"Maybe I can gut you like a herring if you don't let go," she said, jabbing the razor-sharp dagger into his skin once more.

She wasn't totally sure that herrings were gutted. But neither did he seem to be. He backed off quickly, waving at the door and cursing her.

"All right," he said. "Get out of here. But I'll make your friend pay for this when he comes back."

With a vast sigh of relief, Evanlyn hurried to the door, grabbing Will's arm and dragging him outside. Once there, she turned and slid the bolt home again.

"Come on, Will. Let's get out of here," she said, and led the way toward the path to the harbor.

From the shadows, Jarl Erak watched the figures leave and heaved his own sigh of relief.

Then, after a few minutes, he followed them. There was still work for him to do this night.

T HE SMALL CAVALCADE FOLLOWED THE ROAD NORTH. H ALT AND Horace rode in the center with Deparnieux, who had changed into his customary black armor and surcoat. The raddled old hack that he had been riding was now consigned to the rear of the column, and he was astride a large, aggressive and, as Halt had expected, black battlehorse.

They were surrounded by at least two dozen men-at-arms, marching silently ahead and behind. In addition, there were ten mounted warriors, split into two groups of five and stationed at either end of the column.

Halt noticed that the men nearest them kept their crossbows loaded and ready for use. He had no doubt that at the first indication that they wanted to escape, he and Horace would be bristling with crossbow bolts before they had gone ten steps.

His own longbow was slung across his shoulder, while Horace had retained his sword and lance. Deparnieux had shrugged at them as he took them captive, indicating the mass of armed men around them.

"You can see it's no use resisting," he said, "so I'll allow you to hold on to your weapons." He had then glanced meaningfully at the longbow resting lightly across Halt's saddle pommel. "However," he added, "I think I'd feel more at ease with that bow unstrung, and slung over your shoulder."

Halt had shrugged and complied. His look told Horace that there was a time to fight, and a time to accept the inevitable. Horace had nodded and they had fallen in beside the Gallic warlord, finding themselves immediately bunched in by his retainers. Halt noted wryly that Deparnieux's generosity did not extend to their string of captured horses and armor. He gruffly ordered for their lead rein to be handed to one of his mounted retainers, who now rode at the rear of the column with them. Their captor noted with interest that the shaggy little packhorse did not have a lead rope, and stayed calmly alongside Halt's mount. He raised an eyebrow, but made no comment.

To Halt's surprise, the black-clad knight turned his horse's head to the north and they began their march.

"May I ask where you are taking us?" he said.

Deparnieux bowed from the saddle with mock courtesy.

"We are heading for my castle at Montsombre," he told them, "where you will remain as my guests for a short while."

Halt nodded, digesting that piece of information. Then he asked further: "And why might we be doing that?"

The black knight smiled at him. "Because you interest me," he said. "You travel with a knight and you carry a yeoman's weapons. But you're no simple retainer, are you?"

Halt said nothing this time, merely shrugging. Deparnieux, eyeing him shrewdly, nodded as if confirming his own thought.

"No. You are not. You're the leader here, not the follower. And your clothing interests me. This cloak of yours:" He leaned across from his saddle and fingered the folds of Halt's dappled Ranger cloak.

"I've never seen one quite like it."

He paused, waiting to see if Halt would comment this time. When he didn't, Deparnieux didn't seem too surprised. He continued, "And you're an expert archer. No, you're more than that. I don't know any archer who could have pulled off that shot you made last night."

This time, Halt made a small gesture of self-deprecation. "It wasn't such a great shot," he replied. "I was aiming for your throat."

Deparnieux's laugh rang out loud and long.

"Oh, I think not, my friend. I think your arrow went straight where you aimed it." And he laughed again. Halt noticed that the merriment, loud as it was, didn't reach his eyes. "So," Deparnieux said, "I decided that such an unusual fish might deserve more study.

You may be useful to me, my friend. After all, who knows what other skills and abilities may lie hidden under that unusual cloak of yours?"

Horace watched the two men. The Gallic knight seemed to have lost all interest in him and he wasn't unhappy about that fact. In spite of the light, bantering words between the two men, he could sense the deadly serious undertones of the conversation. The whole thing was getting beyond him and he was content to follow Halt's lead and see where this turn of events took them.

"I doubt I'll be of any use to you," Halt replied evenly to the warlord's last statement.

Horace wondered if Deparnieux read the underlying message there: that Halt had no intention of using his skills in his captor's service.

It seemed that he had, for the black knight regarded the short figure riding beside him for a moment, then replied, "Well, we'll see about that. For the meantime, let me offer you my hospitality until your young friend's arm has healed." He looked around to smile at Horace, including him in the conversation for the first time. "After all, these are not safe roads to ride if you're not fully fit."

They made camp that night in a small clearing close to the road.

Deparnieux posted sentries, but Halt noticed that the number assigned to watch inward exceeded those who were tasked with guarding the camp from attack. Deparnieux must feel relatively safe within these lands, Halt thought. Significantly, as they settled for the night, their captor demanded that their weapons be surrendered for safekeeping.

With no real alternative, the two Araluens were forced to comply.

At least the warlord made no further pretense of cordiality, choosing instead to eat and sleep alone in the pavilion-made from black canvas, of course-that his men pitched for him.

Halt found himself facing something of a quandary. If he were traveling alone, it would be a matter of the utmost simplicity for him to just melt away into the night, retrieving his weapons as he went.

But Horace was totally unskilled in the Ranger arts of unseen movement and evasion and there was no possibility that Halt could spirit him away as well. He had no doubt that, if he were to disappear alone, Horace would not survive very long. So Halt contented himself with waiting and seeing what might transpire. At least they were heading north, which was the direction they wanted to follow.

In addition, he had learned in the tavern the night before that the high passes between Teutlandt, the neighboring land to the north, and Skandia above it would be blocked by snows at this time of the year. So they might as well find quarters in which to spend the next month or two. He guessed that Chateau Montsombre would fit that bill as well as any other. Halt had no doubt that Deparnieux had some inkling of his real occupation. Obviously, he hoped to enlist him in his battle against neighboring warlords. For the moment, he mused, they were safe enough, and heading in the right direction.

When the time came, he might have to ring a few changes. But that time wasn't yet.

The following day, they came to the warlord's castle. After his initial display of goodwill, Deparnieux had decided not to return their weapons in the morning and Halt felt strangely naked without the comforting, familiar weight of the knives at his belt and the two dozen arrows slung over his shoulder.