Halt - The Ruins of Gorlan

Chapter 2

"All right candidates! This way! And look lively!" Halt groaned to himself at the sound of Martin, Arald's secretary, speaking. He slowly stood up, grimacing as he put weight on his injured leg. He had managed to make it into the office and the small closet he now hid in without his leg hurting too badly, but the pain had decided to flare up since them, and there was little Halt could do about but put up with it until the day was over. He had a piece of paper safely hid up his sleeve as his test for the boy and smiled to himself.

Martin was shepherding the children into order – why he bothered was beyond Halt. Halt smiled again, pulling up his cowl as he heard the considerably calmer voice of Baron Arald interrupt Martin. He would make his entrance just after the Craftmasters had entered, and he was nearly certain that only Pauline and Arald would note his entrance.

The other door opened, and five sets of footsteps shuffled in. Halt knew who was present from the sound of the shoes – Rodney had the broad, heavy steps of a knight, Ulf had the slightly lighter steps of a man used to riding horses, Chubb had the heavy but not broad steps of a man who was overweight, Nigel had a calm, measured step, and Pauline had a similar step but hers was lighter.

"The Craftmasters are assembled, sir!" Martin shrieked – well, that was what it sounded like to Halt – and Halt took the chance to quietly open the door, glad that the Baron never let his doors squeak, and slip silently to the Baron's desk, standing behind the Baron's chair, unobtrusive in the shadows. He glanced at Will, noting the boy seemed uneasy and clearly nervous. He smiled internally as the boy looked up, and started with surprise as he met Halt's gaze.

Halt looked away first, glancing at Pauline and Baron Arald, both of whom nodded Halt a silent greeting, as Martin continued his tirade. "Now then, who's first? Who's first?" Halt resisted the urge to facepalm, or at least knock Martin out so he would finally shut up.

Arald sighed, and Halt entirely agreed with the sentiment, though he would never show it, his face was grim and silent as ever. "Why don't we take the first in line?" Not for the first time, Halt wondered why there was so much ceremony involved in a simple Choosing Day. Why did there need to be a secretary overseeing this, Arald could do it fine himself?

"Of course, my lord." Halt very nearly rolled his eyes, but restrained himself. "Of course. First in line, step forward and face the Baron." Where else would you face? Halt wondered to himself.

"Name?"

"Horace Altman, sir... my lord." Even the fifteen-year-old who was destined to be just another bash-and-whacker did better than Martin. Halt was slightly looking forward to seeing what Will was going to say. He didn't have a last name, after all, Halt had never been able to find it out due to shoddy paperwork in the fief Will was born in.

As expected, the boy, Horace went for Battleschool. How predicable. The next child, a girl, went for the Diplomatic Service. Halt hid a smile, the girl Alyss reminded him of Pauline, very confident with grace and poise most couriers only got after a few years of training. She would be good as a courier, Halt knew.

The next boy was very quiet, with a small stutter. Nigel accepted him to Scribeschool with little problem, though Baron Arald seemed surprised at the choice. Nigel launched into a lengthy explanation about other boys like this boy George being similarly quiet and being good scribes, which Halt mostly tuned out.

His leg was still paining him, and it was even more vengeful than before. Halt hid a grimace, knowing it would be a miracle if he managed to walk out of the room without falling over. He shifted his weight to his non-wounded leg and clenched his fist, hiding his behind his back. He also clenched his teeth, and his scowl got noticeably deeper, though he doubted anyone was keeping track.