Hey!

Sorry for the late update! Even though I am on lock down and stuck at home, my parents don't allow me to spend a lot of time on my laptop and that's where I write and publish. Most of the time, I'm on my phone. Shout-out to @Poseiden_Rules because they are simply a legend and have been with this story since the dawn of time. Sorry for the wait.

- Silver

-------------------------------------------------------------

'All right, candidates! This way! And look lively!'. The speaker, or more correctly the shouter, was Martin, secretary to Baron Arald. As his voice echoed around the anteroom, the five wards rose uncertainly from the long wooden benches where they had been seated. Suddenly nervous now that the day had finally arrived, they began to shuffle forward, each one reluctant to be the first through the great ironbound door that Martin now held open for them.

'Come on, come on!' Martin bellowed impatiently and Alyss finally elected to lead the way, as Will had guessed she would. The others followed the willowy blonde girl. Now that someone had decided to lead, the rest of them were content to follow. "What a raggle-taggle bunch of kids you were!" laughed Cassandra.

Will looked around curiously as he entered the Baron's study. He'd never been in this part of the castle before. This tower, containing the administrative section, and the Baron's private apartments, was seldom visited by those of low rank – such as castle wards. The room was huge. The ceiling seemed to tower above him, and the walls were constructed of massive stone blocks, fitted together with only the barest lines of mortar between them. On the eastern wall was a huge window space – open to the elements but with massive wooden shutters that could be closed in the event of bad weather. It was the same window he had seen through last night, he realised. 'That's some deduction skills." Thought Gilian. 'No wonder he managed to ransack Macaindaw.'

Today, sunlight streamed in and fell on the huge oak table that Baron Arald used as a desk. 'Come on now! Stand in line, stand in line!' Martin seemed to be enjoying his moment of authority. The group shuffled slowly into line and he studied them, his mouth twisted in disapproval. 'In size place! Tallest this end!' He indicated the end where he wanted the tallest of the five to stand. Gradually, the group rearranged itself. Horace, of course, was the tallest. After him, Alyss took her position. Then George, half a head shorter than she and painfully thin. He stood in his usual stoop-shouldered posture. Will and Jenny hesitated. Jenny smiled at Will and gestured for him to go before her, even though she was possibly an inch taller than he was. That was typical of Jenny. She knew how Will agonised over the fact that he was the smallest of all the castle wards. "Don't worry Will, all rangers are small. Just think of it as fun sized. Like old Halt here!" exclaimed Gilian.

As Will moved into the line, Martin's voice stopped him. 'Not you! The girl's next.' Jenny shrugged apologetically and moved into the place Martin had indicated. Will took the last place in the line, wishing Martin hadn't made his lack of height so apparent. 'Come on! Smarten up, smarten up! Let's see you at attention there,' Martin continued, then broke off as a deep voice interrupted him. 'I don't believe that's totally necessary, Martin.' It was Baron Arald, who had entered, unobserved, by way of a smaller door behind his massive desk.

Now it was Martin who brought himself to what he considered to be a position of attention, with his skinny elbows held out from his sides, his heels forced together so that his unmistakably bowed legs were

widely separated at the knees, and his head thrown back. Baron Arald raised his eyes to heaven. Sometimes his secretary's zeal on these occasions could be a little overwhelming. The Baron was a big man, broad in shoulder and waist and heavily muscled, as was necessary for a knight of the realm. "See Will you need real muscles." Jokingly jabbed Horace.

Will looked like he was hiding a smirk as he continued to build a small fort around him with pillows.

It was well known, however, that Baron Arald was fond of his food and drink, so his considerable bulk was not totally attributable to muscle. "Ha," snorted Will.

He had a short, neatly trimmed black beard that, like his hair, was beginning to show the traces of grey that went with his forty-two years. He had a strong jaw, a large nose and dark, piercing eyes under heavy brows. It was a powerful face, but not an unkind one, Will thought. There was a surprising hint of humour in those dark eyes. Will had noted it before, on the occasions when Arald had made his infrequent visits to the wards' quarters to see how their lessons and personal development were progressing.

'Sir!' Martin said at top volume, causing the Baron to wince slightly. 'The candidates are assembled!' 'I can see that,' Baron Arald replied patiently. 'Perhaps you might be good enough to ask the Craftmasters to step in as well?' 'Sir!' Martin responded, making an attempt to click his heels together. As he was wearing shoes of a soft, pliable leather, the attempt was doomed to failure. He marched towards the main door of the study, all elbows and knees. Will was reminded of a rooster. As Martin laid his hand on the door handle, the Baron stopped him once more. 'Martin?' he said softly. As the secretary turned an inquiring look back at him, he continued in the same quiet tone, 'Ask them. Don't bellow at them. Craftmasters don't like that.' "Of course, they won't. How would you like getting yelled at." Said an affronted Tug.

