Ranger's Apprentice: Tales Untold

There Was A Third

A/N: So...we all know what happened in Halt's Peril. The poison that Bacari used was from the aracoina plant. There were only two options, the white flower or the blue flower. Given the wrong antidote for the wrong flower, Halt would die.

But what if...there was another color—let's go with a red flower, cause why not— that no one knew about except for the Genovesans?

"GUESS WHAT?" THE TWO turned as Horace and the Genovesan returned, the latter's face pale with worry. Will fought the urge to reach for his saxe knife once more. "Our friend has his memory back."

"Which flower?" Malcolm asked briefly as he grabbed his pack.

"The white flower." Will felt his hands shaking again and shoved them in his pockets, overwhelmed with relief. It faded slightly when he looked over at the assassin; a flicker had passed over those eyes, and then the panic was back.

Don't give it to Halt first, he thought. Not if there was still a chance Bacari had been lying.

The Genovesan babbled the instructions as his eyes darted back and forth in fear, for his own life. Coward, Will thought, glaring at the Genovesan. All he cared about was himself. If it didn't concern him, then the assassin didn't care.

Malcolm ignored the assassin, intent on his work, and a few minutes had passed when a thin yellow liquid began to form. He started towards Halt, but Will shook his head.

"No." He jerked a thumb in Bacari's direction. "Not Halt. Give it to Bacari first." Malcolm frowned at him, and then understanding lit in his eyes.

"Yes, yes! Give it to me now!" Will turned a cold glare on the Genovesan as the man spoke, twisting the injured arm around for Malcolm to access. Malcolm turned to him, glanced at Will, and then nodded, moving forward.

"Untie him, please, Will. I need to get that arm." Will undid the thumb cuffs, and his hand strayed to his saxe knife.

"Remember," he hissed, "we don't need you alive any longer. Be very careful with your movements."

The Genovesan nodded frantically; Will watched contemptuously as the color drained from Bacari's face as the wound was revealed, swollen and discolored. He had half a mind to let the man die, but this was the only way to tell whether or not he was telling the truth.

"I'm going to have to cut, you understand?" Malcolm said. "I'm cutting into a vein to administer the antidote."

"Yes, yes! Cut the vein. I know this! Just hurry!" Will glared at the other man. Of course you would know.

Blood welled rapidly from the vein as the knife sliced through. "Wipe away the blood, please, Will." Will nodded and dropped next to the assassin, wiping away the blood, grim satisfaction glowing inside him when he saw the pain written across Bacari's face. Less than you deserve.

A small tube was inserted in the wound, and Malcolm poured some of the antidote in, tapping it as the liquid formed a single mass. Leaning forward, he blew on the opening, forcing the antidote into the wound, where it would then enter his body. Grabbing a linen pad, he placed it over the cut and bound it in place with a bandage. The relief in the assassin was obvious as the antidote began to take effect. Will and Horace exchanged a glance. He hadn't been lying.