Erak's Ransom (22 page)

Will, Umar and one hundred and twenty Bedullin warriors were on a forced march across the desert. They rose four hours before dawn, rode until four hours after first light, then rested through the heat of the day. In the late afternoon, a few hours before sunset, they would set out again, riding until well after dark before they stopped to rest again. Will estimated that it was around nine in the evening when they would camp for the night. But the two rest periods, one in the middle of the day and the other late at night, gave them plenty of time to water and feed their horses and recover their strength for the next march.
It was a hard schedule but a sensible one. They rode at a steady pace, trotting their horses rather than cantering or galloping. But Will soon realised that they were covering great distances by keeping to the steady pace, even though he was tempted to go faster. As the kilometres reeled by under Tug's hooves, he knew that this would be the better course in the long run.
Umar had decided to act on jamil's assertion that the Tualaghi were headed for one of the towns in the northern massif. As a result, they were able to plan a straight-line course to intercept the raiders, rather than return to the site of the battle and follow their tracks. This, combined with the prodigious distances they were able to cover each day, meant they were well on the way to overhauling the enemy.
Will had asked Umar and Jamil to show him the location of the massif on his chart. It was further to the north than the area covered by Selethen's chart. They studied that document with some interest, rapidly seeing its relevance, even though the Bedullin never used charts themselves. Their navigation was based on tribal lore and knowledge, handed down over hundreds of years. As they pointed to landmarks drawn by Selethen, they would refer to places by names such as 'River of bright stones' or 'Ali's Hill' or 'the snake
wadi'.
While some of the names were self-explanatory, the origin of others was hidden in antiquity. Nobody, for example, had the slightest memory of who Ali might have been, and the bright stones that marked the river had long since disappeared — as had the river itself.
This was a war party, so the Khoresh Bedullin women and children had remained at the oasis camp, with seventy of Umar's warriors to keep them safe. The
Aseikh
was reluctant to reduce his attack force by so many but the desert was an uncertain place and seventy was the minimum number of men he was willing to leave for the protection of his people.
'We'll be outnumbered,' he remarked to Will.
'They won't be expecting us,' the young Ranger replied and the
Aseikh
nodded, with a certain grim satisfaction. 'I'm looking forward to that.'
On the third day of travel, the problem of numbers was redressed. A forward scout rode back at a gallop to report that he had encountered a party of thirty men on foot in the desert.,
Umar, Will and Hassan rode back with him, cantering ahead of the main party. After three kilometres, they came upon the group of men, sitting in the meagre shade afforded by a
wadi
bank and sharing the last of a water skin the scout had left with them.
'Arridi troopers,' Umar said, recognising the remnants of the uniforms they wore. Will noticed that none of the men wore boots, although they had torn cloth from their cloaks and shirts to wrap around their feet for protection. There was barely more than a mouthful each in the water skin and the distribution was being carefully overseen by a young man who still wore a lieutenant's insignia. The group might be ragged and close to exhaustion, but it was obvious they had maintained their discipline. Will wasn't certain but the officer looked vaguely familiar. He thought he might have been one of Selethen's men.
The three riders had carried extra water skins back with them and these were quickly distributed. The lieutenant moved towards Umar and made the traditional greeting gesture.
'Thank you,
Aseikh,'
he began. He recognised Umar's badge of rank, the triple strand of horsehair rope that bound his
kheffiyeh.
'I'm Lieutenant Aloom of the — '
Umar stopped him with a gesture and passed him his own water skin. The young man's voice was dry and croaking. 'Drink first, Lieutenant,' he told him. 'The talking will be easier after that.'
Gratefully, the officer raised the water skin to his mouth and drank. Will noticed that even though he must have been parched, he sipped only small amounts of the water, drinking slowly so as not to overwhelm his body with a sudden flood of moisture. The people of Arrida maintained excellent water discipline, he realised, remembering how desperately he had tried to gulp the water he was given when Umar found him.
It was close to the tenth hour of the morning, which was the time Umar would usually call a halt for the first rest period. He signalled to the others to dismount and swung down from his saddle.
'We'll camp here,' he said. 'The Arridi can use the rest period to recover.'
Lieutenant Aloom had quenched his thirst now and told them of the Tualaghi ambush and the ensuing battle; how Halt and the others had been taken prisoner while he and his men had been turned out into the desert by Yusal, without boots and with a bare minimum of water. That had been two days ago.
