After the evening's work was completed, the slaves moved gratefully to their sleeping spaces. Evanlyn noted wryly that Jana, obviously bored with Evanlyn's constant complaints about Erak, had moved her blanket to the far side of the room. She spread her own blanket and went to reroll the cloth around her log pillow. As she did so, a small piece of paper fell from the folds of the old shirt she used to pad the wood.
Her heart racing, Evanlyn quickly covered the scrap with her foot, glancing around to see if any of her neighbors had noticed. Nobody seemed to. They all continued with their own preparations for sleep.
As casually as she could, Evanlyn lay down, retrieving the small scrap of paper as she did so, and pulled her blanket up to her chin, taking the opportunity to glance at the one-word message written on the paper:
"Tonight."
A kitchenhand came in a few minutes later and doused the lanterns, leaving only the flickering flames of the banked fire to light the room. Exhausted as she was, Evanlyn lay on her back, eyes wide open, pulses racing, waiting for the time to pass.
Gradually, the voices around the room fell silent, replaced by the deep, regular breathing of sleeping slaves. Here and there were soft snores or the occasional cough, and, once or twice, a voice spoke out, slurred and indistinct, as an elderly Teuton slave muttered in her sleep.
The fire died away to a dull red glow and Evanlyn heard the watch sounding the horn for midnight from the harbor. That would be the last signal horn until dawn, at around seven o'clock. She settled back to wait. Erak had told her to wait till an hour after the midnight signal. "That gives them time to settle down and sleep deeply," he'd said to her, when he outlined his plan. "Leave it any longer and the light sleepers and the older slaves will start waking up and needing to use the privies."
In spite of the tension she felt, her eyelids were beginning to droop, and with a panicky start, she realized she had nearly dropped off to sleep. That would be perfect, she thought bitterly, to have the Jarl waiting for her outside the Great Hall while she was snoring soundly in her blanket.
She shifted on the hard floor, moving to a less comfortable position, digging her nails into her palms so that the pain would keep her alert. She began to count to measure the time passing, then realized, almost too late, that the soporific effect of counting had nearly put her to sleep again.
Finally, with a shrug of annoyance, she decided that an hour must have passed. There was no sign of anyone being awake in the kitchen as she cautiously pushed back her blanket and stood up. If anyone stirred, she reasoned, she could always claim that she was heading for the privy herself. She had gone to bed fully dressed, apart from her boots. She carried them with her now, wrapping the blanket around her.
As the fire had died down, the room had grown progressively colder and she shivered as the chill air struck at her.
The door to the yard seemed to be loud enough to wake the dead as she tried to ease it open. It swung on the heavy hinges with what seemed to be a deafening shriek. Wincing, she shut it as carefully as she could, marveling that nobody had seemed to be disturbed by the noise.
There was no moon. The night was overcast with thick clouds, but still the snow that covered the ground reflected what little light there was, making it easy to see details. The black mass that was the yard slaves' sleeping quarters, a cold and drafty barn, was easily visible, thirty or forty meters away.
Hopping from one foot to the other, she tugged on her boots. Then, hugging the wall of the main building, she moved to her left, making for the corner as Erak had instructed. As she reached the end of the wall, she let out an involuntary gasp. There was a burly figure waiting there, huddled close in to the shadow of the building.
For a moment, she felt a shaft of fear stab at her. Then she realized it was Jarl Erak.
"You're late," he whispered in an angry tone. She realized that he was possibly as keyed up as she was. Jarl or no jarl, he was risking his life to help a slave escape and he'd be well aware of the fact.
"Some of them hadn't settled down," she lied. It seemed pointless to tell him that she'd had no way of measuring time. He grunted in reply and she guessed her excuse was accepted. He thrust a small sack into her hands.
"Here," he said. "There are a few silver coins in there. You'll probably have to bribe one of the Committeemen to get the boy out of there. This should be enough. If I give you more, they'll only get suspicious and wonder where it came from."
She nodded. They had discussed all this in his quarters five nights before. The escape would have to be accomplished without any suspicion falling on Erak. This was the reason why he had instructed her to spend the last few days complaining about the prospect of becoming his slave. It would create an apparent reason for her attempt to escape.
"Take this as well," he said, handing her a small dagger in a leather sheath. "You might need it to make sure he sticks to the bargain after you've bribed him."
She took the weapon, shoving it through the wide belt she wore.
She was dressed in breeches and a shirt, with the blanket draped around her shoulders like a cloak.
"Once I get him out, what then?" she asked softly. Erak pointed to the path that led down to the harbor, and to the township of Hallasholm itself.
"Follow that path. Not far from the gate, you'll see another path branching off to the left, uphill. Take that. I've tethered a pony along the path, with food and warm clothing. You'll need the horse to keep Will moving." He hesitated, then added, "You'll also find a small supply of warmweed in the saddle pack."
She looked up at him, surprised. The other night, he had made no secret of his distaste for the narcotic.
"You'll need it for Will," he explained briefly. "Once a person's addicted to the stuff, you can kill him by stopping the supply all at once. You'll have to wean him off it gradually, reducing the amount each week, until his mind recovers and he can do without it."
