Ranger's Apprentice 3 & 4 Bindup (48 page)

But he had taken too long over it. The success had come too late, after his main force had been demoralised and disorganised by the constant hail of arrows. After they
had been driven back in confusion by that flanking attack.

It was just one failed attack, of course, and he knew he could still win this battle, if he chose to. He could regroup his
Ulans
, commit his fresh reserves and drive these damned Skandians out from behind their defences and send them scattering into the hills and the trees. For a moment, he was tempted to do it – to have a savage revenge on these people who had thwarted his plans.

But the cost would be too high. He had lost thousands of men already and another attack, even a successful one, would cost him more than he could afford. He turned in his saddle and beckoned the bugler forward.

‘Sound the general withdrawal,' he said calmly. His face gave no hint of the seething fury, the bitter rage of failure that burned in his heart.

It was not polite for a Temujai general to allow his emotions to show.

Ragnak's body was cremated the day after the battle.

The Oberjarl had died in the final moments, before the Temujai had begun their withdrawal. He had died battling a group of eighteen Temujai warriors. Two of them survived – so badly injured they could barely crawl away from the terrifying figure of the Skandian leader.

There was no way of knowing who had struck the fatal blow, if, indeed, there had been one. They counted over fifty separate wounds on the Oberjarl, half a dozen of which could have caused death under ordinary conditions. As was the Skandian custom, the body was laid on his cremation pyre as it was – without any attempt to clean away the blood or the mire of battle.

The four Araluans were invited to pay their last respects to the dead Oberjarl and they stood silently for a few moments before the massive pile of pitch-soaked pine logs, gazing up at the still figure. Then, politely but firmly, they were informed that the funeral of an Oberjarl, and the subse
quent election of his successor, was a matter for Skandians only and they returned to Halt's apartment to await events.

The funeral rituals went on for three days. This was a tradition that had been established to allow jarls from outlying settlements time to reach Hallasholm and participate in the election of the next Oberjarl. Obviously, there were few jarls expected from the areas that the Temujai had already passed through, and the majority of the others had already been summoned to repel the invasion. But tradition called for a three-day period of mourning – which, in Skandia, took the form of a lot of drinking and much enthusiastic recounting of the deceased's prowess in battle.

And tradition, of course, was sacred to the Skandians – particularly tradition that involved a lot of drinking and carousing late into the night. It was noticeable that the amount of liquor consumed and the degree of enthusiasm in the recounting of Ragnak's prowess seemed to be in direct correlation.

On the second night, Evanlyn frowned at the sound of drunken voices raised in song, counterpointed by the splintering sounds of furniture breaking as a fight got under way.

‘They don't seem very sad about it,' she pointed out and Halt merely shrugged.

‘It's their way,' he said. ‘Besides, Ragnak died in battle, as a berserker, and that's a fate that every true Skandian would envy. It gains him instant entry to the highest level of their version of heaven.'

Evanlyn twisted her mouth in a disapproving pout. ‘Still,' she said, ‘it seems so disrespectful. And he did save our lives, after all.'

There was an awkward silence in the room. None of the other three could think of a tactful way of pointing out that, had Ragnak survived, he was sworn to kill Evanlyn. When she spoke of him now, it was as if she had lost an old, respected friend. Horace looked from Halt to Will and back again, waiting to see if either of them cared to raise the matter. All he got was an almost imperceptible shake of the head from Will when he made eye contact. Horace shrugged. If two Rangers didn't think the matter worth raising, who was he to disagree?

Finally, the period of mourning was over, and the senior jarls gathered in the Great Hall to elect their new Oberjarl. Will said hopefully, ‘Do you think Erak has a chance?' But his hopes were dashed when Halt shook his head.

‘He's a popular war leader, but he's only one of four or five. Add to that the fact that he's no administrator. And he's certainly no diplomat, either,' he added with some feeling.

‘Is that important?' Horace asked. ‘From what I've seen, diplomacy is very low on the list of required skills in this country.'

