Erak's Ransom (19 page)

'You never saw who it was?' Halt asked as Gilan made his report. The young Ranger shook his head. 'It may not have been a person at all. It could have been a small animal.'
'But you don't think so?' Halt asked. This time Gilan hesitated before he answered.
'No, I don't,' he said finally. 'I would have gone closer to examine the ground but I didn't know if he'd gone or was still in the area — or if he had friends with him. If some kind of ruckus had started, it would have given everything away to the Tualaghi. I thought it was better to come back here and report.'
'Yes. Yes, you were right,' Halt said, frowning over the news. He looked at Selethen. 'Any idea who might be keeping an eye on the Tualaghi?' he asked.
The
Wakir
shrugged. He'd been considering the question since Gilan had first reported.
'There could be a Bedullin party somewhere in the area. They come and go as they please. If so, it would make sense for them to keep an eye on the enemy.'
'Would they be likely to attack them?' Halt asked. This time the
Wakir
was more definite in his answer.
'I wouldn't think so. They don't usually go looking for trouble and a party of two hundred Tualaghi is a lot to take on ... '
'I was thinking the same thing myself,' Halt interposed.
Selethen nodded gravely. 'Quite so. But if they were Bedullin watching, odds are they would simply move away and give the Tualaghi as wide a berth as possible.'
'Do you think he saw you?' Halt asked.
Gilan shook his head. 'I'm sure he didn't. I only saw him because he moved suddenly.'
There was no need for Halt to ask Gilan if he'd moved. He knew his former student would never make such a fundamental mistake.
'You covered your tracks coming back, of course?'
'Of course,' Gilan replied. 'Don't worry, Halt, I left no sign that I'd been there.'
Halt came to a decision. 'All right. We can catch a few hours' sleep. We'll push on as usual when it gets a little closer to dawn. See if you can get some rest, people.'
Selethen and the Araluans turned and headed for their respective tents. They all knew the value of getting as much rest as the situation allowed.
Unfortunately, while Gilan had left no tracks, the unknown observer had not been so careful, or so skilled. And by the worst possible chance, the path he took when he left the Tualaghi camp site led within a quarter of a kilometre of the camp where the Arridi troops had spent the night.
An hour after Selethen had led the party on their way, Tualaghi scouts, following the tracks discovered near their camp, chanced across those left by the mixed Araluan-Arridi group. They followed them carefully until the Arridi troops came in sight. Then, taking a wide curve to keep from being seen themselves, they hurried back to their own leaders to report that an armed party was travelling on a parallel course to their own.
After a quick consultation, half of the Tualaghi split off and dropped back behind the others, then travelled southwest until they too cut across the trail of Selethen's troops.
They picked up the pace at that point and began moving closer to the unsuspecting Arridi. Halt and Gilan, expecting that if any trouble came it would be from the north-east, had no idea that one hundred mounted warriors were closing in on them from the south. Nor were they aware that the lead party of Tualaghi had begun to move faster, and to angle slowly across their path.
The hunters had become the hunted.
They stopped in the middle of the day, as was their custom. It was this fact that gave the Tualaghi leaders their final opportunity to spring the trap they had spent the day preparing.
After the main heat of the day had passed, and before they continued on their way, the Araluans were discussing ideas for a possible rescue operation. Under cover of darkness, either of the two Rangers would be able to make his way into the camp unseen by the Tualaghi. The problem arose when it came to getting Erak out unseen.
'That's why they keep him out in the open, of course,' Evanlyn said. 'If he escapes, anyone looking in that direction can see that he's gone.'
'Plus you'll need a way to cut him loose from those camels,' Horace put in.
'Maybe only one,' Svengal suggested. 'If you could cut the chains to one, he could ride the other one out of the camp.'
'Be just a little obvious,' Gilan said. 'The combination of a Skandian and a camel isn't exactly hard to notice — and the last thing we want is a running fight with two hundred Tualaghi.'
Halt sat to one side, quietly listening as his friends put up suggestions then rejected them. Most of these thoughts he'd already examined. But there was always the chance that a stray remark might trigger the eventual solution to their problem. Not so far, however, he thought ruefully. For the moment, the best they could hope to do was continue as they were. If they could reach the wells before the Tualaghi, they might be able to arrange something — exactly what, he had no idea. But long experience had taught him that if you waited long enough, sooner or later an unexpected opportunity might arise.
'You're quiet, Halt,' Horace said, turning to where the grey-bearded Ranger sat. 'Do you have any ... ?' His voice trailed away to silence as his eyes lifted from Halt to the ridge behind him, some hundred and fifty metres away.
