Halt raised one eyebrow. "How could we possibly refuse?" he asked, of no one in particular.

I T HAD BEEN FIVE DAYS SINCE E VANLYN HAD BEEN SUMMONED to Erak's quarters. While she waited for further contact from him, she went ahead with the other part of the plan he had outlined to her, complaining loudly at the prospect of being assigned to be one of his personal slaves. According to the story they had concocted, she would finish the week in the kitchen, then take up her new assignment. She professed her disgust with him in general, with his standard of cleanliness in particular, and spoke as often as she could of the cruelty he had shown her on the voyage to Hallasholm.

To hear Erak described by Evanlyn in those few days, he was the worst of the devils of hell, and with bad breath to boot.

After several days of this, Jana, one of the senior kitchen slaves, said to her wearily, "There could be worse things for you, my girl. Get used to it."

She turned away, tired of Evanlyn's constant complaints. For in truth, the life of a personal slave had some advantages: better food and clothing and more comfortable quarters among them.

"I'll kill myself first," Evanlyn called after her, glad of the chance to make her abhorrence of the Jarl more public. A passing kitchen-hand, a freeman, not a slave, cuffed her heavily around the back of the head, setting her ears ringing.

"I'll do it for you, you lazy slacker, if you don't get back to work," he told her. She shook her head, glaring her hatred after his retreating back, and hurried off to serve ale to Ragnak and his fellow diners.

As ever, she felt a distinct surge of anxiety as she entered the dining hall under Ragnak's gaze. Although reason told her that he was unlikely to single her out from the dozens of other hurrying slaves busily serving food and drink, she still lived in the constant fear that, somehow, she would be recognized as Duncan's daughter. It was that anxiety, as much as the nonstop work, that left her drained and exhausted at the end of each night.

After the evening's work was completed, the slaves moved gratefully to their sleeping spaces. Evanlyn noted wryly that Jana, obviously bored with Evanlyn's constant complaints about Erak, had moved her blanket to the far side of the room. She spread her own blanket and went to reroll the cloth around her log pillow. As she did so, a small piece of paper fell from the folds of the old shirt she used to pad the wood.

Her heart racing, Evanlyn quickly covered the scrap with her foot, glancing around to see if any of her neighbors had noticed. Nobody seemed to. They all continued with their own preparations for sleep.

As casually as she could, Evanlyn lay down, retrieving the small scrap of paper as she did so, and pulled her blanket up to her chin, taking the opportunity to glance at the one-word message written on the paper:

"Tonight."

A kitchenhand came in a few minutes later and doused the lanterns, leaving only the flickering flames of the banked fire to light the room. Exhausted as she was, Evanlyn lay on her back, eyes wide open, pulses racing, waiting for the time to pass.

Gradually, the voices around the room fell silent, replaced by the deep, regular breathing of sleeping slaves. Here and there were soft snores or the occasional cough, and, once or twice, a voice spoke out, slurred and indistinct, as an elderly Teuton slave muttered in her sleep.

The fire died away to a dull red glow and Evanlyn heard the watch sounding the horn for midnight from the harbor. That would be the last signal horn until dawn, at around seven o'clock. She settled back to wait. Erak had told her to wait till an hour after the midnight signal. "That gives them time to settle down and sleep deeply," he'd said to her, when he outlined his plan. "Leave it any longer and the light sleepers and the older slaves will start waking up and needing to use the privies."

In spite of the tension she felt, her eyelids were beginning to droop, and with a panicky start, she realized she had nearly dropped off to sleep. That would be perfect, she thought bitterly, to have the Jarl waiting for her outside the Great Hall while she was snoring soundly in her blanket.

She shifted on the hard floor, moving to a less comfortable position, digging her nails into her palms so that the pain would keep her alert. She began to count to measure the time passing, then realized, almost too late, that the soporific effect of counting had nearly put her to sleep again.

Finally, with a shrug of annoyance, she decided that an hour must have passed. There was no sign of anyone being awake in the kitchen as she cautiously pushed back her blanket and stood up. If anyone stirred, she reasoned, she could always claim that she was heading for the privy herself. She had gone to bed fully dressed, apart from her boots. She carried them with her now, wrapping the blanket around her.

As the fire had died down, the room had grown progressively colder and she shivered as the chill air struck at her.

The door to the yard seemed to be loud enough to wake the dead as she tried to ease it open. It swung on the heavy hinges with what seemed to be a deafening shriek. Wincing, she shut it as carefully as she could, marveling that nobody had seemed to be disturbed by the noise.

There was no moon. The night was overcast with thick clouds, but still the snow that covered the ground reflected what little light there was, making it easy to see details. The black mass that was the yard slaves' sleeping quarters, a cold and drafty barn, was easily visible, thirty or forty meters away.

Hopping from one foot to the other, she tugged on her boots. Then, hugging the wall of the main building, she moved to her left, making for the corner as Erak had instructed. As she reached the end of the wall, she let out an involuntary gasp. There was a burly figure waiting there, huddled close in to the shadow of the building.

For a moment, she felt a shaft of fear stab at her. Then she realized it was Jarl Erak.

"You're late," he whispered in an angry tone. She realized that he was possibly as keyed up as she was. Jarl or no jarl, he was risking his life to help a slave escape and he'd be well aware of the fact.

"Some of them hadn't settled down," she lied. It seemed pointless to tell him that she'd had no way of measuring time. He grunted in reply and she guessed her excuse was accepted. He thrust a small sack into her hands.

"Here," he said. "There are a few silver coins in there. You'll probably have to bribe one of the Committeemen to get the boy out of there. This should be enough. If I give you more, they'll only get suspicious and wonder where it came from."

She nodded. They had discussed all this in his quarters five nights before. The escape would have to be accomplished without any suspicion falling on Erak. This was the reason why he had instructed her to spend the last few days complaining about the prospect of becoming his slave. It would create an apparent reason for her attempt to escape.

"Take this as well," he said, handing her a small dagger in a leather sheath. "You might need it to make sure he sticks to the bargain after you've bribed him."

She took the weapon, shoving it through the wide belt she wore.

She was dressed in breeches and a shirt, with the blanket draped around her shoulders like a cloak.

"Once I get him out, what then?" she asked softly. Erak pointed to the path that led down to the harbor, and to the township of Hallasholm itself.

"Follow that path. Not far from the gate, you'll see another path branching off to the left, uphill. Take that. I've tethered a pony along the path, with food and warm clothing. You'll need the horse to keep Will moving." He hesitated, then added, "You'll also find a small supply of warmweed in the saddle pack."