Contents

Cover

About the Book

Title Page

Character Profiles

Map

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Epilogue

Book 11: The Lost Stories

Have You Got What it Takes to be a Ranger?

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by John Flanagan

A Special Q & A with John Flanagan

Copyright

ABOUT THE BOOK

Will, you owe it to your friend to find him.

Horace is missing. Months have passed since he was sent on a military mission and you, Evanlyn and Alyss set out to discover what has become of your old friend.

You find him in Nihon-Ja where the rightful emperor has been overthrown. Now you must face the highly trained Senshi warriors, while Alyss and Evanlyn must overcome their rivalry to seek help from a mysterious group of mountain dwellers.

CHARACTER PROFILES

WILL has been a Ranger for several years, having trained with the legendary Ranger Halt. Delivered to Castle Redmont as an orphan, he does not know the true story of his parents. When he was younger he dreamed of becoming a Knight, but now as a Ranger, he cannot imagine doing anything else. Will is known for his loyalty and bravery, and has proven himself in countless battles. As a Ranger, his next mission is always just around the corner.

HALT is a renowned member of the Ranger Corps, known for his mysterious ways and his unstoppable nature. Halt is a superb archer and uses a massive longbow. Like all Rangers his skill with the bow is uncanny, deadly accurate, and devastatingly swift. Although he rarely shows his emotions, he thinks of Will as his son.

HORACE is a legendary Knight of the Araluen Court, renowned throughout the Kingdom for his courage, strength and loyalty. Like Will and Alyss, he is an orphan, and grew up in the ward of Castle Redmont. He has the deepest respect for the Emperor, and will do whatever it takes to protect him.

EVANLYN (real name is Cassandra) is the Princess Royal of Araluen and King Duncan’s only daughter. She created the alias ‘Evanlyn’ to protect her identity when she was captured by the Skandians. Tall and slim with long blonde hair, she’s known for being strong-willed, brave and capable. She is an expert with a sling and is learning how to use a sword. She is good friends with Will, much to the dismay of Alyss.

ALYSS is a former ward mate of Horace and Will. Her beauty, intelligence and calm nature make her a perfect fit for her Diplomatic Service missions for the Kingdom. She is determined to learn how to defend herself, and takes a great interest in the martial arts. She is very fond of Will, having known him for many years, but can’t help feeling jealous of his friendship with Evanlyn.

EMPEROR SHIGERU is kind and calm. He believes strongly in helping everyone in society – which has made him the enemy of the Senshi warriors, who wish to keep the class barriers in place. Although small, he is exceedingly fit with a wiry strength.

GEORGE grew up with Will, Horace and Alyss in Castle Redmont. In contrast to the others, he trained as a scribe and attorney and he has a particular interest in ways of the Nihon-Ja. Because of his knowledge of local matters, he has been sent on this trip with Horace to observe and advise the young warrior on matters of protocol, and to update a dictionary of the Nihon-Jan language that he wrote two years ago.

HAVE YOU GOT WHAT IT TAKES TO BE A RANGER?

The Rangers are an elite Special Forces Corps in the medieval Kingdom of Araluen. They are the eyes and ears of the Kingdom, the intelligence gatherers, the scouts and the troubleshooters.

Rangers are expert archers and carry two knives – one for throwing, and one for hunting. They are also highly skilled at tracking, concealment and unseen movement. Their ability to become virtually invisible has led common folk to view them with fear, thinking the Rangers must use black magic.

Occasionally, a young man who is judged to have the qualities of honesty, courage, agility and intelligence will be invited to undertake a five-year apprenticeship – to develop his natural abilities and instruct him in the almost supernatural skills of a Ranger.

If he passes his first year, he is given a bronze medallion in the shape of an oakleaf.

If he graduates, the bronze will be exchanged for the silver oakleaf of an Oakleaf Bearer – a Ranger of the Kingdom of Araluen.

HAVE YOU READ THEM ALL?

THE RUINS OF GORLAN (BOOK 1)

Will’s training as an apprentice is gruelling, but his skills will be needed if he is to prevent the King’s assassination.

THE BURNING BRIDGE (BOOK 2)

Will faces his most dangerous mission yet: the King’s army has been deceived, and is headed for a brutal ambush.

THE ICEBOUND LAND (BOOK 3)

Will has been kidnapped and is trapped on a ship sailing for the icebound land of Skandia. If he cannot escape, he faces a life of backbreaking slavery.

OAKLEAF BEARERS (BOOK 4)

Will’s close friend, Evanlyn, has been taken captive by a mysterious horseman. His attempts to rescue her lead him to the territory of a fearsome new enemy, whom he cannot defeat alone.

THE SORCERER OF THE NORTH (BOOK 5)

Will is a Ranger at last, but his new land is already under threat. The terrifying figure of the Night Warrior is causing hysteria, and Will’s lifelong friend, Alyss, has been taken hostage.

THE SIEGE OF MACINDAW (BOOK 6)

Will, the Ranger, faces a formidable challenge. A renegade Knight has captured Castle Macindaw, and inside the castle someone he loves is being held captive.

ERAK’S RANSOM (BOOK 7)

The Skandian leader has been taken by a dangerous desert tribe. To reach him, Will faces violent sandstorms, warring tribes and hidden danger. With him is the princess, whom Will must keep safe at all costs.