'Good God,' he said, in a more urgent tone of voice, 'where did they come from?'
The others followed his gaze. They had camped in a large, saucer-shaped depression, concealed from the sight of any Tualaghi stragglers. But the problem with concealing yourself from sight is that others can be concealed as well. Selethen had pickets out, of course, beyond the ridge line. But later, they would see the bodies of those men lying where the Tualaghi skirmishers had killed them.
For the moment, their attention was fixed upon the line of armed horsemen that had just materialised over the ridge, spreading out in a semi-circle across their intended line of march.
Halt swore softly and turned quickly to look behind them. As he had feared, another line of horsemen stood at the top of that ridge. They were trapped between the two parties — each of which was at least one hundred strong. By now, others had seen the enemy as well and the Arridi troops were running and shouting, pointing to the two lines of horsemen who had them trapped. Selethen's voice rose above the others and the moment of panic passed as he began to form his men into a defensive circle, with their horses inside it. The four Araluans and Svengal quickly gathered their weapons and moved to join the Arridi leader.
Selethen cursed bitterly. Only the night before, he had boasted about the Tualaghi's overconfidence — now he had fallen into the same trap. The desert raiders were wily and unpredictable. He should always have assumed that they might get wind of the fact that someone was trailing them. That they had done so through an immense stroke of luck was unknown to him. Even if he had known it, it wouldn't have changed things. A good leader should plan for bad luck.
As Halt and the others joined him, he nodded briefly.
There was no point in recriminations, he knew. Now all they could do was create the best defence they could. 'You're fighting them on foot?' Halt asked.
The Arridi nodded. 'No point in mounting and trying to charge them. We're too badly outnumbered.'
'And you'd be charging uphill,' Horace remarked. 'All the advantage would lie with them. Let them come to us.'
Selethen looked at him, a little surprised. For one so young, Horace had sized up the tactical situation quickly. Most of Selethen's young troopers would have chosen to charge the enemy, he knew. Horace saw the look, guessed at the thought behind it and shrugged. He'd had good teachers. He unsheathed his sword now, the blade hissing out of the scabbard.
Svengal was looking around the ring of Arridi warriors. They had their shields locked together and each man was armed with one of the slender lances they usually used from horseback. In addition, each one wore a curved sabre for close quarters work.
'Shield wall,' he said approvingly. 'Good work.'
It was a standard Skandian battle tactic and he felt instantly at home. He swung his massive battleaxe experimentally, the huge, heavy blade making a thick swooshing sound as it passed through the air. For now, he'd stand back. But the minute a gap appeared in the wall, he'd fill it. Any Tualaghi warrior planning on breaking through would have an ugly surprise waiting for him.
Horace looked at him and read his thoughts. 'I'll join you,' he said quietly, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with the bear-like northerner. Svengal grinned at him.
'With us two, we could probably send the rest of these boys home,' he said.
Gilan and Halt also stood side by side, but in the centre of the ring formed by the shield wall. Evanlyn looked at them, her heart thudding nervously in her chest. They all seemed so calm. She was sure her hands were trembling. For a moment, she thought of getting her sling from where it was concealed, but she realised that the two Rangers' longbows would provide more than adequate long distance firepower. Instead, she accepted a spare shield from Selethen and eased her sabre in and out of its scabbard. No need to draw it yet, she thought. She swallowed nervously.
Halt saw her and called softly.
'Evanlyn, come here with us.' As she moved to stand beside the Rangers, he gestured to the ridge at their back. 'Gilan and I are going to concentrate our fire to the front. Keep an eye on the Tualaghi behind us. When they're within fifty metres, let us know and we'll switch.'
'Yes, Halt,' she said. Her mouth was dry and she didn't trust herself to say more.
Gilan grinned at her. 'Make sure we hear you,' he said. 'There'll be plenty of yelling going on.'
He was so relaxed and unworried, she thought. His casual manner helped to ease the butterflies that were swarming in her stomach.
Selethen approached them now. 'They'll try the easy way first,' he said. 'An all-out charge to see if they can break our position.'
'Might not turn out to be as easy as they think,' Gilan replied, testing the draw on his bow. Selethen regarded him for a moment. Soon, he thought, he would see just how well these two cloaked foreigners could shoot. He had the feeling that he wasn't going to be disappointed.
'Can I suggest you put four men with Svengal and Horace?' Halt said. 'Use them as a reserve for any place the line is broken.'
