Ranger's Apprentice 3 & 4 Bindup by John Flanagan

prompted, not sure where this conversation was leading. Horace shrugged uncomfortably. The memory of the girl, and her shapely legs, was causing his cheeks to burn with embarrassment again.
    â€˜Well,’ he said uncertainly, ‘I just wondered if that was normal over here, that’s all.’
    Halt considered the serious young face beside him. He cleared his throat several times.
    â€˜I believe that sometimes Gallican girls take jobs as couriers,’ he said.
    Horace frowned slightly. ‘Couriers?’
    â€˜Couriers. They carry messages from one person to another. Or from one business to another, in the towns andcities.’ Halt checked to see if Horace seemed to be believing him so far. There seemed no reason to think otherwise, so he added: ‘Urgent messages.’
    â€˜Urgent messages,’ Horace repeated, still not seeing the connection. But he seemed inclined to believe what Halt was saying, so the older man continued.
    â€˜And I suppose for a really urgent message, one would have to run.’
    Now he saw a glimmer of understanding in the boy’s eyes. Horace nodded several times as he made the connection.
    â€˜So, the short skirts … they’d be to help them run more easily?’ he suggested. Halt nodded in his turn.
    â€˜It would certainly be a more sensible form of dress than long skirts, if you wanted to do a lot of running.’ He shot a quick look at Horace to see if his gentle teasing was not being turned back on himself – to see if, in fact, the boy realised Halt was talking nonsense and was simply leading him on. Horace’s face, however, was open and believing.
    â€˜I suppose so,’ Horace replied finally, then added, in a softer voice, ‘They certainly look a lot better that way, too.’
    Again, Halt shot him a look. But Horace seemed to be content with the answer. For a moment, Halt regretted his deception, feeling a slight pang of guilt. Horace was, after all, totally trusting and it was so easy to tease him like this. Then the Ranger looked at those clear blue eyes and the contented, honest face of the warrior apprentice and any sense of regret was stifled. Horace had plenty of time to learn about the seamier side of life, he thought. He could retain his innocence for a little while longer.
    They left La Rivage by its northern gate and headed into the farm country surrounding it. Horace’s curiosity remained as strong as ever, and he peered from side to side as the road took them past fields and crops and farmhouses. The countryside was different to Araluen. There were more varieties of trees and, as a result, there were more shades of green. Some of the crops were unfamiliar, too: large, broad leaves on stalks that stood as high as a man’s head were left to dry and seemingly to wither on the stalk before they were gathered. In several places, Horace saw those same leaves hanging in large, open-ended sheds, drying out even more. He wondered what sort of crop it might be. But, as before, he decided to ration his questions.
    There was another difference, more subtle. For some time, Horace wasn’t even aware that it was there at all. Then he realised what it was. There was a general air of unkemptness about the fields and the crops. They were tended, obviously, and some of the fields were ploughed. But they seemed to lack the loving, fastidious care that one saw in fields and crops at home. One could sense a lack of attention from the farmers, and in some crops weeds were clearly visible.
    Halt sighed. ‘It’s the land that suffers when men fight,’ he said softly. Horace glanced at him. It was unusual for the grizzled Ranger to break the silence himself.
    â€˜Who’s fighting?’ he asked, his interest piqued.
    Halt scratched at his beard. ‘The Gallicans. There’s no strong central law here. There are dozens of minor nobles and barons – warlords if you like. They’re constantly raiding