Erak's Ransom (11 page)

There was a new urgency in Selethen's manner as the outriders closed in, in response to his signal. He looked around the foreigners, ensuring they were all wearing the
kheffiyehs
he had given them when they set out from Al Shabah. These were desert headdresses — essentially a simple square of cotton, folded into a triangle, then draped over the head so that elongated tails hung down either side and at the back, providing protection from the sun. They were held in place by a twisted coil of camel hair rope.
Now he quickly showed them how the elongated tails could be pulled across the face then quickly twisted over each other to cover the nose and mouth of the wearer. It was a simple but effective form of head protection in the desert.
'You'll need them,' he said. 'Once the sand wall hits us, you'll be unable to breathe without them.'
Will glanced to the south. The thin dark line he had noticed a few minutes ago was now a thick band that spread from one side of the horizon to the other. In fact, he realised, the horizon seemed to have moved closer. He glanced north to confirm the fact. The sandstorm was blotting out the horizon to the south. It was a dirty brown colour at the base, almost black. And now he could see it as it towered thousands of metres into the air, blocking out the sky. The storm itself was rapidly becoming the boundary of their world.
Selethen stood in his stirrups, looking for any available shelter.
'There.' he called. 'There's a shallow
wadi.
The bank will give us a little protection.'
He urged his horse towards the
wadi,
a dry gully that jut through the hard rocky ground. The walls were barely three metres in height but they would offer some protection, at least. They hurried to follow him. He halted a few metres short of the edge to allow them to pass by.
'My god,' said Horace, 'look at how fast it's moving!'
They looked up. The dirty brown wall of swirling sand now completely blocked their sight to the south. There was nothing but the storm and now they could see how quickly it was advancing on them. It was moving like the wind, Will thought. Then he realised, it
was
the wind.
He glanced up and caught Evanlyn's eyes on him. They exchanged a worried look and he knew they were both thinking of the same thing — the massive storm that had swept down on them when they were prisoners on
Wolfwind
years before. He tried to grin reassuringly at her but at that moment the first breath of the storm struck them — unbelievably hot and fetid and laden with flying, invisible grains of sand.
Tug plunged nervously as the sand whipped his face and flanks. Will kept a firm hand on the reins. Usually, Tug only needed him to hold them lightly but in these conditions, he knew, his horse would respond better to the sense of control that a firm pressure on the bit would impart to him.
'Take it easy, boy,' he said. 'It's just sand.'
The wind was now a living presence around them, keening horribly. And the light was dying. Will was startled to find that Evanlyn, less than five metres away, was now a shadowy, indistinct form in the dimness. The others were no clearer.
Selethen rode in among them and they pressed closer to him to hear him, horses tossing and whinnying nervously. He unwound the protective
kheffiyeh
from his mouth and shouted his instructions.
'Ride down into the
wadi.
Dismount and turn your horses' tails to the wind. Try to cover their heads with your cloaks if you can. Then we'll ... '
Whatever he was going to add was lost in a giant fit of coughing as he drew in a mouthful of fine flying sand. He doubled over, pulling his headdress across his face again and waving them towards the
wadi.
Halt led the way. Will's sense of panic rose as he realised that his mentor would be out of sight in a few metres if he didn't hurry to follow him. He was conscious of other blurred figures close to him as Gilan, Horace, Evanlyn and Svengal all followed suit. Further away there were vague forms moving in the storm and he realised these were the Arridi troops moving to the shelter.
The dim shadow that was Halt and Abelard seemed to sink into the ground and he realised that they must have reached the rim of the
wadi.
Tug, seeing them disappear, became nervous, sensing that the ground before him was unsafe. He whinnied shrilly and baulked, resisting Will's efforts to urge him forward. The wind was screaming around them, terrifying in its intensity and power, disorienting the little horse. Never before had Tug refused Will's command but now he stood his ground. The wind prevented his hearing the reassuring tones of his trusted master's voice and he sensed danger somewhere ahead. He had seen Halt and Abelard disappear and he was trained to protect his master in situations like this. He braced his legs and stood fast, head down into the screaming, flaying wind.