'You've kept thirty men alive and marching with just two water skins?' Umar queried. There was a note of respect in his voice.
The lieutenant shrugged. 'They're good troops,' he said. 'They understood the need for discipline.'
'They have a good officer,' Will said. He'd been tempted to interrupt the lieutenant immediately and ask for news of his friends. But he saw that the man was close to exhaustion and thought it better to let him tell his tale in his own time. The lieutenant stared at him for a moment before recognising him. When the war party had set out from the oasis, Will had adopted Bedullin clothes — baggy trousers, a long flowing shirt and cloak and, of course, a
kheffiyeh
to cover his head and face. But the longbow and quiver slung over his back were unmistakable.
'You're the one they call Will!' Aloom said. 'We thought you would be dead by now!'
Will smiled. 'Glad you had such faith in me,' he said. Then the smile faded. 'Are Halt and the others all right? Is Evanlyn safe?'
Aloom nodded. 'They were safe when we left. Yusal talked about ransom, I think. The girl will be looked after. Chances are he'll want to sell her as a slave and nobody wants to buy a disfigured girl slave. The men won't be so lucky. They'll be beaten, I would expect.'
'I agree,' Umar said. He turned to Will. 'They'll be uncomfortable but it won't be too bad. There's a harsh practicality to it all. Yusal won't allow them to be badly hurt. It would slow them down. The lieutenant is right about the girl, too. If there's one thing the Tualaghi are good at, it's looking after their investments.'
'Aseikh,
may I ask, what are your plans?' the lieutenant asked. He glanced into the distance, where he could see the main party of Bedullin approaching. His keen eyes took in the fact that the group consisted of fighting men only, no women or children.
'We're going after the Tualaghi,' Will told him.
'Aseikh
Umar and his people have agreed to help me rescue my friends.'
'And
Wakir
Seley el'then?' the lieutenant asked.
Umar nodded confirmation. 'The
Wakir
is an old comrade. I don't plan to leave him in Yusal's grubby hands.'
They had been sitting in the narrow patch of shade thrown by the
wadi's
bank. Aloom scrambled to his feet now, with a new light of energy in his eyes.
'Then let us come with you!' he said. 'My men and I have a score to settle with those cursed Tualaghi! And I promised my lord that we would return!'
Umar frowned. 'Your men are exhausted — and half dead from thirst,' he said doubtfully. But Aloorn was shaking his head before he finished.
'They're fit and in good condition. Let them rest overnight with food and plenty of water. They'll be ready to travel by tomorrow morning, I swear it.'
'You're unarmed,' Will pointed out.
Aloom shrugged. 'Surely your men can spare a few daggers? Most Bedullin carry more than one. And once the battle starts, every Tualaghi you kill will provide weapons for one of my soldiers.'
Will and Umar exchanged a glance. 'It would be handy to have an extra thirty trained fighting men,' Will pointed out. Then he frowned. 'But how will they keep up with us? They're barefoot and walking.'
Umar dismissed the problem with a brief shake of his head. 'They can ride double with my men,' he said. 'There's only thirty of them. We can rotate them among the force so no horse has to carry double for too long.'
Aloom had followed the discussion between them eagerly, his eyes swinging from one to another as they spoke. Now he raised a hand and spoke tentatively.
'One thing,' he said. 'Four of my men are wounded. We've been carrying them. They're not fit for travel or a battle.'
Umar weighed the problem briefly. He liked the idea of having more fighting men under his command and he knew the Arridi troopers would give a good account of themselves. To him the answer was obvious.
'We'll leave two of my men to look after them,' he said, thinking aloud. 'We can leave some water with them but we'll need most of what we have. There's a small soak half a day's ride to the east. It will provide enough water for half a dozen men. One of my men can fetch water while the other stays here with them. If we're successful, we'll pick them up on the return trip.'
He considered his own statement for a second or two, then nodded. They'd lose the evening travel period — five hours. And he'd weaken his force by two men. But in return, he'd gain twenty-six trained soldiers. Better yet, they were soldiers who had a score to settle with the Tualaghi. It was a good trade-off, he thought.
'We'll camp here through the rest of today and tonight,' he said. 'Your men will have food and all the water they need. Tell them to be ready to travel four hours before dawn.'
