Scorpion Mountain (8 page)

chapter
twelve

G
eoffrey sat back and admired his handiwork with a satisfied smile. Hal, who had sat quietly for the past hour watching the artisan at work, leaned over his shoulder to look at the finished product.

“Wonderful,” he said, and Geoffrey turned the smile on him.

“Yes. Even if I do say so myself,” he replied. “But let's see if it works.”

The old jeweler, fascinated by the improvement in vision afforded by the tiny hole in the tortoiseshell disc, had offered to make a device to hold two of the discs in place in front of Ingvar's eyes. He created a wire frame to hold the two pieces of tortoiseshell side by side, and about a centimeter apart. In the space between them, he fashioned a padded rest that would sit on the wearer's nose. At either side, he soldered sprung wire arms that stretched back at right angles to the discs, angled in so they would sit firmly against the wearer's head, resting on the top of the ears.

He picked up the device now and moved to the side window of the house. Bending the side arms slightly apart, he slipped them on, one either side of his head, and settled the discs in place in front of his eyes. The nose rest held them firmly in position.

Then he peered out the window at the countryside behind his workshop.

Hal heard his sudden intake of breath, and his excited exclamation.

“They work?” the young Skandian said hopefully, and Geoffrey turned his gaze on him. It was a somewhat disconcerting sight. The two tortoiseshell discs suspended in front of his eyes gave him a sinister appearance, looking like the eyeholes in a skull. But no skull ever smiled so contentedly as Geoffrey did now.

“It's amazing,” he said. “The holes definitely help focus my vision. I can see much more clearly.” He slipped the device off, shaking his head a little sadly as he reverted to his normal shortsighted vision. “The extra holes were a good idea.”

Once he had determined that a tiny hole would improve the focus of a shortsighted person, Hal decided to experiment. He purchased a third piece of tortoiseshell from Geoffrey and had the jeweler pierce it once in the center, then another dozen times in a circle around the original aperture. The result was a big improvement. The small holes still focused Geoffrey's sight, but the greater number widened his field of vision as well. The two collaborators smiled at each other now. It had been a fruitful morning's work. Hal reached for the coin purse hanging at his belt.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked. But Geoffrey reached out one gnarled hand and closed it over Hal's, stopping him from opening the purse.

“No charge,” the older man said. When Hal went to remonstrate, he spoke more firmly.

“I'll be making myself a pair of these,” he said. “And I have you to thank for the idea. So there's no fee to be paid. You've already paid me with improved sight.”

His sincerity was obvious and Hal withdrew his hand from the purse, inclining his head gratefully.

“You're sure?” he said. “You've spent the best part of the morning working on the frame.”

“I'm sure,” Geoffrey said. He took the wire frame and wrapped it carefully in a piece of chamois cloth, then handed it to Hal. “Now go and show it to your friend.”

Hal placed the wire frame carefully into one of his side pockets and followed Geoffrey as the older man led the way to the front door.

Geoffrey held out his hand and they shook. “Good-bye, young Hal. If all your ideas are as good as this one, you've a bright future ahead of you.”

Hal smiled diffidently. “Unfortunately, they're not. I've had my share of disasters. I'm just glad this wasn't one of them.”

“Me too,” Geoffrey told him. “Now get going. I want to get busy making myself a pair of . . .” He hesitated. “What exactly do we call this idea of yours?”

Hal shrugged, thinking. “How about
viewing discs
?” he suggested, but Geoffrey made a disapproving face.

“That's a little prosaic,” he said. “After all, the improvement in vision is quite spectacular.”

“Well then,” Hal said slowly, “if that's the case, how about
spectacles
?”

Geoffrey thrust out his bottom lip. “That's not a lot better.”

“That's the best I've got,” Hal told him. “I'm going with
spectacles.
”

But the jeweler shook his head gloomily. “Can't see it catching on,” he said.

• • • • •

Inevitably, when Hal reached the castle and went looking for Ingvar, the big lad was nowhere to be found. He wasn't in his room, or in the large common room that had been set aside for the
Heron
crew to relax in as a group. Edvin and Stefan were there. The re-provisioning of the ship was completed and Edvin wasn't required at the jetty any longer.

