The Battle for Skandia (23 page)

“Then let's hear from him,” the Oberjarl said.

“Not him, Ragnak. Her. The informant is Evanlyn. Perhaps that's why Slagor is so keen to have her discredited and killed.”

Uproar once again filled the room and Will realized how cleverly Halt had played this hand. In the confusion of the moment, nobody asked the obvious question: how could Slagor have known that Evanlyn had discovered his plan? For if he didn't know, he would have no reason to try to discredit the girl. But now that Halt had planted the seed, the Skandians would all half believe that Slagor's actions were intended to forestall Evanlyn, rather than the other way around. In that light, her accusation could not be dismissed out of hand. It had to be investigated.

“Proof!” Slagor was shouting now, and some of his followers, realizing their own necks were close to the heads-man's ax, were shouting it too. “Anyone can accuse me! But where's the proof?”

Ragnak silenced the shouting with a gesture. “Well, Ranger,” he asked Halt, “can you offer us proof of these accusations?”

Erak hurriedly stepped into the breach, before Halt had to answer. “Svengal is bringing in the two ships from Fallkork,” he said. “He should be in port by tomorrow.”

But now Slagor saw the way out, saw there was no concrete evidence of the plan. “So two of my ships are waiting at Fallkork?” he cried, his voice shrill once more. “What does that prove? How does that make me a traitor? It doesn't, does it, Erak?”

A few of those in the hall started to echo the thought—and not just his own followers. As Halt had pointed out earlier, the mere presence of the ships at the rendezvous was no proof of Slagor's treachery. Emboldened now, Slagor stepped toward the crowd, addressing them and not the Oberjarl.

“They accuse me of treachery! They slander me! They take the word of an enemy of this country, the sworn enemy of our Oberjarl! Yet they can show no way to prove their vile claims! Is this Skandian justice? Let them find a way to prove it, I say.”

A growing chorus of voices agreed with him. Then, as if he were conducting a choir, Slagor signaled for silence and turned back to Halt.

“Can you, Ranger?” he said, spitting the last word out as if it were an insult. “Can you show some kind of proof?”

Halt hesitated, knowing they'd lost the momentum and the sentiment of the crowd. Knowing they'd lost. Then Will pushed forward to stand beside his mentor and friend.

“There is a way,” he said.

It took a lot to silence a noisy crowd of Skandians, but Will's statement managed to do the trick. The voices died away as if cut by a knife and all eyes turned to the small figure, standing now between Halt and Erak. As Will might have guessed, it was Ragnak himself who broke the silence.

“How?” he said simply.

“Well, Slagor's ships at this island, taken on their own, may be no proof of his intention to sell out to the Temujai,” Will said carefully, thinking through his words before he spoke them aloud, knowing that all their safety hung by a hairsbreadth on the way he expressed his idea. He saw Ragnak draw breath to speak and hurried on before the Oberjarl could interrupt him. “But . . . if Erak took
Wolfwind
to this Sand Creek Bay, and if they happened to find, say, a hundred and fifty Temujai warriors waiting there to embark, it's a fair indication that someone is planning to betray you, isn't it?”

There was a murmur of agreement among the assembled crowd. Ragnak frowned as he thought through the idea. Beside Will, Erak muttered: “Good thinking, boy.”

“That's true,” Ragnak said finally. “It shows there's treachery been planned. But who's to say Slagor's involved?”

Will chewed his lip as he thought over that one. But now Halt spoke up.

“Oberjarl, there's a simple way to find out. Let Erak take not one ship, but three. After all, that's the number the Temujai are expecting to see. Then he can speak with the leader of any Temujai who might happen to be there and tell them that Slagor has been detained and has sent him in his place. If the Temujai leader responds with words along the lines of ‘Who the devil is Slagor?,' then our friend here is as innocent as he claims to be.” He paused and saw that Ragnak was nodding as he considered the idea. Then he added, more deliberately, “On the other hand . . . if the name Slagor seems familiar to the enemy, then there is all the proof you need.”

