The Battle for Skandia (21 page)

“Then she has been here?” Horace said. “That's a relief. Where is she now?”

Now it was Will's turn to frown. “Just a moment,” he said, putting a hand on Horace's muscular forearm. “Why is it a relief? Is something wrong?”

“Then she hasn't been here?” Horace asked, and his face fell again as Will shook his head.

“No. I thought you were being . . . you know . . .” Will had been about to say
jealous,
but he couldn't quite manage it. The idea that Horace might have something to be jealous about had too much of a sense of boasting about it. He saw instantly that such thoughts were far from Horace's mind. The apprentice warrior had hardly seemed to notice Will's hesitation.

“She's missing,” he said, in that same worried tone. He cast his hands out and looked around the empty practice field, as if he somehow expected to see her appear there. “Nobody's seen her since midmorning yesterday. I've looked everywhere for her, but there's no sign.”

“Missing?” Will repeated, not quite understanding. “Missing where?”

Horace looked up at him with a sudden flare of asperity. “If we knew that, she wouldn't be missing, would she?”

Will put up his hands in a peacemaking gesture.

“You're right!” he said. “I didn't realize. I've been a little tied up trying to get these archers organized. Surely somebody must have seen her last night. Her room servants, for example?”

Horace shook his head miserably. “I've asked them,” he said. “I was out on patrol most of yesterday myself, keeping an eye on the Temujai approach. We didn't get back in to Hallasholm till well after supper time, so I didn't realize she wasn't around. It was only this morning when I went to find her that I found out she hadn't been in her room last night and that nobody had seen her today. That's why I was hoping that maybe you'd . . . ” The sentence tailed off and Will shook his head.

“I haven't seen hide nor hair of her,” he told his friend. “But it's ridiculous!” he exclaimed after a short silence. “Hallasholm isn't a big enough place for someone to go missing. And there's nowhere else she could have gone. Let's face it, she can't have simply disappeared . . . can she?”

Horace shrugged. “That's what I keep telling myself,” he said morosely. “But somehow, it looks as if she has.”

UNITED NOW IN THEIR CONCERN FOR EVANLYN, THE TWO apprentices headed for Halt's quarters. All of the Araluen party had been assigned rooms in the main hall. As Halt was their leader, he had been given a small suite of three rooms. At the door, Will knocked perfunctorily and heard Halt's gruff reply: “Come.”

As they entered, he took in the fact that Erak was in the room with Halt. It was hard to miss the bulky Skandian. He seemed to fill most spaces he occupied. He was sprawled in one of the comfortable, carved wood armchairs that decorated the room—doubtless liberated on some wolfship raid down the coast. Halt was standing by the window, framed against the low-angled light of the late afternoon. He looked quizzically at the doorway as the two boys entered hurriedly.

“Halt,” Will began urgently, “Horace says Evanlyn's disappeared. She's—”

“Safe and sound and back in Hallasholm.” A familiar voice finished the sentence for him. Both boys turned to the speaker. Standing a little back, in the shadows of the room, she hadn't been evident as they'd entered.

“Evanlyn!” Horace exclaimed. “You're all right!”

The girl smiled. Now that his eyes were accustomed to the darker part of the room, Will could make out that her face and clothes were smeared with grease and dirt. Her eyes met his and she smiled at him, a little wistfully. Then she upended the flask of juice that she had in her hand and drank greedily from it.

“Apparently,” she said, setting the flask down. “Although I have a thirst on me that I doubt I'll ever quench. All I've had to drink in the last eighteen hours was a little rainwater that made its way through the canvas covers over the . . .” She hesitated and looked to Erak to supply the word she was after. The jarl obliged.

“Forepeak,” he said, and Evanlyn repeated the word.

“Forepeak, exactly, of Slagor's ship,” she said. Will and Horace exchanged puzzled glances.

“What in the devil's name were you doing there?” Will asked. Halt answered for her.

“The devil's name is right,” he said. “It seems our friend Slagor has sold out to the Temujai—and he's planning to betray Hallasholm to them.”