Aloom smiled grimly. 'They'll be ready,' he said.

The northern massif loomed over them, row after row of cliffs and hills climbing eventually to a plain high above. The open desert had given way to a narrow road, running between rocky outcrops and cliffs and angling upwards through the first foothills. At an elevation a hundred and fifty metres above the desert floor, there was a level section cut by nature into the sheer walls of the cliffs, cutting back to run in a rough north — south alignment. The town of Maashava stood there.
The town was a market centre for the Arridi farmers who lived and worked in the foothills and the plains below the massif. Its normal population was around five hundred, but it grew to eight or nine hundred in market weeks, when herdsmen and farmers came in from outlying areas and neighbouring hill villages to trade their goods.
It was a perfect temporary base for the Tualaghi warriors — large enough to provide accommodation for them and forage for their animals, and well stocked with foodstuffs brought into the market and stored in the town's warehouses.
The buildings were the usual white-painted mud-brick houses, mostly single-storey structures with flat roofs where the occupants could enjoy the cool air at the end of the day and, on occasion, sleep during the hottest nights. But there were also many dwellings cut into the face of the cliffs themselves — their entrances weathered and worn by the years, indicating that they were ancient. For the most part, these were used as storehouses for the food and other goods traded in the town. But some were dwellings and, as the prisoners filed into the town behind their guards, Halt saw several where the signs of human occupation were obvious: women, burdened with jars containing the family's water supply, climbed access ladders to the higher entrances, and the smoke of cookfires issued from carefully cut smoke holes in the face of the rock. On some, washed garments had been hung on long, slender poles and pushed out into the hot air to dry, the clothes fluttering like pennants in the slight breeze that moved through the canyons.
The three-day march to Maashava hadn't been a pleasant one. They had been led on long ropes tied to the saddles of their guards, forced to jog awkwardly in order to keep up. If anyone fell — and inevitably they did, since they were kept off balance by having their hands tied together in front of them — he was immediately surrounded by riders jabbing with lance points or striking down at them with the butts of their spears.
After a few kilometres, Halt noticed that the riders of the horses they were tied to were expert at sudden, unexpected changes of pace or direction, calculated to throw the prisoners off balance so that they would fall.
Evanlyn was the exception. As Selethen had predicted, the Tualaghi saw her as an investment to be protected and she suffered none of this brutality. She was even given a small horse to ride, although her hands remained bound and the horse was led by a Tualaghi warrior, constantly on the alert for any sign that she might try to escape.
The two Rangers fared the worst. They were foreigners and so regarded with contempt by the Tualaghi. Worse, their uncanny accuracy during the brief attack had made them hated men. Most of the Tualaghi had at least one friend who had suffered at the wrong end of a Ranger arrow and the two longbows carried by Halt and Gilan marked them out as the culprits.
Both men were bruised and battered by the time they reached Maashava. Halt's left cheek was a massive bruise and the eye was nearly closed, courtesy of a Tualaghi fist. Gilan had bled profusely from a head wound inflicted by a small club. The crusted blood matted his hair and face.
It seemed that the presence of the two Rangers diverted the Tualaghi's attention from their original victim — Erak. He and Svengal were generally left alone, aside from the almost casual beating with spear butts when they slipped and fell. Selethen also fared better than the others. Yusal knew his value as a hostage, whereas the Araluans were an unknown quantity in that area. .
Horace, fit, athletic and light on his feet, gave their guards the fewest opportunities to beat him, although on one occasion an angry Tualaghi, furious that Horace misunderstood an order to kneel, slashed his dagger across the young man's face, opening a thin, shallow cut on his right cheek. The wound was superficial but as Evanlyn treated it that evening, Horace shamelessly pretended that it was more painful than it really was. He enjoyed the touch of her ministering hands. Halt and Gilan, bruised and weary, watched as she washed the wound and gently patted it dry. Horace did a wonderful job of pretending to bear great pain with stoic bravery. Halt shook his head in disgust.
'What a faker,' he said to Gilan. The younger Ranger nodded.
'Yes. He's really making a meal of it, isn't he?' He paused, then added a little ruefully, 'Wish I'd thought of it first.'
Halt's one good eye glared round at him. Muttering under his breath, the grey-haired Ranger shuffled away a few paces, disgusted now with his former pupil.
