The Lost Stories by John Flanagan Page B

gripped his forefinger.
    â€œI’d swear you were shaking hands good-bye,” Halt whispered. Then, gently disengaging himself, he stroked the baby’s forehead.
    â€œYou’ll be fine here, young Will. With the parents you had, I suspect you’ll grow to be quite a person.”
    He glanced around, saw no sign of anyone watching, then reached up and rapped sharply on the Ward door before melting away into the shadows of the courtyard.
    The Ward’s staff was already up and about, and he heard the door open a few minutes later, then the cry of surprise.
    â€œWhy, it’s a baby! Mistress Aggie, come quick! Someone’s left a baby on the doorstep!”
    Wrapped in his cloak, hidden in the shadows of the huge wall, Halt watched as several women came bustling out, crying out in surprise at the sight of the baby. Then they took him inside, closing the door behind them. He felt an unfamiliar prickling sensation in his eyes and a strange sense of loss.
    â€œGood-bye for now, Will,” he whispered. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
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    Halt felt that same prickling sensation once more as he finished the story. He turned away slightly so that Will couldn’t see the tears that had formed in his eyes.
    â€œBut, Halt, why didn’t you tell me for all those years? Why did you say my mother died in childbirth?”
    â€œI thought it would be easier on you,” Halt said. “I thought if you knew your mother had been murdered, it might make you bitter. And, as I said, I thought it would be easier on you if nobody knew of my involvement. If I’d said your mother was murdered, people would have started asking questions. I didn’t want that. I wanted you to be accepted.”
    Will nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose so.”
    The older Ranger shifted uncomfortably.
    â€œThere was something else . . .”
    Will opened his mouth, then closed it. He sensed it would be better to let Halt speak in his own time.
    Eventually, his mentor said, in a low voice that Will could barely hear, “I was afraid you’d hate me.”
    Will recoiled in astonishment at the words. “Hate you? How could I hate you? Why would I hate you?”
    Now Halt turned back to face him, and Will could see the anguish in his eyes. “Because I was responsible for the deaths of both your parents!” The words came out violently, as if they were torn from him. “Daniel died saving my life in battle. Then your mother came to my aid when I was fighting Jerrel. If she hadn’t done so, she’d still be alive.”
    â€œAnd you’d be dead,” Will pointed out. But Halt shook his head.
    â€œMaybe. Maybe not. But the fact remains, it was my fault that your family was destroyed, and up until now I was unable to tell you. I thought you might blame me.”
    â€œHalt, it wasn’t your fault. Who could blame you? You were keeping a promise you made to my father. Blame Morgarath. Blame the Wargals. Or blame Kord and Jerrel. That’s where the fault lies. Not on your shoulders.”
    Watching Halt, Will now saw those shoulders sag with relief.
    â€œThat’s what Pauline said you’d say,” Halt whispered, and Will put an arm around him. It felt strange to be comforting the man who had comforted him so much over the years.
    â€œHalt, you didn’t destroy my family. That was fate. You gave me a second chance at having a family. You gave me a whole new life. How could I hate you for that? Besides,” he added, “can you imagine me as a farmer?”
    He felt Halt’s shoulders begin to shake, and for a moment he was afraid the older man was weeping. Then he realized with relief that he was laughing.
    â€œNo,” his teacher said, “I certainly can’t see you as a farmer. Farmers are disciplined folk.”
    They both laughed at the thought of Will plowing and planting. Then, after a while, the young Ranger grew