“This is ridiculous!” Slagor burst out. “I swear to you, Oberjarl, that I am no traitor to Skandia! This is a plot cooked up by these Araluens.” He gestured contemptuously at Halt and Will. “And somehow they seem to have tricked Erak into believing it.”

“If you're innocent,” Ragnak said heavily, “then you have nothing to fear from all this, do you?” He was gazing steadily at Slagor now, noting the sheen of perspiration on the other man's forehead, noting the shrill tone that pervaded all his statements now. Slagor was scared, he thought. The more he saw that, the more he was prepared to believe that the man was a traitor.

“I don't see any reason why—” Slagor began, but Ragnak cut him off with a gesture.

“I do!” he snapped. “Erak, take three ships to Sand Creek Bay immediately and do as the Ranger suggests. Once you've established whether or not Slagor is involved in this plot, get back here and report. As for you . . .” He turned to Slagor, who was beginning to edge toward the side door of the room. “Don't try to go anywhere. I want you where I can see you until Erak returns. Ulfak, see to it!” He addressed this last comment to one of his other senior jarls, who nodded and moved to stand beside Slagor, laying a hand on his arm.

“One thing, Oberjarl,” Erak said, and the Skandian leader turned to him again. “Once I've established that Slagor is involved, is it all right if we reduce the Temujai numbers a little? That'll be a few less we have to fight here, at least.”

“Good idea,” Ragnak said. “But don't take any risks. I need to know the traitor's identity and you can't tell me that if the Temujai kill you.”

“Why not go ahead with the plan they're expecting?” Will said, before he could stop himself. The Skandian leader regarded him as if he were mad.

“Are you out of your mind?” he said. “Are you suggesting that Erak actually brings the Temujai back here as prisoners? We'd have to subdue them and guard them and that would take men away from our own battle line.”

“Not back here,” Will said, turning to appeal to Erak. “But couldn't you find some pretext to make them get off the ships at this Fallkork Island—then just leave them there?”

Again a silence, broken this time by a deep, throaty chuckle from Erak. “Oh, what a prize idea!” he said, grinning fondly at Will. “If we take these . . . horsemen . . . through the Vulture Narrows, I'm sure we can have them begging to get ashore for a few hours. The seas there are terrible at this time of year—guaranteed to make any inexperienced sailors seasick!”

Ragnak rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I take it these Temujai are unused to sailing?” he asked Halt.

The Ranger nodded. “Totally, Oberjarl.”

Ragnak looked from Halt to his young apprentice. “This boy of yours shows a certain talent for the sort of devious thinking we expect from you Rangers.”

Halt dropped one hand lightly on Will's shoulder, and said, with a completely straight face, “We're very proud of him, Oberjarl. We think he'll go far.”

Ragnak shook his head wearily. This sort of plot and counter-plot was beyond him. He waved one dismissing hand at Erak.

“Get your ships ready and go,” he said. “Then dump these Temujai on Fallkork Island and get back here.” The matter was done as far as he was concerned, but Slagor had one last, desperate objection.

“Oberjarl! These are the people who accuse me! They're all in it together! You can't send them to verify their own charges!”

Ragnak hesitated. “Fair point.” He turned to his hilfmann. “Borsa, you go with them as an independent witness.” Then, returning his gaze to Slagor, he concluded, “As for you, you'd better hope there are no Temujai at Sand Creek Bay.”

ERAK LOOKED AT THE FIGURE STANDING BESIDE HIM IN THE stern of the wolfship and, for the hundredth time, was unable to prevent a broad grin from breaking out across his face.

Halt noticed the look, and the grin, and said in a sour tone, “It must lose its fascination after a while, surely?”

The jarl shook his head, his grin broadening. “Not for me,” he replied cheerfully. “Every time, it's just as fresh as the first.”

“I'm so glad that Skandians have such a lively sense of humor,” the Ranger said, scowling. It didn't serve his ill temper any better to see that several of the other Skandians were grinning as well. In truth, he was a comical figure. He had forsaken his Ranger's cloak and garb and was dressed in Skandian clothing—sheepskin vest, a short fur cloak and woolen breeches, wound around with leather bindings from the knees down. At least they should have been wound from the knees down. In fact, since Halt was considerably smaller in stature than any of the adult Skandians, the leggings were bound from his thighs down, the breeches sagged alarmingly at the crutch and the sheepskin vest hung loosely on him, seemingly with room for another person of his own size inside.

