Erak's Ransom (15 page)

'What about the girl?' he said. If she were to go back to Al Shabah, he'd have to spare men to escort her. That would weaken his force even further.
'She'll come with you,' Evanlyn said in a carrying voice.
Selethen looked at Halt, his eyebrows raised in a question. Halt smiled grimly. He'd seen Evanlyn's courage in battle before. And he knew she was able to take care of herself with the sabre she wore at her belt. On the voyage from Araluen, she'd practised with Horace and Gilan, both masters of the sword. She'd held her own. She wasn't in their league, of course, but she was capable. Evanlyn wouldn't be a burden, he knew. She might well prove to be an advantage.
'She'll come with us,' he said.

The bitter cold of the desert night woke him. He was face down, shivering violently as the heat leached from his body. It wasn't fair, he thought. The blinding heat of the day and the near freezing temperatures of the night were combining to rob the last vestiges of strength from him. Shivering took energy and he had none to spare.
Will tried to raise his head, and failed. Then, with a massive effort, he rolled over onto his back, to find himself staring up at the brilliant stars, blazing down from the clear night sky. Beautiful, he thought. But strangers to him. He wanted to crane around and look to the north, where he would see the familiar constellations of his homeland, lying low on the northern horizon. But he didn't have the strength. He'd just have to lie here and die, watched over by strange stars who didn't know him, didn't care for him.
It was very sad, really.
There was a strange clarity to his thinking now, as if all the effort of the day, all the self-delusion, was gone and he could view his situation dispassionately. He knew he was going to die. If not tonight, then certainly tomorrow. He would never stand another day of that furnace-like heat. He would just dry up and blow away, carried on the desert wind.
It was very sad. He'd like to cry about it but there was no moisture to spare for tears. With his newfound clarity of thought, he felt a nagging sense of annoyance. He wanted to know what he had done wrong. He didn't want to die wondering. He'd done everything correctly — or so he thought. Yet somewhere he had made a mistake — a fatal mistake. It was sad that he had to die. It was annoying that he didn't know how it had come to this.
He wondered briefly if the map Selethen had given him had been false. He remembered that thought occurring to him during the preceding day. But he dismissed it almost immediately. Selethen was an honourable man, he thought. No, the map was accurate. The mistake had been his and now he would never know what it had been. Halt would be disappointed, he thought — and perhaps that was the worst aspect of this situation. For five years, he had tried his best for the grizzled, unsmiling Ranger who had become like a father to him. All he ever sought was Halt's approval, no matter what anyone else in the world might think. A nod of appreciation or one of Halt's rare smiles was the greatest accolade he could imagine. Now, at this final hurdle, he felt he had let his mentor down and he didn't know how or why it had happened. He didn't want to die knowing that Halt would be disappointed in him. He could bear the dying, he thought, but not the disappointment.
A large shape moved near him, blotting out a section of the sky. For a moment, his heart raced in fear, then he realised it was Arrow. He hadn't hobbled the horse for the night, he realised. He'd wander off and get lost or be taken by predators. He tried to rise once more but the effort defeated him. It was all he could do to raise his head a centimetre or two from the hard, stony ground underneath it. Then he dropped back, defeated.
He wondered what had happened to Tug. He hoped that somewhere, his horse was all right. Maybe someone had found him and was caring for him now. Not that they'll ever manage to ride him, he thought, and chuckled soundlessly at the mental picture of Tug bucking off every rider who tried to mount him.
Arrow began to move away from him, the soft shuffling sound of his padded hooves puzzling Will for a moment, before he remembered tying pieces of blanket round the horse's hooves. One of them must have come loose because Arrow walked with a strange gait — three muffled thumps and then a clop as the unprotected hoof made contact with the hard ground.
He turned his head to follow the dark shape moving away from him.
'Come back, Arrow,' he said. At least, he thought he said it. The only sound that came from his mouth was a dry, choking rasp. The horse ignored it. He continued to move away, searching for forage that might contain even a little moisture. Again, Will tried to call Arrow back but again, no articulate sound would come. Finally, he gave up. The foreign stars watched him and he watched them.
'I don't like these stars,' he said to no one in particular. They seemed to be fading, their cold brilliance dimming. That was unusual, he thought. Usually the stars kept burning till the sun came up. He didn't realise that the stars were burning as brightly as ever. It was he who was fading. After a while, he lay still, barely breathing.