'Good idea,' Selethen replied. They might be outnumbered four to one but he suspected the Tualaghi were about to get a bloody nose. He called four names and the men he had selected dropped out of the shield wall and hurried back to where he stood. The others closed up the gaps where they had been as Svengal gave the four their orders.
'Just tell them to give me a little elbow room,' Svengal said. He was grinning, Evanlyn noticed. Finally, after the heat and the sand and the sore riding muscles, Svengal was about to do something he really enjoyed. She found herself smiling at the thought.
Halt noticed her lips twitching slightly. Good girl, he thought.
They heard the jingle of harness before any movement was perceptible. Then the two lines of horsemen began to move forward.
'Here they come,' Horace said quietly.

'This is where we turn to head back,' Will told Tug. A tall pole had been hammered into the ground to mark the spot. The little horse studied the marker with interest.
Will turned and looked back towards the oasis. It was now out of sight, hidden by the undulating ground, but he knew it was four kilometres distant. Four kilometres out, four back. Eight in all. He had tried for twelve, then ten. Finally, he had to settle for an eight-kilometre race course. He hoped it would be far enough for Tug's stamina and staying power to assert itself over Sandstorm. It would be a close thing, he knew.
The Arridi horse was definitely faster over a short distance. For the first kilometre or two, he would leave Tug behind. But then the Ranger horse would start to reel him in as the Arridi stallion began to slow and Tug maintained his speed.
'We'll win it on the back leg,' Will told Tug. He had decided to walk the horse over the course to familiarise him with it, and to give them both a chance to spot any hidden holes or unevenness that might bring them down.
Tug shook his head and whinnied softly, At times like this, Will was never totally sure that the horse was just responding to the sound of his master's voice. It often seemed that he understood every word Will said to him and was agreeing or disagreeing.
Or we'll lose it on the back leg,
Will thought. But he didn't speak the thought aloud in case it put negative concepts in Tug's mind. He hoped that the second four kilometres would give Tug the chance to make up the distance he'd lose on the first half of the race. Then, when they drew level with the Arridi horse and rider, another contest would begin.
Horses like Tug and Sandstorm hated to lose, hated to have another horse ahead of them. As Tug drew alongside Sandstorm, Will knew, the Arridi horse would dig deep for a greater effort — to put the little foreigner back in his place. Tug, meanwhile, would be straining for extra speed to pass the Arridi horse. It was then a matter of judgement for the two riders, to pick the point where they should let the horses' have their heads.
Too soon and the energy and speed would peter out before the finish line. Too late and there wouldn't be time to overtake. Each rider would do his best to force his opponent into going too early. The moment had to be just right or the result would be failure. Will frowned thoughtfully. He'd watched as Hassan had put Sandstorm through his paces. But he was sure the Arridi rider was holding something back.
As they walked back towards the oasis Tug's head butted him in the shoulder, sending him staggering.
Stop worrying,
the horse seemed to say.
I know what I'm doing, even if you don't.
'Just don't go too soon, that's all,' Will cautioned him. Again, Tug tossed his head disdainfully.
They walked slowly back into the oasis. Unlike Hassan, Will had no need to familiarise himself with his mount's little peculiarities. He and Tug knew each other's ways back to front and inside out. A curious crowd of Bedullin watched them as they entered the camp. It was early morning and the race was set for late that same afternoon, when the full heat of day had passed.
He knew that there had been a lot of betting on the race. It was impossible not to hear conversations in the camp, even though he tried to appear aloof to such matters. He also knew that most of the betting wasn't about the actual outcome of the race. It was about the margin by which Sandstorm would win. The Bedullin were familiar with the beautifully formed Arridi stallion that Hassan would be riding. It seemed that none of them gave the shaggy little barrel-shaped horse from the north any chance of winning.
Even though Will had the utmost faith in Tug, faced with such universal disbelief, he found it hard to keep his spirits up. Yet he had to believe they could win — that they
would
win. The prospect of losing was just too awful to contemplate. He had been too impulsive, he thought, to risk losing Tug in such a way. Yet time and again throughout the day, when he racked his brains to think of what else he could have done, he came up with no answer. If he were to get Tug back, he would have to risk losing him.
The thought tortured him through the long, heavy hours of the middle of the day. Then, as the sun began to slant down, and the shadows of the palms stretched out further and further, it was time.
His face was grim and set as he led Tug through the oasis to the start line. Hassan was waiting, mounted on the beautiful palomino, by the line that had been gouged in the sand. Like Will, who had discarded his cloak for the race, he wore shirt, trousers and boots, and a
kheffiyeh.
