She said it reluctantly, but so calmly that Will was taken aback. He looked at her with new eyes, realizing that his old wardmate had gone through a training process every bit as tough as his own. Then a thought struck him, as memory of their earlier conversation came back to him.
"I don't think it needs to come to that," he said. "I've got an idea. Give me a hand saddling my horses and I'll tell you about it."
Gundar Hardstriker leaned into the smoke and cut a sliver of beef from the joint that was hanging over the coals. He blew carefully on the hot meat, then took a bite, nodding to himself as he tasted it. It was just about right. It was yearling beef, tender and streaked with fat, and with the smoky taste of the fire overlaying the flavor of the beef itself. He looked around the clearing next to where Wolfcloud was moored hard up against the shore. His men were busy jointing and smoking the last of the beef. The mutton had already been butchered and salted. In a few more hours, he estimated, they'd be ready. Then there'd be time for a couple of hours' sleep for all hands before full tide let them start on their delayed journey across the Stormwhite.
The flames and smoke of half a dozen fires illuminated the scene and cast weird moving shadows into the trees surrounding the clearing. Wolfcloud's savage figurehead seemed to float unsupported in the smoke, the light of the flames playing on the carved teeth of the wooden wolf's head.
"Gundar!" It was Jon Tarkson, one of his sail handlers, who called from the outer edge of the clearing. The skipper's head swiveled curiously and he made out an indistinct shape emerging from the darkness. He frowned as he realized it was the Ranger. He was mounted, which seemed to be his normal state, and he was leading a second horse, burdened with a large bundle slung crosswise.
Gundar raised his hand in greeting and started forward. He had grown to like the Ranger. He respected the young man's ingenuity in finding a solution to the situation that he had found himself facing and he admired his obvious courage.
"Welcome!" he called and Will returned the greeting, then slid down from the saddle. As Gundar strode closer, picking his way through the fires and the racks of smoking meat, he realized that the bundle slung across the second horse's back was a man-unconscious, and tied hand and foot. He jerked a thumb at the still form.
"Somebody get on your wrong side, Ranger?" he asked.
Will smiled slightly in reply. "You could say that. He's been making a nuisance of himself around here. It occurred to me that he could be useful to you."
Gundar frowned and wiped grease from his chin with the back of his hand. "Useful?" he said. "I've got all the crew I want, thanks. I don't need any untrained southerners on board Wolfcloud." He hesitated, then added, "No offense meant."
Will shook his head. "None taken. No, actually I didn't mean to offer him as a crew member. I thought you might like to take him as a slave. You do still have slaves in Skandia, don't you?"
Hardstriker regarded the young man with renewed interest. This one was full of twists and turns and no mistake, he thought. It had been a meager voyage for Wolfcloud, as Will had guessed when he first encountered the Skandians. A good healthy slave would be a saleable item when they finally got back to Hallasholm.
"Yes. We still have slaves," he said, stepping closer to the horse and examining the unconscious man more closely. He seized a handful of hair and lifted the man's face to look at it. Aged around thirty. Looked big and strong.
"He healthy?" he asked, and Will nodded.
"Aside from a slight bout of concussion, he's fit as a flea." Will remembered the cruel wound in the dog's side and the rumors that Buttle was responsible for a string of murders in the area. "He'd be good for hours of work on the paddles."
The paddles were a punishment for Skandian slaves. They were large wooden blades that were suspended in the wells during winter. Slaves worked them back and forth and up and down to keep the water moving and stop ice from forming too thickly. In the process, they were invariably splashed until they were soaked to the skin with the freezing cold water. In his time as a Skandian slave, Will had been assigned to the paddles. The assignment had nearly killed him before Erak had taken pity on him and helped him to escape.
Gundar was shaking his head. "The Oberjarl did away with the paddles as a punishment," he said. "Besides, a valuable slave like this would be wasted on them." He considered Buttle's still form once more, then came to a decision. "All right," he said. "How much do you want for him?"
Will reached around and tugged at a knot that held Buttle in place across the horse's back.
"Take him as a gift," he said, heaving on the bandit's collar so that he slid off the horse and fell in a heap on the ground. Buttle moaned softly as he did so, then went quiet. Gundar's eyes widened in surprise.
"A gift?"
Will nodded. "He's made a damn nuisance of himself around here and I don't have time to attend to him. Take him and welcome. You can owe me a favor sometime."
The Skandian captain regarded him thoughtfully. "You're one for surprises, all right, Ranger," he said. Then he called to two of his crewmen who had been standing by, interested spectators. "Get this cargo aboard," he told them. "Stow him in the forepeak."
Grinning, they lifted the unconscious man and carried him away. Gundar held out his hand to Will and the Ranger took it, shaking hands firmly.
"Well, you're right, Ranger. I'll owe you a favor for this. Not only have you fed my men for the winter, you've given us a small profit on the trip as well."
Will shrugged. "You're doing me a service by taking him," he said. "I'll be glad to know he's out of Araluen. Fair winds and strong rowers, Gundar Hardstriker," he added, in the traditional Skandian farewell.
"And an easy road to you, Ranger," Gundar replied.
Will swung back up into Tug's saddle. As he rode away, he pictured Buttle's future as a slave in Skandia. Even without the paddles, his life would be a hard one.
10
Will reined Tug in and looked around the almost deserted Gathering Ground. It was strange to see it so empty, he thought. There was a melancholy feeling to it.
Normally, the lightly wooded meadow would be filled with the small green tents of the fifty active members of the Ranger Corps as they came together for their annual Gathering. There would be cooking fires, the clank and rattle of weapons practice overlaid by the buzz of a dozen or more conversations and sudden bursts of laughter as old friends called greetings to new arrivals riding in.
Today, the campsites between the trees were bare. There were only two tents pitched, at the far end of the field, where the large command tent was normally placed. Halt and Crowley were already here, he realized.
Another week had passed since Alyss's visit to Seacliff Fief. The elegant Courier had given him his final instructions, telling him to wait for two days after her departure, then to leave quietly, without letting anyone know he was going, and to make his way to the fathering Ground, where Halt and Crowley would explain his assignment. As she was leaving, she placed her hands upon his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. She was taller than Will by half a head and she had always liked the fact that this didn't bother him In truth, most people were taller than Will, so it wasn't an issue with him. In his turn, he admired the way Alyss never tried to stoop or conceal her height. She stood proudly, with a firm, straight carriage that gave grace to all her movements.