Evanlyn hesitated a moment, not sure what this was all about, then rapped with her knuckles on the hard oak of the door.

"Come in." She recognized the voice that answered her knock.

Erak's vocal cords were trained to carry to his men over the gales of the Stormwhite Sea. He never seemed to lessen the volume. There was a latch on the outside of the door. She raised it and went inside.

Erak's chambers were simple. Inevitably constructed from pine logs, there was a sitting room and, screened by a woven wool curtain, a bedchamber to one side. The sitting room had a small log fire burning at one end, giving the room a comfortable warmth, and several carved oak chairs. A very expensive and, she recognized, foreign tapestry covered the rush floor. She guessed it was the result of one of Erak's raids to Gallica. In her years at Castle Araluen, she had seen many similar pieces. Woven by the artists of the Tierre Valley over a period of years that often spanned one or two decades, the rugs usually changed hands for a small fortune. Somehow, she didn't think Erak had paid cash for his. The Jarl was sitting by the fire, leaning back in one of the comfortable-looking carved chairs. He motioned her in and indicated a bottle and glasses on a low table in the center of the room.

"Come in, girl. Pour us some wine and sit down. We have some talking to do."

Uncertainly, she crossed the room and poured the red wine into two glasses. Then, handing one to the Skandian, she sat on the other armchair. Unlike Erak, however, she didn't sprawl comfortably back.

She perched nervously on the edge, as if poised for flight. The Jarl studied her with what appeared to be a hint of sadness in his look, then he waved a hand at her.

"Relax, girl. Nobody's going to harm you-least of all me. Drink your wine."

Tentatively, she took a sip and found it good. Erak was watching her and he saw the involuntary expression of surprise on her face.

"You know good wine, then?" he asked her. "I took a hogshead of this out of a Florentine ship in the last raiding season. Not bad, is it?"

She nodded her agreement. She was beginning to relax a little and the wine sent a soft glow through her. She hadn't touched alcohol in any form for months, she realized. The thought occurred to her that she had better watch her step. And her tongue.

She waited now for the Skandian captain to speak. He seemed to be hesitating, as if not sure how he should proceed. The silence grew between them until, eventually, she could bear it no longer. She took another quick sip of her wine, then asked: "Why did you send for me?"

Jarl Erak had been staring into the flames of the small fire. He looked up in surprise now as she spoke. He must be unused to having slaves begin conversations with him, she thought. Then she shrugged.

They could sit here in silence all night if someone didn't get the ball rolling. She was intrigued to see a slow smile break out on the bearded face. It occurred to her that in another place, under different conditions, she could grow to quite like the Skandian pirate.

"Probably not for the reason you're thinking," he said, then, before she could reply, he continued, almost to himself, "But somebody has to do something and I think you're the one for the job."

"Do something?" Evanlyn repeated. "Do something about what?"

Erak seemed to come to a decision then. He heaved a deep sigh, drained the last of the wine in his glass and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his craggy, bearded face thrust toward her.

"Have you seen your friend lately?" he asked. "Young Will?"

Her eyes dropped from his gaze. She had seen him all right-or rather, she had seen the shambling, mindless figure that he had become. Some days ago, he had been working outside the kitchen and she had taken him some food. He snatched the bread from her hands and devoured it like an animal. But when she spoke to him, he had merely stared at her.

In two short weeks, he had already forgotten Evanlyn, forgotten Halt and the little cottage by the edge of the woods outside Castle Redmont. He had forgotten even the major events that had happened at the Plains of Uthal, when King Duncan's army had faced and defeated Morgarath's implacable Wargal regiments.

Those events, and all the others of his young life, might as well have taken place on the far side of the moon for all he was concerned.

Today, his life and his total being centered on one thought and one thought only.

His next supply of warmweed.

One of the other slaves, an older woman, had witnessed the encounter. As Evanlyn returned to the kitchen, she had spoken softly to her.

"Forget your friend. The drug's got him. He's already dead."

"I've seen him," she told Erak now in a low voice.

"I had nothing to do with that," he said angrily, surprising Evanlyn with the intensity of his reply. "Nothing. Believe me, girl, I hate that damn drug. I've seen what it does to people. No one deserves that sort of shadow life."

She looked up to meet his gaze again. He was obviously sincere and, equally obviously, wanted her to acknowledge what he had said.

She nodded.

"I believe you," she said.

Erak rose from his chair. He strode restlessly about the small, warm room as if action, any form of physical action, would relieve the fury that had been building within him since he'd encountered Will.

"A boy like that, he's a real warrior. He may only be knee-high to a gnat, but he's got the heart of a true Skandian."

"He's a Ranger," she told him quietly, and he nodded.

"That he is. And he deserves better than this. That damned drug! I don't know why Ragnak allows it!"

He paused for a long moment, gaining control of his temper. Then he turned to her and continued.

"I want you to know that I tried to keep you two together. I had no idea Borsa would send him to the yard. The man has no concept of how to treat an honorable enemy. But what can you expect? Borsa's no warrior. He counts sacks of grain for a living."

"I see," Evanlyn said carefully. She wasn't sure that she did, but she felt some response was expected of her. Erak looked at her keenly, assessing her, she thought. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something.

"Nobody survives the yard," he added softly, almost to himself. As he said it, Evanlyn felt a cold hand wrap around her heart.

"So," he said, "it's up to us to do something about it."

Evanlyn looked at him, hope rising inside her as he spoke those last words.

"Exactly what sort of thing do you have in mind?" she asked slowly, hoping against hope that she was judging this conversation correctly. Erak paused for a second or two, then decided, irrevocably, to commit himself.

"You're going to escape," he said finally. "You're taking him with you and I'm helping you do it."