The lion passed within metres of him. Arrow, weakened and dehydrated, was intent on freeing himself from the blanket strips tangled round one forefoot. He never sensed the giant predator until the last second. There was time for one shrill scream of fear, cut off almost instantly by the massive jaws.
Later on, Will would think that he might have heard it but he could never be sure. In fact, it had registered with his subconscious but he was too far gone to stir.
Arrow died quickly and, in doing so, he saved Will's life.
He could feel the snorting breath of a horse close by his face, feel the softness of its muzzle as it nuzzled against him, and the roughness of the big tongue licking him, the lips nibbling softly at his hand.
For one wonderful moment, Will thought it was Tug. Then his spirits sank as he remembered that Tug was gone, lost somewhere in this wasteland. Arrow must have come back, he thought. His eyes wouldn't open. But he didn't want them to. He could see the glare of the sun even through his closed eyelids, burning down on him once more, and he didn't want to face that. Far easier to lie here with his eyes glued shut. Arrow moved again so that his shadow fell across Will's face, shading him, and he murmured his gratitude.
He tried to force his eyelids open but they were gummed shut in his swollen, sunburnt face. He was vaguely surprised to realise that he wasn't dead but he knew it was only a matter of time. Maybe, he thought, he
was
dead. If so, this certainly didn't feel like any idea of heaven he'd ever been told about and the alternative wasn't pleasant to contemplate. Once again, Arrow nudged his muzzle against him, as if trying to wake him. Tug used to do that, Will recalled. Maybe all horses did it. He didn't want to wake up, didn't want to open his eyes. The effort would be too great.
Funny, he thought, a few hours ago, he didn't have the energy to roll over. Now a simple act like raising his eyelids was beyond him. It would be easier to just lie here sleeping and fade away from it all.
He heard the crunch of footsteps on the sand and rock, close by him. That was strange, he didn't remember anyone else being here. Then a hand slipped under his head and raised it, resting it on what felt like a knee, so that he was sitting half upright. He sighed. He simply wanted to be left alone.
Then he felt something wonderful. Something unbelievable. A cool trickle of water spilled over his dry, cracked lips. He opened his mouth eagerly, seeking more of the wonderful water. Another trickle found its way inside and he tried to rise, tried to reach for the water skin and hold it to his mouth. A hand restrained him.
'Steady,' said a voice. 'Just a little at a time.'
And as he said it, more water trickled into Will's parched mouth and then down his throat. It caught in the back of his throat and he coughed, spitting it out, trying frantically to retain it, knowing that he mustn't lose it. 'Take it easy,' the voice said. 'There's plenty here. Just take it slowly at first.'
Obediently, Will lay back and allowed the stranger to trickle water into his mouth. He was grateful to whoever it was, but obviously the man didn't realise that Will was nearly dead from thirst. Otherwise he would have let the water flood into his eager mouth, he thought, overflowing and spilling down his chin while he gulped it in by the gallon. But he said nothing. He didn't want to offend his benefactor in case he stopped.
He heard an anxious whinny close by and, once again, he was sure it was Tug before he remembered. Tug was gone.
'He's all right,' the voice said. He assumed he was talking to the horse. Nice of Arrow to be worried about him, he thought. They hadn't known each other all that long. He felt a wet cloth wiping gently round his eyes, working on the gummed-up eyelids. Some of the water trickled down his cheeks and he caught it with his tongue, flicking it into his mouth. Be a shame to waste it.
'Try to open them,' said the voice and he obeyed, using all his strength to get his eyes open.
He could see a slit of light and a dark shape leaning over him. He blinked. The action took an enormous effort but when he re-opened his eyes it was a little easier and his vision was a little clearer. It was a dark face. Bearded, he saw. Framed by a yellow and white
kheffiyeh.
The nose was big and hooked and at some time in its owner's life it had been badly broken so that it was crooked across the face at an angle. For a moment, the nose held his focus. Then he blinked again and the eyes above the nose caught his attention.
They were dark, almost black. Hooded by heavy eyebrows, deep-set in the face. A strong face, he realised. But not handsome. The big crooked nose saw to that.
'Tha's a big nose,' he croaked and instantly realised he shouldn't have said something so impolite. I must be light-headed, he thought. But the face smiled. The teeth seemed inordinately white against the dark beard and skin.
'The only one I have,' he said. 'More water?'
'Please,' said Will and that wonderful water was back in his mouth again.