Will saw the shadowy figure of Horace move past him, recognisable only because of the fact that Kicker stood hands taller than Tug. Someone else moved past him too. He had no idea who it was. Conditions were getting worse, as unbelievable as that might seem. The wind was like the blast from an oven, the air superheated, and the millions of flying, stinging sand particles tore at any piece of exposed skin. The grains forced their way into clothing, under the face masks of the
kheffiyehs,
into boots, inside collars and into any crevice in the skin — eyelids, ears, nostrils were full of it and Will coughed rackingly.
He found the action of coughing caused him to inhale more sand than he expelled but it was unavoidable.
He couldn't stay here like this, he realised. And he couldn't leave Tug. He would have to dismount and lead the little horse, hoping that the sight of his master in front of him would calm his fears enough for him to move. He took a firm grip on the reins and swung down to the ground. Ordinarily, he would have trusted Tug to stand still when he dismounted. But he knew the little horse was close to panic in this screaming, hellish, sand-laden wind.
He slipped his right arm up under Tug's neck, caressing him and speaking to him, all the time keeping a firm hold on the reins with the other hand. It seemed to be working. Tug's braced forefeet relaxed and he allowed himself to take a faltering few steps in response to Will's urging.
'Come on, boy. It's all right. It's only sand.' He tried to croon the words reassuringly but he was startled by the sound of his own voice, which came out as a dry, faltering croak. He doubted that the horse could hear him but he felt that the contact of his right arm and the proximity of his body was keeping the little horse under control.
He stooped as he led Tug forward, trying to see the point where the ground dropped away into the
wadi.
It was all he could do to make out the ground itself amid the flying debris of the storm. He glanced up at Tug's face once. The little horse's eyes were tight shut against the wind. Fine sand and dust had crusted over the moisture around the eye sockets and lids.
Where the hell was that bank? He stumbled forward, awkward with the resistant weight of Tug's reluctant body. He pulled the reins firmly and the horse yielded a little, taking three more hesitant steps forward. He realised that Tug's instinct was to turn tail on to the wind, protecting his eyes and nostrils from the whipping sand. But he had to keep forcing the little horse forward to the meagre shelter offered by the
wadi's
banks. He had a sense that, the storm had not yet reached its peak.
Sand whipped across his eyes, blinding him, and he released his hold around Tug's neck for a moment to try to wipe them clear. It was a futile effort. He gasped and spluttered, blinded and suffocated by the storm. He pulled on 'the reins once more and stepped forward, head bowed against the screaming darkness around him.
And felt his foot fall into empty space.
Off balance, he teetered on the brink of the
wadi
bank, Flailing his free arm in the air to try to regain his stance. His whirling arm struck Tug across the nose and the little horse reared back in surprise and alarm, unsighted by the cloying sand around his eyes and not seeing where the blow had come from.
Will began to fall and desperately threw himself back from the
wadi's
edge.
The reins came loose from his grip as Tug jerked away, terrified by the thundering noise of the wind, startled by the sudden, unexpected blow across his muzzle and panic-stricken by the loss of contact with his master. Blinded by the sand, he wheeled instinctively away from the wind, seeking for some sense of Will in the storm close by him. But his senses, normally so keen and finely honed, were deadened by the all-pervading scream of the storm, the heat and the whipping, flying sand. Still trying to make some contact with Will, he took a pace, then another, whinnying shrilly in alarm. But he was already heading in the wrong direction.
Will floundered to his feet. He tried to call to his horse but his voice was barely a croak now. He thought —
thought
— he could sense a presence in the storm a few metres away. He stumbled towards it, knowing it was Tug.
But the vague shape, nothing more than a half-perceived denser mass in the darkness surrounding him, moved away and he lost sight of it. He stumbled forward, the wind behind him now.
'Tug!' he tried to shout. But the sound was inaudible even to his own ears, drowned by the triumphant shriek of the massive wind. He stretched out a hand but, touched nothing but flying sand.
Then, miraculously, he saw a shadow looming out of the dark mass of wind and sand and debris.
'Tug!' he gasped. But a hand grabbed the collar of his cloak and pulled him forward.
Dimly, he realised that he was face to face with Selethen.
