Scorpion Mountain (4 page)

chapter
five

C
an I offer you something to drink?” Duncan asked, once they were all seated. “Ale or wine, perhaps?”

He thought the skirl and his first mate looked a little young for alcohol, but one never knew. They both shook their heads. Thorn hesitated. The thought of a mug of cool ale was a very tempting one. But these days he limited his drinking, and finally he shook his head as well.

“Coffee?” Gilan said, with a slight smile. On the trip to Socorro, the Skandians had plundered his supply of coffee beans. They obviously had a taste for the beverage. Their hearty agreement to his suggestion confirmed the fact.

Duncan picked up a small silver bell from the table and rang it. Almost immediately, the door to the corridor opened and a liveried servant entered. The King ordered coffee for all of them and the servant departed.

“Perhaps you'd like to explain the mission you have in mind for Hal and his crew, my lord?” said Crowley.

Duncan glanced at the Commandant and nodded. He took a second or two to muster his thoughts, then began.

“Several years ago, my daughter, Cassandra, helped rescue your Oberjarl Erak from a renegade tribe in Arrida.” The King noticed that Hal and Stig both nodded. The affair had been kept quiet while the rescue was under way, but once Erak returned to Skandia it became common knowledge.

Thorn was frowning thoughtfully. Erak's kidnapping and rescue had happened at a time when he saw most things over the rim of a brandy tankard. He vaguely remembered talk of Erak's capture and subsequent rescue, but he was hazy on the details.

“In the course of that rescue,” Duncan continued, “she had reason to use her sling against the leader of the renegades—a man named Yusal. The stone from her sling hit him in the head. It didn't kill him, but it might have been better for him if it had. He was badly injured. He lost his memory and the capacity to speak or think. He was reduced to a state where he would hobble around, his mind blank, doing little more than drooling and mumbling nonsense.”

He paused, then added, “And from what I've heard, it was a fate he richly deserved.”

Hal raised his eyebrows at that. But Duncan was continuing.

“Unfortunately, Yusal had a brother, Iqbal. This brother took over control of the tribe.” He glanced at Gilan. “What was their name again?”

“The Tualaghi, my lord. They're brigands and killers.”

“Quite so. But apparently, this Iqbal feels the ties of family quite strongly. He was determined to avenge his brother and he decided to exact this revenge on Cassandra. At her wedding last year, he sent a pair of Genovesan assassins to kill her.”

Hal and Stig exchanged a quick glance. This was a serious matter they had become involved in.

“Genovesans!” Thorn spat the word contemptuously. “They're a pack of cowardly, sneaking murderers.”

“Indeed they are. But their attempt was foiled by one of my Rangers—Will Treaty.” He scanned the three Herons. “I believe he's quite well known in your country.”

Hal shrugged. “I've heard the name.”

“Be that as it may. He and one of your countrymen, by the name of Nils . . .” He hesitated over the name, but Gilan supplied it.

“Ropehander, my lord,” he said quietly and Duncan nodded.

“That's it.” Duncan cocked his head at the three Skandians. “You people have some strange names, don't you?”

Thorn smiled. “Nothing strange about Hookyhand, King.”

“I suppose not,” Duncan replied. “It's certainly appropriate. In any event, Will Treaty and this Ropehander fellow stopped the two Genovesans in their tracks. Killed one and captured the other.”

“And you're concerned that the Genovesans will try again?” Hal inquired.

Duncan shook his head. “Not according to my spies. The Genovesans are pragmatists. They lost two of their best men in this attempt and they don't plan to lose any more. They returned half of Iqbal's fee and took themselves out of the game. He blustered and threatened, of course, but then they pointed out that they could just as easily mount an assassination attempt against him if he continued to do so. He shut up rather smartly, I'm told.”

“So the problem is solved?” Stig asked.

Duncan regarded him for a moment. “That particular problem is solved. But we're hearing rumors that Iqbal may be trying another tack. We've had a message from a friend of ours in Arrida, a man named Selethen, that Iqbal has found another group to continue the attack. Apparently, he's sworn an oath to kill Cassandra for what she did to his brother and these people don't take such oaths lightly.”

