it brought you? Right where I am."
"Fair point," Gilan conceded, sounding decidedly unrested.
There was a moment of silence, but as Halt knew well enough, it could not last very long with any of his apprentices around. The inevitably incoming question was almost tangible.
He didn't have to wait long.
"So, what's the plan?"
Oh, Gilan. I should have never let you trust me so much.
"There is no plan."
They were sitting so close that Halt was actually able to sense the younger man's body tensing at his words.
"But we can't just give up! We have to do something."
"We will. We will do all we can. As always."
He could tell that his friend was not satisfied in the slightest. No wonder; he himself was also far from pleased. They both were painfully aware that in their current predicament all they could do was hardly going to be enough.
"Like what, exactly? What now, Halt?" His voice was bitter at first, but soon faded into a quieter, more desperate tone. Halt wasn't sure which hurt more.
"We may not know nearly enough to come up with as much as a half-usable plan, but reckless improvisation never really went out of style."
"Quite," Gilan concurred with grim amusement. It was completely dark in their improvised cell, yet somehow Halt knew with unwavering certainty that a defeated smile had just appeared on Gilan's face.
"Just remember what our priorities are. First and foremost, save Cassandra. If her safety is secure, think about rescuing Erak. We really need this treaty, you know." It was true; though acquired in a rather haphazard way, the unlikely pact with Skandia had given Araluen the most peaceful period in living memory. Maybe ever. Pity, he had no idea how to prevent blowing it away.
"Protect the Princess, free the Oberjarl, evacuate everyone else at our leisure. Easy as pie."
Halt raised an eyebrow and immediately came to regret it — not only was it wasted as his former apprentice couldn't possibly see it, but also the eyebrow itself protested robustly with a sharp sting. He really wasn't going to become better at expressing emotions any time soon.
"If the baking successes during your apprenticeship are anything to go by, 'easy as pie' is indeed a highly accurate phrase to describe it. Particularly the time when you almost burned my house to the ground trying to make a cheesecake."
"That's an exaggeration."
"Right, it was much worse. I'd take decapitation over your cheesecake any day."
The young Ranger sniffed indignantly, but didn't say anything in his defense. Not that there was much for him to say — Gil's cooking skills were, in spite of Halt's incessant efforts back in the day, truly unredeemable.
The exchange brought a flood of memories. Things to laugh about, in the better times; now they felt bittersweet. There were quite a lot of them; both his apprentices seemed to have uncanny knacks for getting themselves into trouble. He wondered idly to what extent he himself was to be blamed for that.
Something changed in the surrounding darkness, the once-uniform impenetrable black divided into deep grey shadows of different shades. The contours of his sleeping friend remained at the verge of discernibility, flickering in and out of existence, as if they could disappear if he blinked.
"Do you really believe that, or did you just want to make us feel better?" Gilan suddenly asked, his voice unusually grave.
"What?"
"What you said to Cassandra. That Will will get here and — I don't know, save the day with a last moment rescue."
"I've always been fond of them, last moment rescues. They have a certain flair."
"But they’re not exactly common occurrences, are they?"
"No. Not like pointless deaths in provincial towns at the end of the world. Always plenty of those." Halt let his head fall backward until it touched the wall behind him. There was another thing that kept bothering him, and he wondered briefly whether he should mention it to Gilan. Finally, he added: "On the other hand, probabilities don't seem to work too well on this trip."
"What do you mean?"
"I've been thinking-"
"Always a dangerous pastime" Gilan threw in, but the familiar phrase lacked its regular bite. Instead, it was more like meeting an old friend you don't expect to see again anytime soon.
"Like we ever have any safe ones," muttered Halt with a soft sigh.
"True enough," the younger Ranger agreed, obviously stifling a chuckle. "So what was this thinking of yours about?"
"That day you went to spy on the Tualaghi camp. You said there were footprints of someone else. Right the next day, we've been attacked, and Yusal clearly had everything well planned. Suspicious, isn't it?"