"I'll do my best," she said, and he gripped her wrist encouragingly. He glanced at the low clouds above them, sniffing the air.
"It'll snow before dawn," he said. "That will cover your tracks.
Plus I'll lay a false trail as well. Just keep heading up into the mountains. Follow the path until you come to a fork in the trail by three boulders, with the largest in the middle. Then branch left and you'll reach the hut in another two days' travel."
There was a small hut up in the mountains, used as a base for hunters during the summer season. It would be unoccupied now and would provide a relatively safe refuge for them through the winter.
"Remember," he told her, "once the spring thaw starts, get moving.
The boy should have recovered by then. But you can't afford to be caught up there by hunters. Get out once the snow's gone and keep heading south." He hesitated, then shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry I can't do more," he said. "This is the best I could come up with at short notice, and if we don't do something now, Will won't survive much longer."
She reached up on tiptoe and kissed his bearded cheek.
"You're doing plenty," she said. "I'll never forget you for this, Jarl Erak. I can't begin to thank you for what you're doing."
Awkwardly, he shrugged away her thanks. He glanced at the sky once more, then jerked his thumb at the yard slaves' barracks.
"You'd better get going," he told her. Then he added, "Good luck."
She grinned quickly at him, then hurried across the bare patch of ground to the barracks. She felt glaringly exposed as she crossed the snow-covered yard, and half expected to hear a challenge from somewhere behind her. But she made it to the building without incident and shrank gratefully into the shadows at the base of the wall.
She paused a few seconds to regain her breath and let her heart settle to a more normal pace. Then she edged her way along the wall to the door. It was locked, of course, but only from the outside and only with a simple bolt. She slid it back now, holding her breath as the metal rasped on metal, then swung the rickety door open and slipped ins
ide.
It was dark in the barracks, with no fire to light the gloom. She waited, letting her eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. Gradually, she could make out the sleeping forms of the slaves, sprawled on the dirt floor, wrapped in rags and scraps of blankets. Light fell across them in bars, coming through the gaps in the rough pine walls of the building. The Committeemen, Erak had told her, had a separate room at the end of the barracks, where they even kept a small fire burning for warmth. But there was always a chance that one of them might stay on watch in the main barracks. That was why he had given her the silver.
And the dagger.
She touched her hand to the cold hilt of the weapon now, feeling it for reassurance. She had reconnoitered the barracks several days ago and she knew roughly where Will had his sleeping space. She began to head toward it, picking her way carefully among the prone bodies.
Her eyes moved this way and that, seeking him out, and she felt a growing sense of desperation as she searched. Then she made out that unmistakable shock of hair above a ragged blanket, and with a sigh of relief, she made her way to him.
At least there would be no problem getting Will to move. Yard slaves, their senses dulled and their minds slowed by the drug, would obey any command they were given.
She crouched beside Will, shaking his shoulder to wake him-gently at first, then, realizing that in his drugged state he would sleep like the dead, increasingly roughly.
"Will!" she hissed, leaning close to his ear. "Get up. Wake up!"
He muttered once. But his eyes remained tight shut and his breathing heavy. She shook him again with a growing sense of panic.
"Please, Will," she begged. "Wake up!" And she hit him across the cheek with the palm of her hand.
That did the trick. His eyes opened and he stared foggily at her.
There was no sign of recognition but at least he was awake. She dragged at his shoulder.
"Get up," she commanded. "And follow me."
Her heart leaped in triumph as he obeyed. He moved slowly, but he moved, rising groggily to his feet and standing, swaying unsteadily, beside her, waiting for further instructions.
She pointed to the door, swinging open and letting a band of white light into the barracks. "Go. To the door," she ordered, and he began to trudge toward it, uncaring where he put his feet, kicking and treading on the other sleeping slaves. Remarkably, they showed little reaction, at most muttering or tossing in their sleep. She turned to follow him, but a cold voice from the far end of the room stopped her in her tracks.
"Just a moment, missy. Where do you think you're going?"
It was a Committeeman. Even worse, it was Egon. Jarl Erak had been right. They did take turns to stand watch over the other slaves. She turned to face him as he made his way through the crowded room. Like Will, he paid no heed to the sleeping figures on the floor, treading on them as he came.
Evanlyn drew herself up, took a deep breath and said, in as steady a voice as she could manage: "Jarl Erak sent me to fetch this slave.
He needs firewood brought into his quarters."
The gang boss hesitated. It was not impossible that she was telling the truth. If one of the senior Jarls ran out of firewood in the middle of the night, he'd have no compunction about sending a slave to bring a new stack in.
However, he was suspicious and he thought he recognized this girl.
"He sent for this slave in particular?" he challenged.
"That's right," Evanlyn replied, trying to sound unconcerned. It was the one part of their story that was thin. There was no reason why Erak, or any other Skandian, would have specified a particular yard slave for a menial carrying task.
"Why this slave?" he pressed, and she knew the bluff wouldn't work. She tried another tack.