Halt acknowledged the point with a grin. ‘True,' he admitted. ‘But a certain amount of schmoozing is necessary when there's an election among peers like this. Nobody gives their vote because you're the best candidate. They vote for you because you can do something for them.'

‘I guess the fact that Erak's spent the last few years as Ragnak's chief tax collector isn't going to help, either,' Will chipped in. ‘After all, a lot of the people voting are the ones he's threatened to brain with an axe.'

Again Halt nodded. ‘Not a good career move if you hope to be Oberjarl one day.'

In truth, the Ranger was indulging in a mild form of personal superstition by talking down Erak's chances in the election. There were still issues to be settled between Skandia and Araluen and he would have preferred to be settling them with Erak as the Skandian supreme leader. Still, the more they talked, the slimmer Erak's chances became. He hadn't known about the tax collecting until Will mentioned it. That would seem to put the final stopper on the Jarl's chances.

Not, he realised, that Erak had shown the slightest interest in becoming Oberjarl.

And, after all, Halt's three companions were only interested in his chances because he was a friend and the only senior Skandian leader they knew well.

‘He probably wouldn't make a good Oberjarl anyway,' Horace decided. ‘What he really wants to do is get back to sea in his wolfship and go raiding somewhere.'

The others all agreed.

Which only goes to show how wrong you can be when you indulge in reasoned, rational discussion. On the fifth day, the door to Halt's apartment opened and a stunned-looking Erak stepped in, looked around at the four expectant faces and said:

‘I'm the new Oberjarl.'

‘I knew it,' said Halt instantly, and the other three looked at him, totally scandalised.

‘You did?' Erak asked, his voice hollow, his eyes still showing the shock of his sudden elevation to the highest office in Skandia.

‘Of course,' said the Ranger, shrugging. ‘You're big, mean and ugly and those seem to be the qualities Skandians value most.'

Erak drew himself up to his full height, trying to muster the sort of dignity that he felt an Oberjarl should assume.

‘Is that how you Araluans speak to an Oberjarl?' he asked, and Halt finally grinned.

‘No. That's how we speak to a friend. Come in and have a drink.'

Over the next few days, it began to appear as if the council of jarls had chosen wisely. Erak quickly moved to end old feuds with other jarls, particularly those he had visited in his role as tax collector. And, surprisingly, he kept Borsa in the role of hilfmann.

‘I thought he couldn't stand Borsa,' Will said, puzzled. But Halt merely nodded his head in acknowledgement of Erak's choice.

‘Borsa's a good administrator, and that's what Erak's going to need. A good leader is someone who knows what he's bad at, and hires someone who's good at it to take care of it for him.'

Will, Horace and Evanlyn had to think that through for a few seconds before they saw the logic in it. Horace, in fact, was still pondering it some time after the others had nodded and moved on to discuss other matters.

As Oberjarl, Erak would no longer be able to go on his annual raiding cruises at the helm of
Wolfwind
, and that fact tinged his sudden elevation with a certain amount of regret. But he announced that he would be making one last
voyage before he handed the ship over to the care of Svengal, his long-time first mate.

‘I'll be taking you lot back to Araluen,' he announced. ‘Seems only fair, since I was the one responsible for your being here in the first place.'

Will was quietly pleased with the news. Now that the time was almost here to return home, he realised that he would be sad to farewell the big, boisterous pirate. With some surprise, he recognised the fact that he had come to regard Erak as a good friend. Anything that delayed the moment of parting found favour in his eyes.

Spring had come, the geese were returning from the south and there were deer back in the hills, so there was plenty of fresh meat in place of the dried and salted provisions that had formed the bulk of the winter fare in Hallasholm.

When he saw the first hunting parties returning from the high reaches inland of the Skandian capital, Will remembered one debt he still owed. Early one morning, he slipped quietly away on Tug, and headed up the trail that he and Evanlyn had followed so many months ago, in a freezing blizzard.

At the little cabin where they had sheltered through the winter, he found the uncomplaining, shaggy little pony who had saved his life. The patient creature had broken the light tether holding him in the lean-to stable behind the cabin, and was quietly cropping the new season grass in the clearing when Will arrived.