The headgear would protect the riders' faces from flying sand and dust during the race. He nodded a greeting as Will and Tug moved towards the starting line. Will nodded back. He didn't speak. He couldn't bring himself to wish Hassan good luck. He didn't want Hassan to have anything but bad luck. If Hassan managed to fall off Sandstorm in the first fifty metres and break a leg, Will wouldn't mind in the slightest. Yet looking at the Bedullin youth's easy seat on the horse, as Sandstorm moved nervously, prancing slightly, ears pricked with eagerness for the coming contest, it didn't seem likely. Hassan seemed glued to the saddle, an integral part of the horse.
Will put his foot in the stirrup and swung up astride Tug.
'This is it, boy,' he whispered. The horse tossed his head. Will drew one end of the
kheffiyeh
across his face, and twisted the other end over it to hold it in place. Now only his eyes showed, through a narrow slit. The rest of his face was covered. Beside him, Hassan did the same.
Sandstorm pawed the ground eagerly, kicking up small clouds of dust. Beside him, Tug stood stolidly, all four feet planted firmly. The difference between the two horses was all too obvious: one prancing, eager and light-footed, his coat groomed till he gleamed; the other solid, barrel-chested and shaggy. More money changed hands as last-minute bets were made.
'Riders, are you ready?' Umar stepped forward as he called them.
Hassan waved one arm. 'Ready,
Aseikh!'
he called. The Bedullin cheered and he waved to the watching crowd.
'Ready,' Will said. His voice was muffled behind the
kheffiyeh
and he had to force the word out through a throat constricted by anxiety. There was no cheer this time. As far as he knew, nobody had bet on him — only the distance by which he'd lose.
And that was hardly something they were going to cheer about.
'Move to the line. But remember, if you cross it before the start signal, you will have to turn and go back to cross it again.'
Hassan edged Sandstorm forward, crabbing him sideways. This was a tricky moment for him. With the horse prancing and excited, he had to hold back a metre or two from the line to make sure he didn't cross prematurely. Will nudged Tug and the little horse moved quietly to the line.
'Hold there, boy,' Will said quietly. Tug's ears twitched in response and he stopped, his forehooves only centimetres from the line. One of the Bedullin, who had been assigned the task of monitoring the start line, crouched and peered closely at the horse's hooves, then straightened as he realised Tug wasn't infringing. But he kept his eyes riveted on the line and Tug's feet. Seeing it, Will touched Tug with one toe.
'Back up, boy,' he said. He wasn't willing to take the risk that the judge might be overeager to penalise him. Tug obediently retreated one pace. A few of the Bedullin frowned thoughtfully. The horse was well trained. Was there more they should know about?
'There will be no interference between the riders. If either of you interferes with the other, he will automatically lose.'
The two riders, now intent on the course that stretched out before them through the desert, nodded their acknowledgement. There were marshals stationed along the course to make sure neither of them cheated.
'Ride straight to the marker, round it and ride back again. The start line is also the finish line,' Umar said. Neither rider nodded this time. They knew the course. Both had been over it during the day.
'The starting signal will be a blast on Tarlq's horn. The minute you hear it, you may start.'
Tariq, an elder of the tribe, stepped forward with a large brass horn. He brandished it so they could both see it. Earlier in the day, Will had been made familiar with the note of the horn.
'In your hands, Tariq, and in God's will,' Umar intoned. It was the official notice that the next sound to be heard would be the starter's horn. An expectant silence fell over the crowd. Somewhere, a child started to ask a question. Umar looked round angrily and the mother quickly silenced her offspring. Umar gestured to Tariq and the older man raised the large, bell-mouthed horn to his lips.
Will watched him intensely. He saw the Bedullin's chest swell as he took a deep breath. Beside him and slightly behind him, he knew, Hassan would be watching like a hawk.
He tightened his grip on the reins, forced himself to relax his legs around Tug's body. He didn't want to send any inadvertent signal to the horse before it was time.
Now!
The horn brayed its metallic baritone note and he squeezed Tug with his knees. Dimly, he heard Hassan's yelled
Yaaah!
as he urged Sandstorm forward. The crowd roared with one huge voice. Then the sound cut off in shock.
Tug shot away from his stiff-legged stance like an arrow, going from stock-still to full gallop in the space of a few metres. Sandstorm, excited and prancing, was left behind, curvetting and tossing his head for the first few paces. Then Hassan clapped his heels into the palomino's sides and he stretched out in a gallop after Tug.
The crowd, silenced momentarily by Tug's incredible acceleration from a standing start, began yelling again, screaming for Hassan and Sandstorm to run him down.
