She nodded her agreement. She was beginning to relax a little and the wine sent a soft glow through her. She hadn't touched alcohol in any form for months, she realized. The thought occurred to her that she had better watch her step. And her tongue.
She waited now for the Skandian captain to speak. He seemed to be hesitating, as if not sure how he should proceed. The silence grew between them until, eventually, she could bear it no longer. She took another quick sip of her wine, then asked: "Why did you send for me?"
Jarl Erak had been staring into the flames of the small fire. He looked up in surprise now as she spoke. He must be unused to having slaves begin conversations with him, she thought. Then she shrugged.
They could sit here in silence all night if someone didn't get the ball rolling. She was intrigued to see a slow smile break out on the bearded face. It occurred to her that in another place, under different conditions, she could grow to quite like the Skandian pirate.
"Probably not for the reason you're thinking," he said, then, before she could reply, he continued, almost to himself, "But somebody has to do something and I think you're the one for the job."
"Do something?" Evanlyn repeated. "Do something about what?"
Erak seemed to come to a decision then. He heaved a deep sigh, drained the last of the wine in his glass and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his craggy, bearded face thrust toward her.
"Have you seen your friend lately?" he asked. "Young Will?"
Her eyes dropped from his gaze. She had seen him all right-or rather, she had seen the shambling, mindless figure that he had become. Some days ago, he had been working outside the kitchen and she had taken him some food. He snatched the bread from her hands and devoured it like an animal. But when she spoke to him, he had merely stared at her.
In two short weeks, he had already forgotten Evanlyn, forgotten Halt and the little cottage by the edge of the woods outside Castle Redmont. He had forgotten even the major events that had happened at the Plains of Uthal, when King Duncan's army had faced and defeated Morgarath's implacable Wargal regiments.
Those events, and all the others of his young life, might as well have taken place on the far side of the moon for all he was concerned.
Today, his life and his total being centered on one thought and one thought only.
His next supply of warmweed.
One of the other slaves, an older woman, had witnessed the encounter. As Evanlyn returned to the kitchen, she had spoken softly to her.
"Forget your friend. The drug's got him. He's already dead."
"I've seen him," she told Erak now in a low voice.
"I had nothing to do with that," he said angrily, surprising Evanlyn with the intensity of his reply. "Nothing. Believe me, girl, I hate that damn drug. I've seen what it does to people. No one deserves that sort of shadow life."
She looked up to meet his gaze again. He was obviously sincere and, equally obviously, wanted her to acknowledge what he had said.
She nodded.
"I believe you," she said.
Erak rose from his chair. He strode restlessly about the small, warm room as if action, any form of physical action, would relieve the fury that had been building within him since he'd encountered Will.
"A boy like that, he's a real warrior. He may only be knee-high to a gnat, but he's got the heart of a true Skandian."
"He's a Ranger," she told him quietly, and he nodded.
"That he is. And he deserves better than this. That damned drug! I don't know why Ragnak allows it!"
He paused for a long moment, gaining control of his temper. Then he turned to her and continued.
"I want you to know that I tried to keep you two together. I had no idea Borsa would send him to the yard. The man has no concept of how to treat an honorable enemy. But what can you expect? Borsa's no warrior. He counts sacks of grain for a living."
"I see," Evanlyn said carefully. She wasn't sure that she did, but she felt some response was expected of her. Erak looked at her keenly, assessing her, she thought. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something.
"Nobody survives the yard," he added softly, almost to himself. As he said it, Evanlyn felt a cold hand wrap around her heart.
"So," he said, "it's up to us to do something about it."
Evanlyn looked at him, hope rising inside her as he spoke those last words.
"Exactly what sort of thing do you have in mind?" she asked slowly, hoping against hope that she was judging this conversation correctly. Erak paused for a second or two, then decided, irrevocably, to commit himself.
"You're going to escape," he said finally. "You're taking him with you and I'm helping you do it."
24
T HE TWO TRAVELERS SPENT A RESTLESS NIGHT, TAKING IT IN turns to keep watch. Neither of them trusted the local warlord not to come sneaking back in the darkness. As it turned out, however, their fears were unfounded. There was no further sign of Deparnieux that night.
The next morning, as they were saddling their horses in the barn at the rear of the building, the innkeeper approached Halt nervously.
"I can't say, sir, that I am sorry to see you leave my inn," he said apologetically. Halt patted him on the shoulder to show that he took no offense.
"I can understand your position, my friend. I'm afraid we haven't endeared ourselves to your local thug."
The innkeeper glanced around anxiously before agreeing with Halt, as if frightened that someone might be observing them and might report his disloyalty to Deparnieux. Halt guessed that such a thing had probably happened many times before in this town. He felt sorry for the man in the bar the previous night who had laughed-and been seen to do so by the black knight.
"He's a bad, bad man, right enough, sir," the innkeeper admitted in a lowered voice. "But what can the likes of us do about him? He has a small army at his back and we're just tradesmen, not warriors."
"I wish we could help you," Halt told him, "but we do have to be on our way." He hesitated just a second, then asked innocently, "Does the ferry at Les Sourges operate every day?"
Les Sourges was a river town that lay to the west, some twenty kilometers away. Halt and Horace were traveling north. But the Ranger was sure that Deparnieux would return, asking for any clues as to the direction they had taken. He didn't expect the innkeeper would keep his question a secret. Nor would he blame him if he didn't. The man was nodding now in confirmation of the question.
"Yes, sir, the ferry will still be running at this time of year.
Next month, when the water freezes, it will close down and travelers will have to use the bridge at Colpennieres."
Halt swung up into the saddle. Horace was already mounted, and held the lead rein for their string of captured horses. After the previous night's events, they had decided it would be wiser to leave the town as quickly as possible.
"We'll make for the ferry, then," he said in a carrying voice.
"The road forks a few miles to the north, I take it?"
Again, the innkeeper nodded. "That's right, sir. It's the first major crossroads you come to. Take the road to the left and you're headed for the ferry."
Halt raised a hand in thanks and farewell, and nudging Abelard with his knee, he led the way out of the stable yard.
They traveled hard that day. Reaching the crossroads, they ignored the left turn and continued straight ahead, heading north. There was no sign on the road behind them that there was any pursuit. But the hills and the woods that surrounded them could have concealed an army if need be. Halt wasn't entirely convinced that Deparnieux, who knew the countryside, wasn't traveling parallel to them somewhere, perhaps outflanking them to set up an ambush at some point farther along the road.