Erak's Ransom (17 page)

'In the desert, you
always
need water,' he told him. 'A wise traveller never goes past the chance to refill his water skins.'
'Is there nowhere else they could do this?' Halt asked. Selethen tapped another mark into the sand with his dagger.
'There are the Orr-San Wells,' he said. 'They're smaller and not as reliable. And they're forty kilometres further to the west. If the Tualaghi are headed where I think they are, they're too far from their course.'
'Where do you think they're headed?' Halt asked him. For the most part, the others were content to let him do the talking.
'Here.' The knife stabbed again. 'To the north. The northern massif lies here.' He scraped a line from east to west. 'There are mountains, hills, cliffs, blind canyons. And several towns they can use as a base.'
Halt frowned. 'I thought you said the Tualaghi were nomads?'
Selethen nodded. 'They are. The towns are Arridi towns but the Tualaghi take them over and occupy them for a month, six weeks at a time. Then they head back into the desert again, or further into the hills.'
Halt rubbed his chin reflectively, studying the marks Selethen had made.
'So if you're right and they're headed for these wells, we could simply stop following the Tualaghi and cut across straight towards them? With any luck, we could be waiting for them when they arrive.'
Selethen met his gaze, held it and nodded. 'It's a gamble, of course,' he said. 'But I can't think of anywhere else they could be heading.'
Halt hesitated. He looked around his companions' faces. After all, Erak was a friend to all of them and if he followed Selethen's plan they risked losing track of him altogether. Silently, one after the other, they all nodded. He looked back at Selethen.
'Let's do it,' he said.

Cielema helped Will to stand as he cast off the blanket and rose from the bed that had been placed under the trees.
She steadied him with a hand under his arm. He swayed groggily for a few seconds, then his head steadied and he stood more firmly. She nodded at him, satisfied that he was well on the way to recovery.
'A strong healthy body restores itself quickly with a little rest,' she said. 'Come and meet the mighty Umar.'
Again, there was an amused undertone to her words. Will realised his feet were bare and he couldn't see his boots. His cloak was gone as well. She saw him glance around.
'Your belongings are safe,' she told him. She saw him looking for something else and guessed what it might be. The little horse had stayed by his side through the day and night he had slept.
'The horse is with the rest of the herd. They are being watered and fed,' she told him. 'It took a while to convince him to leave your side.'
Will smiled at the thought. He'd had a moment of panic when he had thought perhaps he had dreamed that Tug was here. Reassured, he looked at his bare feet.
'My boots,' he said. 'I need my boots.'
But Cielema merely smiled and began to lead him towards the centre of the camp. 'The sand is soft.'
She was right. He walked beside her as she held his arm lightly in case he stumbled. The sand, not yet heated by the burning rays of the sun, was cool and soft underfoot. He became aware of a slight burning sensation on his arms and face. He looked down and saw that the red, burnt skin of his arms was glistening with some kind of oil compound.
'It's a salve our people have used for years. In a day or two your burns will heal,' she told him. He nodded to her.
'Thank you,' he said, and once more she smiled at him. He felt a sense of warmth towards this kind, humorous woman.
Aseikh
Umar was a lucky man, he thought.
As they passed through the camp, he noticed that people stopped to watch him — particularly the children. Several times he heard the words
the foreigner
muttered behind him. Such curiosity was only natural, he thought. But there were also smiles and gestures of welcome — the by-now familiar mouth-brow-mouth gesture — and he returned the smiles and nodded his head in greeting.
'Your people are very friendly,' he said. Cielema frowned thoughtfully.
'Not always,' she told him. 'As a rule, we like to keep to ourselves. But everyone is happy when someone is saved from the savage Skylord.' She gestured upwards and he realised that she meant the sun. He guessed it was a constant enemy and threat to these people.
They were close to the centre of the camp now and he could see a group of half a dozen men sitting round in a circle. All of them wore yellow and white checked
kheffiyehs
— like the one he had noticed on his rescuer. Cielema stopped him with a gentle pressure on his arm.
'We must wait,' she said. 'They are involved in important business.'
Her tone was serious, almost reverential. The two of them stopped, some five metres from the group of men. They were all leaning forward, staring intently at an upright rock placed in the middle of the circle. Will thought they must be praying, although no words were being said.
Then, as one, they all slumped back with a roar of disappointment.
'It flew away!' said one figure and Will recognised the voice. It was the man who had rescued him. 'Almost to the top and it flew away!'
