The Lost Stories by John Flanagan Page A

that he didn’t cry.
    â€œI expect you’re hungry,” he said. He had a warmed bowl of cow’s milk and a clean linen cloth ready. He twisted the end of the cloth into a narrow shape and dipped it into the milk, then placed it by the baby’s mouth. The lips formed around the cloth twist and the baby sucked the milk from it. Halt dipped it into the bowl again and repeated the process. The system was time-consuming but it seemed to work. The baby watched him as it fed, big, serious brown eyes staring at him over the milk-soaked cloth.
    â€œThe question is,” Halt said, “what am I to do with you?”
    The farm, he knew, would revert to the baron of the fief, who would appoint another tenant family to work it. So there was nothing for the infant to inherit. He couldn’t leave him here—as the mother had so desperately pointed out. And he couldn’t raise the baby himself. He simply wasn’t equipped to look after a baby, nor was he in any position to do so. His work as a Ranger would keep him absent from home for long periods and the baby would be left alone and uncared for.
    But an idea was forming. Baron Arald had created a Ward at Castle Redmont where the orphans of men and women who died in his service were cared for. It was a bright, cheerful place, staffed by kind, affectionate people, and there were several recent additions to the ranks of children being cared for there. A baby girl called Alyss, and another boy—Horace, his name was.
    Will would know warmth and companionship there. And as he grew, he would be given a choice of different vocations to follow. All in all, it seemed like an ideal solution.
    â€œProblem is,” Halt told the watchful infant, “we can’t let on that I’ve brought you there. Folk are suspicious of Rangers. If they thought you were associated with me, they might tread warily around you.”
    Rangers had an aura of mystery and uncertainty about them. And that could have drawbacks for the child. People often feared things they didn’t understand, and he didn’t want that fear transferring itself to young Will. Better if his background remained a mystery.
    â€œWhich it is,” Halt mused. “I don’t even know your last name.”
    He considered that. He could ask around the district. But as he had learned, the family was new to the area and people might not know their names. In addition, he would have to reveal his plans for the baby, and he wasn’t sure if what he was planning was exactly legal. Will was the child of two subjects of the local baron and Halt technically had no right to carry him off to another fief.
    But then, in his lifetime, Halt had often ignored what was technically legal. Technicalities didn’t appeal to him. All too often, they simply got in the way of doing the right thing.
    He dipped the cloth in the last of the milk and held it to the baby’s mouth. Will sucked eagerly, his eyes still fixed on the Ranger.
    â€œYes, the Ward is the best place for you,” Halt told him. “And it’s best if you’re anonymous. I’ll tell Arald, of course, in confidence. But nobody else will know. Just the two of us. What do you say?”
    To his surprise, the baby emitted a loud burp, then smiled at him. A ghost of a smile touched Halt’s bearded face in reply.
    â€œI’ll take that as agreement,” he said.
    Â 
    Four days later, just before the first gray streaks of light heralded the dawn, a dark figure carrying a basket stole across the courtyard of Castle Redmont, to the building that housed the Ward.
    Setting the basket down on the steps outside the door to the Ward, Halt reached in and moved the blanket away from the baby’s face. He placed the note that he had composed into the basket, at the baby’s feet.
    His mother died in childbirth.
His father died a hero.
Please care for him. His name is Will.
    A tiny hand emerged from the blankets and