John Flanagan: Oakleaf bearers

At best, it meant an uncomfortable journey there and back by pony, a method of transport that Erak loathed. As he thought of the mountain range that reared above Hallasholm, he had a quick memory of the two Araluen slaves he had helped to escape several months ago. He wondered what had become of them, whether they had made it to the small hunting cabin high in the mountains and whether they had survived the last months of winter. He realized abruptly that Borsa and Ragnak were both waiting for his reaction.

"Ostkrag?" he repeated. Ragnak nodded impatiently.

"Their quarterly payment is overdue. I want you to go and shake them up," the Oberjarl said. Erak noticed that Ragnak couldn't quite hide the avaricious gleam that came into his eyes whenever he talked about tax and payments. Erak couldn't help giving vent to an exasperated sigh.

"They can't be overdue by more than a week or so," he temporized, but Ragnak was not to be swayed and shook his head violently.

"Ten days!" he snapped. "And it's not the first time! I've warned them before, haven't I, Borsa?" he said, turning to the hilfmann, who nodded.

"The jarl at Ostkrag is Sten Hammerhand," Borsa said, as if that were explanation enough. Erak stared blankly at him. "He should be called Sten Gluehand," he elaborated with heavy sarcasm. "The tax payments have stuck to his fingers before this, and even when they're paid in full, he always makes us wait long past the overdue date. It's time we taught him a lesson."

Erak smiled with some irony at the small, sparsely muscled hilfmann. Borsa could be an extremely threatening figure, he thought-when someone else was available to carry out the threats.

"You mean it's time I taught him a lesson?" he suggested, but Borsa didn't notice the sarcasm in his voice.

"Exactly!" he said, with some satisfaction. Ragnak, however, was a little more perceptive.

"It's my money, after all, Erak," he said, and there was an almost petulant note in his voice. Erak met his gaze steadily. For the first time, he realized that Ragnak was growing old. The once flaming red hair was duller and turning gray. It came as a surprise to Erak. He certainly didn't feel that he was growing older, yet Ragnak didn't have too many years on him. He could notice other changes in the Oberjarl now that he had become aware of the fact. His jowls were heavier and his waistline thickening. He wondered if he was changing too.

"It's been a severe winter," he suggested. "Perhaps the passes are still blocked. There was a lot of late snow."

He moved to the large scale map of Skandia that was displayed on the wall behind Ragnak's table. He found Ostkrag and, with one forefinger, traced the way to the closest pass.

"The Serpent Pass," he said, almost to himself. "It's not impossible that all that late-season snow and the sudden thaw could have led to landslides in there." He turned back to Ragnak and Borsa, indicating the position on the map to them.

"Maybe the couriers simply can't get through yet?" he suggested. Ragnak shook his head and again Erak sensed the irritability, the irrational annoyance that seemed to grip Ragnak these days whenever his will was thwarted or his judgment questioned.

"It's Sten, I know it," he said stubbornly. "If it were anyone else, I might agree with you, Erak." Erak nodded, knowing full well that the words were a lie. Ragnak rarely agreed with anyone if it meant changing his own position. "Get up there and get the money from him. If he argues, arrest him and bring him back. In fact, arrest him even if he doesn't argue. Take twenty men with you. I want him to see a real show of strength. I'm sick of being taken for a fool by these petty jarls."

Erak looked up in some surprise. Arresting a jarl in his own lodge was not something to be lightly contemplated-particularly for such a petty offense as a late tax payment. Among the Skandians, tax evasion was considered to be almost obligatory. It was a form of sport. If you were caught out, you paid up and that was the end of it. Erak could not remember anyone being submitted to the shame of arrest on that count.

"That might not be wise," he said quietly, and Ragnak glared up at him, his eyes searching for Erak's over the scattered accounts on the table before him.

"I'll decide what's wise," he grated. "I'm Oberjarl, not you."

The words were offensive. Erak was a senior jarl and by long-established custom he was entitled to air his opinion, even though it might be contrary to his leader's. He bit back the angry retort that sprang to his lips. There was no point provoking Ragnak any further when he was in this mood.

"I know you're the Oberjarl, Ragnak," he said quietly. "But Sten is a jarl in his own right and he may well have a perfectly valid reason for this late payment. To arrest him in those circumstances would be unnecessarily provocative."

"I'm telling you he won't have what you call a 'valid reason,' damn it!" Ragnak's eyes were narrowed now and his face was suffused with his anger. "He's a thief and a holdout and he needs to be made an example to others!"

"Ragnak:," Erak began, trying to reason one last time. This time it was Borsa who interrupted.

"Jarl Erak, you have your instructions! Now do as you are ordered!" he shouted, and Erak turned angrily to face him.

"I follow the Oberjarl's orders, hilfmann. Not yours."

Borsa realized his mistake. He backed away a pace or two, making sure the substantial bulk of the table was between him and Erak. His eyes slid away from the other man's and there was an ugly silence. Finally, Ragnak seemed to realize that some form of back-down might be necessary-although not too much. He said, in an irritated tone: "Look, Erak, just go and get those taxes from Sten. And if he's been holding out on purpose, bring him back here for trial. All right?"

"And if he has a valid reason?" Erak insisted.

The Oberjarl waved a hand in surrender. "If he has a valid reason, you can leave him alone. Does that suit you?"

Erak nodded. "Under those conditions, all right," he agreed.

He had the loophole he'd been looking for. As far as he was concerned, the fact that Ragnak was an insufferable pain in the buttocks was a more than valid reason for not paying taxes on time. Mind you, he might have to find another way of phrasing it when he returned without arresting Sten.

W ILL CAME AWAKE WITH A JERK. H E HAD BEEN SITTING ON THE edge of the porch in the sun and he realized that he must have nodded off. Ruefully, he thought about how much of his time he spent sleeping these days. Evanlyn said it was only to be expected, as he was regaining his strength. He supposed she was right. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

There was also the fact that there was so little to do around the hut where they had spent their time since escaping from the Skandian stronghold. Today he had cleared away and washed their breakfast dishes, then made the beds and straightened the few pieces of furniture in the cabin. That had taken barely half an hour, so he had groomed the pony in the lean-to behind the cabin until its coat shone. The pony looked at him, and at itself, with mild surprise. He guessed nobody had ever spent so much care on its appearance in the past.

After that, Will had wandered aimlessly around the cabin and the small clearing, inspecting those patches where the damp brown grass was beginning to show through the snow cover. He had idly considered making some more snares, then discarded the idea. They had more than they needed already. Feeling bored and useless, he had sat down on the porch to wait for Evanlyn's return. At some stage, he must have nodded off, affected by the warmth of the sun.

That warmth was long gone now, he realized. The sun had traveled fully across the clearing and the pines were throwing long shadows across the cabin. It must be midafternoon, he estimated.