He looked questioningly to Cielema and she rolled her eyes at him. 'Can you believe it?' she said. 'Grown men gambling on two flies crawling up a stone!'
'Gambling?' he said. 'I thought they were praying.'
She raised an eyebrow. 'To them, it's much the same thing. The Bedullin will bet on just about anything. It's almost a religion.' She urged him closer as the circle began to break up and most of the men moved away.
'Aseikh
Umar!' she called. 'Your visitor has woken.'
Her husband stood and turned to them with a wide smile. Will recognised the powerful face and the big, crooked nose. Umar stepped towards him, both hands out. He went to seize Will's forearms in greeting but his wife hissed warningly.
'Careful, buffoon! His arms are burnt!'
Realising his mistake, the
Aseikh
held both hands in the air in a kind of blessing gesture instead. 'Of course! Of course! Please, come and sit. Tell me your name. I am ... '
'He knows who you are. You are the great fly-gambling Umar. His name is Will.'
Umar grinned easily at his wife. Will had the impression that this sort of byplay went on between the two of them all the time. Then he looked back at Will.
'It's good to see you awake. You were nearly finished when we found you! Come and sit and tell me what you were doing.' He looked at Cielema. 'Beloved wife, will you bring us coffee?'
Cielema raised an eyebrow and looked inquiringly at Will. 'Would
you
like coffee, Will?'
His mouth watered at the thought of it, a sure sign he was recovering quickly. 'I'd love coffee,' he said.
She made a graceful bow. 'In that case, I will bring some.'
She swept away, her head held high. Umar grinned after her. Then he turned his attention back to Will and ushered him to the circle of cushions.
'So, your name is Will,' he said as they sat cross-legged.
'It is.' Will paused, then added, 'I want to thank you for saving my life,
Aseikh
Umar.'
The Bedullin waved his thanks away. 'It was the horse you were riding that saved your life. And he did so twice.'
'Arrow!' said Will, remembering. He hadn't seen Arrow since he'd been rescued. 'Where is he? What did he do?'
Umar's smile disappeared. 'He's dead, Will. A lion took him during the night. That was the first time he saved you. The lion took him, and not you. We saw its tracks and it passed within two or three metres of where you lay. The horse was obviously moving and making noise so that the lion never noticed you.'
'Dead,' Will said, saddened. Arrow had been a good horse. Umar nodded sympathetically. He admired a man who cared for his horse.
'He saved your life a second time the following morning,' he said. 'The vultures gathered to feast on him and we saw them. I came to investigate and ... there you were.' He smiled, back on a more cheerful topic.
Will shook his head gratefully. 'Once again, you have my gratitude,' he said.
As before, Umar dismissed his thanks. 'It's what we do in the desert. In fact, it's considered good luck to save a fellow traveller in trouble.' Then his face quickened with interest. 'We have your weapons!' he said. He turned and called to a low, wide-spreading tent a few metres away. 'Ahmood! Bring the foreigner's weapons!'
A teenage boy emerged from the tent a few seconds later. Grinning, he deposited Will's knives, in their double scabbard, and his bow and quiver. He also set down the folded chart and the Northseeker in its leather case. Will stood and buckled on the double scabbard. He felt a sense of completeness. No Ranger was ever totally comfortable without his weapons. Umar watched him carefully, then picked up the unstrung bow.
'I've never seen one like this before,' he said. 'It must be amazingly powerful.'
'It is,' Will said. Quickly, he settled the bow in front of his left ankle and behind his right calf. Using his back muscles, he bent the bow and slid the string up into the notch at the end. He handed it to Umar, who tested the draw weight, grimaced slightly, then returned the weapon to Will.
'Show me,' he said, handing Will an arrow from the quiver.
Will nocked the arrow and looked around for a suitable mark. He noticed a group of boys fifty metres away, playing a game with a small leather ball. They used their feet, heads and bodies to keep it in the air, passing it between them without letting it touch the ground. He started to look for a safer area to demonstrate, then glanced back as something caught his eye. The smallest boy, no more than eight years old, had lost control of the ball, sending it bouncing and rolling until it ended under a flat rock. Laughing, he ran after it and dropped to his hands and knees, reaching for it.
Will drew, aimed and fired in the space of a heartbeat. His arrow flashed across the oasis, missing the boy's reaching hand by centimetres, and ended, quivering, embedded under the rock. The boy recoiled, screaming in terror. His companions echoed his cries, turning to see where the arrow had come from.