Even Will, who was aware of Tug's phenomenal ability to accelerate, was a little surprised at the lead they had established already. He knew that Sandstorm would overhaul them before long. Once he was in stride, the Arridi was definitely faster than Tug over a kilometre or two. But now he hoped the shock of being left behind at the start would force Hassan to overstretch his mount, using up some of the precious energy reserves that would become so important in the last few kilometres.
Behind him, vaguely, he could hear the yelling tribesmen. Closer to, he heard the rolling thunder of Sandstorm's hooves on the rocky ground. Tug's ears were up and his legs were churning, throwing a plume of sand and dust into the air behind them.
Will touched his neck.
'Take it easy, boy. Pace yourself.'
Tug's head tossed fractionally in response. Not too much as he didn't want to lose stride or balance as he did so. Will felt him ease a little and nodded. Sandstorm's hooves were closer behind him now. The Arridi horse was as fast as lightning, he thought.
Hassan, a few metres behind them, was worried. He had no idea how fast the foreign horse would be. The horse's lines and configuration gave no hint of his startling off-the-mark speed. And even now that Sandstorm was gaining, he was doing so much more slowly than Hassan would have liked. He urged the horse to give a little more and heaved a sigh of relief as he began to draw alongside the foreigner and the shaggy little grey. The other rider didn't turn his head to look at them but Hassan saw the horse's eye rolling to view them as they came alongside.
Fast horses hate being led in a race. And this was definitely a fast horse — not as fast as Sandstorm but faster than he had expected. In Hassan's experience, once a horse found itself overtaken and led by another, it would often give in — or overextend itself, trying desperately to regain the lead. Hassan knew it was time to establish his horse's superiority. He flicked the reins against Sandstorm's neck and the palomino found another few metres of speed. He surged forward, away from Tug.
Will felt Tug begin to respond and for the first time he could remember, he checked him firmly with the rein. Tug snorted angrily. He wanted to show this flashy Arridi horse what racing was all about. But he obeyed Will's touch, and denied his own instinctive urge to go all out.
'Not yet, boy,' he heard Will's voice. 'Long way to go.'
They flashed past the two-kilometre mark, hearing the cheers of the marshals stationed there as they went. The cheers were all for Sandstorm, who was now leading Tug by nearly forty metres. The Arridi horse ran beautifully, Will thought grimly, with a long, powerful stride and perfect rhythm. Forty metres was far enough, he thought. He signalled Tug to increase his pace a little and Tug responded. Will felt a surge of affection for the horse under him. Tug would keep running like this all day, he knew. He wondered if Sandstorm could do the same.
He estimated that they had picked up five to ten metres when Hassan and Sandstorm rounded the halfway marker. Comfortably in the lead, Hassan had eased his horse's pace a little, knowing that his best turn of speed was behind them now.
He waved as they passed the other rider and horse. There was no response from Will, and Hassan grinned behind his
kheffiyeh.
He wouldn't wave if he were losing, either, he thought.
Round the halfway marker, Tug's hooves clattered on the stony ground, skidding slightly as they turned and set out after Sandstorm. They'd picked up a little distance when Sandstorm turned, lost it again when they followed suit. Maybe less than thirty metres between them now.
'Go now, Tug!' Will yelled and the horse dug deep into his reserves of strength and endurance and courage and accelerated under him. Will could see Sandstorm through the cloud of dust and sand he was kicking up — appropriate name, he thought grimly. The palomino's flanks were streaked with sweat and his sides heaving with exertion. Slowly, Tug narrowed the gap to the Arridi horse. With two kilometres to go, he moved alongside, the two horses plunging side by side, each head alternately taking the lead, losing it, taking it again as they raced stride for stride, neither gaining on the other.
There would be a moment, Will knew, when it was time for the final sprint. Both horses and both riders were aware of it. It was a matter of perfect timing. Too soon and the horse would be exhausted before the finish line. Too late and the race would be lost.
The horses, side by side, glared at each other, their eyes rolling in their heads, whites showing so each could view the enemy. Then Tug surged ahead and Will couldn't check him — to do so now would be to lose speed and Tug had cast the dice for them, sensing the moment. He moved a neck length, then a body length, ahead of Sandstorm, moving faster than Will could ever remember him doing. The drumming of the horses' hooves filled his consciousness. Then he heard Hassan yelling encouragement to Sandstorm and, turning his head slightly, he saw the Arridi horse begin to regain ground on them. Unbelievably, he was overhauling Tug yet again.