Jesper was prowling the corridors, examining the locks on the many doors with a professional interest that Hal found disconcerting. He came upon the former thief crouching by a heavy lock that secured a door on the second floor. The lock was far more formidable than the relatively simple ones on the bedroom doors.

“Just forget it, Jes,” Hal said, startling his crewmate.

Jesper looked up and grinned disarmingly. “Have you ever noticed,” he said, “that when people have something that's valuable, they tend to advertise the fact by using bigger and stronger locks on the door where it's kept? If they'd just put a normal lock on this door, I'd take no notice of it at all.”

“Which is what I want you to do,” Hal told him firmly. “Have you seen Ingvar around?”

Jesper shook his head. “Haven't seen him all morning.”

Hal turned away. He had gone a couple of paces when he turned back. Jesper was still contemplating the locked door. “How strong is that lock?”

“Oh, it's quite solid,” Jesper replied. “It'd take me at least a minute to get it open.”

Hal rolled his eyes to heaven and walked away. He continued his search of the massive castle and its grounds and finally discovered Ingvar sitting on a wooden bench in a sunny corner of the battlements, his back leaning against the sun-warmed stone, his face turned up to the sun, eyes closed.

“Come to talk me out of it, Hal?”

Hal stopped a few meters away, surprised. “How did you know it was me?”

Ingvar's eyes were still closed against the sun's brightness. The big boy smiled. “I've got to know your footsteps. You have a distinctive gait. You seem to be always in a hurry to get where you're going.”

Hal nodded thoughtfully. He'd heard that when people had restricted vision, their other senses, such as their hearing, took on an increased keenness. Apparently that was the case with Ingvar.

Hal sat down beside him on the bench. “Good spot,” he said.

Ingvar nodded. “It's warm and sheltered from the wind. And there's a young girl in one of the rooms along there who was singing a little earlier. Nice voice she had too.”

Hal looked around. The battlements were higher than the floor where they had been quartered. They looked out over the outer wall and down to the forest. From this height, however, one could see the roofs of the buildings in the village.

“Nice view too,” he said.

Ingvar's smile faded. He opened his eyes to look directly at Hal. It wasn't like his old friend to be so tactless, he thought.

“I'll have to take your word for that.”

Hal shrugged elaborately. “Maybe not.” He reached into his pocket and produced the spectacles, wrapped in their protective layer of chamois. He carefully unwrapped them and held them out toward Ingvar.

Ingvar frowned. Close up like this, he could see them with reasonable clarity. But he had no idea what they were, or what their purpose might be.

“What have you got there?” he asked. Ingvar sensed Hal's feeling of excited anticipation. Hal had been the same when he'd built the Mangler and they'd tested it on the beach many months ago, on the far side of the Stormwhite Sea.

“Just try these on,” Hal said. “Hold still, and close your eyes.”

Carefully, Hal spread the wire arms and slid them onto either side of Ingvar's face, setting them to rest on his ears, and then releasing them so they held firmly in place.

Ingvar flinched slightly at the unaccustomed touch of the nose pad between the two discs as Hal settled it into position. “What is it? What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just wait. You'll see,” Hal said—and realized belatedly how prophetic those words were. “Keep your eyes closed and stand up.”

He took Ingvar's arm and steadied him as he rose from the bench. Then he placed his hands on the big boy's wide shoulders and turned him to face the view below them.

“Open your eyes,” he said.

It took several seconds. Then Ingvar uttered an incomprehensible grunt of surprise. He shook his head, turning it from side to side.

“Gorlog's eyebrows!” he said, his tone a mixture of surprise and delight. “I can see!”

He pointed to the dark line where the forest began. “I can see the trees!” he said excitedly. “I could only see a dark blur before. But now I see trees! And look there!” he continued, pointing down to the parkland, where a squad of soldiers were drilling. “There are people down there. I can see them!”

“What kind of people are they?” Hal asked quickly. He was eager to know how much the spectacles improved Ingvar's vision. Ingvar leaned forward.