A massive fist struck Will backhanded across the jaw. He staggered and fell, the bow dropping from his hands. Umar's face was contorted in rage.
'You reckless fool! Do you think you'll impress me by risking the life of my grandchild? You could have killed him!'
His hand dropped to the massive hilt of a heavy dagger in his belt. Will, stunned by the blow, tried to regain his feet but a savage kick from Umar winded him and sent him sprawling again. In the distance, Will could hear the child, still crying in fright, and a jumble of voices calling out — shouting in surprise and anger and fear.
He heard the faint metallic
shring!
of the dagger being drawn from its scabbard. Then Cielema's voice, shrill and urgent, was carrying above the others.
'Umar, stop! Look at this!'
Umar turned away from the prone figure before him. His wife had been returning with the coffee when she had passed by their grandson and witnessed the incident. Now she was on her knees, reaching for something under the rock. With an effort, she tugged Will's arrow free. With it, held firmly by the barbed broadhead, was the metre-long body of the sand cobra he had shot. The arrow had passed cleanly through the snake's head, killing it instantly.
A second before it could strike at the boy.
The dagger dropped from Umar's hand as he realised what had happened, what he had done. Aghast, he stooped to help Will to his feet.
'Forgive me! I'm sorry! I thought ... '
Will was still gasping for breath when Cielema reached them, brandishing the dead snake impaled on the arrow.
'What are you doing, you fool?' she demanded. 'The boy saved Faisal!'
Umar had hauled Will to his feet and begun to feverishly brush him down, a stricken look in his eyes. He had been about to kill the young man who had undoubtedly saved his grandson's life.
'Forgive me!' he said frantically. But Cielema brushed past him, shoving him away from the young foreigner.
'Get away!' she said roughly. She dropped the dead snake, took Will's jaw in her hands and gently worked it from side to side, her head cocked to listen. 'Are you all right?' she asked him. He tried a weak grin, then wished he hadn't when it hurt his jaw.
'Bit swollen,' he said thickly. 'Bu' I'm all ri'.'
She moved quickly to where a jar of water stood outside the large tent nearby. Dipping the end of her scarf in it, she came back and pressed the cool wet cloth against his jaw. Umar tried once more to placate her.
'I'm sorry!' he said. 'I thought that ... ' He got no further. She rounded on him savagely.
'You thought? When did you ever think? You were ready to kill the boy! I saw you with that knife of yours!'
Will took her hands and removed the wet cloth from his face. He worked his jaw a little, making sure nothing was broken.
'It's all right,' he told her. 'No harm done. I'm a little bruised. It was just a misunderstanding.'
'Exactly!' Umar told her. 'A misunderstanding.' Cielema looked at him savagely.
'He saved Faisal's life,' she said. 'And what did you do?' Umar went to reply, realised there was nothing he could say that would placate his furious wife, and dropped his
hands helplessly. He knew that he had acted in haste, that he was in the wrong. But what could you expect? It
certainly had looked as if the stranger had shot close to his grandson in an arrogant and reckless display of his marksmanship. Now that Umar thought about it, he realised that the stranger's marksmanship was of the highest possible order. He had never seen anyone shoot like that. He looked again at his wife, saw the anger in her eyes and the set of her body and knew that there was nothing he could say.
Will stepped into the awkward silence. 'He saved
my
life, remember?' He grinned a little lopsidedly at the
Aseikh.
'I'd say that makes us even.' He held out his hand to the Bedullin, who took it gratefully, and gripped it.
'You see?' he said to his wife. 'There are no hard feelings. It was a mistake!'
Seeing Will's reaction, and his disinclination to hold any sort of grudge, Cielema relaxed a little. She even allowed herself a small, tight smile at the two men as they continued shaking hands.
'Very well,' she said. Then, to Will, 'But you must tell us anything we can do for you.'
He shrugged. 'You've already done more than enough. Just give me a day or two to rest and regain my strength; give me food, water and my horse. Then give me directions for Mararoc and I won't bother you any more.'
But the
Aseikh
was frowning at his words. 'Your horse,?' he said. 'Your horse died. I told you. A lion took it.'
Will shook his head, smiling. 'Not that horse. Tug. The little shaggy grey that was with you when you found me. He's my horse.'
Now it was the
Aseikh's
turn to shake his head. He was reluctant to cause any disappointment to the stranger. But he had to face facts.
'He's not your horse,' he said. 'He's ours.'