Ranger's Apprentice: Tales Untold

You Were My Best Friend

HALT SIGHED AS HE shut the door behind him, throwing the cloak on the empty peg. The mission had been absolutely not worth it, even if he and Will had caught the bandits. He shook his head. "Retired, and still working," he muttered. "Crowley, you're going to kill me at this rate."

He glanced over at the letters on the table and shrugged. That could wait for now. He had other obligations at the moment.

And indeed, as the aroma of the coffee filled the room, the thought of the papers escaped his mind as he filled the cup with the rich liquid. Nothing better than coffee, he thought.

With a sigh, he returned to the table, sifting through the pile. A frown touched his face as he saw the single letter with the Oakleaf seal. It wasn't unusual for him to receive one; the Corps liked to keep in touch with the latest news. So why did he feel as though this one was any different?

Halt reached for his knife, slicing through the envelope. He tossed it on the table as he unfolded the paper, scanning the words.

A pit formed in his stomach. He slammed the paper down on the table, gritting his teeth. No. No, I did not just read that. No, no, I didn't. There's no way.

"Will." He reached for the cloak again, throwing it over his shoulders. If what he had read was true—which was an absolutely ridiculous notion—then Will would have gotten the letter, as well.

But even as he opened the door, the younger Ranger was already standing there, the paper folded in his hand. Halt stared at him, letting his hand fall from the knob as he stepped back. "Will...?"

"I..." Will looked down at the paper, swallowing. "Did...did you get it?"

Halt didn't reply. He spun around, his heart in his throat as he stared out the window. No. No, don't you dare do this to me. No, this isn't right. This...it's too soon!

"Halt?" Will said softly. "Are...are you alright?"

Halt didn't hear the words. The pit in his stomach grew, and he shook his head. No. Oh God, no. Please, no.

There was no denying what had been written on the paper. The one who had welcomed him, a foreigner, with open arms, the one who had been his best friend, his brother...Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he made no move to stop them.

"You were my best friend, Crowley," he whispered, choking on the words as the tears slipped down his face.

And now he's dead.