The Icebound Land- Character Reaction

23

The door opened, and everyone turned as Halt reentered the room, Will following behind him. Alyss noted with some worry that his face was still pale, and as he sat down beside her, she took his hand and squeezed it gently.

He gave her a shadow of a smile. "I'm alright," he said softly. She glanced over at Halt, who gave his head a slight shake as he sat down beside his former apprentice.

Duncan picked up the book, looking over at Halt, a silent question in his eyes. The grizzled Ranger nodded, and he began to read.

JARL ERAK, WOLFSHIP CAPTAIN AND MEMBER OF RAGNAK'S INNER council of senior Jarls—"Quite the number of titles," Gilan said lightly—had been absent from Hallasholm for several weeks. He was whistling as he strode back through the open gates to the Lodge, with a sense of satisfaction over a job well done. Svengal snorted. Borsa—Alyss, Gilan, Cassandra, Horace, and Halt all scowled, while Will stared numbly at the ground—had sent him to sail down the coast to one of the southernmost settlements, to inquire over an apparent shortfall in taxes paid by the local Jarl. Borsa had noticed a decline over the past four or five years. Nothing too sudden to be suspicious, but a little less every year. Duncan raised one eyebrow slightly.

It had taken a calculating mind like Borsa's to notice the creeping discrepancy. And to note that the gradual reduction in reported income had coincided with the election of a new jarl in the village. Smelling a rat, the hilfmann had assigned Erak to investigate—and to persuade the local Jarl that honesty, in the case of taxes owed to Ragnak, was definitely the best policy.

It was Halt's turn to raise an eyebrow. "And since when has that been the best policy?" he asked. Horace rolled his eyes.

"Since before you." Halt snorted.

It has to be admitted that Erak's version of investigating consisted of seizing the unfortunate Jarl by his beard as he lay sleeping in the predawn darkness. Halt snickered. Erak then threatened to brain him with a battleax if he didn't make a rapid and upward adjustment to the amount of tax he was paying to Hallasholm. They were rough-and-ready tactics, but highly effective. The Jarl was only too eager to hand over the delinquent tax.

"I'd imagine so," Crowley said dryly. "You and Erak are quite alike." Both the Oberjarl and the Ranger looked at him, and he shrugged.

It was sheer chance that Erak came striding back through the gates at the very moment that Will was stumbling, shovel in hand, to clear the walkways of the deep snow that had fallen overnight.

Will scowled, a dark look forming in his eyes. Alyss retained her hold on his hand, while Halt put one on his shoulder.

For a moment, Erak didn't recognize the emaciated, shambling figure. But there was something familiar about the shock of brown hair, matted and dirty as it was. Erak stopped for a closer look.

"Gods of darkness, boy!" he muttered. "Is that you?"

Will dug his fingernails into his palm with his free hand as he shivered. Stop it, he told himself. You're not there. You're not there. You're home, with your family.

The boy turned to look at him, the expression blank and incurious. He was reacting only to the sound of a voice. There was no sign that he recognized the speaker. His eyes were red- rimmed and dull as he regarded the burly Skandian. Erak felt a deep sadness come over him. Erak sighed now.

He knew the signs of warmweed addiction, of course, knew that it was used to control the yard slaves. Will swallowed, fighting to keep his emotions in check. And he'd seen many of them die from the combined effects of cold, malnutrition and the general lack of will to live that resulted from addiction to the drug. Warmweed addicts looked forward to nothing, planned for nothing. Consequently, they had no hope to bolster their spirits. It was that, as much as anything, that killed them in the long run. Gilan's eyes narrowed into slits, the normally friendly blue turning to a dark and angry blue.