THE KINGS OF CLONMEL (BOOK 8)

The surrounding Kingdoms have fallen prey to a religious cult that is spreading confusion and rebellion. The only Kingdom that is uncorrupted is Clonmel, which will fall unless the Rangers intervene.

HALT’S PERIL (BOOK 9)

Will and Halt are on the trail of a renegade group from the Kingdom of Clonmel, and are determined to stop them. The battle is deadly and Will faces the prospect of returning home alone.

THE EMPEROR OF NIHON-JA (BOOK 10)

Horace is in Nihon-Ja, protecting the Emperor from a powerful threat. To restore order, Will must quickly form and train a force to face the highly trained Senshi warriors, who intend to overthrow the Emperor.

THE LOST STORIES (BOOK 11)

A collection of nine recently discovered tales that reveal the whole story – as yet unheard – of the legends of the Rangers of Araluen. Hear how Will became an orphan, and learn what’s gone before and what comes next for him and his loyal friends.

One

Toscana

‘AVANTI!’

The command rang out over the sun-baked earth of the parade ground and the triple files of men stepped out together. At each stride, their iron-nailed sandals hit the ground in perfect unison, setting up a rhythmic thudding, which was counterpointed by the irregular jingle of weapons and equipment as they occasionally rubbed or clattered together. Already, their marching feet were raising a faint cloud of dust in their wake.

‘You’d certainly see them coming from quite a distance,’ Halt murmured.

Will looked sidelong at him and grinned. ‘Maybe that’s the idea.’

General Sapristi, who had organised this demonstration of Toscan military techniques for them, nodded approvingly.

‘The young gentleman is correct,’ he said.

Halt raised an eyebrow. ‘He may be correct, and he is undoubtedly young. But he’s no gentleman.’

Sapristi hesitated. Even after ten days in their company, he was still not completely accustomed to the constant stream of cheerful insults that flowed between these two strange Araluans. It was difficult to know when they were serious and when they were speaking in fun. Some of the things they said to each other would be cause for mayhem and bloodshed between Toscans, whose pride was notoriously stronger than their sense of humour. He looked at the younger Ranger and noticed that he seemed to have taken no offence.

‘Ah, Signor Halt,’ he said uncertainly, ‘you are making a joke, yes?’

‘He is making a joke, no,’ Will said. ‘But he likes to think he is making a joke, yes.’

Sapristi decided it might be less confusing to get back to the point that the two Rangers had already raised.

‘In any event,’ he said, ‘we find that the dust raised by our soldiers can often cause enemies to disperse. Very few enemies are willing to face our legions in open battle.’

‘They certainly can march nicely,’ Halt said mildly.

Sapristi glanced at him, sensing that the demonstration so far had done little to impress the grey-bearded Araluan. He smiled inwardly. That would change in a few minutes, he thought.

‘Here’s Selethen,’ Will said and, as the other two looked down, they could see the distinctively tall form of the Arridi leader climbing the steps of the reviewing platform to join them.

Selethen, representing the Arridi Emrikir, was in Toscana to negotiate a trade and military pact with the Toscan Senate. Over the years, the Toscans and Arridi had clashed intermittently, their countries separated only by the relatively narrow waters of the Constant Sea. Yet each country had items that the other needed. The Arridi had reserves of red gold and iron in their deserts that the Toscans required to finance and equip their large armies. Even more important, Toscans had become inordinately fond of kafay, the rich coffee grown by the Arridi.

The desert dwellers, for their part, looked to Toscana for woven cloth – the fine linen and cotton so necessary in the fierce desert heat – and for the excellent grade of olive oil the Toscans produced, which was far superior to their locally grown product. Plus there was a constant need to replenish and bring new breeding stock to their herds of sheep and goats. Animal mortality in the desert was high.

In the past, the two nations had fought over such items. But now, wiser heads prevailed and they had decided that an alliance might be mutually beneficial for trade and for security. The waters of the Constant Sea were infested by corsairs in swift, small galleys. They swooped on merchant ships travelling between the two countries, robbing and sinking them.

Some in the region even looked back regretfully to the time when Skandian wolfships used to visit these waters. The Skandians had raided as well, but never in the numbers that were seen these days. And the presence of the Skandian ships had kept the incidence of local pirates down.

Nowadays, the Skandians were more law abiding. Their Oberjarl, Erak, had discovered that it was far more profitable to hire his ships out to other countries who needed to secure their national waters. As a result, the Skandians had become the de facto naval police in many parts of the world. The Toscans and Arridi, with no significant naval forces of their own, had decided, as part of their agreement, to lease a squadron of wolfships to patrol the waters between their two coastlines.

All of which were the reasons why Halt and Will had spent the past ten days in Toscana. The longstanding enmity between the two countries, accompanied by the inevitable suspicion of the other’s intentions, had led both sides to agree to ask a third-party nation to act as arbitrator in the treaty that was being put in place. Araluen was a country trusted by both Arrida and Toscana. In addition, the Araluans had close ties with the Skandian Oberjarl and it was felt that their intervention would be helpful in forming a relationship with the wild northern seamen.

