The Icebound Land- Character Reaction

12

"I'll read next," Crowley offered. The book was passed to the Ranger Commandant, and the reading began.

THERE WAS SO MUCH TO SEE AND HEAR, HORACE DIDN'T KNOW which way to turn his head first. All around him, the port city of La Rivage seethed with life. The docks were crowded with ships: simple fishing smacks and two-masted traders moored side by side and creating a forest of masts and halyards that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. His ears buzzed with the shriek of gulls as they fought one another for the scraps hurled into the harbor by fishermen cleaning their catch. The ships, large and small, rose and fell and rocked with the slight swell inside the harbor, never actually still for a moment. Underlying the gulls' shrill voices was the constant creaking and groaning of hundreds of wickerwork fenders protecting the hulls from their neighbors.

"That sounds pleasant," Will said lightly.

His nostrils filled with the smell of smoke and the aroma of food cooking—but a different aroma to the plain, country fare prepared at Castle Redmont. Here, there was something extra to the smell: something exotic and exciting and foreign.

Cassandra giggled. "If it's food, then of course he's going to be interested." Horace grinned unashamedly.

Which was only to be expected, he thought, as he was setting foot in a truly foreign country for the first time in his young life. He'd traveled to Celtica, of course, but that didn't count. Horace, Will, and Cassandra all snorted. It was really just an extension of Araluen. This was so different. Around him, voices were raised in anger or amusement, calling to one another, insulting one another, laughing with one another. And not a word of the outlandish tongue could he understand.

"And a good thing, too," Halt muttered under his breath.

He stood by the quay where they had landed, holding the bridles of the three horses while Halt paid off the master of the tubby little freighter that had transported them across the Narrow Sea—along with a reeking cargo of hides bound for the tanneries here in Gallica.

"How did you manage on that ship?" Will asked Halt. The older Ranger eyed him balefully.

"Fine."

Horace grinned. "I thought something was wrong with him. He was grumpier than usual, but I didn't know why. I do now!" Everyone laughed, while Halt scowled at them.

After four days in close proximity to the stiff piles of animal skin, Horace found himself wondering if he could ever wear anything made of leather again.

A hand tugged at his belt and he turned, startled.

A bent and withered old crone was smiling at him, showing her toothless gums and holding her hand out.

Horace closed his eyes briefly. "Oh lord," he groaned. Halt wore an innocent look, Will saw—too innocent.

Her clothes were rags and her head was bound in a bandanna that might have once been colorful but was now so dirty that it was impossible to be sure. She said something in the local language and all he could do was shrug. He had no money anyway and obviously the woman was a beggar. Cassandra chuckled.

Her obsequious smile faded to a dark scowl and she spat a phrase at him. Even without any knowledge of the language, he knew it wasn't a compliment. Then she turned and hobbled away, making a strange, crisscross gesture in the air between them. Horace shook his head helplessly.

A peal of laughter distracted him and he turned to see a trio of young girls, perhaps a few years older than himself, who had witnessed the exchange between him and the old lady. He gaped.