'Get ... down!' the
Wakir
shouted at him, dragging him towards the rough ground. Will fought against the iron grip.
'Horse ... ' He managed to force the word out. 'My horse ... '
'Leave ... him!' Selethen spoke slowly and deliberately so that he could be heard above the storm. Now he was urging his own horse, trained for and accustomed to these conditions, to its knees, all the time holding Will's collar with his free hand. The Arridi horse lay on its side, head curled round into the shelter of its own body. Will felt a foot slip between his feet to trip him and he and Selethen crashed to the ground together, the Arridi dragging him into the scant shelter provided by the horse's body.
'Tug!' Will screamed, the effort searing his parched throat with agony. Selethen was fumbling with his cloak, trying to drag it over both their heads to protect them from the sand. He leaned over to speak directly into Will's ear.
'You'll die out there!' he shouted. 'You'll never find him now. Try to do it and you'll die! He's gone! Understand?'
Dully, Will realised that he was right. He would have no chance of finding his horse in the blinding, whirling mass of sand that surrounded them. He felt a great stab of pain in his heart at the thought of his horse — alone and terrified in all that horror — and he sobbed uncontrollably, great racking sobs that heaved and shuddered through his entire body.
But there were no tears. The heat and the choking, cloying sand and dust denied him even that small comfort.

The storm passed over them. Will had no idea how long it battered them, screamed at them, tortured them. It must have been hours. But eventually it passed.
While it raged around them, it was as if his senses shut down so that he was conscious only of the screaming, tormenting voice of the wind. In the sudden silence that greeted its passing, he became aware of other sensations. There was something heavy across his legs and body, and on top of the cloak that Selethen had pulled over their heads. He felt Selethen moving and he wriggled, fighting against the constricting weight as well, realising it was sand piled up on them, thrown there by the rampaging wind.
Selethen coughed beside him and managed to throw a corner of the cloak clear. Dirty yellow-brown sand cascaded in on them both. Will rolled to his back and shoved the cloak away from his own face, managing to look down at himself.
There was no sign of his body or legs. There was,,nothing but a sand-covered hump. He struggled to sit up, shovelling the sand away from his lower body with his hands. Beside him, he was conscious of Selethen doing the same thing.
The earth seemed to move behind him and he twisted round, startled, in time to see Selethen's horse rolling and heaving to get its feet under it. The stallion forced its way upright, sending a huge weight of sand crashing onto the two men who had sheltered behind him. Then, upright, the horse shook itself mightily and more dirt flew.
Will heaved himself backwards into the clear space left by the horse's body and felt his legs coming free. With a final effort, he broke clear of the sand's grip and staggered to his feet.
Below them, in the
wadi
bed, others were doing the same. He could see movement in the rows of piled sand that marked where the others had sheltered. Then the sand surface heaved in a score of places, as if in response to some minor earthquake, and bodies began to break clear. Sheltered by the bank, the others had fared better than he and Selethen. The covering of sand that lay across them was not so deep or heavy. But it still took some effort to break clear. The horses, able to stand tail on to the wind and sheltered by the
wadi
bank, were in better condition. At least they hadn't been half buried.
He looked around into Selethen's face. It was coated and crusted with the fine clinging yellow sand. The eyes, ted-rimmed and sore, stared out of it like holes in a grotesque mask. Will realised that he would look no better. The
Wakir
shook his head wearily. He took a water skin from his horse's saddle bow, wet the end of his
kheffiyeh,
and began to clean the clogged sand away from the animal's eyes, crooning softly to him. The sight of the horse responding trustingly to his rider's ministrations brought a horrible realisation back to Will and he looked around frantically, hoping against hope that he would see another hump in the sand — a hump that would resolve itself into the shaggy-haired form of Tug as he struggled to his feet. But there was nothing.
Tug was gone.
Gone somewhere out in the wasteland of the desert. Will blundered a few paces away from the
wadi's
edge, tried to call his name. But the dryness and the sand in his throat defeated the effort and no sound came. A hand touched his shoulder and he turned as Selethen thrust the water skin to him. He took a mouthful, rinsed it and spat. Then another, feeling the warm moisture soak into the soft tissues of his throat.