It was logical for Selethen to suggest the inclusion of Halt and Will in the Araluan delegation. He had included Horace in the request as well, but duty had taken Horace elsewhere.

The actual wording and conditions of the treaty were not the concern of the two Rangers. They were simply here to escort the chief Araluan negotiator – Alyss Mainwaring, Will’s childhood sweetheart and one of the brighter new members of the Araluan Diplomatic Service.

She was presently locked away with the Arridi and Toscan lawyers, thrashing out the fine details of the agreement.

Selethen dropped gratefully into a seat beside Will. The three companies of Toscan legionnaires – thirty-three to a company, with an overall commander making up the traditional Toscan century of one hundred men – pivoted through a smart right turn below them, changing from a three-abreast formation to an extended eleven-abreast. In spite of the wider formation their lines were still geometrically perfect – straight as a sword blade, Will thought. He was about to voice the thought, then he smiled. The simile wouldn’t be accurate so far as Selethen’s curved sabre was concerned.

‘How are the negotiations progressing?’ Halt asked.

Selethen pursed his lips. ‘As all such things progress. My chamberlain is asking for a reduction of three-quarters of a per cent on the duty to be charged for kafay. Your advocates,’ he said, including Sapristi in the conversation, ‘are holding out for no more than five-eighths of a per cent. I had to have a break from it all. Sometimes I think they do this because they simply like to argue.’

Sapristi nodded. ‘It’s always the way. We soldiers risk our lives fighting while the lawyers quibble over fractions of a percentage point. And yet they look upon us as lesser beings.’

‘How’s Alyss managing?’ Will asked.

Selethen turned an approving look on him. ‘Your Lady Alyss is proving to be an island of calm and common sense in a sea of dispute. She is very, very patient. Although I sense that she has been tempted to whack my chamberlain over the head with his sheaf of papers on several occasions.’ He looked down at the three Toscan companies, now reforming into three files.

‘A destra! Doppio di corsa!’

The order was given by the century commander, who stood in the centre of the parade ground. Instantly, the companies turned right, reformed into three files, then broke into double time, the thud of their sandals and the jingle of equipment sounding louder and more urgent with the increase in pace. The dust rose higher as well.

‘General Sapristi,’ Selethen asked, indicating the tight formations, ‘this precision drilling makes for quite a spectacle. But is there any real benefit to gain from it?’

‘Indeed there is, Wakir. Our fighting methods depend on discipline and cohesion. The men in each century fight as one unit.’

‘Once a battle begins, my men fight largely as individuals,’ Selethen said. His voice indicated that he saw little value in this style of co-ordinated, almost machine-like manoeuvring. ‘Of course, it’s the commander’s job to bring his forces into the most advantageous position on the field. But after that, I find it’s almost impossible to control them as individuals. Best to let them fight their own way.’

‘That’s why all this drilling is necessary,’ Sapristi replied. ‘Our men become accustomed to reacting to orders. It becomes instinctive. We teach them a few vital drills, and practise them over and over. It takes years to train an expert warrior. Constant drilling means we can have a legion ready to fight effectively in less than a year.’

‘But they can’t possibly learn to be expert swordsmen in so short a time?’ Will asked.

Sapristi shook his head. ‘They don’t have to. Watch and learn, Ranger Will.’

‘Alt!’ The command rang out and the three companies crashed to a stop as one.

‘A cloud of dust and a line of statues,’ Will mused.

Across the parade ground, a trumpet blared and warriors began to appear from behind the buildings there. They moved quickly to form an extended line of battle – not as disciplined or as rigidly maintained as the century’s formation. They were armed with wooden practice swords – long-bladed swords, Will noticed, and round shields. Roughly one-quarter of them carried recurve bows in addition to their swords.

At a command, the ‘enemy’ began to advance across the parade ground. The line undulated as some sections moved faster than others.

‘Tre rige!’ shouted the century commander. Halt glanced a question at Sapristi.

‘Form three ranks,’ the general translated. ‘We don’t use the common tongue for field commands. No sense in letting the enemy know what you have in mind.’

‘None at all,’ Halt agreed mildly.

Moving smoothly and without any undue haste, the three companies trotted into position, three ranks deep and thirty-three wide. The ranks were separated from each other by about a metre and a half.

The enemy force halted their advance some sixty metres from the rigid lines of legionnaires.

The wild-looking enemy tribesmen brandished their weapons and, at a shouted command, those among them with bows stepped forward, arrows ready on the string. The observers heard the faint sound of fifty arrows rasping against the bows as they were drawn back to the fullest extent. At the same time, the centurion called his counter order.

‘Tartaruga! Pronto!’

Ninety-nine man-high, curved shields came round to the front, with a rattle of equipment.

‘Tartaruga means “tortoise”,’ Sapristi explained. ‘Pronto means “ready”.’

The enemy commander shouted an order and the archers released a ragged volley. As the first arrow sped away, the Toscan centurion bellowed:

‘Azione!’

‘Action,’ translated Sapristi.

Instantly, the soldiers reacted. The front rank crouched slightly, so that their shields covered them completely. The second and third rank stepped close. The second rank raised their shields to head height, interlocking them with those of the front rank. The third rank did likewise. The hundred men of the century were now sheltered by a barricade of shields to the front and a roof of shields overhead.

