Ranger's Apprentice One Shots

Frozen Hatred (Part One)

Mucking out the pig's den stank. The mud managed to find its way into Will's fingers, crusting them when it dried. And the smell! You'd think that the pigs pooped then rolled around in it.

It was a wonder the pigs were still alive in this weather. Skandia had dropped to below freezing, snow clinging to every surface. Icicles the length of swords hung from every building and ice hid beneath snow, camouflaging and waiting to trip someone.

Will's hands were frozen numb. His head pounded from the cold and his ears felt close to freezing off. His body was barely warm, but the coat did a good job. Although he was a Skandian slave, the Skandians knew that without the proper clothing, no one would survive the terrible winters. So, they gave each slave a coat, and as thin as it was, it did a good job keeping in most of the body's heat. Most of the time.

He was nearly finished the job and leaned in the shovel, exhausted. His body was weak. The last time he ate was last night. The morning's meal had not been delivered yet – he still had a few hours work to complete.

His stomach rumbled angrily, and he knew he better distract himself. He continued and finished the job, resting on the side of the pig's shelter.

Why was I sold as a slave? Will thought, peeved.

"Don't ask useless questions boy," he answered himself, in the tones of Halt.

Will had recently taken on Halt's voice when talking to himself. It was a small way to remember his mentor and keep some connection to his old life. And as much as it saddened him, to fake his mentor's attitude, it was needed. It kept Will going.

"Boy!" a yardman shouted at him. Will hastily stood up, straightening his back as much as he could. His hour wasn't done and he wasn't meant to be resting. Even something small like leaning against a wall counted as that. "Have you finished with that?"

"Yes, sir," Will replied, eyes cast down and his voice low.

"Look up, boy," the Skandian ordered. Will obeyed, seeing for the first time who the man was. He didn't recognize the Skandian, and he nearly burst out laughing when he saw him. The Skandian looked like a squirrel to Will. His eyes were too close together for his big head, and his hair was straggly, waving like spaghetti in the fierce wind. The man's clothes looked a few sizes too big, which was also most unusual for a Skandian. This man did not look poor, and on the contrary, he actually looked rich, another reason why Will thought the whole thing to be funny.

"I need someone who can wield an ax. You strong enough?" The question wasn't a real one. Will couldn't decline.

"Sir," he responded confidently.

"Good. follow me." the man roughly yanked Will by the collar, shoving him forward. Will stumbled, but kept his footing, cursing quietly. There was no need for the shove. But Will had met men like this one before. They wanted and needed to create an air of assertiveness immediately, as if scared the slave would beat them up. Obviously, that was ridiculous, as the worse a slave could do was call him "small". And even that, they'd get punished for. So unless the slave was a complete idiot, there was no need for fear.

The Skandian man kept a close pace to Will, shoving him every once in a while. The shoves were setting Will's teeth on edge.

"Up there," the man nodded, pointing at a little hut up ahead.

Silently, Will trudged up the lawn. He could see a tree and an ax beside it, and dearly hoped that the man wouldn't make him hack away at the tree and then also chop it. That would be too much.

"Here," the man shoved an ax in Will's hand. "Hack at the tree then chop it up."

That was just unfair.