He realised that Selethen himself hadn't drunk yet and he handed the water skin back to him, watched as he rinsed, spat, then swallowed a mouthful or two himself. Finally, he lowered the skin.
'You ... all ... right?' he asked haltingly. Will shook his head, pointing vaguely to the desert behind them.
'Tug,' he said miserably. Then he could say no more. He heard boots slipping and sliding in the sand and turned to see Halt climbing wearily up the
wadi
bank. His face was covered and yellow-crusted as well. His eyes were red-rimmed and sore.
'Are you all right?' he repeated Selethen's question. Then, his eyes darted from side to side and a horrified look came over his face. 'Where's Tug?' he asked fearfully. Will bowed his his head, feeling tears trying to form. But, as before, his body lacked the moisture to allow them.
'Gone,' he said bitterly. He could only manage the one syllable. He waved his hand to the desert.
'Gone?' Halt echoed him. 'Gone where? How?'
'The horse panicked and broke free in the wind,' Selethen told him. Will looked up at Halt, his eyes haunted, shaking his head.
'I lost him!' he blurted out. 'I let go of the reins! It's my fault ... my fault!'
He felt Halt's arms go round him, felt himself drawn into the older man's embrace. But there was no sense of comfort for Will. There was no way anyone could lessen the pain he felt. His horse, his beloved Tug, was gone. And he had been the one who let go of the little horse's reins. He had failed Tug when his friend was panicked and frightened and most in need of his master's help and support.
And finally, the tears did come, streaking runnels through the yellow dust that caked his face as he put his head on Halt's shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. Dimly, he heard the voices of his friends as they gathered wearily around, the questions they were asking and the dreadful, final, awful answer that Halt gave them.
'Tug's gone.'
Two words. Two words that silenced them instantly. Gilan, Horace and Evanlyn knew how much the little horse meant to Will. They knew the special relationship that formed between a Ranger and his horse. And while Svengal couldn't really appreciate it, he equated it to the sense of grief a Skandian would feel at the loss of his ship and he grieved for his friend.
Dimly, Will heard their expressions of disbelief at the dreadful news. A Ranger and his horse were more than just rider and mount. They all knew that. A Ranger bonded with his horse from the early days of his apprenticeship and they learned their special skills together.
Selethen watched, uncomprehending. Like all Arridi, he loved horses. But he knew that in a harsh land like this, losses were inevitable. Broken limbs, thirst, the sun, marauding desert lions and the sand cobras that lurked in any damp or shaded corner could all kill a horse in an instant. Such losses were regrettable. But they had to be borne. He glanced at the sun, now past noon.
'We'll rest here for a few hours,' he said. 'We'll continue on later this afternoon when it cools down.'
He ordered his men to light a fire and make coffee. He doubted that anyone would have the appetite for a meal after the ordeal they had gone through. But coffee would restore them, he knew. He watched as the older Ranger led his apprentice away, finding a scant piece of shade under the
wadi
bank and lowering him to sit.
The Princess and the young warrior went to approach them, offering comfort, but the older man waved them away. Now was not the time.
The boy would be exhausted, Selethen knew. They all were. A storm like the one they had been through allowed no rest for anyone caught in it. The muscles, the nerves, the mind were tensed to breaking point. The fear was overwhelming, particularly for someone who had never been through a sandstorm before. The physical and emotional exhaustion were devastating.
The other Ranger, the one they called Gilan, had moved to where the troops were lighting a fire. He waited until the coffee was ready and then took a cup back to the huddled form under the
wadi
bank. He squatted beside the youth and held the cup out to him.
'Here, Will,' he said softly. 'Drink this.'
Will waved the cup away feebly. He was sunk deep in misery. Gilan pushed it forward again, more forcefully, nudging him with it.
'You'll need it,' he said. 'You'll need your strength if we're going to find Tug.'
Halt looked up at him, startled by the words.
'What did you say?' he demanded but Gilan was unfazed by the question.
'I'll go with him,' he replied. 'We'll find Tug.'