Seconds later, the volley of arrows clattered against them, bouncing off harmlessly.

‘Just like a tortoise,’ Will observed. ‘Who are the enemy?’

‘They’re all warriors from neighbouring countries and provinces who have elected to join our empire,’ Sapristi replied smoothly.

Halt regarded him for a moment. ‘Did they elect to join?’ he asked. ‘Or was the decision made for them?’

‘Perhaps we helped a little with the decision-making process,’ the Toscan general admitted. ‘In any event they are all skilled and experienced warriors and we use them as auxiliaries and scouts. They are extremely useful for demonstrations of this kind. Watch now.’

The attacking force had stopped at the point from which they had fired the volley of arrows. The general pointed to where a group of orderlies were running onto the field, each one carrying a rough outline of a man cut from light wood. There were at least one hundred of them, Will estimated. He watched curiously as the men placed the upright targets in place, thirty metres from the front rank of the legionnaires.

‘For the purpose of the demonstration,’ Sapristi said, ‘we’ll assume that the enemy has reached this position in their advance. We don’t use real warriors for this part of the exercise. It’s too costly, and we need our auxiliaries.’

The orderlies, many of them glancing nervously at the still ranks of legionnaires, ran from the field once their targets were in position.

Will leaned forward eagerly. ‘What happens now, General?’

Sapristi allowed himself a small smile.

‘Watch and see,’ he said.

Two

Nihon-Ja, some months earlier

HORACE SLID THE screen to one side, grimacing slightly as he eased the door open. By now, he had learned to handle these light wood and paper structures carefully. In his first week in Nihon-Ja he had destroyed several sliding panels. He was used to doors that were heavy and needed some effort to get them moving. His hosts were always quick to apologise and to assure him that the workmanship must have been faulty but he knew the real reason was his own clumsiness. Sometimes he felt like a blind bear in a porcelain factory.

Emperor Shigeru looked up at the tall Araluan warrior, noticing the extreme care he took with the door, and smiled in genuine amusement.

‘Ah, Or’ss-san,’ he said, ‘you are most considerate to spare our flimsy door from destruction.’

Horace shook his head. ‘Your excellency is too kind.’ He bowed. George – an old acquaintance of Horace’s from his days in the Ward at Redmont and his protocol adviser on this journey – had impressed upon him that this was not done out of any sense of self-abasement. The Nihon-Jan bowed to each other routinely, as a mark of mutual respect. In general, the depth of the bow from both sides was the same. However, George had added, it was politic to bow much deeper to the Emperor than you might expect him to bow to you. Horace had no problem with the custom. He found Shigeru to be a fascinating and gracious host, well worthy of deference. In some ways, he reminded Horace of King Duncan – a man for whom Horace had the deepest respect.

The Emperor was a small man, much shorter than Horace. It was difficult to estimate his age. The Nihon-Jan all seemed much younger than they really were. Shigeru’s hair was tinged with grey, so Horace guessed that he must be in his fifties. But small as he might be, he was amazingly fit and possessed a deceptive wiry strength. He also had a surprisingly deep voice and a booming laugh when he was amused, which was often.

Shigeru clicked his tongue lightly as a signal that the young man didn’t need to hold the position any longer. As Horace straightened up, the Emperor bowed in reply. He liked the muscular young warrior and he had enjoyed having him as a guest.

In training sessions with some of the leading Nihon-Jan warriors, Shigeru had seen that Horace was highly skilled with the weapons of his own country – the sword, longer and heavier than the curved Nihon-Jan katana, and the round shield that he used so effectively. Yet the young man showed no sense of arrogance and had been keen to study and compliment the techniques of the Nihon-Jan swordsmen.

That was the purpose of Horace’s mission. As a Swordmaster in Araluen, and as a potential Battlemaster, it made sense that Horace should be familiar with as wide a range of fighting techniques as possible. It was for that reason that Duncan had despatched him on this military mission. In addition, Duncan could see that Horace was becoming bored. After the heady excitement of his clash with the Outsiders in company with Will and Halt, it was easy for the young man to become impatient with the humdrum routine of life at Castle Araluen. Much to the chagrin of Duncan’s daughter, Cassandra, who enjoyed Horace’s company more and more, he had sent him on this fact-finding mission.

‘Look at this, Or’ss-san,’ Shigeru said, beckoning him forward.

Horace smiled. None of the Nihon-Jan had been able to master the pronunciation of his name. He had become used to being addressed as Or’ss-san. After a few early attempts, Shigeru had cheerfully adopted the simplified version. Now he held out his cupped hands to Horace and the young man leaned forward to look.

There was a perfect yellow flower nestled in the Emperor’s palm. Shigeru shook his head.

‘See?’ he said. ‘Here we are, with autumn upon us. This flower should have withered and died weeks ago. But today I found it here in my pebble garden. Is it not a matter for thought and wonder?’

‘Indeed it is,’ Horace replied. He realised that he had learned a great deal in his time here – and not all of it about military matters. Shigeru, even with the responsibility of ruling a varied and, in some cases, headstrong group of subjects, could still find time to wonder at the small occasions of beauty to be found in nature. Horace sensed that this ability led to the Emperor’s enjoying a great deal of inner peace and contributed in no small measure to his ability to face and solve problems in a calm and unflustered way.

