John Flanagan - Oakleaf bearers

"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."

"B RING HER FORWARD!" R AGNAK'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.

"I said, 'look up,'" he repeated, and applied pressure to the knife to raise her eyes until she was gazing at Evanlyn. As she saw the girl, the woman began sobbing even louder.

"Shut up," Slagor told her. "Shut up that noise and tell the Oberjarl what you told me."

There were angry welts across the woman's face. Obviously, she had been recently beaten. Her ragged shift was torn in several spots as well, and more red marks were visible on her body through the gaps. In some places, blood had soaked through the thin material. Her tear-filled eyes pleaded with Evanlyn.

"I'm sorry, my lady," she said, her voice breaking. "They beat me until I told."

Evanlyn took an involuntary step toward her. But Slagor's knife swung up and around to confront her and stop her from coming closer. Beside him, Will heard Horace's quick intake of breath and saw his hand fall to the sword hilt once more. He placed his own hand over Horace's, stopping him from drawing the sword. The heavily built apprentice looked at him, surprised. Will shook his head slightly. He realized that Horace's movement had been a reflex reaction and he knew that in this tinderbox atmosphere, if his friend ever drew that sword it could mean the end of all of them.

"Not yet." He mouthed the words. If the time came, he was willing to join Horace in an attack on Slagor and Ragnak. But first, he thought, they should see if Halt couldn't talk their way out of this situation.

"Leave the talking to me," the Ranger had told them before they left his apartment. "And don't do anything until I tell you. Clear?"

The two boys had nodded. Then Halt had added: "This puts an altogether different slant on our accusing Slagor, of course."

"But surely you're still going to tell Ragnak?" Will had burst out. Halt shook his head doubtfully.

"The problem is, he's got in first. If we make a counter accusation now, it will look as if we're simply doing it to save Evanlyn. Chances are, Ragnak will ignore it altogether."

"But you can't let him get away with:," Will began, but Halt held up a hand to silence him.

"I'm not letting him get away with anything," he reassured them. "We'll just have to pick the right time to bring the matter up, that's all."

Now Slagor turned back to the woman on the floor. "Tell the Oberjarl," he repeated.

The woman said nothing and Slagor turned to Ragnak in exasperation. "My head slave overheard her talking to some of the others," he explained. "She's Araluen originally and she said she recognized this girl here"-he jerked a thumb in Evanlyn's direction-"as the Princess Cassandra-Duncan's daughter."