Relax? he repeated incredulously. You're going to fight an armored knight with nothing more than a bow and you tell me to relax? I'll have one or two arrows as well, you know, Halt told him mildly, and Horace shook his head in disbelief.

Halt regarded him. He loved Horace like a younger brother. Even like a second son, after Will. He admired his skill with a sword and his courage in battle. But sometimes, just sometimes, he felt an overwhelming desire to ram the young warrior's head against a convenient tree. "You have no sense of drama or symbolism, do you?" he asked. "Huh?" replied Horace, not quite understanding. Halt looked around for a convenient tree. Luckily for Horace, there were none in sight.

I am the lord of Redmont Fief. He is my tenant. I am his commander. End of story. Ipso facto. Case-o closed-o.

Horace, who had been trying to find out the meaning of Kurokuma for some time now, was pleased to hear the translation. "Black bear," he repeated. "It's undoubtedly because I'm so terrible in battle." "I'd guess so," Will put in. "I've seen you in battle and you're definitely terrible.

So I sent Halt to straighten matters out. Thought it might be a good idea to give him something to keep him busy." So what's Digby got to complain about?" Rodney asked. It was obvious from his tone that he felt no sympathy for the recalcitrant commander of Barga Hold. The Baron gestured for Lady Pauline to explain. Apparently," she said,"Halt threw him into the moat.

It formed into small drops on his weather beaten features, drops that rolled down his cheeks. Strangely, some of them tasted like salt.

A hundred people is rather a large handful for the four of us to take on," Malcolm pointed out. "Do you have any ideas about how we're going to handle that task?" "Simple," Halt told him. "We'll surround them.