"Well, he didn't actually say this one. He just said a slave. But Will's a friend of mine and he'll get to work inside where it's warm for a few hours and maybe a decent meal, so I thought:" She let the sentence hang, shrugging her shoulders, hoping he'd be satisfied.
Egon, however, simply continued to stare at her. Then, finally, his eyes narrowed in recognition.
"That's right," he said. "You were in here the other day. I saw you looking around, didn't I?"
Inwardly, Evanlyn cursed him. She decided she had to break this impasse quickly. She tugged out the small sack of coins and jingled it.
"Look, I'm just trying to do a friend a good turn," she said.
"I'll make it worth your while."
He glanced quickly over his shoulder to make sure none of the other Committeemen were witness to the scene. Then his hand shot out and he grabbed the sack from her.
"That's more like it," he said. "I do something for you, and you do something for me." He shoved the coins inside his shirt and moved closer to her, standing only a few centimeters away. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Will was waiting, an uninterested spectator, by the doorway. Suddenly Egon grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her closer to him.
"Maybe you can find a few more coins hidden somewhere," he suggested. Then a frown came over his face as he felt a sharp pain in his belly-and a warm trickle running down his skin from the spot where the pain was centered. Evanlyn smiled without any warmth.
"Maybe I can gut you like a herring if you don't let go," she said, jabbing the razor-sharp dagger into his skin once more.
She wasn't totally sure that herrings were gutted. But neither did he seem to be. He backed off quickly, waving at the door and cursing her.
"All right," he said. "Get out of here. But I'll make your friend pay for this when he comes back."
With a vast sigh of relief, Evanlyn hurried to the door, grabbing Will's arm and dragging him outside. Once there, she turned and slid the bolt home again.
"Come on, Will. Let's get out of here," she said, and led the way toward the path to the harbor.
From the shadows, Jarl Erak watched the figures leave and heaved his own sigh of relief.
Then, after a few minutes, he followed them. There was still work for him to do this night.
26
T HE SMALL CAVALCADE FOLLOWED THE ROAD NORTH. H ALT AND Horace rode in the center with Deparnieux, who had changed into his customary black armor and surcoat. The raddled old hack that he had been riding was now consigned to the rear of the column, and he was astride a large, aggressive and, as Halt had expected, black battlehorse.
They were surrounded by at least two dozen men-at-arms, marching silently ahead and behind. In addition, there were ten mounted warriors, split into two groups of five and stationed at either end of the column.
Halt noticed that the men nearest them kept their crossbows loaded and ready for use. He had no doubt that at the first indication that they wanted to escape, he and Horace would be bristling with crossbow bolts before they had gone ten steps.
His own longbow was slung across his shoulder, while Horace had retained his sword and lance. Deparnieux had shrugged at them as he took them captive, indicating the mass of armed men around them.
"You can see it's no use resisting," he said, "so I'll allow you to hold on to your weapons." He had then glanced meaningfully at the longbow resting lightly across Halt's saddle pommel. "However," he added, "I think I'd feel more at ease with that bow unstrung, and slung over your shoulder."
Halt had shrugged and complied. His look told Horace that there was a time to fight, and a time to accept the inevitable. Horace had nodded and they had fallen in beside the Gallic warlord, finding themselves immediately bunched in by his retainers. Halt noted wryly that Deparnieux's generosity did not extend to their string of captured horses and armor. He gruffly ordered for their lead rein to be handed to one of his mounted retainers, who now rode at the rear of the column with them. Their captor noted with interest that the shaggy little packhorse did not have a lead rope, and stayed calmly alongside Halt's mount. He raised an eyebrow, but made no comment.
To Halt's surprise, the black-clad knight turned his horse's head to the north and
they began their march.
"May I ask where you are taking us?" he said.
Deparnieux bowed from the saddle with mock courtesy.
"We are heading for my castle at Montsombre," he told them, "where you will remain as my guests for a short while."
Halt nodded, digesting that piece of information. Then he asked further: "And why might we be doing that?"
The black knight smiled at him. "Because you interest me," he said. "You travel with a knight and you carry a yeoman's weapons. But you're no simple retainer, are you?"
Halt said nothing this time, merely shrugging. Deparnieux, eyeing him shrewdly, nodded as if confirming his own thought.
"No. You are not. You're the leader here, not the follower. And your clothing interests me. This cloak of yours:" He leaned across from his saddle and fingered the folds of Halt's dappled Ranger cloak.
"I've never seen one quite like it."
He paused, waiting to see if Halt would comment this time. When he didn't, Deparnieux didn't seem too surprised. He continued, "And you're an expert archer. No, you're more than that. I don't know any archer who could have pulled off that shot you made last night."
This time, Halt made a small gesture of self-deprecation. "It wasn't such a great shot," he replied. "I was aiming for your throat."
Deparnieux's laugh rang out loud and long.
"Oh, I think not, my friend. I think your arrow went straight where you aimed it." And he laughed again. Halt noticed that the merriment, loud as it was, didn't reach his eyes. "So," Deparnieux said, "I decided that such an unusual fish might deserve more study.
You may be useful to me, my friend. After all, who knows what other skills and abilities may lie hidden under that unusual cloak of yours?"
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