And then, wonder of wonders, another face pushed its way into his field of vision, nudging the bearded man aside, nearly causing him to spill the water. For a moment, Will's face was unshaded and the glaring sun caused him to wince away and blink. Then shadow fell across him again and he opened his eyes.
'Tug?' he said, not daring to believe it. And this time, as the horse whinnied in recognition, there was no doubt about it. It
was
Tug, standing over him, nuzzling him, nibbling him with his big soft lips and trying to be as close to him as was possible.
He butted against Will's shoulder in the old familiar way. The big eyes looked deep into Will's half-closed ones.
See what trouble you get into when I'm not around?
they said.
The bearded man looked from the horse to the blistered, burnt face of the foreigner.
'I take it you two know each other,' he said.
He was half conscious but he was aware of someone spreading a soothing, cooling balm onto the burnt skin of his face and arms. And there was more water, all he could drink — so long as he drank it slowly. He had learned by now. If he tried to drink too quickly, the water was taken away. Drink slowly and it kept flowing. As several people tended to him, he was aware of Tug, always there, always close by. Will drifted in and out of consciousness and each time he awoke, he had a momentary fear that he had been dreaming and that Tug was still missing. Then he would see that familiar, worried face and breathe more easily.
Vaguely, he registered the fact that he had been placed on a litter that was tilted at about thirty degrees from the horizontal. Perhaps, it was strapped behind a horse, he thought. Then, as he began to, move and he felt the strange slow rhythm of the animal dragging him behind it, he revised his estimate. It must be a camel, he thought. The unusual, long-legged swaying gait transmitted itself through the wood poles and webbing base of the litter to his body.
Someone thoughtfully placed a shade cloth to protect his face and eyes from the glare and he dozed as they proceeded across the desert. He had no idea which direction they were taking. He didn't care. He was alive and Tug was a few metres away, walking slowly beside him, alert to any sign that he might be in danger again.
They could have travelled for half an hour or half a day as far as he knew. Later, he found out that he had ridden on the litter for just over an hour and a half before they reached. his rescuers' camp. He was lifted from the litter and placed on a bedroll in the shade under a stand of palm trees. The light filtered gently down through the fronds and he thought he had never been so comfortable in his life. The skin was sore on his face and arms, but more of the soothing balm eased the pain.
Tug stood nearby, watching him attentively.
'I'm fine, Tug,' he told the horse. He was relieved that his voice seemed to be getting back to normal. He was still a little hoarse but at least now he could form words properly. He smiled ruefully at the thought of the words 'a little hoarse'. He remembered making that joke with Arrow — it seemed like months ago.
He wondered where Arrow had got to. He hadn't seen the Arridi horse since he had woken again. He hoped he wasn't lost.
'Got to stop losing horses,' he said drowsily. 'Bad habit.' Then he slept.
Will woke from a deep, refreshing sleep. He was lying on his back, looking up at palm fronds.
He was in a large oasis. He could heard the sound of trickling water close by and the movement and voices of many people. As he swept his gaze around, he saw a camp of low tents had been set up. The oasis, and the camp, sprawled for several hundred metres in either direction. There was a large central pool of water, and other outlying pools and wells surrounding it. People moved about, carrying urns of water from the wells, preparing cooking fires or tending to the herds of goats, camels and horses that he could see. From the size of the camp, he estimated that there must be several hundred people, all dressed in long, flowing robes. The men wore
kheffiyehs
and the women had long scarves draped over their heads, leaving the face uncovered but protecting the head and neck.
'You're awake.'
The voice came from behind him and he twisted round to see the speaker. A small, slender woman, aged perhaps forty, was smiling down at him. She carried a flat basket of fruit and bread and meat, and a flask of water as well. She dropped gracefully to her knees beside him and set the basket down, gesturing for him to help himself.
'You should eat,' she said. 'I'm sure you haven't eaten in some time.'
He studied her for a moment or two. Her oval face was evenly featured and friendly. Her eyes were dark and there was an unmistakable light of humour in them. When she smiled, which she did now, the face seemed to be transformed into one of great beauty. Her skin was a light coffee colour. Her headscarf and robe were a bright yellow. There was something motherly and welcoming about her, he thought.
'Thank you,' he said. He took a piece of fruit and bit into it, feeling the juice spurt inside his mouth, bringing his own saliva alive. He revelled in the feeling, remembering how, just a short while ago, his tongue and throat had been swollen and dry. He had a vague memory of someone repeatedly placing the neck of a water skin to his mouth and admonishing him to