“They're soldiers,” he said. “I can see their shields and spears. And the sun is glinting off their armor. Oh, by my sainted auntie's mustache, this is just amazing!”

“Your sainted auntie had a mustache?” Hal asked and Ingvar nodded.

“That's how we told her from my uncle,” Ingvar replied. “He was clean-shaven.” He looked around excitedly, peering up at the pennants fluttering from the towers above them, seeing them as more than a blur of movement for the first time.

“Flags!” he said in delight. “Yellow and blue and purple flags! They're beautiful.”

Hal looked at them and frowned. “They're just flags,” he said, but Ingvar shook his head emphatically.

“To you, maybe. But to me, they're beautiful!” His head darted from side to side as he sought new sights. “Oh, this is just too wonderful for words! How did you ever come up with this idea? It's one of your very best ever!”

Hal shrugged. “You know, I'm not sure. I started to think when you said that if you narrowed your eyelids, things became clearer. Then I just sort of . . . experimented, I guess.”

Ingvar shook his head. Reaching up, he carefully removed the wire frame, with its two glossy back discs, and looked at it in wonder.

“How can I ever thank you?”

A slow smile spread over Hal's features. “Just stop this nonsense about leaving the brotherband.”

chapter
thirteen

T
here was a bustle of commotion at the drawbridge when the hunting party returned, with their captive secured between Ulf and Wulf. The twins had a firm hold of an arm each. They held the would-be killer so that he was forced to stand on tiptoe, and frog-marched him up the grassy slope to the castle. Kloof pranced beside the three of them, moving around them in circles, emitting deep, threatening growls at the stranger.

At the drawbridge, the commander of the sentry detail approached and saluted Cassandra.

“What's this, your highness?” he asked.

“This,” Cassandra stated, “is a man who tried to kill me. Would you send a messenger for my father, please?”

As the commander hurried to comply, several of the sentries stepped forward and relieved the twins of their burden. The man was quickly tied, with his hands behind his back. His feet were secured as well, with only a short length of cord between them, so he could do no more than hobble. He cried aloud in pain as the bonds around his hands and elbows were pulled tight.

The sentries ignored him. Cassandra was a popular figure among the palace guards and the thought that someone had tried to harm her made them boil with rage.

Duncan arrived within minutes. He had descended the stairs from his quarters three at a time. As Cassandra explained what happened, and how the Skandians protected her, there was a further angry growl from the guards nearby.

Bad enough that someone had threatened the princess's life, they thought. But compounding that was the thought that she had been protected and saved by a group of foreigners. Their professional and national dignity was affronted and they jostled the man roughly as they led him inside.

“Take him to the guardhouse,” the King ordered. Castle Araluen didn't have dungeons as such—Duncan considered such an idea inhumane. But the guardhouse was a secure area with cells where prisoners could be held securely.

They reached the guardhouse—a rather utilitarian room furnished with a large wooden table and a dozen straight-backed chairs where the duty sentries took their meals and breaks in between patrolling. Off to one side, a heavy, reinforced wooden door led to a passageway where half a dozen cells were situated. There were three guardsmen present when they arrived. They reacted with surprise at the sight of the King—he wasn't a frequent visitor—and they scrambled to set their uniforms and equipment to rights.

Duncan indicated a heavy wooden chair set against the wall. “Put him there,” he told the two sentries who were supporting the prisoner.

The sentries shoved him roughly into the chair and the assassin glowered around him. Duncan hooked another chair forward with his foot, placed it a meter in front of the prisoner and sat facing him, leaning forward. Cassandra and the Herons ranged around him, along with the guard commander. Stig held Kloof on her leash again. The big dog strained to reach the prisoner, who eyed her warily. Everyone else, he viewed with contempt.

“Send for Crowley and Gilan,” the King told the guard commander, without taking his eyes from the assassin.

“And Hal,” Thorn added. The commander nodded and hurried from the room.

Duncan turned and looked at Cassandra. “Perhaps you should leave us. This might get a little unpleasant.”

But the princess shook her head, her cheeks flushed with color. “This piece of garbage tried to kill me and he would have succeeded if Thorn hadn't caught the quarrel. I want to know who sent him.”

