The Battle for Skandia- Character Reaction

28

"Here." The book was passed to Pauline, who paused as she flipped through the pages.

"Perhaps we should take a break after this one," she suggested. The others nodded agreement. Cassandra shot a worried look at her father, who said nothing.

"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 Halt touched her arm and met her eyes with a reassuring smile. Cassandra smiled at the Ranger, who nodded. She straightened her shoulders and drew herself up to full height. Will watched in admiration as she walked down the cleared space in the center of the hall. Halt, Erak and the two apprentices followed close behind her. Horace, Will noticed, was continually easing his sword in its scabbard, lifting it to free the blade, then allowing it to drop back again. Will's own hand strayed to the hilt of his throwing knife. If things went as badly as they all feared, he decided that knife was for Slagor, who was standing beside and slightly behind Ragnak.

If only that had happened sooner, Will thought. Killing was something he avoided. Slagor, however, had asked for it one too many times.

Once before, on Skorghijl, Will had demonstrated his skill with the knife to Erak's and Slagor's crews, throwing it across the room and skewering a small wooden keg next to Slagor's hand. This time, there would be no keg. Erak grinned.

I wouldn't want to have to face him. The thought crossed Hal's mind as he glanced at the Ranger. Young he might have looked—even though he was sure Will was older than him by several years—he seemed to be anything but incapable.

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 signaled to a pair of attendants by a side door.

"That idiot." Thorn shook his head.

"Bring in the slave," he called. His voice was soft and silky, totally unlike Ragnak's forceful bellow. Erak muttered something under his breath. 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 graying and her face lined before its time with the strain of unending labor, poor food and the threat of constant punishment that was the lot of a slave in Hallasholm. Will glared at the book. The sailors dragged her 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.

Will hadn't realized he'd reached for his knife until Alyss's hand gripped onto his, squeezing it. He gave her a slight smile, but it was a wan effort.

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. Crowley straightened, his eyes flashing angrily. He held the razor-sharp blade below the woman's chin, pressing it into the flesh of her neck with not quite sufficient force to break the skin.

"That little—" Rodney's hand was gripped tightly onto his sword as he cursed.

"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."

Why don't you shut up?" Will muttered.