“So what's the new plan he's got in mind?” Thorn asked.

Duncan screwed up his mouth in consternation, making an uncertain gesture with his hands, both palms upward . “That's the problem. We don't know. Selethen was able to give us only vague details—something about a cult of killers who are based in a place called Jabal Akrab—in their language, that means Scorpion Mountain.”

Hal raised an eyebrow. “Sounds ominous.”

Duncan nodded agreement. “It does. But we can't get any hard information about them. There are a lot of rumors, but nothing concrete.”

“And you want us to go find out more about this cult and stop them?” Thorn asked.

“No. That'll be Gilan's task. You just have to transport him to Arrida, where he'll meet with Selethen to get more information. Then he can work out a way to stop this plot once and for all. I'll buy them off, if necessary. They're mercenaries, after all.”

Hal looked at Gilan, whose face remained impassive. “Sounds like a big task for one man.”

“He won't be alone,” Duncan said. “I'll be sending a troop of cavalrymen with him. Normally, I'd assign this to a Special Task Group I formed some time ago. It consists of Will Treaty, who I mentioned before, a senior Ranger called Halt and Horace, the Kingdom's foremost knight. Coincidentally, he's Cassandra's husband. But unfortunately, they're in Hibernia at the moment, helping King Sean put down an insurrection. And I don't want to waste any more time getting this affair settled. My daughter's life is at risk.”

“One point I'd like to raise, my lord,” said Gilan, leaning forward. “This is the first I've heard of any cavalrymen. I'd prefer to work alone. I'll be able to move around more easily and I'll attract a lot less attention if I don't have a bunch of heavy-footed horsemen clanking around after me.”

They were interrupted by a tap at the door. A servant entered, bearing a tray of cups and a coffeepot. Duncan held up a hand to Gilan warning him not to talk about the mission while the servant was in the room.

It was a wise move, Hal thought to himself. Secrets aired in front of servants had a habit of becoming non-secrets and this mission was definitely a confidential one. Conversation halted while the coffee was served. Then, when the servant had departed, Duncan continued.

“I thought you'd say that, Gilan. But this is Cassandra we're talking about and I'm not taking any chances with her safety. My judgment is you'll need a substantial force to back you up.”

“Perhaps, my lord. But I still think—”

Once again, Duncan held up a hand to stop him. But this time the gesture was more peremptory. “It's not up for discussion, Gilan. You'll do as I say.”

Hal had been watching the two of them carefully. He saw Gilan's jaw set into a tight line. He glanced at the Ranger Commandant and saw that Crowley agreed with his younger colleague. The sandy-haired Ranger spoke now in support of Gilan.

“I think Gilan knows his own abilities, my lord,” he said in a reasonable tone. “And I agree with him. Blundering around Arrida with a troop of cavalrymen isn't the way to get this done. It's not the way Rangers operate.”

Duncan flushed. Hal guessed that he wasn't used to debating his ideas. He also guessed that the Rangers were quite used to doing just that with him. He decided to intervene.

“Right or wrong, it's academic,” he said. And when the three Araluens turned their attention to him, he continued, “We don't have room on board for a troop of cavalry. Our ship is too small.”

“Too small? Your wolfships have carried extra men before, and horses as well!”

Hal shrugged. “You could fit them on a normal wolfship. But the
Heron
is much smaller. And this will be a long trip. As for horses, there's definitely no way we could fit them.” He caught Gilan's eye and shrugged. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” Gilan said. “I'll borrow a horse from Selethen if I need one. Those Arridan horses are fine animals, and they're accustomed to conditions in the desert.”

“And if Gilan needs to use force, we can provide it. My crew are all experienced warriors. We just proved that in Socorro,” Hal added.

But now, Duncan was angry, and not just because Gilan, Crowley and Hal were contradicting his plan. “This ship of yours, you say it's not a normal wolfship?”