Duncan's eyes widened. This was the first he'd heard of that detail. He regarded Thorn with amazement.

“You
caught
the crossbow quarrel?”

Thorn nodded in a matter-of-fact manner. “No big thing,” he said. “Sometimes a wooden hand can be useful.”

Duncan shook his head. Gilan had told him of the shabby northman's skill and ability. He tried to imagine the dexterity and reflexes that had been necessary to catch a speeding quarrel.

“No big thing
indeed,
” Duncan said. He looked back at the prisoner. “Where do you think he came from?”

“From his clothing and complexion, I'd say somewhere in Arrida,” Cassandra replied.

Thorn noticed that the man's eyes flicked to her inadvertently when she said the word
Arrida.
Then he quickly regained control of his features and settled back into a masklike stillness.

The door opened to admit Crowley and Gilan. The two Rangers took in the scene and regarded the prisoner with surprise. The messenger who had reached them hadn't given them any details. In fact, he hadn't known any. The guard commander had simply told him to summon the two Rangers to the guard room.

“What's going on?” Crowley asked. But Duncan held up a hand to stop him.

“We'll explain when the Skandian captain gets here,” he said. “No point in going over it all twice.”

As he spoke, the door opened again and Hal hurried in. Like the Rangers, he frowned at the sight of the stranger tied up in the chair. Before he could ask the obvious question, Duncan spoke.

“Right. Now we're all here. There's been an attempt on my daughter's life. This man here”—he indicated the prisoner, although the others had quickly assumed that he was the would-be killer—“tried to shoot her with a crossbow.” He looked at Hal. “Apparently, your man Thorn caught the quarrel in mid-flight.”

If he expected a surprised reaction from Hal he was disappointed. The young skirl simply looked at Thorn and nodded approval.

“Good work,” he said quietly. Thorn shrugged.

Duncan raised an eyebrow. The fact that Hal wasn't surprised or particularly impressed by Thorn's amazing feat told him a lot about these Skandians. Gilan had said they were a capable lot. It seemed the young Ranger was correct.

“Where did it happen?” Crowley asked. It was Stig who answered.

“We were just short of the forest. He was concealed in the undergrowth but Kloof here spotted him and gave the warning.”

Kloof!
said the huge dog, in response to her name. Hal, who was watching the prisoner closely, noticed that he flinched when the dog barked. Then he quickly rearranged his features again into a contemptuous sneer.

“So he was lying in wait for you?” Gilan asked. “It wasn't a chance encounter?” He addressed the question to Cassandra and she replied thoughtfully.

“No. He seemed to know we were coming. Mind you, the hunting trip was no secret. Lots of people knew about it and knew where we'd be heading, both here and in the village. We'd arranged to hire beaters later in the day, so word would have got around.”

“What does he have to say for himself?” Crowley asked, jerking a thumb at the prisoner.

Duncan turned back to him, his face grim. “So far, not a lot. Thought we'd wait till everyone was here.” He leaned forward and addressed the man now, their faces only a meter apart.

“Who are you and who sent you?” he demanded. The man sneered and looked away to one side. Duncan's hand shot forward, seized his chin and turned his head roughly so that he was facing him once more.

“I said, who are you?” he repeated.

The man gave a sniff of disdain. He tried to turn away again but Duncan's grip was like iron.

“I'm a civilized man,” Duncan said, his tone low and dangerous. “But I'm also a father, and you attempted to kill my daughter. I warn you. Do not press me too far.”

The man finally made eye contact with Duncan. “You can do nothing to me,” he said with a noticeable accent. “My life is dedicated to the goddess Imrika and she will protect me.”

They all exchanged puzzled looks. The name Imrika was unknown to them. Duncan turned back to the man.

“Tell us about this Imrika,” he said but the man shook his head.

“You're an infidel. I will not talk of the Scorpion goddess to the likes of you.”

Duncan breathed heavily. “You
will
talk or I will have you tortured.”

He had no such intention. Indeed, he had nobody who might carry out the order to torture the man. But his voice gave no inkling of the fact and his eyes were determined. The Arridan sneered at him.

