Do you think you could put that boot back on?" he added mildly. "The window can only let in a limited ammount of fresh air and your socks are a tough ripe, to put it mildly." Oh, sorry!" said Horace, tugging the riding boot back on over his sock. Now that Halt mentioned it, he was aware of a rather strong odor in the room.

Gorlog's teeth!" Erak exclaimed, stunned at the numbers. "How many are there?" "Ten thousand, maybe twelve," Halt replied briefly. The Skandian let out a low whistle. "Are you sure? How can you tell?" It wasn't a sensible question, but Erak was overwhelmed by the size of the horse herd and he asked the question more for something to say than for any other reason. Halt looked at him dryly. "It's an old calvary trick," he said. "You count the legs and divide by four.

Don't worry, chief. We've got these Tualaghi surrounded - from the inside." "Exactly," Erak replied dryly.

As he poured carefully, Arrow's head turned toward the sound. The horse made a low grumbling noise in his throat. "Hold your horses," he said. The he laughed. It seemed absurd to say tat to a horse.

A minor fief had risen up against their cruel and avaricious lord, with hundreds of people surrounding his Manor house, threatening to burn it to the ground. The panicked nobleman's message for help was answered by the arrival of a single Ranger. Aghast, the nobleman confronted the solitary cowled figure. 'They sent one Ranger?' he said incredulously. 'One man?' 'How many riots do you have?' the Ranger replied.

Fanatics," Halt said. "Don't you just love 'em?

Halt snorted derisively. "Battleschool evidently isn't what it used to be," he replied. "It's a fine thing when an old man like me can sleep comfortably in the open while a young boy gets all stiff and rheumatic over it." Horace shrugged. "Be that as it may," he replied, "I'll still be glad to sleep in a bed tonight." Actually, Halt felt the same way. But he wasn't going to let Horace no that.