Robin Hood | Thief of Skandia

Chapter 19

Song: overwhelmed by Royal & the Serpent 

There was a low mutter of interest from the assembled crowd as the six companions followed Hodak into the Main Hall. At the head of the room, Ragnak sat on his massive, carved chair. Beside, and slightly behind him, Robin saw the slightly stooped form of a Skandian she assumed to be Slagor, as the treacherous skirl leant down to whisper something to Ragnak. The Oberjarl angrily waved him away, then gestured towards Evanlyn, who was trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible behind Erak.

'Bring her forward!' Ragnak's massive voice, used to dominating the howling gales of the Stormwhite, boomed painfully in the low-ceilinged Hall. Evanlyn shrank back, instinctively, then recovered as Robin touched her arm and met her eyes with a reassuring smile. She straightened her shoulders and drew herself up to full height. Robin watched in admiration as she walked down the cleared space in the centre of the Hall. Halt, Erak, the outlaw and the two apprentices followed close behind her. Horace, Robin noticed, was continually easing his sword in its scabbard, lifting it to free the blade, then allowing it to drop back again. As she noticed, she also saw Will's own hand strayed to the hilt of his throwing knife. If things went as badly as they all feared, Robin had multiple weapons hidden on her as well as her swords and bow.

The room watched in utter silence as Evanlyn stopped before Ragnak's raised dais.

She met the Oberjarl's glower with a calm, composed expression on her face. Again, Will found himself almost overwhelmed by her courage and her composure. Slagor signed to a pair of attendants by a side door.

'Bring in the slave,' he called. His voice was soft and silky, totally unlike Ragnak's forceful bellow. He sounded very pleased with the current turn of events, Will thought. The two men, rowers from Slagor's crew, opened the door and dragged in a protesting, weeping figure. She was a middle-aged woman, her hair greying and her face lined before its time with the strain of unending labour, poor food and the threat of constant punishment that was the lot of a slave in Hallasholm. Robin winced, at the woman treatment, one year she did a slave run through the world releasing slaves and bringing them back across to their own countries. Unfortunatly the trip was very challenging Robin almost being caught multiple times. The sailors dragged the slave forward and cast her down on the floor in front of Evanlyn. She crouched there miserably, her eyes down.

'Look up, slave,' Slagor told her in that same quiet voice. Her sobbing continued and she shook her head, her eyes still cast down at the floor. Slagor moved quickly, stepping down from the platform and drawing his saxe knife in one smooth movement. He held the razor-sharp blade below the woman's chin, pressing into the flesh of her neck with not quite sufficient force to break the skin.

'I said, "look up",' he repeated, and applied pressure to the knife to raise her eyes until she was gazing at Evanlyn. As she saw the girl, the woman began sobbing even louder.

'Shut up,' Slagor told her. 'Shut up that noise and tell the Oberjarl what you told me.'

There were angry weals across the woman's face. Obviously, she had been beaten recently. Her ragged shift was torn in several spots as well, and more red marks were visible on her body through the gaps. In some places, blood had soaked through the thin material. Her tear-filled eyes pleaded with Evanlyn.

'I'm sorry, my lady,' she said, her voice breaking. 'They beat me until I told.'

Evanlyn took an involuntary step towards her. But Slagor's knife swung up and round to confront her and stop her coming closer. Beside her, Robin heard Horace's quick intake of breath and saw his hand fall to the sword hilt once more. She placed her own hand over Horace's, stopping him from drawing the sword. The heavily built apprentice looked round at her, surprised. She shook her head slightly, before moving to stand with Erak. Se realised that Horace's movement had been a reflex reaction and she knew that in this tinderbox atmosphere, if her friend ever drew that sword it could mean the end of all of them.