Hal nodded. Before he could elaborate, Duncan continued, his voice rising. “So you're telling me that Erak has fobbed us off with a second-rate vessel to act as the duty ship this year? That is totally unsatisfactory. It's an insult to me and to Araluen.”

They were all startled by a roar of fury from Thorn, matching Duncan's raised voice. The old warrior erupted from his chair and shook his wooden hook at the King.

“Second rate?
Second rate?
Where do you get off your high horse calling the
Heron
second rate? I'll have you know, King, she is the finest vessel in the Skandian fleet and you're lucky to have her!”

But now Duncan was on his feet as well, leaning forward to threaten Thorn. “How dare you speak to me like that? I am the King, do you understand?”

“Hah!” Thorn snorted derisively.

“And don't go pointing that . . . thing at me!” Duncan roared, indicating the polished wood hook on Thorn's right arm. Thorn was unabashed, although he did lower his voice somewhat.

“Then don't you go insulting our ship and our skirl. Our
second-rate
ship has just rescued a dozen of your people from the Socorran slavers. How second rate was that? Now you will apologize to our ship and our skirl or we'll just walk out of here and sail back to Skandia,” he said.

“Thorn, sit down,” Hal said, standing and placing a hand on Thorn's arm. The old sea wolf looked at him angrily, but his regard for Hal, both as a person and as his skirl, made him sit down again. Hal turned back to the King, but now Gilan was on his feet as well.

“My lord, could I have a word, please?” He indicated a door leading to another room. Duncan, his face red with anger, glared at Thorn, who glared back, then, tight lipped, the King nodded and led the way to the other room.

Once they were in private, Gilan spoke before Duncan could say anything.

“My lord, I've just spent the past three weeks with this ship and this crew, and believe me, there is nothing second rate about them. She may be small, but
Heron
is fast and highly maneuverable. She'll outsail any normal wolfship.”

“Well, that may be . . . ,” Duncan began, a little mollified by Gilan's obvious sincerity. The King had a quick temper but he was, at heart, a fair man. That was why he allowed his Rangers to dispute with him if they thought he was in the wrong.

“As for the crew,” Gilan continued, “I couldn't ask for better help if it comes to a fight. Young Stig there is every bit as good as Horace himself. He's fast and agile and deadly. And Thorn is even better.”

“Better than Horace? That shabby one-armed man?”

“That shabby one-armed man was the premier warrior in Skandia for three years in a row,” Gilan told him. Lydia had filled him in on Thorn's background while they were in Socorro. “Nobody else has ever achieved that. And the rest of the crew are all seasoned fighters as well. Thorn's trained them himself. Even the girl, Lydia, is a warrior. She's an absolute dead shot with her atlatl darts.”

He paused, watching Duncan's breathing settle and the red flush of anger drain from his face.

“I know them, my lord. I've fought beside them. They'll be better than any troop of cavalry.”

“Well . . . all right. If you say so.”

“I do, my lord. Trust me.”

Duncan groaned. “Why do I hate it when people say that?”

Gilan waited. Finally, Duncan came to a decision.

“All right. Let's go back in there. But I'm not apologizing to that one-armed ruffian,” he added. Gilan allowed a ghost of a grin to touch his lips.

“That's all right, my lord. I'm sure he doesn't plan to apologize to you.”

chapter
six

W
hile the King and Gilan were absent from the room, Hal spoke urgently to Thorn.

“Thorn, for pity's sake, will you settle down? You can't go around ranting at the King like that. He's the King, after all.”

Thorn looked at him, unrepentant. “So? I'd speak to Erak that way. And I respect our Oberjarl more than any foreign king. He insulted our ship and that insults all of us. And he accused Erak of trying to break the rules of the treaty.”

There was a brief silence between them. Crowley took a sip of his coffee and regarded them evenly. “If you ask me, Thorn had every right to say what he did,” he said.

The three Skandians all looked at him, surprised, and he grinned. “Perhaps not quite as forcefully as he did. But his passion only serves to emphasize his sincerity. You and your crew have just done a great service for this country and it was right to remind Duncan of the fact. He had no call to disparage you or your ship—which Gilan tells me is a remarkable craft.”