Having shown the flower to his guest, the Emperor knelt and returned it to the neatly raked array of black and white pebbles.

‘It should remain here,’ he said. ‘This is where its fate decreed that it should be.’

There were stepping stones through the garden so that the Emperor and his guest could avoid disturbing the symmetry of the raked stones. It was like a stone pond, Horace thought. He was aware that each morning, the Emperor would rake the pebbles into a slightly different pattern. A lesser man might have had servants perform this task, but Shigeru enjoyed doing it himself.

‘If everything is done for me,’ he had explained to Horace, ‘how will I ever learn?’

Now the Emperor rose gracefully to his feet once more.

‘I’m afraid your time with us is coming to an end,’ he said.

Horace nodded. ‘Yes, your excellency. I’ll have to return to Iwanai. Our ship is due there at the end of the week.’

‘We’ll be sorry to lose you,’ Shigeru said.

‘I’ll be sorry to go,’ Horace replied.

The Emperor smiled. ‘But not sorry to return home?’

Horace had to smile in return. ‘No. I’ll be glad to get home. I’ve been away a long time.’

The Emperor gestured for Horace to follow and they left the pebble garden and entered a perfectly cultivated grove of trees. Once they were off the stepping stones, there was room for them to walk side by side.

‘I hope your trip has been worthwhile. Have you learned much while you have been with us?’ Shigeru asked.

‘A great deal, your excellency. I’m not sure that your system would suit Araluen, but it is an interesting one.’

Nihon-Ja drew its warriors from a small, elite upper class, known as the Senshi. They were born to be trained in the art of the sword and began their training from an early age, to the detriment of most other forms of learning. As a result, the Senshi had become an aggressive and warlike sect, with a sense of superiority over the other classes of Nihon-Jan society.

Shigeru was a Senshi, but he was something of an exception. Naturally, he had trained with the katana since boyhood and he was a competent, if not an expert, warrior. As Emperor, it was expected that he should learn these skills. But he had wider interests – as Horace had just observed – and a compassionate and inquiring side to his nature. He was genuinely concerned for what were held to be the lower classes: the fishermen, farmers and timber workers who were regarded with contempt by the majority of Senshi.

‘I’m not sure that we can maintain it as it is for much longer in this country either,’ he told Horace. ‘Or that we should.’

The young warrior looked sidelong at him. He knew that Shigeru had been working to improve conditions for the lower classes, and to give them a greater voice in how the country was governed. He had also learned that these initiatives were highly unpopular with a significant number of the Senshi.

‘The Senshi will resist any change,’ he warned the Emperor and the older man sighed.

‘Yes. They will. They like to be in charge. This is why it is forbidden for the common people to carry arms or learn any weapon skills. They far outnumber the Senshi but the Senshi make up for their lack of numbers by their skill with weapons and their ferocity in battle. It’s too much to ask untrained fishermen or farmers or timber workers to face such deadly opponents. It has happened in the past, of course, but when the workers did protest, they were cut to pieces.’

‘I can imagine,’ Horace said.

Shigeru stood a little straighter, held his head a little higher. ‘But the Senshi must learn. They must adapt. They cannot continue to treat the people – my people – as inferiors. We need our workers, just as we need our warriors. Without the workers, there would be no food for the Senshi, no timber for their homes, no firewood to heat them or for the forges that create their swords. They must see that everybody contributes and there should be greater equality.’

Horace pursed his lips. He didn’t want to reply because he sensed that Shigeru was setting himself an impossible task. With the exception of the Emperor’s immediate retainers, the majority of Senshi had shown themselves to be fiercely opposed to any change in the current system – particularly if it gave a greater voice to the lower classes.

Shigeru sensed the young man’s hesitation. ‘You don’t agree?’ he asked mildly.

Horace shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I agree,’ he said. ‘But my opinion doesn’t matter. The question is, does Lord Arisaka agree?’

Horace had met Arisaka in the first week of his visit. He was the overlord of the Shimonseki clan, one of the largest and fiercest groups of Senshi warriors. He was a powerful and influential man and he made no secret of his opinion that the Senshi should remain the dominant class in Nihon-Ja. He was also a Swordmaster, regarded as one of the finest individual warriors in the country. Horace had heard rumours that Arisaka had killed more than twenty men in duels – and even more in the internecine battles that flared from time to time between the clans.

Shigeru smiled grimly at the mention of the arrogant warlord. ‘Arisaka-san may have to learn to agree to his Emperor’s wishes. After all, he has sworn an oath to me.’

‘Then I’m sure he’ll honour that oath,’ Horace said, although he had grave doubts about the matter. As ever, Shigeru saw past the words themselves and recognised the concern in Horace’s voice.

‘But I’m being an impolite host,’ he said. ‘We have a little time left together and you should enjoy it – not spend it worrying over the internal politics of Nihon-Ja. Perhaps we can ride together to Iwanai? I’ll have to be leaving here soon to return to Ito myself.’

They had spent the past week relaxing in the informal atmosphere of the Emperor’s summer lodge, at the foot of the mountains. His principal palace and seat of government was a magnificent walled fortress in the city of Ito, a week’s ride to the south. Their time at the lodge had been pleasant but, as Shigeru had noted earlier, autumn was forcing its way across the land, with its cold and blustery winds, and the summer lodge was not the most comfortable accommodation in cold weather.

