19
T HE HEAT IN R AGNAK'S DINING HALL WAS INTENSE. T HE LARGE number of people present, and the huge, open fire that stretched almost the full width of one end of the room, combined to keep the temperature uncomfortably warm, in spite of the deep snow that lay on the ground outside.
It was an enormous room, long and low-ceilinged, with two tables stretching the length of it, and a third, Ragnak's head table, placed across the others at the end opposite the fire. The walls were bare pine logs, roughly trimmed and caulked, where their uneven shape left a gap, with a mixture of mud and clay that set hard as rock. More pine logs slanted up at angles to support the roof, a tightly woven layer of rushes and thatch that was almost a meter thick in places. There was no interior lining. Lighter slats of rough timber were fastened across the roof beams to support the thatch. The noise, with nearly one hundred and fifty drunken Skandians eating, laughing and shouting at one another, was deafening. Erak looked around him and smiled.
It was good to be home again.
He accepted another tankard of ale from Borsa, Ragnak's hilfmann.
While Ragnak was the Oberjarl, or senior Jarl of all Skandians, the hilfmann was an administrator who took care of the day-to-day running of the nation. He made sure that crops were planted, taxes paid, raids sent out on time and that Ragnak's share of all raiding booty-a quarter of everything won-was paid promptly and reckoned fairly by the wolfship commanders.
"Bad business all around, Erak," he said. They were discussing the ill-fated expedition to Araluen. "We should never get involved in a long-running war. It's not our game at all. We're cut out for quick raids. Get in, grab the booty and get out again with the tide. That's our way. Always has been."
Erak nodded. He'd thought the same thing when Ragnak had assigned him to the expedition. But the Oberjarl hadn't been in any mood to listen to his advice.
"Still, Morgarath paid us up front," the hilfmann continued.
Erak's eyebrows raised at that.
"He did?" It was the first he'd heard of it. He'd assumed that he and his men were fighting simply for whatever booty they could find, and the expedition had been a definite failure in that regard. But his companion nodded emphatically.
"Oh yes indeed. Ragnak's no fool when it comes to money. He charged Morgarath for your services, and those of all your men. You'll all be paid your share."
At least, thought Erak, he and his men would have something to show for the past few months. But Borsa was still shaking his head over the Araluen campaign.
"You know our biggest problem?" he said, and before Erak could respond, he continued. "We don't have our own generals or tacticians.
Skandians fight as individuals. And in that sense, we're the best in the world. But when we hire out as mercenaries, we don't have our own planners to lead us. So we're forced to rely on fools like Morgarath."
Erak nodded agreement. "When we were in Araluen, I said that his plans were too involved, too clever by half."
Borsa jabbed a thick forefinger at him. Erak was surprised by the man's vehemence. "And you're right! We could use a few people like those Araluen Rangers," he added.
"Are you serious?" Erak said. "Why do we need them?"
"Not them literally. I mean people like them. People who are trained in planning and tactics-with the ability to see the big picture and use our troops to best effect."
Erak had to agree the other man had a point. But the mention of Rangers had led his mind to the matter of Will and Evanlyn. Now he saw a way to solve the problem of dealing with them.
"Could you use a couple of new slaves around the Great Hall?" he asked casually. Borsa nodded immediately.
"We can always use extras," he said. "Got someone in mind, have you?"
"A boy and a girl," Erak told him. He thought it best not to mention that Will was an apprentice Ranger. "Both strong. Healthy and intelligent. We captured them on the Celtic border. I was going to sell them so I could pay my crew something for the whole mess. But now, if you say we'll be paid anyway, I'd be happy to give them to you."
Borsa nodded gratefully. "I can certainly use them," he replied.
"Send them over tomorrow."
"Done!" said Erak cheerfully. He felt a nagging weight had been removed from his mind. "Now where's that ale jug got to?"
While Erak was deciding their fate, Will and Evanlyn had been kept locked in a hut by the quayside, close to the point where Wolfwind was moored. The following morning, they were roused by a Skandian from Borsa's staff, who led them to the Great Hall. There, the hilfmann looked them over, studying them critically. The girl was attractive, he thought, but she didn't look as if she'd done a lot of heavy work in her life. The boy, on the other hand, was well muscled and fit, if a little on the small side.
"The girl can go to the dining hall and kitchen," he told his assistant. "Put the boy in the yard."
20
A N HOUR AFTER SUNSET, H ALT AND H ORACE LEFT THEIR ROOM and went downstairs to the taproom of the inn for supper. The innkeeper's wife had prepared a huge pot of savory stew. It hung, simmering, in the enormous fireplace that dominated one side of the room. A serving girl brought them large wooden bowls of the steaming food, along with curious, long loaves of bread, shaped in a style Horace had never seen before. They were very long, and narrow, so they looked like thick sticks rather than loaves. But they were crusty on the outside and delightfully light and airy on the inside. And, the apprentice soon discovered, they were an ideal tool for mopping up the delicious gravy of the stew.
Halt had accepted a large beaker of red wine with his meal. Horace had settled for water. Now, having enjoyed a large serving of a delicious berry pie, they sat over mugs of an excellent coffee.
Horace spooned a large helping of honey into his cup, watched with a frown by the Ranger.
"Killing the taste of good coffee," Halt muttered at him. Horace merely grinned. He was getting used to his companion's mock severity by now.
"It's a habit I learned from your apprentice," he told him, and for a moment they were both silent, thinking of Will, wondering what had become of him and Evanlyn, hoping they were both safe and well.
Halt finally roused them from their thoughtful mood by nodding toward the small group of townspeople seated by the fire. He and Horace had taken a table at the back of the room. It was always Halt's way to do this, keeping his back to a solid wall and sitting where he could observe the rest of the room and, at the same time, remain relatively inconspicuous himself.
While they were eating, the room had gradually filled with townspeople, either coming to eat or to enjoy a few jugs of wine or beer before heading to their own homes. Now, the Ranger had noticed, one of the room's inhabitants had produced a set of pipes from inside his pack, and another was fiddling with the tuning pegs of a gourd-shaped, eight-stringed instrument.
"Looks like the entertainment's about to start," he told Horace.
And as they spoke, the other people in the room began pulling their chairs closer to the fire and calling for refills from the innkeeper and his serving assistants.
The piper began playing a lament, and the string instrument quickly took up a counterpoint, playing rapid, vibrating strokes to form a continuous, high treble background to the soaring, swooping melody. The pipes themselves filled the room with a wild and plaintive sound, a voice that reached deep into the soul and brought thoughts of friends long gone and times past to the forefront of the listeners' minds.