“What?” asked Will, his voice cracking with surprise. He looked at Evanlyn. “How do you know?”

The girl shrugged her slim shoulders. “Because I heard him discussing it with the Temujai leader. They were barely two meters away from me.”

“It seems,” Halt put in, by way of explanation, “that your old friend Slagor sailed down the coast yesterday to a rendezvous with the Temujai Shan—one Haz'kam. And since our traitor obviously didn't trust his new allies too far, he insisted on all negotiations being carried out on board his ship—just to keep Haz'kam's retainers at a distance.”

“Which is how I came to hear it,” Evanlyn finished. But now Horace was scratching his head in bewilderment.

“But . . . what were you doing on the ship?” he said.

“I told you,” Evanlyn replied. “Eavesdropping on Slagor and the Temujai.”

Horace made an impatient gesture. “Yes, yes, so you've said. But why were you there in the first place?”

Evanlyn went to answer, hesitated, then stopped altogether. All eyes in the room were on her now and she realized she didn't really have a logical answer to that question.

“I . . . don't know,” she said finally. “I was bored, I guess. And feeling useless. I was looking for something to do. And besides, Slagor looked sort of . . . shifty.”

“Slagor always looks sort of shifty,” Erak put in, helping himself to fruit from a bowl on the table in front of him. Evanlyn thought about it, then conceded the point.

“Well, that's true, I suppose. But he looked even shiftier than usual,” she said. “So I decided someone had better keep an eye on him and see what he was up to.”

Truth be told, Evanlyn was quite enjoying herself now. She had gone from feeling useless and unnecessary to being the bearer of important, even vital news to Halt and Erak. She couldn't help preening, just a little. Horace's next reaction was exactly what she'd hoped for.

“But . . . you could have been spotted! What if they'd found you there? They would have killed you,” he said, his concern for her evident in the worried tone of his voice.

That thought had occurred to Evanlyn on more than one occasion as she'd crouched in the damp space in the bow of the wolfship. Once she had fully realized the situation she was in, her skin had crawled with the fear of discovery with every second. But now she affected a nonchalant air about the entire episode.

“I suppose so. But let's face it, someone had to do it.”

She was delighted to notice that Horace was looking at her with something approaching awe. She glanced quickly at Will, hoping to see the same look of admiration there. His next words dashed that hope.

“All very well,” he said dismissively. “But the important thing is that Slagor is planning to betray us. How is he aiming to do it?”

“That's the point, of course,” Halt agreed. He indicated a chart of the Skandian coast that he and Erak had spread on the table between them. “Apparently, friend Slagor plans to put to sea quietly the day after tomorrow and make for the same rendezvous point down the coast. Only this time, there'll be one hundred and fifty Temujai warriors waiting. He'll take them aboard and ferry them back here to Hallasholm—”

“He'll never fit a hundred and fifty men into one wolfship!” Will interrupted.

Halt nodded. “Apparently, he has another two ships waiting for him out behind this island, halfway to the rendezvous.”

“They left a week ago,” Erak put in. “Supposedly, they were going to raid behind the Temujai lines. It seems the skirls are in league with Slagor and they're waiting at this prearranged point.” He tapped the map with his dagger, with which he'd been peeling fruit. A few spots of apple juice fell onto the parchment. Halt raised an eyebrow at him and wiped them away as the Jarl continued. “With three ships, they'll carry one hundred and fifty men easily.”

“Then what?” Horace asked. Evanlyn, piqued that attention had been diverted from her and that Will had ignored the danger she'd been in, leapt back into the conversation.

“They'll be able to attack our forces from the rear,” she explained. “Think of it, one hundred and fifty men, with the element of surprise, suddenly appearing behind our lines!”

“That could be very nasty indeed,” Horace said thoughtfully. “So what do we do?”

“We've already taken the first step,” Erak told him. “I've sent Svengal with two of my ships out to Fallkork Island here.” Again he tapped the juice-stained knife on the map and again Halt raised his eyes at him. “To make sure Slagor's other two ships don't keep any rendezvous.”