'Yes, sir,' said Martin, looking somewhat deflated. He opened the door and, making an obvious effort to speak in a lower tone, said, 'Craftmasters. The Baron is ready now.' The Craftschool heads entered the room in no particular order of precedence. As a group, they admired and respected each other and so rarely stood on strict ceremonial procedure.

Sir Rodney, head of the Battleschool, came first. Horace smiled at this.

Tall and broad-shouldered like the Baron, he wore the standard battledress of chain mail shirt under a white surcoat emblazoned with his own crest, a scarlet wolf's head. He had earned that crest as a young man, fighting the wolfships of the Skandian sea raiders who constantly harried the Kingdom's east coast. At least not constantly now! Laughed Blaze with the other horses.

He wore a sword belt and sword, of course. No knight would be seen in public without one. At this, both Gilian and Horace fingered the swords at their belts.

He was around the Baron's age, with blue eyes and a face that would have been remarkably handsome if it weren't for the massively broken nose. He sported an enormous moustache but, unlike the Baron, he had no beard.

Next came Ulf, the Horsemaster, responsible for the care and training of the castle's mighty battlehorses. He had keen brown eyes, strong, muscular forearms and heavy wrists. He wore a simple leather vest over his woollen shirt and leggings. Tall riding boots of soft leather reached up past his knees. Lady Pauline followed Ulf. Alyss smiled now.

Slim, grey-haired and elegant, she had been a considerable beauty in her youth and still had the grace and style to turn men's heads. Lady Pauline, who had been awarded the title in her own right for her work in foreign policy for the Kingdom, was head of the Diplomatic Service in Redmont. Baron Arald regarded her abilities highly and she was one of his close confidants and advisers. Arald often said that girls made the best recruits to the Diplomatic Service. "Of course, they are. The diplomatic service doesn't have to deal with these idiots." Commented Halt staring at Gilian and Will who was nearly invisible from under the pillows.

They tended to be more subtle than boys, who gravitated naturally to Battleschool. And while boys constantly looked to physical means as the way of solving problems, girls could be depended on to use their wits. At this, all the women in the room all smiled and nodded as well as Halt.

It was perhaps only natural that Nigel, the Scribemaster, followed close behind Lady Pauline. Halt frowned here but quickly hid it as he heard Will and Gillian's sniggering.

They had been discussing matters of mutual interest while they waited for Martin to summon them. Nigel and Lady Pauline were close friends as well as professional colleagues. It was Nigel's trained scribes who prepared the official documents and communiqués that were so often delivered by Lady Pauline's diplomats. Alyss smiled here as she thought of all the times that she had helped George and vice versa.

He also advised on the exact wording of such documents, having an extensive background in legal matters. Nigel was a small, wiry man with a quick, inquisitive face that reminded Will of a ferret. The whole room burst out laughing here. "Will why did you never tell us you were so funny!' laughed Horace with tears.

"I thought was obvious because of my sparkling personality and good looks." Proudly sniggered Will from his miniature fort.

His hair was glossy black, his features were thin, and his dark eyes never ceased roaming the room. Master Chubb, the Head Chef, came in last of all. Inevitably, he was a fat, round-bellied man, wearing a cook's white jacket and tall hat. He was known to have a terrible temper that could flare as quickly as oil spilt on a fire, and most of the wards treated him with considerable caution. Florid-faced and with red, rapidly receding hair, Master Chubb carried a wooden ladle with him wherever he went. It was an unofficial staff of office. All the wards collectively winced at the mention of his ladle. They had all been subjected to it's might more than once; even well-mannered Alyss.

It was also used quite often as an offensive weapon, landing with a resounding crack on the heads of careless, forgetful, or slow-moving kitchen apprentices. "They should train battleschool students in with the ladle. It's a fearsome weapon." Sombrely commented Horace. The other wards present agreed with Gilian.

Alone among the wards, Jennifer saw Chubb as something of a hero. It was her avowed intention to work for him and learn his skills, wooden ladle or no wooden ladle. There were other Craftmasters, of course. The Armourer and the Blacksmith were two. "None of which would fit me," muffled out Will from his pillow fort that had suddenly expanded.

'Where are those pillows coming from?' questioned the others present, but, unbeknownst to them, Alice and Sylva were secretly passing Will some pillows.

But only those Craftmasters who currently had vacancies for new apprentices would be represented today. 'The Craftmasters are assembled, sir!' Martin said, his voice rising in volume. Martin seemed to equate volume and the importance of the occasion in direct proportion. "Someone I knew was like that," commented Cassandra. "I think his name was Harold."

