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.

Would you trust him with your life, Halt?" Gilan interrupted, and Halt looked up at him. "Yes," he said quietly. Gilan patted his shoulder once more. "Then trust him with his own," he said simply.

The battle, if you could call it that, lasted no more than a few seconds.

Looks like he's lost a guinea and found a farthing," Horace said, then added, unnecessarily, "Will, I mean." Halt turned in his saddle to regard the younger man and raised an eyebrow. "I may be almost senile in your eyes, Horace, but there's no need to explain the blindly obvious to me. I'd hardly have thought you were referring to Tug.

Without thinking, [Will] spoke. 'Halt? Are you awake?' 'No.' The ill humor in the one-word reply was unmistakable. 'Oh. Sorry.' 'Shut up.' He pondered whether to apologize again and decided this would go against the instruction to shut up, so remained silent.

You should have left him to wander,” Svengal said coldly. Erak looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Would you?” he asked, and Svengal hesitated. At the end, Toshak had fought well and that counted for a lot of Skandians. “No,” he admitted.

Failure is just a few seconds away from success.