"Well, find her!" he snapped irritably. "I didn't haul her all the way across the Stormwhite so you could lose her!"

And he turned on his heel and strode away. He was, after all, a senior jarl and a war leader. Borsa might well be the hilfmann and Ragnak's senior administrator, but in a battle-oriented society such as this, Erak outranked him by a significant margin.

Borsa glared after his retreating back and cursed. But he did it quietly. Not only was he aware of their comparative ranks, he also knew that it was an unwise man who would insult the Jarl to his face-or to his back as the case might be. Erak had been known to lay about him with his battleax on the slightest of provocations.

The thought of Erak's voyage from Araluen with the girl brought the other slave to his mind-the boy who had been a Ranger apprentice.

He had heard that the girl had been asking about him in the past few days. Now, swinging his heavy fur cloak around him, he headed for the door and the quarters of the yard slaves.

Wrinkling his nose against the stink of unwashed bodies, Borsa stood in the doorway of the yard slaves' barracks and surveyed the cringing Committeeman in front of him.

"You didn't see him go?" he asked incredulously. The slave shook his head, keeping his eyes cast down. His manner showed his guilt.

Borsa was sure he had heard or seen the other slave escaping and had done nothing about it. He shook his head angrily and turned to the guard beside him.

"Have him flogged," he said briefly, and turned back to the main Lodge building.

It was barely an hour later that the report came in of the missing skiff. The end of the painter, cut with a knife, told its own story.

Two missing slaves, one missing boat. The conclusion was obvious.

Bleakly, Borsa thought about the chances of surviving in the Stormwhite at this time of year in an open boat-particularly close to the coast. For, contrary to the way it might seem, the fugitives would have a better chance of survival in the open sea. Close to the coast, and driven by the prevailing winds and heavy waves, it would be a miracle if they weren't smashed along the rocky coast before they had gone ten kilometers.

"Good riddance," he muttered, and sent word that the patrols sent to search the mountain paths to the north should be recalled.

Later that day, Erak overheard two slaves talking in muted tones about the two Araluens who had stolen a boat and tried to escape.

Around noon, the search parties returned from the mountains. The men were obviously grateful to be in from the deep snow and the biting wind that had sprung up shortly after dawn.

His heart lifted. At least now the fugitives would be safe until spring.

As long as they managed to find the mountain cabin, he thought soberly, and didn't freeze to death in the attempt.

L IFE IN C HATEAU M ONTSOMBRE HAD TAKEN ON A PATTERN. Their host, the warlord Deparnieux, saw his two unwilling guests only when he chose to, which was usually over the evening meal, once or twice a week. It also generally coincided with those occasions when he had thought of some new way of baiting Halt, to try to draw him out.

At other times, the two Araluens were confined mainly to their tower room, although each day they were allowed a short time for exercise in the castle courtyard, under the suspicious gaze of the dozen or so men-at-arms who stood sentry over them in the tower. They had asked several times if they might venture outside the castle walls, and perhaps explore the plateau a little.

They expected no more than the answer they received, which was a stony silence from the sergeant of the men set to guard them, but it was still extremely frustrating.

Now Horace paced up and down the terrace, high in the central tower of Chateau Montsombre.

Inside, Halt was sitting cross-legged on his bed as he put the finishing touches to a new bow he was making for Will. He had been working on the project since they had landed in Gallica. He had carefully selected strips of wood and glued and bound them tightly together, so that their different grains and natural shapes were opposed to one another and bent the composite piece into a smooth curve. Then he had attached two similar, but shorter, composites to either end, so that their curve opposed the main shape of the bow.

This formed the recurve shape that he wanted.

When they had first arrived at Montsombre, Deparnieux had seen the pieces in Halt's pack, but he had seen no reason to confiscate them.

Without arrows, a half-made bow constituted no threat to him.

The wind curled around the turrets of the castle, keening its way among the figures of gargoyles carved in the stone. Below the terrace, a family of rooks soared and planed on the wind, coming and going from their nest, set in a cranny in the hard granite wall. Horace always felt slightly queasy to find himself looking down on birds flying. He moved back from the balustrade, pulling his cloak more tightly around him to keep out the wind. The air carried the threat of rain with it and, in the north, there were banks of heavy cloud driving toward them on the wind. It was midafternoon on another wintry day in Montsombre.

The forest that spread out below them was dull and featureless-from this height it looked like a rough carpet.

"What are we going to do, Halt?" Horace asked, and his companion hesitated before answering. Not because he was uncertain of the answer itself; rather, because he was unsure how his young friend's temperament would greet it.

"We wait," he said simply, and immediately saw the frustration in Horace's eyes. He knew the boy was expecting something to precipitate matters with Deparnieux.

"But Deparnieux is torturing and killing people! And we're just sitting back watching him do it!" the boy said angrily. He expected more from the resourceful ex-Ranger than the simple injunction to wait.

The forced inactivity was galling to Horace. He wasn't coping well with the boredom and frustration of day-to-day life in Montsombre. He was trained for action and he wanted to act. He felt the compulsion to do something-anything. He wanted to punish Deparnieux for his cruelty.

He wanted a chance to ram the black knight's sarcastic comments back down his throat.

Most of all, he wanted to be free of Montsombre and back on the road in search of Will.

Halt waited until he judged Horace had calmed down a little. "He's also lord of this castle," he replied mildly, "and he has some fifty men at his beck and call. I think that's a few more than we could comfortably deal with."

Horace picked a crumbled piece of granite from a corner of the balustrade and tossed it far out into the void below, watching it fall, seeming to curve in toward the castle walls until it was lost from view.

"I know," he said moodily, "but I wish we could do something."

Halt glanced up from his task. Although he hid the fact, his sense of frustration was even sharper than Horace's. If he were on his own, Halt could escape from this castle with the greatest ease. But to do so, he would have to abandon Horace-and he couldn't bring himself to do that. Instead, he found himself torn by conflicting loyalties-to Will, and to the young man who had unselfishly chosen to accompany him in search of a friend. He knew that Deparnieux would show no mercy to Horace if Halt were to escape. At the same time, every fiber of his being ached to be on the road and in pursuit of his lost apprentice.

He dropped his eyes to the almost completed bow again, careful to keep any sense of his own frustration out of his voice.

"The next move is up to our host, I'm afraid," he told Horace.

"He's not sure what to make of me. He's not sure whether I might be useful to him. And while he's uncertain, he's on his guard. That makes him dangerous."