She let go a torrent of Gallican that neither of them understood, and moved quickly to Horace's side, dumping the pillows on his bed. He watched her suspiciously as she reached out to touch the injured arm.

She stopped, pursed her lips and met his gaze with a reassuring look.

Satisfied, he allowed her to examine the injury.

She did so gently, with a light, almost imperceptible touch.

Horace, submitting to her ministrations, looked meaningfully at Halt.

The Ranger scowled and sat on the bed to watch. Finally, the woman stepped back and, taking Horace's arm, led him to sit on the edge of the bed. She turned to address the two of them, pointing to the discolored arm.

"No breaking bones," she said uncertainly. Halt nodded.

"I thought as much," he replied, and Horace sniffed disdainfully.

The woman nodded once or twice, then continued, choosing her words carefully. Her command of the Araluen tongue was inexact, to say the least.

"Bruisings," she said, "bad bruisings. Need:" She hesitated, seeking the word, then found it. "Herbs:" She made a rubbing gesture with her two hands, miming the act of rubbing herbs together to form a poultice. "Break herbs:put here." She touched the injured arm once more. Halt nodded agreement.

"Good," he told her. "Please go right ahead." He looked up at Horace. "We're in luck here," he said. "She seems to know her business."

"You mean I'm in luck," Horace said stiffly. "If I'd been left to your tender mercies, I probably wouldn't have an arm by now."

The woman, hearing the tone of the voice but not understanding the words, hurried to reassure him, making crooning sounds and touching the bruise with a feather-soft hand.

"Two days:three:no more bruisings. No more pain," she reassured him, and he smiled at her.

"Thank you, madam," he said, in the sort of courtly tone he imagined a gallant young knight should use. "I shall be forever in your debt."

She smiled at him and, in mime again, indicated that she was going to fetch her stock of herbs and medicines. Horace rose and executed a clumsy bow as she left the room, giggling to herself.

"Oh, puh-lease," said Halt, rolling his eyes to heaven.

T HE HEAT IN R AGNAK'S DINING HALL WAS INTENSE. T HE LARGE number of people present, and the huge, open fire that stretched almost the full width of one end of the room, combined to keep the temperature uncomfortably warm, in spite of the deep snow that lay on the ground outside.

It was an enormous room, long and low-ceilinged, with two tables stretching the length of it, and a third, Ragnak's head table, placed across the others at the end opposite the fire. The walls were bare pine logs, roughly trimmed and caulked, where their uneven shape left a gap, with a mixture of mud and clay that set hard as rock. More pine logs slanted up at angles to support the roof, a tightly woven layer of rushes and thatch that was almost a meter thick in places. There was no interior lining. Lighter slats of rough timber were fastened across the roof beams to support the thatch. The noise, with nearly one hundred and fifty drunken Skandians eating, laughing and shouting at one another, was deafening. Erak looked around him and smiled.

It was good to be home again.

He accepted another tankard of ale from Borsa, Ragnak's hilfmann.

While Ragnak was the Oberjarl, or senior Jarl of all Skandians, the hilfmann was an administrator who took care of the day-to-day running of the nation. He made sure that crops were planted, taxes paid, raids sent out on time and that Ragnak's share of all raiding booty-a quarter of everything won-was paid promptly and reckoned fairly by the wolfship commanders.

"Bad business all around, Erak," he said. They were discussing the ill-fated expedition to Araluen. "We should never get involved in a long-running war. It's not our game at all. We're cut out for quick raids. Get in, grab the booty and get out again with the tide. That's our way. Always has been."

Erak nodded. He'd thought the same thing when Ragnak had assigned him to the expedition. But the Oberjarl hadn't been in any mood to listen to his advice.

"Still, Morgarath paid us up front," the hilfmann continued.

Erak's eyebrows raised at that.

"He did?" It was the first he'd heard of it. He'd assumed that he and his men were fighting simply for whatever booty they could find, and the expedition had been a definite failure in that regard. But his companion nodded emphatically.

"Oh yes indeed. Ragnak's no fool when it comes to money. He charged Morgarath for your services, and those of all your men. You'll all be paid your share."

At least, thought Erak, he and his men would have something to show for the past few months. But Borsa was still shaking his head over the Araluen campaign.

"You know our biggest problem?" he said, and before Erak could respond, he continued. "We don't have our own generals or tacticians.

Skandians fight as individuals. And in that sense, we're the best in the world. But when we hire out as mercenaries, we don't have our own planners to lead us. So we're forced to rely on fools like Morgarath."

Erak nodded agreement. "When we were in Araluen, I said that his plans were too involved, too clever by half."

Borsa jabbed a thick forefinger at him. Erak was surprised by the man's vehemence. "And you're right! We could use a few people like those Araluen Rangers," he added.

"Are you serious?" Erak said. "Why do we need them?"

"Not them literally. I mean people like them. People who are trained in planning and tactics-with the ability to see the big picture and use our troops to best effect."

Erak had to agree the other man had a point. But the mention of Rangers had led his mind to the matter of Will and Evanlyn. Now he saw a way to solve the problem of dealing with them.

"Could you use a couple of new slaves around the Great Hall?" he asked casually. Borsa nodded immediately.

"We can always use extras," he said. "Got someone in mind, have you?"

"A boy and a girl," Erak told him. He thought it best not to mention that Will was an apprentice Ranger. "Both strong. Healthy and intelligent. We captured them on the Celtic border. I was going to sell them so I could pay my crew something for the whole mess. But now, if you say we'll be paid anyway, I'd be happy to give them to you."

Borsa nodded gratefully. "I can certainly use them," he replied.

"Send them over tomorrow."

"Done!" said Erak cheerfully. He felt a nagging weight had been removed from his mind. "Now where's that ale jug got to?"

While Erak was deciding their fate, Will and Evanlyn had been kept locked in a hut by the quayside, close to the point where Wolfwind was moored. The following morning, they were roused by a Skandian from Borsa's staff, who led them to the Great Hall. There, the hilfmann looked them over, studying them critically. The girl was attractive, he thought, but she didn't look as if she'd done a lot of heavy work in her life. The boy, on the other hand, was well muscled and fit, if a little on the small side.

"The girl can go to the dining hall and kitchen," he told his assistant. "Put the boy in the yard."