Once again, the Baron raised his eyes to heaven. 'So, I see,' he said quietly, then added, in a more formal tone, 'Good morning, Lady Pauline. Good morning, gentlemen.' They replied and the Baron turned to Martin once more. 'Perhaps we might proceed?' Martin nodded several times, consulted a sheaf of notes he held in one hand and marched to confront the line of candidates. 'Right, the Baron's waiting! The Baron's waiting! Who's first?' Will, eyes down, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, suddenly had the strange sensation that someone was watching him. Gilian and Halt looked on in interest here and started to converse quietly. "No wonder he was the one to always find Crowley and Me." Gillian commented to the room.

He looked up and actually started with surprise as he met the dark, unfathomable gaze of Halt, the Ranger. Halt let out a small smile at the description.

Will hadn't seen him come into the room. " Good to see you haven't lost your touch." Commented Gillian.

He realised that the mysterious figure must have slipped in through a side door while everyone's attention was on the Craftmasters as they made their entrance. "But wait! It seems that you may have been predictable!" crowed Will.

Now he stood, behind the Baron's chair and slightly to one side, dressed in his usual brown and grey clothes and wrapped in his long, mottled grey and green Ranger's cloak. Halt was an unnerving person. He had a habit of coming up on you when you least expected it – and you never heard his approach. The superstitious villagers believed that Rangers practised a form of magic that made them invisible to ordinary people. The ranger's in the room smiled at the description; glad to see their reputation at work.

Will wasn't sure if he believed that – but he wasn't sure he disbelieved it either. "Awwwwww. Is wittle Willy afraid of the big bad Rangers?" Crooned Horace Jokingly.

"Ha Ha... Very funny Horace," replied Will.

He wondered why Halt was here today. He wasn't recognised as one of the Craftmasters and, as far as Will knew, he hadn't attended a Choosing session prior to this one. Abruptly, Halt's gaze cut away from him and it was as if a light had been turned off. Will realised that Martin was talking once more. He noticed that the secretary had a habit of repeat repeating statements, as if he were followed by his own personal echo. 'Now then, who's first? Who's first?' The Baron sighed audibly. 'Why don't we take the first in line?' he suggested in a reasonable tone, and Martin nodded several times. 'Of course, my lord. Of course. First in line, step forward and face the Baron.'

After a moment's hesitation, Horace stepped forward out of the line and stood at attention. The Baron studied him for a few seconds. 'Name?' he said, and Horace answered, stumbling slightly over the correct method of address for the Baron. 'Horace Altman, sir ... my lord.' 'And do you have a preference, Horace?' the Baron asked, with the air of one who knows what the answer is going to be before hearing it. 'Battleschool, sir!' Horace said firmly. "Of Course," commented the room.
The Baron nodded. He'd expected as much.

He glanced at Rodney, who was studying the boy thoughtfully, assessing his suitability. 'Battle master?' the Baron said. Normally he would address Rodney by his first name, not his title. But this was a formal occasion. By the same token, Rodney would usually address the Baron as 'sir'. But on a day like today, 'my lord' was the proper form. "That kind of thing happens a lot at the castle," commented Cassandra. "It gets really annoying!"

The big knight stepped forward, his chain mail and spurs chinking slightly as he moved closer to Horace. He eyed the boy up and down, then moved behind him. Horace's head started to turn with him. 'Still,' Sir Rodney said, and the boy ceased his movement, staring straight ahead. 'Looks strong enough, my lord, and I can always use new trainees.' "We should just bury the enemy in paperwork," mumbled the ranger's and Horace.

He rubbed one hand over his chin. 'You ride, Horace Altman?' "Do I?" asked Horace sarcastically.

A look of uncertainty crossed Horace's face as he realised this might be a hurdle to his selection. 'No, sir. I ...' He was about to add that castle wards had little chance to learn to ride but Sir Rodney interrupted him. 'No matter. That can be taught.' "And that's where I met Kicker." Added Horace.

The big knight looked at the Baron and nodded. 'Very well, my lord. I'll take him for Battleschool, subject to the usual three-month probationary period.' Those not subjected to battleschool looked confused at that.

The Baron made a note on a sheet of paper before him and smiled briefly at the delighted, and very relieved, youth before him. 'Congratulations, Horace. Report to Battleschool tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock sharp.' "Now I wish I had to get up that late..." mumbled Horace and Will who were a trifle fond of their sleep.

'Yes, sir!' Horace replied, grinning widely. He turned to Sir Rodney and bowed slightly. 'Thank you, sir!' 'Don't thank me yet,' the knight replied cryptically. 'You don't know what you're in for.' "And didn't I know it?" laughed Horace while Gilian joined in. "By the way, where's Will? I don't think I've seen him in a while. The group turned around and found a miniature castle made completely of pillows and blankets with Will sitting in the middle.

"Now who's the king of the castle?" asked Will. The others shook their heads at the young ranger's silliness.