He'd just have to lie there and die, watched over by strange stars who didn't know him, didn't care for him. It was very sad, really.

I'll be getting you for this,' Halt had told him as he dabbed the diguisting mixture on the worst of the cuts. 'That soot is filthy. I'll probably come down with half a dozen infections.' Probably,' Horace had replied, distracted by his task. 'But we'll only need you for today.' Which was not a very comforting thought for Halt.

Isn't that someone we know?" asked Horace. He pointed to where a cloaked figure sat by the side of the road a few hundred meters away, arms wrapped around his knees. Close by him, a small shaggy horse cropped the grass growing at the edge of the drainage ditch that ran beside the road. "So it is," Halt replied. "And he seems to have brought Will with him.

Failure is just a few seconds away from success.

In a month, the passes into Teutlandt and Skanida will be open and my companion and I will be on our way." He paused and Philemon frowned, trying to understand what he was being told. You want us to come with you?" he asked, at last. "You expect us to follow you?" Halt shook his head. "I have no wish to ever see any of you again," he said flatly.

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.

An ordinary archer practices until he gets it right. A ranger practices until he never gets it wrong.