“It's your own fault,” Erak replied. “For deciding to try to disguise yourself as one of us.”

“I told you,” Halt muttered. “The Temujai got a good look at me when they were chasing us near the border—and even without that, they have no reason to love anyone dressed as a Ranger.”

“So I've heard,” Erak said, still grinning. He bent to the sighting ring before him, checked the position of the floating lodestone and adjusted the sight ring to conform with it. Then he read off the bearing to the next headland.

“A little east to east of south,” he said to himself, then, raising his voice, he called to his men: “Look alive now! Sand Creek Bay lies beyond that next headland!”

There was an expectant shuffle on the decks of the wolfship as the Skandians made sure their weapons were close to hand—although not obviously so. At a nod from Erak, the masthead lookout relayed the message to the other two wolfships sailing in close company with them. Very obviously making an effort not to grin, the wolfship skipper nudged Halt in the ribs with a not too gentle elbow.

“You'd better put on your helmet,” he told the Ranger, whose countenance darkened even further than before as he reached for the huge horned helmet that every Skandian warrior wore.

This had been the most contentious piece of equipment. Erak had maintained that no Skandian would ever appear in public without a helmet, and that there was no question of Halt's not wearing one. Yet the sizes were immense compared to what Halt considered to be his own perfectly normal head size. Even the very smallest helmet that Erak could find wobbled loosely on Halt, and came down over his ears and eyes. By dint of much padding with cloths, they had finally managed to get the helmet to sit more or less firmly on his head. But it still gaped amazingly all around.

The Skandians looked on with ill-concealed amusement as Halt carefully placed the helmet on his head. Borsa, who had joined the expedition on Ragnak's orders, shook his head and chuckled. The unwarlike hilfmann, who'd never seen a day of battle in his life, knew he looked more the part than Halt did.

“Even if this turns out to be a wild-goose chase,” he said cheerfully, “it will have been worth it to see this.”

Halt turned away angrily. It was a mistake. With the rapid head movement, his helmet became dislodged and tipped down over his eyes. He cursed quietly to himself, straightened the ridiculous headgear and resigned himself to the smothered laughter of the Skandians.

They had been running before a quartering wind, but now, as Erak prepared to bring
Wolfwind
around the headland and across the wind, there was a flurry of activity on board as the big square sail was gathered in and furled to the cross yard. The long, heavy oars clattered in their tholes as the crew ran them out, and before the ship had time to lose way, they began their smooth, rhythmic stroking. Glancing behind, Halt saw the other ships had followed suit. Once again, the helmet tilted awkwardly on his head and, with a gesture of disgust, he ripped it off and dropped it to the deck. He glared at Erak, daring the big Skandian to make some comment. The jarl merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

They were almost around the last promontory now and those without any duties involved in keeping the ship moving and on course craned eagerly to see whether the beach would be empty—or whether there would be a war party of Temujai warriors waiting for them. With tantalizing slowness, the boat crept past the headland, gradually revealing the strip of sandy beach beyond. Halt felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, as the first sight of the beach showed no sign of any Temujai. But they were only looking at the southern end of the beach, and as they came farther around, there was a soft sigh from those watching and the sinking feeling in Halt's stomach turned to a flame of fierce exultation.

There, drawn up at the center of the beach, were three squadrons of Temujai cavalry.

Their dome-shaped felt tents were pitched in neatly ordered rows. Horses were tethered on a grass sward where the beach ended. There were sixty men to a squadron, Halt knew. He presumed each squadron would be leaving ten men to tend the horses, which, of course, couldn't travel on the wolfships. The discordant blare of a Temujai horn from the beach told them that they had been sighted.

Borsa shook his head sadly at the evidence of Slagor's treachery. “I'd been hoping that this would be an empty quest,” he said bitterly. “The thought of any Skandian turning traitor is a bitter one to face.”