‘I’d enjoy that,’ Horace said, pleased at the prospect of spending a few more days in Shigeru’s company. He wondered at the bond of respect and affection that he felt for the Emperor. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Horace had grown up as an orphan, and so he was drawn to Shigeru’s understated strength, gentle wisdom and unfailing good humour. In some ways, the Emperor reminded him of Halt, although his smooth good manners were a marked contrast to the Ranger’s often acerbic nature. He gestured to the carefully cultivated trees around them, their leaves now blazing yellow and orange to herald autumn.

‘I should tell George to start making preparations for the trip,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave you to contemplate your trees.’

Shigeru, in his turn, gazed at the patterns of dark trunks and blazing leaves around him. He loved the peace and solitude in this garden, far away from the self-serving politics of the capital.

‘Their beauty will be small recompense for the loss of your company,’ he said smoothly and Horace grinned at him.

‘You know, your excellency, I wish I could say stuff like that.’

Three

Toscana

A COMMAND RANG across the parade ground and Will watched the roof of shields disappear as the legionnaires lowered them back to their normal position.

Then, in response to another command, the second and third ranks took a pace backwards. Each man carried a long javelin in addition to the short sword he wore on his right side. Now the men in the rear rank reversed their grip, turned side on and raised the javelins to the throwing position, right arms extended back, the javelins balanced over their right shoulders, aiming upwards at an angle of about forty degrees.

‘Azione!’

Thirty-three right arms came forward, thirty-three right legs stepped into the cast and the flight of javelins arced away towards the wooden targets. They were still on their way when the second rank repeated the action, sending another thirty-three projectiles soaring.

There was no individual aim – each man simply cast his weapon at the mass of targets in front of him. Will realised that in a real battle, the optimum distance would be decided by the century commander, who was calling the orders.

The first volley arced up, then pitched down as the heavy iron heads of the javelins overcame the force of the throw. There was a rolling, splintering crash as the javelins hit home. Half of them struck the ground harmlessly. The other half smashed into the light wooden targets, knocking them to the ground. A few seconds later, the second flight arrived, with similar results. Within the space of a few seconds, nearly a third of the hundred targets had been splintered and demolished.

‘Interesting,’ Halt said softly. Will glanced quickly at him. Halt’s face was impassive but Will knew him well. Halt was impressed.

‘The first blow is often decisive,’ Sapristi told them. ‘Warriors who have never fought our legions before are shaken by this sudden devastation.’

‘I can imagine,’ Selethen said. He was watching keenly and Will guessed that he was imagining those lethal javelins crashing into a company of his light cavalry at full gallop.

‘But today, for the sake of demonstration, our “enemy” will be overcome with rage and will go on with the attack,’ the general continued.

As he spoke, the wild mass of enemy warriors moved up to the point where the targets had been savaged and splintered. Now they brandished their swords and charged at the wall of shields.

The solid crash as they hit the wall carried clearly to the observers. The front rank swayed a little under the initial impact. Then it steadied and held fast. Looking carefully, Will could see that the second row had closed up and were actually pushing their comrades forward, supporting them against the initial impact of the charge.

The tribesmen’s swords flailed in swinging arcs at the big square shields. But for the most part they were ineffective – and they were getting in each other’s way. By contrast, the short wooden practice swords of the legionnaires began to flicker in and out like serpents’ tongues through narrow gaps in the shield wall, and the observers could hear the shouts of rage and pain from the attackers. The demonstration might be using blunt wooden weapons, but those jabbing impacts would be painful and the legionnaires weren’t holding back.

‘How can they see?’ Will asked. The men in the front rank were crouched low behind the barrier formed by their shields.

‘They can’t see very well,’ Sapristi told him. ‘They see an occasional leg or arm or torso through the gaps and they stab out at them. After all, a man hit on the thigh or arm is rendered as ineffective as much as a man stabbed through the chest. Our troops just plough forward, jabbing and stabbing at anything they see on the other side of their shields.’

‘That’s why your men don’t need to be expert swordsmen,’ Will said.

The general smiled appreciatively at him. ‘That’s right. They don’t have to learn any advanced techniques of strike and parry and riposte. They just stab and jab with the point of the sword. It’s a simple technique to learn and a few centimetres of the point does just as much damage as a wide sweeping blow. Now watch as the second rank add their weight to the advance.’

The perfectly aligned front rank was edging slowly forward, crowding the enemy and forcing them back. Now the second rank suddenly rushed forward, once more adding their weight and impetus to those of the men in front of them, and the extra drive sent the enemy staggering back, buffeted and shoved by the huge shields, jabbed and harassed by the darting short swords. Then, having gained a brief respite, the formation stopped. A long whistle blast rang out and the second rank turned in place so that they stood back-to-back with the front rank. Another signal on the whistle and the front rank pivoted to their left, while the second rank pivoted right. Each pair of men stepped in a small half-circle. Within a few seconds, the front rank had been replaced, all at once, by the fresh men from the second rank. The former front rankers passed back through the third rank, who took their place behind the new front row. The attackers now faced totally fresh opponents, while the former front rank had a chance to recover and redress their losses.