'Young men!' he snorted to Erak. 'They think a pretty face can cure every ill.'
'Some of us can remember back that far, Halt,' Erak told him with a grin. 'I suppose that's all far behind an old hack like you. Svengal told me you were settling down. Some plump, motherly widow seizing her last chance with a broken-down old greybeard, is she?'
Erak, of course, had been told by Svengal that Halt had recently married a great beauty. But he enjoyed getting a reaction from the smaller man. Halt's one-eyed stare locked onto the Oberjarl.
'When we get back, I'd advise you not to refer to Pauline as a "plump, motherly widow" in her hearing. She's very good with the dagger she carries and you need your ears to keep that ridiculous helmet of yours in place.'
Now the joking was stilled as they stumbled into Maashava at the end of an exhausting day's march. The Arridi townspeople looked at the new arrivals with dull, uninterested eyes. They had no sympathy for the prisoners. The Tualaghi's invasion of their town would leave them penniless and hungry. It would take several seasons to replace the food and other provisions that the invaders were helping themselves to.
The town was in shadow, as the sun was now hidden behind the high cliffs. They were led through the main square, where the market was held, to one of the warehouse caves at the rear of the town. The long lead ropes were removed and their hands were untied.
'Looks like we've arrived at wherever we're going,' Horace said.
A Tualaghi cursed him and told him to hold his foreign tongue.
The prisoners were shoved unceremoniously into the empty warehouse and a guard was mounted outside the entrance. A few minutes later, food, water and blankets were brought to the captives. Then the outer door was slammed shut and locked and they were left alone.
'So what happens now?' Gilan wondered aloud.
He didn't have to wonder long. Less than an hour later, they heard the rattle of a key in the lock and the door swung open. It was now full dark outside and the interior was lit by the single candle. In the doorway, they could Just make out a dim, bulky figure. Then he shoved through the narrow door, having to turn sideways to do so, and strode into the centre of the large room they were in. A half dozen armed Tualaghi followed him, fingering the hilts of their curved swords, looking around the room, alert for any sign of rebellion from the prisoners. Finally, Yusal entered as well. But none of the prisoners had eyes for him. They were all watching the heavily built, bearded Skandian who had led the way into their cell.
'Toshak!' Svengal said. Angrily, he started to rise from the sand floor of the cave. Immediately, three of the Tualaghi drew their swords and the familiar, warning
shriiinnng
noise rang through the cave. Erak's hand shot out and gripped Svengal's forearm, forcing him back down.
'Sit easy, Svengal,' he said. 'Can't you see he wants an excuse to kill you?'
'Very astute, Erak,' the renegade replied. His voice was surprisingly smooth and well modulated for a Skandian. Most were seamen and used to having to bellow above storm and wind. Toshak gestured to the guards and the swords were returned to their scabbards.
Yusal, his lower face still shrouded by the blue veil, watched the interplay between the two big men, his head moving from one to the other, his dark eyes unblinking.
Like a hawk,
Halt thought. Then he amended the concept.
Or a vulture.
'So, Toshak, you're finally showing your face. I thought you'd turn out to be the cowardly traitor behind all this.' Erak's voice was even and controlled. But he couldn't match the smoothness of his enemy's delivery.
Toshak smiled. 'As I say, Oberjarl, very astute. But of course, anyone can be clever in hindsight. It's a pity you didn't show such keen perception a little earlier. You might have avoided my trap. You hardly gain any credit for saying "I knew it was you all along" when I walk into the room, do you?'
'Whether I knew or not, the fact remains, you're a traitor. And you deserve to die.'
'Well, yes. But of course, one man's traitor is another man's patriot, as they say. And I'm afraid any dying is going to be done by you.'
'Which means you'll lose the ransom money,' Halt interrupted. He looked at the Tualaghi leader. 'How does your comrade in arms feel about that? Do you want to give up sixty thousand reels of silver, Yusal?'
The Tualaghi stepped forward, his eyes blazing with anger. He measured himself against the Ranger, and glared down at the shorter man. His finger jabbed Halt in the chest, emphasising his words.
'You do not call me Yusal!' he snapped. 'You address me as
Aseikh
Yusal or as Excellence. Do you understand me, you insolent foreigner?'
