She looked up at him, surprised. The other night, he had made no secret of his distaste for the narcotic.

"You'll need it for Will," he explained briefly. "Once a person's addicted to the stuff, you can kill him by stopping the supply all at once. You'll have to wean him off it gradually, reducing the amount each week, until his mind recovers and he can do without it."

"I'll do my best," she said, and he gripped her wrist encouragingly. He glanced at the low clouds above them, sniffing the air.

"It'll snow before dawn," he said. "That will cover your tracks.

Plus I'll lay a false trail as well. Just keep heading up into the mountains. Follow the path until you come to a fork in the trail by three boulders, with the largest in the middle. Then branch left and you'll reach the hut in another two days' travel."

There was a small hut up in the mountains, used as a base for hunters during the summer season. It would be unoccupied now and would provide a relatively safe refuge for them through the winter.

"Remember," he told her, "once the spring thaw starts, get moving.

The boy should have recovered by then. But you can't afford to be caught up there by hunters. Get out once the snow's gone and keep heading south." He hesitated, then shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry I can't do more," he said. "This is the best I could come up with at short notice, and if we don't do something now, Will won't survive much longer."

She reached up on tiptoe and kissed his bearded cheek.

"You're doing plenty," she said. "I'll never forget you for this, Jarl Erak. I can't begin to thank you for what you're doing."

Awkwardly, he shrugged away her thanks. He glanced at the sky once more, then jerked his thumb at the yard slaves' barracks.

"You'd better get going," he told her. Then he added, "Good luck."

She grinned quickly at him, then hurried across the bare patch of ground to the barracks. She felt glaringly exposed as she crossed the snow-covered yard, and half expected to hear a challenge from somewhere behind her. But she made it to the building without incident and shrank gratefully into the shadows at the base of the wall.

She paused a few seconds to regain her breath and let her heart settle to a more normal pace. Then she edged her way along the wall to the door. It was locked, of course, but only from the outside and only with a simple bolt. She slid it back now, holding her breath as the metal rasped on metal, then swung the rickety door open and slipped inside.

It was dark in the barracks, with no fire to light the gloom. She waited, letting her eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. Gradually, she could make out the sleeping forms of the slaves, sprawled on the dirt floor, wrapped in rags and scraps of blankets. Light fell across them in bars, coming through the gaps in the rough pine walls of the building. The Committeemen, Erak had told her, had a separate room at the end of the barracks, where they even kept a small fire burning for warmth. But there was always a chance that one of them might stay on watch in the main barracks. That was why he had given her the silver.

And the dagger.

She touched her hand to the cold hilt of the weapon now, feeling it for reassurance. She had reconnoitered the barracks several days ago and she knew roughly where Will had his sleeping space. She began to head toward it, picking her way carefully among the prone bodies.

Her eyes moved this way and that, seeking him out, and she felt a growing sense of desperation as she searched. Then she made out that unmistakable shock of hair above a ragged blanket, and with a sigh of relief, she made her way to him.

At least there would be no problem getting Will to move. Yard slaves, their senses dulled and their minds slowed by the drug, would obey any command they were given.

She crouched beside Will, shaking his shoulder to wake him-gently at first, then, realizing that in his drugged state he would sleep like the dead, increasingly roughly.

"Will!" she hissed, leaning close to his ear. "Get up. Wake up!"

He muttered once. But his eyes remained tight shut and his breathing heavy. She shook him again with a growing sense of panic.

"Please, Will," she begged. "Wake up!" And she hit him across the cheek with the palm of her hand.

That did the trick. His eyes opened and he stared foggily at her.

There was no sign of recognition but at least he was awake. She dragged at his shoulder.

"Get up," she commanded. "And follow me."

Her heart leaped in triumph as he obeyed. He moved slowly, but he moved, rising groggily to his feet and standing, swaying unsteadily, beside her, waiting for further instructions.

She pointed to the door, swinging open and letting a band of white light into the barracks. "Go. To the door," she ordered, and he began to trudge toward it, uncaring where he put his feet, kicking and treading on the other sleeping slaves. Remarkably, they showed little reaction, at most muttering or tossing in their sleep. She turned to follow him, but a cold voice from the far end of the room stopped her in her tracks.

"Just a moment, missy. Where do you think you're going?"

It was a Committeeman. Even worse, it was Egon. Jarl Erak had been right. They did take turns to stand watch over the other slaves. She turned to face him as he made his way through the crowded room. Like Will, he paid no heed to the sleeping figures on the floor, treading on them as he came.

Evanlyn drew herself up, took a deep breath and said, in as steady a voice as she could manage: "Jarl Erak sent me to fetch this slave.

He needs firewood brought into his quarters."

The gang boss hesitated. It was not impossible that she was telling the truth. If one of the senior Jarls ran out of firewood in the middle of the night, he'd have no compunction about sending a slave to bring a new stack in.

However, he was suspicious and he thought he recognized this girl.

"He sent for this slave in particular?" he challenged.

"That's right," Evanlyn replied, trying to sound unconcerned. It was the one part of their story that was thin. There was no reason why Erak, or any other Skandian, would have specified a particular yard slave for a menial carrying task.

"Why this slave?" he pressed, and she knew the bluff wouldn't work. She tried another tack.

"Well, he didn't actually say this one. He just said a slave. But Will's a friend of mine and he'll get to work inside where it's warm for a few hours and maybe a decent meal, so I thought:" She let the sentence hang, shrugging her shoulders, hoping he'd be satisfied.

Egon, however, simply continued to stare at her. Then, finally, his eyes narrowed in recognition.

"That's right," he said. "You were in here the other day. I saw you looking around, didn't I?"

Inwardly, Evanlyn cursed him. She decided she had to break this impasse quickly. She tugged out the small sack of coins and jingled it.

"Look, I'm just trying to do a friend a good turn," she said.

"I'll make it worth your while."

He glanced quickly over his shoulder to make sure none of the other Committeemen were witness to the scene. Then his hand shot out and he grabbed the sack from her.

"That's more like it," he said. "I do something for you, and you do something for me." He shoved the coins inside his shirt and moved closer to her, standing only a few centimeters away. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Will was waiting, an uninterested spectator, by the doorway. Suddenly Egon grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her closer to him.

"Maybe you can find a few more coins hidden somewhere," he suggested. Then a frown came over his face as he felt a sharp pain in his belly-and a warm trickle running down his skin from the spot where the pain was centered. Evanlyn smiled without any warmth.