The Battle for Skandia by John Flanagan

him with a flash of anger. He hated being confused. He preferred a simple, straightforward problem—the kind he could solve with his broadax. “For that matter,” he snapped, “what are you doing here?”
    Halt faced him evenly, uncowed. “I came for the boy,” he said quietly. Erak looked at him, then at the smaller figure beside him, his face still largely concealed by the gray mottled hood. His anger faded as quickly as it had flared.
    â€œYes,” he said, in a calmer tone. “He said you would.”
    Like most Skandians, Erak valued loyalty and courage. Another thought struck him—something he’d wondered about for some time.
    â€œAt the beach,” he said. “How did you know to find us there?”
    â€œYou left one of your men behind,” Halt said. “He told me.”
    The disbelief was plain on Erak’s face.
    â€œNordal? He’d have spat in your eye before he told you anything.”
    â€œI think he thought he owed me,” Halt said quietly. “He was dying and he’d lost his sword, so I gave it back to him.”
    Erak went to speak, then hesitated. Skandians believed that if a man died without a weapon in his hand, his soul was lost forever. It seemed the Ranger knew about the belief.
    â€œThen I’m in your debt,” he said finally. Then, after another pause: “I’m not sure how that affects this current situation, however.” He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, looking at the fierce little Temujai warrior, for all the world like a tethered hawk. “And I’d still like to know what this lad and his bunch are up to.”
    â€œThat’s what I had in mind,” Halt told him. “I was planning to get my companions here across the border into Teutlandt. Then I thought I might come back with our friend here and find the rest of the Temujai—and see how many of them there are.”
    Erak snorted. “You think he’ll tell you?” he asked. “I don’t know too much about the Temujai, but I know this much: you can torture them to death and they’ll never tell you anything they don’t want to.”
    â€œYes. I’ve heard that too,” Halt said. “But there might be a way.”
    â€œOh, might there?” the jarl asked scornfully. “And what might ‘that way’ be?”
    Halt glanced at the horse warrior. He was following their discussion with some interest. Halt knew he spoke the trading language but he had no idea how much of the common tongue he might understand. As a member of a scouting party, it was probable that he had some command of the language. He took the jarl’s arm and led him a few paces away, out of earshot.
    â€œI rather thought I might let him escape,” he said mildly.

13
    THE TWO MEN STOOD OVER THE TANGLE OF DISCARDED ROPES lying in the snow. Erak pursed his lips, then turned to Halt. “Well, so far, you’re right,” he said. “The little beggar escaped once Olak pretended to fall asleep on guard duty.” He glanced sideways at the large Skandian who had been assigned to the last watch. “You did pretend to fall asleep, didn’t you?” he added, with a touch of sarcasm.
    The warrior grinned easily at him. “I was wonderful, Jarl Erak,” he said. “You’ve never seen such a lifelike impersonation of a sleeping man. I should have been a traveling player.”
    Erak grunted skeptically. “So what now?” he asked Halt.
    â€œNow, I follow him while he leads me to the main body of Temujai,” the Ranger said. “As we discussed last night.”
    â€œI’ve been thinking about that,” Erak replied. “And I’ve decided we’re going to make a change. I’m going with you.”
    Halt had been walking toward the spot where the horses were tethered. He stopped and turned to face the Skandian leader, a determined look on his face. “We discussed