Halt cocked his head to one side, considering the question, even though it had been rhetorical. 'What I
understand,'
he said, 'is that there is very little about you that is excellent and that
Aseikh
is a term of honour. There's nothing honourable in a man who hides his face behind a blue woman's hanky.'
The fury flared more brightly in Yusal's eyes. Halt was watching them carefully. He always watched an enemy's eyes and, in Yusal's case, they were the only feature visible.
As Yusal swung his fist backhanded at him, Halt was ready. He swayed slightly to his right and the blow passed by harmlessly. Yusal, expecting to meet resistance, staggered with the follow-through. Burning with fury, he stepped closer to Halt to strike at him again. Toshak raised his hand to stop him.
'Wait!' he said. He peered more closely at Halt, studying the swollen, bruised face. 'You're the Ranger, aren't you? Halt. That's your name! I remember hearing about you now. You made trouble in Skandia three years ago and now you're here. You just get in the way on every continent, don't you? And I suppose that's the other one who was in Skandia with you?'
He gestured to Gilan. Truth be told, Toshak had never seen either Ranger. He simply knew that Halt's assistant had been a younger man.
'Actually ... ' Gilan began. But Halt cut him off.
'That's right,' he said quickly. Gilan looked at him, a little surprised. But he said nothing further. Toshak turned to Yusal now.
'These are the archers? The ones who killed so many?' he said.
The Tualaghi nodded. 'My men wanted to kill them. But they might be worth a ransom.'
Toshak shook his head. 'Nobody will pay to have them back,' he said. 'Rangers are troublemakers. And they're dangerous. Best they're killed as soon as possible.'
'I can ransom them!' Evanlyn said in the deathly silence that fell over the room. 'I'm a ... diplomat. I'm close to the King of Araluen. I can arrange to have a large ransom paid for these men.'
Toshak eyed her curiously. He hadn't actually been present in Hallasholm during the war with the Temujai.
But he had heard tales of what had taken place: wild stories about a girl who had been with the Rangers — a high-ranking Araluan girl. It could be this one, he thought. Then he shrugged; her identity was immaterial. What was important was what had been found in her belongings.
'You'll do that anyway,' he said. 'Whether we kill them or not.'
Evanlyn opened her mouth to argue, then stopped as she saw what he was holding: the draft for the Silasian Council.
'It's worthless without a seal,' she told him.
'But you know where to find one, don't you?' he asked.
Evanlyn met his gaze, unflinchingly. Just before they had surrendered, she had hidden the seal under a rock outcrop in the saucer-shaped depression. She was glad now that she had done so. She said nothing, not trusting her voice.
Toshak nodded. Her silence confirmed his suspicion. He turned to Yusal.
'Aseikh
Yusal, how would you convince this girl to find the seal she appears to have misplaced?'
Yusal's eyes crinkled and the veil moved slightly over his face. Evanlyn realised he was smiling. The Tualaghi had watched the captives closely all the way to Maashava. He hadn't missed the byplay between the girl and the young warrior. He pointed to Horace now.
'If we began to peel the skin from this one, I think she might remember,' he said. He chuckled. His harsh, unpleasant voice made it an ugly sound.
Evanlyn froze, looking helplessly at Horace. She knew she would never stand by and see him tortured.
But if she made out the warrant, they would all die anyway.
'Toshak?' It was Svengal, his voice soft and questioning. The rebel Skandian looked at him, his eyebrows raised. Svengal continued.
'How about you and me, we have a little wrestle together? Just for fun.'
'Fun?' repeated Toshak.
Svengal smiled winningly. 'Yes. I think it would be such fun to tear that ugly head off your shoulders. And your beaky, blue-faced friend's, too.' He spat the last words out, switching his glare to Yusal.
Toshak raised an eyebrow.
'You should have kept your mouth shut, Svengal. I might have let you live. But now I see how determined you are, well ... ' He paused, looking around the tense group who faced him.
'Let's just recap where we stand, shall we?' he said. He indicated Selethen. 'The
Wakir
is going to be ransomed. He gets off lightly but I have no argument with him. On the other hand, I do have one with Erak and Svengal, so they're going to die. You two Rangers as well.' He pointed at Horace next. 'You're going to have your skin peeled and the young lady here is going to pay us a large amount of money for the privilege of listening to your screams.' He smiled around at them all. 'Have I missed anyone? No? Well, have a nice night thinking on it.'