‘That’s brilliant,’ Will said.

Sapristi nodded at him. ‘It’s drill and co-ordination,’ he said. ‘Our men don’t need to be expert swordmasters. That takes a lifetime of training. They need to be drilled and to work as a team. Even a relatively unskilled warrior can be effective in these conditions. And it doesn’t take long to learn.’

‘Which is why you can maintain such a large army,’ Halt said.

Sapristi switched his gaze to the older Ranger. ‘Exactly,’ he replied. Most countries maintained a relatively small standing force of expert warriors as the core of their army, calling on less-skilled men at arms to fill out the numbers in time of war. The Toscans, however, needing to maintain order in their spreading empire, had to have a large permanent army on call at all times.

Selethen fingered his chin thoughtfully. His left hand had strayed unconsciously to the hilt of his sabre as he watched. Sapristi glanced at him, pleased to see that the demonstration had had a sobering effect on the Arridi leader. It didn’t hurt, Sapristi thought, for Toscana’s new ally to appreciate the might of the Toscan legions.

‘Let’s go and take a look at the results,’ Sapristi said. He rose and led the way down from the reviewing platform to the parade ground, where the two forces, the demonstration now complete, had drawn apart. The legionnaires still stood in their measured rows. The attacking force milled about in a loose group.

‘We had the practice swords dipped in fresh paint, so we could measure results,’ Sapristi told them. He led the way to the enemy group. As they drew closer, Halt and Will could see arms, legs, torsos, necks spattered with red blotches. The marks were testimony to the number of times the legionnaires’ wooden swords had found their mark.

The attackers’ longer swords had been coated with white paint. Looking now, the Araluans could see only occasional evidence that these swords had struck home. There were criss-cross patterns and random splotches of white on the shields and some of the brass helmets of the legionnaires, but the majority of men in the century were unscathed.

‘Very effective,’ Selethen told the general. ‘Very effective indeed.’ Already, his agile mind was at work, figuring ways to counteract a force of heavy infantry such as this.

Halt was obviously having similar thoughts. ‘Of course, you’ve chosen perfect conditions for heavy infantry here,’ he said, sweeping an arm around the flat, open parade ground. ‘In more constricted country, like forest land, you wouldn’t be able to manoeuvre so efficiently.’

Sapristi nodded in acknowledgement. ‘True,’ he said. ‘But we choose our battlefields and let the enemy come to us. If they don’t, we simply invade their lands. Sooner or later, they have to face us in battle.’

Will had wandered away from the group and was studying one of the javelins. It was a crude weapon, he saw. The square wooden shaft was only roughly shaped – just a very ordinary, minimally dressed piece of hardwood. The point was equally utilitarian. It was a thick rod of soft iron, about half a metre long, hammered flat at the end and sharpened into a barbed point. A groove had been cut down one side of the shaft and the head had been slotted into it and bound in place with brass wire.

Sapristi saw him looking at it and walked over to join him.

‘They’re not pretty,’ he said. ‘But they work. And they’re easy and quick to make. In fact, the soldiers can make their own, at a pinch. We can turn out thousands of these in a week. And you’ve seen how effective they can be.’ He indicated the rows of smashed and splintered targets.

‘It’s bent,’ Will said critically, running his hand along the distorted iron head.

‘And it can be straightened easily and used again,’ the general told him. ‘But that’s actually an advantage. Imagine one of these hitting an enemy’s shield. It penetrates, and the barb holds it in place. Then the head bends, so that the handle is dragging on the ground. Try fighting effectively with nearly two metres of iron and wood dragging from your shield. I assure you, it’s not an easy thing to do.’

Will shook his head admiringly. ‘It’s all very practical, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a logical solution to the problem of creating a large and effective fighting force,’ Sapristi told him. ‘If you pitted any of these legionnaires in a one-on-one battle against a professional warrior, they would probably lose. But give me a hundred unskilled men to drill for six months and I’ll back them against an equal number of warriors who’ve been training in individual combat skills all their lives.’

‘So it’s the system that’s successful, not the individual?’ Will said.

‘Exactly,’ Sapristi told him. ‘And so far, nobody has come up with a way to defeat our system in open battle.’

‘How would you do it?’ Halt asked Selethen that night. The negotiations had been finalised, agreed, signed and witnessed. There had been an official banquet to celebrate the fact, with speeches and compliments on all sides. Now Selethen and the Araluan party were relaxing in the Araluans’ quarters. It would be their last night together as the Wakir was due to leave early the following morning. Selethen had brought some of the trade gift kafay with him and he, Will and Halt were all savouring the brew. Nobody, Will thought, made coffee quite as well as the Arridi.

Alyss sat by the fireplace, smiling at the three of them. She liked coffee, but for Rangers, and apparently the Arridi, coffee drinking was close to a religious experience. She contented herself with a goblet of fresh, citrus-tasting sherbet.

‘Simple,’ said Selethen. ‘Never let them choose the conditions. As Sapristi said, they’ve never been defeated in open battle. So you need fight a more fluid action against them. Catch them when they’re on the move and in file. Hit them on the flanks with quick raids, before they can go into their defensive formation. Or use artillery against them. That rigid formation makes for a very compact target. Hit it with heavy bolts from a mangonel or rocks from catapults and you’d start to punch holes in it. Once it loses cohesion, it’s not so formidable.’