"I see what you're getting at, but it's not possible," Gilan repudiated, indignation underlying his tone. "I covered my tracks well, not even you would be able to-"
"I know. That's not what I have in mind," Halt interjected calmly, and Gilan's budding harangue ceased immediately. "I know you did everything right. But did he?"
Gilan drew a sharp breath as he finally understood.
"That's not possible either. To lead them to us, he must have been- what, less than two hundred yards from us? — with the distance between our camps over ten miles. What was even the chance?"
"Exactly. And yet, there doesn't seem to be any better explanation."
Gilan had no answer to that.
"But if it was as you say," the young man began at last, slowly, his tone morose "then it is all my fault. What happened. What will happen. I should've gone after him."
"You know that's not true," Halt said, sounding unusually gentle, "You didn't even know for certain if it was someone, let alone how many of them. The risk was too high."
"Higher than this?" Gilan hissed, not even trying to keep anger out of his voice.
"No. But we couldn't have known it back then."
He sensed disagreement from his former apprentice, and he wasn't surprised. It would be difficult to accept for Gilan, just as it was for him.
"Gil, listen. For the last few days, I've been searching for a clear mistake, for a way we could've somehow predicted it, prevented it, almost constantly. And I found nothing — because there was nothing to be found. Nothing we could do."
Easier to say than to believe, of course.
He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He hated, hated with every fiber of his being that this was the best he had to offer to a man he loved more than life itself.
"I'm sorry. I should've never let it happen."
Quite unexpectedly, Gilan greeted it with a low chuckle.
"Have you just admitted it was not your fault and apologized for it nonetheless in the very next sentence?
"Of course not."
"Halt, you have no duty to protect me anymore."
"Duty? You know well enough I've never really cared much about any such nonsense. There's no way I wouldn't try to protect you."
Not that it'll do you much good this time.
He didn't say it aloud, but some part of it must have seeped into his tone. Or maybe his former apprentice simply knew him this well.
"At least it's not him," the young man muttered quietly, and Halt immediately knew where that came from, what it hid underneath, even if Gilan would never mention it in any but the most oblique way.
But maybe the time had come to state matters clearly, for once. There might not be any better. Or any at all, for that.
"It's true that Will is like a son to me," Halt paused, then corrected himself. "He is a son to me. More than a son, perhaps. But you are my little brother. My first apprentice — and there's nothing quite like the first time." A small smile crossed his face. "I learned from you as much as you've ever learned from me. Maybe more." Then he added, in a voice almost as low as a whisper, "Don't ever think I care any less about you."
There. He'd said it. It felt strange, though easier than he'd presumed it'd be. He anticipated a jibe about how sentimental he was getting, but there was only stunned silence.
A long moment had passed while nothing happened, and he began to wonder whether he hadn't gone too far - what was he really thinking, dumping this unsolicited over-the-top sincerity on his former apprentice? — but suddenly, before he could add anything more to fix this, Gilan laid his head on Halt's shoulder.
Too surprised to think about what he was doing, Halt instinctively stroked Gil's hair, like he'd done so many times, years ago. He was immediately flooded by a fresh wave of embarrassment and quickly retracted his hand, causing it to hover awkwardly in the air. Yet Gilan still didn't react, and after a while of hesitation. he let it fall back where it'd been.
"You've never replied," Gilan whispered, his voice muffled. "About Will. Do you believe he'll come?"
Halt hesitated, taken aback by the sudden question.
"I do," he said finally. And he meant it.
A spear of light crept under the bottom rim of the door to their prison, bringing sharp edges and distinct shadows out of uniform gloom. The sun had risen. The time of reminiscence was past, replaced by the ever-merciless future. Time to kill or be killed. They had been there already; they knew it by heart. For Rangers death was always close.
But here and now they were alive, and they were not going to go gently. They still had one more day. And that was all they needed.