Tug looked a little askance at his master when Will unfastened a small sack of oats, indicating that it was for
the pony alone. Will consoled his horse with a quiet pat on the muzzle.

‘He's earned it,' he told Tug, and the Ranger horse shrugged – insofar as any horse is capable of shrugging. The nondescript pony may well have earned the sack of oats, but that didn't stop Tug's mouth salivating at the sight and smell of them. When the pony had finished the oats, Will remounted Tug and, holding onto the lead rein, rode back down to Hallasholm, where he quietly returned the pony to Erak's stable.

The night before they were due to leave, Erak threw a farewell banquet in their honour. The Skandians were eager to show their appreciation of the efforts of the four Araluans in defending their land against the invaders. And with the shadow of the Vallasvow lifted from Evanlyn, they paid particular attention to her – repeatedly toasting her bravery and resourcefulness in continuing to direct the fire of the archers as their position was being overrun.

Halt, Borsa and Erak sat in a quiet huddle at the head table, discussing outstanding matters such as the repatriation of the slaves who had served in the archers' corps. Sadly, many of them hadn't survived the battle, but the promise of freedom had been made to their dependants as well, and the details had to be thrashed out. When the subject was finally closed, Halt judged the moment right and said quietly:

‘So what will you do when the Temujai come back?'

There was a deafening moment of silence at the head table. Erak pushed his bench back and stared at the small, grim-faced man next to him.

‘Come back? Why should they come back? We beat them, didn't we?'

But Halt shook his head slowly. ‘As a matter of fact,' he said, ‘we didn't. We simply made it too costly for them to continue – this time.'

Erak thought about what he had said and glanced at Borsa for his opinion. The hilfmann nodded, a little reluctantly.

‘I think the Ranger is right, Oberjarl,' he admitted. ‘We couldn't have held out much longer.' Then he shifted his eyes to Halt's and asked him: ‘But why should they come back?'

Halt took a sip of the rich Skandian beer before he answered. ‘Because it's their way,' he answered simply. ‘The Temujai don't think in terms of this season or this year, or next year. They think of the next ten or twenty years and they have a long-term plan to dominate this part of the world. They need your ships. So they'll be back.'

Erak considered the point, twisting one end of his moustache in his fingers. ‘Then we'll beat them off again,' he said.

‘Without archers?' Halt asked quietly. ‘And without the element of surprise next time?'

Again there was a silence. Then Erak said, half hopefully, ‘You could help us train archers. You and the boy?' But Halt shook his head immediately. And very definitely.

‘I'm not prepared to provide Skandia with such a potent weapon,' he said. ‘Once you learned those skills, I'd never know when they might be turned against us in the future.'

Erak had to admit the logic in the Ranger's statement. Skandia and Araluen were traditional enemies, after all.
But Borsa, with his negotiator's ear, had caught an overtone in Halt's refusal.

‘But you do have a suggestion?' he said keenly, and Halt almost smiled at him. He'd hoped the hilfmann would see where he was heading.

‘I was thinking,' he said, ‘that a force of, say, three hundred trained archers might be stationed here on a regular basis. They could spend the months of spring and summer here, then be rotated back home during the winter.'

‘Araluans?' Erak said, beginning to catch on. Halt nodded.

‘We could supply you with an archery force that way. But if it ever came to hostilities between our countries, I'd feel a lot more secure knowing you wouldn't be turning them against us. We'd need to stipulate that in the treaty,' he added casually.

Erak looked cautiously at his hilfmann now. The word ‘treaty' seemed to have appeared on the table in front of them without his seeing it arriving. Borsa caught his eye and shrugged thoughtfully.

‘I'm proposing that we have a mutual defence treaty for a period of …' Halt seemed to think and Erak suddenly had the distinct impression that he had weighed every word he was going to say well in advance of this moment. ‘… five years, let's say. You get a viable force of archers –'

Erak decided it was time that someone else made the running. ‘And you get what?' he asked abruptly.