Halt was nodding. ‘I was thinking the same,’ he said. ‘Never confront them head-on. If you could get a force of archers behind them without their realising it, their tortoise formation would be vulnerable.

‘But of course,’ he continued, ‘they rely on their enemies’ sense of outrage when they invade a country. Very few armies will have the patience to carry out a running battle, harassing and weakening them over a period. Very few leaders would be able to convince their followers that this was the best way. National pride would force most to confront them, to try to force them back across the border.’

‘And we saw what happens when you confront them,’ Will said. ‘Those javelins were effective.’ Both the older men nodded.

‘Limited range, however,’ Selethen said. ‘No more than thirty or forty metres.’

‘But quite deadly at that range,’ Halt said, agreeing with Will.

‘It seems to me,’ said Alyss cheerfully, ‘that the best course to take would be one of negotiation. Negotiate with them rather than fight them. Use diplomacy, not weapons.’

‘Spoken like a true diplomat,’ Halt said, giving her one of his rare smiles. He was fond of Alyss, and her bond with Will made him even more inclined to like her. She bowed her head in mock modesty. ‘But what if diplomacy fails?’

Alyss rose to the challenge without hesitation. ‘Then you can always resort to bribery,’ she said. ‘A little gold in the right hands can accomplish more than a forest of swords.’ Her eyes twinkled as she said it.

Selethen shook his head in admiration. ‘Your Araluan women would fit in well in my country,’ he said. ‘Lady Alyss’s grasp of the skills of negotiation is first class.’

‘I recall you weren’t quite so enthusiastic about Princess Evanlyn’s negotiating skills,’ Halt said.

‘I have to admit I met my match there,’ he said ruefully. In his previous encounter with Araluans, he had tried to bamboozle Evanlyn in their haggling over a ransom payment for Oberjarl Erak. The princess had remained totally un-bamboozled and had very neatly outwitted him.

Alyss frowned slightly at the mention of Evanlyn’s name. She was not one of the princess’s greatest admirers. However, she recovered quickly and smiled again.

‘Women are good negotiators,’ she said. ‘We prefer to leave all the sweaty, unpleasant details of battle to people like your –’

She was interrupted by a discreet knock at the door. Since this was a diplomatic mission, she was in fact the leader of the Araluan party. ‘Come in,’ she called in reply, then added in a lower voice to the others, ‘I wonder what’s happened? After all, it’s a little late for callers.’

The door opened to admit one of her servants. The man glanced nervously around. He realised he was interrupting a conversation between the head of the mission, two Rangers and the most high-ranking representative of the Arridi party.

‘My apologies for interrupting, Lady Alyss,’ he began uncertainly.

She reassured him with a wave of her hand. ‘It’s perfectly all right, Edmund. I assume it’s important?’

The servant swallowed nervously. ‘You could say so, my lady. The Crown Princess Cassandra has arrived and she wants to see you all.’

Four

Nihon-Ja

THE WIND HAD picked up since they had left the Emperor’s summer lodge the previous day. Now it was keening through the valley as they rode carefully down the narrow track that angled down one side, and gusting strongly as it was funnelled between the constricting hills that formed the valley. The trees around them seemed to have adopted a permanent lean to one side, so constant was the force of the wind. Horace pulled his sheepskin collar a little higher around his ears and nestled gratefully into its warm depths.

He glanced up. The sky was a brilliant ice blue, but already heavy grey clouds were scudding across it, sending bands of shadow flitting silently across the landscape below. To the south, he could see a dark line of solid cloud. He estimated that it would be upon them by early afternoon and it would probably bring rain with it. He considered suggesting that they might make camp for the day before the rain added its force to the wind. There was no need to rush their journey – the port of Iwanai was within easy riding distance – and he didn’t relish the idea of pitching tents in a driving rainstorm. Better to get them up while the party was still dry and shelter inside them through the deteriorating weather.

The trail they were following levelled and widened for a hundred metres or so, so Horace urged his horse alongside that of the Emperor, who was riding immediately before him. Shigeru, huddled deep in his own fur robes, sensed the presence beside him and looked around. He grimaced at the racing clouds overhead and gave a small shrug.

Horace pulled his collar down to speak, feeling the icy bite of the wind on his face as he did so.

‘Do you think it will snow?’ he called, pitching his voice above the constant battering of the wind.

Shigeru looked at the sky again and shook his head. ‘It’s a little early in the year. Perhaps in a week or two we’ll get a few light falls. Then, in a month, the real snow will begin. But we’ll be far away from here by then. Once we’re out of the mountains, the weather won’t be so severe.’ He glanced again at the ominous cloud front.

‘Plenty of rain there, however,’ he continued cheerfully.

Horace grinned. Very little seemed to faze Shigeru. Many rulers would have spent the morning complaining loudly about the cold and the discomfort, as if their complaints would actually serve to alleviate the situation and as if their attendants should be able to do something about it. Not the Emperor. He accepted the situation, knowing that he could do nothing to change the weather. Best to endure it without making life more difficult for those around him.

‘Perhaps we should make camp early,’ Horace suggested.