For the first time, Will raised his head, taking the cup and looking at Gilan over the rim. There was a very faint spark of hope in his eyes. Very faint, Gilan saw, but present.
Halt stood abruptly, taking Gilan's arm and drawing him to his feet. He led the young Ranger a few metres away.
'What are you talking about?' he said in a low tone. 'Tug is gone. He's dead.'
Gilan shook his head. 'We don't know that. He might be lost, but how can you say he's dead?'
Halt raised his hands in a perplexed gesture, pointing to the piles of wind-blown sand around them. 'Did you just go through that storm with us?' he asked.
Gilan nodded calmly.'Yes. And I survived. So did Blaze. Seems to me you're being a little hasty in assuming Tug is dead. Ranger horses are a tough breed.'
Halt conceded the point. 'All right. Let's assume you're correct. He's alive. But still, he's lost somewhere out there. God alone knows where.'
'Lost,' Gilan repeated. 'And lost can be found. We have to take the chance. You'd do it if Abelard was lost,' he added and Halt, about to reply that the task was hopeless, stopped himself. 'I'll go with him. Give us two days. We either find Tug in that time or we catch up with you at Mararoc.'
'No, Gil. You're not coming. I'll go alone.'
Both men turned, startled at the sound of Will's voice. It was as much the conviction in his words as the words themselves that surprised them. Will, devastated with grief a few minutes ago, now had a ray of hope handed to him. And he had seized it eagerly.
'We can't weaken Evanlyn's escort any further. We all took an oath to the King to protect her,' he said. 'Of all of us, I'm the one we could spare most, so I'll go alone. Besides,' he added, 'I lost him and it's up to me to find him.'
'Don't be ridiculous!' Halt snapped. 'You're a boy!'
Will's face, dust and tear stained, set in stubborn lines as he faced his teacher, the man he respected and revered above all others. He drew breath to speak but Gilan put up a hand to stop him.
'Will, before you say anything, give us a moment here, please,' he asked. Will hesitated, seeing the stubbornness in Halt's face that matched his own. But Gilan nodded once and he agreed, withdrawing back to his position by the
wadi
bank.
'Halt,' said Gilan in a reasonable tone, 'let me put a hypothetical case to you. If Blaze were lost and I decided to go and find him, would you try to stop me?'
'Of cour ... ' Halt began automatically. Then his sense of reason asserted itself. 'Of course not,' he amended. 'But you're a Ranger. Will is a boy.'
Gilan smiled at him. 'Haven't you noticed, Halt? He's been growing up. He's not the skinny fifteen-year-old you took under your wing any more. He's already a Ranger in all but name.'
'He's an apprentice,' Halt insisted. Gilan shook his head again, smiling at Halt.
'Do you seriously think he's not going to pass his final assessment?' he asked. 'It's a formality, and you know it. He's already more capable and skilled — and smarter — than half a dozen Rangers I could name.'
'But he's too young to ... ' Halt couldn't finish the sentence. He knew that what Gilan was saying was the truth. The logical part of his brain knew that. But the emotional part wanted to protect his young apprentice and keep him safe. If Will went off alone into the desert, who knew what perils he'd be facing? Gilan put a hand on Halt's shoulder. It was a strange sensation, he thought, advising the man he respected more than any other.
'You knew the time would come when you'd have to let him go, Halt. You can't be around to protect him for the rest of his life. That's not why you've trained him to be a Ranger. You tried to do that with me, remember?'
Halt looked up sharply at that. Gilan was still smiling as he answered Halt's unasked question.
'In the last few months of my apprenticeship, you started mother-henning me something terrible,' he said. 'Remember that man-killer bear we had to track down? You tried to leave me back at Redmont under some pretext or other.'
Halt frowned, thinking hard. Had he really done that? And he had to admit that he might have. He thought now about Will and he agreed with Gilan. The boy — the youth, he corrected himself — would certainly be accepted as a fully fledged Ranger within a few months. There was nothing left for him to learn. The assessment was a formality.
'Would you trust him with your life, Halt?' Gilan interrupted and Halt looked up at him.
'Yes,' he said quietly. Gilan patted his shoulder once more.
'Then trust him with his own,' he said simply.