He set his cup down and leaned forward to speak to them in a more confidential tone.

“Duncan is a fair man. But he is a king and kings don't like to be contradicted. To his credit, that's why he keeps us Rangers around. We argue with him all the time if we think he's wrong. You can bet that Gilan is in there now straightening him out.”

Hal frowned. The thought of the young Ranger “straightening out” the angry monarch was hard to accept.

“How will he take that?”

“He'll listen to reason—eventually. Bear in mind, he's mad with worry about his daughter. And the uncertainty of the whole thing makes that worry even worse. If he had a clear idea of who's involved and what they're planning, it would be a lot easier. But he's worried and he's lacking hard intelligence on this Scorpion Mountain place. Just give him time and he'll come round. He's a good man at heart.”

Stig grinned and leaned over to clap Thorn on the shoulder. “So you get back in your box, Thorn, and stop trying to disrupt the treaty.”

Thorn snorted indignantly. “All very well, Stig, but he insulted you too, you know.”

“And I'm big and ugly enough to take exception to that myself, if need be,” Stig told him. “But Crowley's right, the man obviously has a lot on his mind and he's got a kingdom to run as well. Let's give him a little slack, shall we?”

Hal nodded his thanks to Stig. His tall friend had come a long way in the past year and a half. The old Stig was always willing to flare up at any slight—real or imagined. This measured approach to the situation was something new.

I suppose we're all growing up, he thought. Except maybe Thorn.

They looked up as the door to the inner room opened and Duncan and Gilan emerged. Gilan, slightly behind the King, made a reassuring gesture with his hand. Hal and the others stood, Thorn a little reluctantly. Duncan cleared his throat before speaking.

“Gilan has pointed out that I spoke without full knowledge,” he said. “I understand now that your ship, the
Heron,
is not in any way inferior to the wolfships that have been stationed here before. In fact, he tells me it's possibly superior to them.”

Thorn grunted noisily. Hal turned to him and raised a warning hand. The gesture wasn't lost on King Duncan, who eyed the recalcitrant Thorn for a few seconds before continuing.

“So let me say, I regret any offense I may have caused—to you, your ship and its crew, or to the Oberjarl himself.” He paused again then looked directly at Thorn. “That is not to say that I am apologizing. I regret any offense caused but I am
not
apologizing.”

Thorn stuck his jaw forward pugnaciously. “That's just fine, because neither am I!” he said, with equal force.

Hal raised his eyes to heaven and went to step forward to appease the King. To his surprise, after a few seconds, Duncan began to laugh. It started as a deep chuckle, then spread until his shoulders were shaking uncontrollably. Hal glanced at Crowley, who shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows.

“Ah, Thorn,” said the King, “it's good to have someone like you around. Someone who has absolutely no respect for me.”

Thorn tilted his head thoughtfully. He was grinning at the King now. “That's true,” he said, and Duncan laughed all the louder.

“You really do remind me of your Oberjarl Erak. He always managed to puncture my dignity for me. I need that, you know. Kings don't take kindly to people disagreeing with them. We get accustomed to thinking we're always right just because we are kings. That's why I have these reprobates serving me.” He indicated Crowley and Gilan.

Crowley smiled. “We do our best to keep you in line, my lord.”

Duncan, who seemed now to have totally adopted Thorn as a friend and trusted confidant, slapped him on the shoulder and pulled him a little closer.

“And if you think these two are bad, you should see Halt. He's a senior Ranger and he shows no respect for me at all.”

“That's not quite true, sir,” Gilan interjected. “He has enormous respect for you, so long as you agree with him.”

“Yes. That's true.” Duncan released his grip on Thorn's shoulder and took a second or two to collect himself.

“All right,” he said at length, “let me think about what we've discussed here.” He looked at Gilan. “I'm still inclined to the idea of sending you with some reasonable force.”