“Two against two?” Will asked. “Is that enough?”

The jarl cocked his head to one side and smiled at him. “Count yourself lucky that Svengal wasn't here to hear you say that,” he replied. “He'd consider his crew alone to be more than a match for two ships full of Slagor's followers. But in fact, Slagor's ships will have only rowing crews. They need all the space they have to cram those Temujai on board with them.”

“But what do we do about Slagor?” Will asked, and this time it was Halt who answered.

“That's the problem. If he gets wind that we know what he's up to, he'll simply abandon the plan. We'll be able to prove nothing. It'll be his word against the word of a former slave—and an escaped one at that.” He smiled at Evanlyn to show he meant no insult, but was merely stating the facts. She nodded her understanding.

“But if Slagor finds the other two ships at this island, surely that's proof?” Horace interjected. Halt shook his head.

“Proof of what? The crews will hardly admit they were waiting to go fetch the Temujai,” he said.

Horace sat back, frowning. This was getting too complicated for him.

“Then what can we do?” Will asked. But at that moment there was a heavy knock at the door. They all looked at each other in surprise. The clandestine nature of their discussion had made them speak in lowered tones and the sudden interruption had made them all start guiltily, as if discovered.

“Anyone expecting visitors?” Halt asked, and as the others shook their heads, he called once more: “Come.”

The door opened to admit Hodak, one of Erak's younger followers. He glanced about the room, noting the identities of all present. He looked uncomfortable as he noticed Evanlyn.

“Thought I might find you here,” he said to Erak. “Ragnak's calling a special council in the Great Hall. He wants you there, Jarl.” He indicated Evanlyn. “And you'd better bring the girl with you.”

“Evanlyn? Why should she go?” Halt asked. He saw the girl shrink back from the young Skandian. Maybe she had some premonition of what was to come.

“The council's about her,” Hodak said awkwardly. “Slagor has invoked Ragnak's Vallasvow. He says the girl is really Princess Cassandra, daughter of King Duncan.”

“BRING HER FORWARD!” RAGNAK'S MASSIVE VOICE, USED TO dominating the howling gales of the Stormwhite, boomed painfully in the low-ceilinged Hall. Evanlyn shrank back instinctively, then recovered as Halt touched her arm and met her eyes with a reassuring smile. She straightened her shoulders and drew herself up to full height. Will watched in admiration as she walked down the cleared space in the center of the hall. Halt, Erak and the two apprentices followed close behind her. Horace, Will noticed, was continually easing his sword in its scabbard, lifting it to free the blade, then allowing it to drop back again. Will's own hand strayed to the hilt of his throwing knife. If things went as badly as they all feared, he decided that knife was for Slagor, who was standing beside and slightly behind Ragnak. Once before, on Skorghijl, Will had demonstrated his skill with the knife to Erak's and Slagor's crews, throwing it across the room and skewering a small wooden keg next to Slagor's hand. This time, there would be no keg.

The room watched in utter silence as Evanlyn stopped before Ragnak's raised dais.

She met the Oberjarl's glower with a calm, composed expression on her face. Again, Will found himself almost overwhelmed by her courage and her composure. Slagor signaled to a pair of attendants by a side door.

“Bring in the slave,” he called. His voice was soft and silky, totally unlike Ragnak's forceful bellow. He sounded very pleased with the current turn of events, Will thought. The two men, rowers from Slagor's crew, opened the door and dragged in a protesting, weeping figure. She was a middle-aged woman, her hair graying and her face lined before its time with the strain of unending labor, poor food and the threat of constant punishment that was the lot of a slave in Hallasholm. The sailors dragged her forward and cast her down on the floor in front of Evanlyn. She crouched there miserably, her eyes down.

“Look up, slave,” Slagor told her in that same quiet voice. Her sobbing continued and she shook her head, her eyes still cast down at the floor. Slagor moved quickly, stepping down from the platform and drawing his saxe knife in one smooth movement. He held the razor-sharp blade below the woman's chin, pressing it into the flesh of her neck with not quite sufficient force to break the skin.