The Icebound Land- Character Reaction

21

A/N: here it is

"Halt, you want to read?" Erak asked, offering the book. Halt hesitated, and then took it, deciding he'd have to read one way or another.

SO THEY WERE TO BE SEPARATED AFTER ALL, WILL THOUGHT. Evanlyn was led away, stumbling as she turned to look back over her shoulder at him, a stricken expression on her face. He forced a grin of encouragement and waved to her, making the gesture casual and lighthearted, as if they would be seeing each other shortly. Cassandra looked at the ground.

His attempt at raising her spirits was cut short by a solid backhander to his head. He staggered a few feet, his ears ringing. Halt glared at the page.

"Get moving, slave!" snarled Tirak, the Skandian supervisor of the yard. "We'll see how much you have to smile about."

Both Hal and Thorn frowned. They were both particularly protective of Karina, and being a former slave was one of the many jibes the Araluen had received.

The answer to that was precious little, Will soon discovered. Will snorted ungraciously.

Of all the Skandians' captives, yard slaves had the hardest, most unpleasant assignment. House slaves—those who worked in the kitchens and dining rooms—at least had the comfort of working, and sleeping, in a warm area. They might fall into their blankets exhausted at the end of a day, but the blankets were warm.

Cassandra banged her forehead against the table and cursed. "If I'd have thought about it, I should've brought you some extra blankets."

Will shrugged. "It's alright," he said.

Yard slaves, on the other hand, were required to look after all the arduous, unpleasant outdoor tasks that needed doing—cutting firewood, clearing snow from the paths, emptying the privies and disposing of the result, feeding and watering the animals, cleaning stables. They were all jobs that had to be done in the bitter cold. And when their exertions finally raised a sweat, the slaves were left in damp clothing that froze on them once their tasks were completed, leaching the heat from their bodies.

The Skandians in the room winced slightly at the description of slavery. But none of them could really bring themselves to order a stop to it.

They slept in a drafty, dilapidated old barn that did little to keep out the cold. Each slave was given one thin blanket—a totally inadequate covering when the night temperatures fell below the freezing point. They supplemented the covering with any old rags or sacks they could lay hands on. They stole them, begged them. And often, they fought over them. In his first three days, Will saw two slaves battered to the point of death in fights over ragged pieces of sacking.

Will raised an eyebrow. He knew of the warmweed, obviously—the one thing I want to forget, he thought—but the blank wall in his mind was still there, and he remembered very little of his time in slavery in Skandia.

Being a yard slave was more than uncomfortable, he realized. It was downright dangerous.

A muscle jumped in Gilan's jaw as he clenched the arms of his chair. Jenny put her hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The system they worked under added to the danger. Tirak was nominally in charge of the yard, but he delegated that authority to a small, corrupt gang known as the Committee. These were half a dozen long-term slaves who hunted as a pack and held the power of life or death over their companions. In return for their authority and some extra comforts such as food and blankets, they maintained the brutal discipline of the yard and organized the work roster, assigning tasks to the other slaves. Those who pandered to them and obeyed them were given the easiest tasks. Those who resisted them found themselves carrying out the wettest, coldest, most dangerous jobs.