Gilan shrugged. “That's all right, sir. You'll soon see the light of reason.”

Duncan sighed. “I suppose so.” He looked keenly at Stig now, taking in the wide shoulders, the muscular build and the easy, athletic grace with which the young Skandian moved.

“And you say this lad is as good as Horace?” He addressed the question to Gilan.

“Without a doubt. Different weapons and technique. But there's nothing to choose between them.”

“Hmmm. Pity Horace is in Hibernia. It'd be good to see a practice match between them.” He came back to the matter in hand, and said briskly, “Very well. Let me give this some consideration and I'll give you my decision tomorrow.”

He waved them toward the door. Crowley and Gilan gave slight bows of the head. The Skandians contented themselves with coming loosely to attention. As they passed through the door, Stig slipped up beside Hal.

“Who's this Horace that I'm a match for?” he asked.

Hal managed to keep a straight face as he replied. “He's a one-legged, half-blind old beggar who suffers from uncontrollable flatulence.”

“Flatulence? What's that?” Stig asked. Words of more than two syllables sometimes confused him.

“He farts,” Thorn put in.

Stig thought about it, then nodded his head. “Yeah, well, I can do that.”

Hal and Thorn both answered simultaneously.

“We know.”

• • • • •

The three Herons split up and went to their rooms to unpack and familiarize themselves with their new surroundings. Like Lydia, they had little in the way of luggage or belongings and the unpacking took only a few minutes.

As the skirl, he'd been given a large suite to himself. There was a jug of water on the table in the sitting room, along with several beakers. He poured himself a glass and sipped it. For a minute or two, he prowled restlessly around the room, picking up items to examine them before putting them down again. After weeks in the close confines of the ship, never more than a few meters from other members of the crew, it felt strange to be on his own. He drained the last of the water from his glass and hitched his rump up onto the sill of the open window. Below him, and beyond the castle walls, the green parkland stretched out to the forest. He could see several people—couples walking in the sunshine, children playing. And of course, there were guards patrolling around the perimeter of the castle, their helmets, armor and spear points occasionally catching the sunlight.

He studied the surrounding land. The ground around the castle was landscaped with small shrubs and isolated trees. The grass was mown short and he realized that, beautiful as the grounds were, they were also highly practical. There was no cover to conceal any attacking force. The trees of the forest were at least a kilometer away and there would be no way an enemy could stage a surprise attack. Any attackers would be sighted long before they came within bowshot. He craned out and looked upward. The turrets and spires of the castle were decorative. But they were also practical. Jutting out at each corner, their crenellated tops provided positions from which archers could sweep the ground below, close to the castle walls. And of course, any attacker trying to find shelter there would have had to cross the moat first.

Castle Araluen might be a spectacularly beautiful building, he thought, but it would also be a remarkably tough nut to crack. He glanced down into the courtyard, where a group of servants were drawing water from a well in the middle of the cobbles. With an internal water supply, it would be able to withstand a long siege.

There was a knock at the door and he shoved off the windowsill and crossed the room to open it. The heavy wooden door was perfectly balanced. It swung easily and silently on its oiled hinges to reveal Ingvar standing in the corridor outside.

Hal was momentarily taken aback. He had half expected Stig or Thorn to be there, ready to discuss the meeting with Duncan. But he smiled and gestured for the massively built boy to come in.

“Ingvar,” he said. “Good to see you. Come on in. How's your room? Did they get you that bigger bed they promised?”

A half smile touched Ingvar's face, then quickly disappeared.

“Yes. Yes, they did. It arrived only a minute or so after I moved in. They whipped the other one away and set up the new bed for me in a few minutes. They're very efficient here.”

“I guess that's the way things are at a royal residence,” Hal said. “So what can I do for you?”

For a moment, Ingvar was silent. He fidgeted with his hands, shifting his feet constantly. Hal could tell he was embarrassed and ill at ease. But when he finally spoke, the words hit the young skirl with the force of a thunderclap.

“Hal, I've decided I want to leave the brotherband and go home to Skandia.”