“You cannot harm me. Imrika will ensure I feel nothing.”

Thorn stepped forward suddenly and slapped the man hard across the cheek. The chair rocked under the force of the blow and the assassin cried out in pain.

“Looks like she's not on the job,” Thorn said. “You felt that all right. Next time I'll use my right hand.” He held up the polished wood hook for the man to see.

“That's enough!” Duncan snapped angrily. “I won't have you hitting a helpless man.”

“Suit yourself,” Thorn said. “But he's a murderer and I don't see any reason to treat him with kid gloves.”

Duncan glared at him and Hal stepped in. “Leave it, Thorn,” he ordered, and Thorn turned away, muttering. Hal continued to the King, “I think I have an idea, your majesty. Can I have a word with you?”

They stepped away from the prisoner, retreating to the farthest corner of the room.

“He's not afraid of us,” Hal said. “And he's sensed that you won't use torture on him.”

Duncan shrugged. “I don't hold with it.”

“Fair enough. But I've been watching him and there's one thing that might shake his tongue loose.” He gestured to the dog, standing a few meters from the prisoner, straining against her leash.

“The dog?” Duncan said.

Hal nodded. “Every time she moves, he flinches. He tries to hide it, but he can't help himself. Let me ask him a few questions.”

Duncan considered the suggestion, then nodded. “Go ahead,” he said. “You can't do any worse than I have so far.”

“Let's see what I can do,” Hal said. He returned to where the others stood around the prisoner, Duncan following a pace behind him. He took the leash from Stig's hand and led Kloof closer to the bound man. The huge dog growled, a low rumbling sound in her chest. Hal was watching the prisoner, whose eyes were now riveted on Kloof. He saw them widen with fear.

“Up, Kloof,” he said quietly, making a gesture to reinforce the order. Kloof reared up onto her hind legs, placing her massive forepaws on the man's shoulders, so that her face was a few centimeters from his. Hal saw a sheen of sweat break out across the man's brow as he strained back as far as he could from the dog.

“Speak,” Hal said to Kloof. He gave the order in Skandian so that the man didn't realize that that was all he'd told the dog to do.

Instantly, Kloof began baying. Her hackles rose around her neck so that she seemed twice as large as before. The barking was deafening and her huge teeth were only centimeters from the cringing man's face.

The effect was instant.

“Stop! Stop!” he cried, terrified by the proximity of the seemingly crazed animal. “Call off the dog!”

Hal let her bark a few more times. The prisoner had his face turned away from her as far as it would go and his eyes were screwed tight shut in terror. Finally, Hal signaled for Kloof to stop.

“Down, girl,” he said and she dropped back onto all fours. Quickly, he began shooting questions at the man before he could realize he was no longer in danger.

“Your name?” he snapped and the man answered, his voice shaking.

“Ushir,” he said.

“What is the Scorpion cult?” Hal demanded.

“We serve the goddess Imrika.”

“And who's she?” Hal maintained the pace of the questions, giving the man no time to think or relax.

“She is the goddess of death. The Scorpion goddess.”

“So the Scorpion cult is a band of assassins?” Hal asked, and the man shrugged.

“We serve the goddess Imrika,” he repeated. “If she tells us to kill, then we do.”

“And why did she tell you to kill the princess?” He gestured toward Cassandra. Like the others, she was standing, fascinated, as the answers poured out of the man.

The would-be assassin glanced at her and licked his lips. For a moment he said nothing and Hal looked down at Kloof, raising his hand to command her. Instantly, Ushir began talking again.

“No! No! Leave the dog, I beg you. There is a
tolfah
against the princess.”

Hal exchanged a quick glance with Crowley and Gilan. Both of them shrugged. He turned back to Ushir.

“What is a
tolfah
?”

The man hesitated, then looked at the dog again. Fortuitously, Kloof chose that moment to growl, and raised the hackles on her neck again.

“It is a compact with the goddess. Once it is in place, she demands the death of the object of the
tolfah,
” he said, the words almost tumbling over themselves.

“So how do we cancel this compact?” Duncan asked.

Ushir turned to face him, a small amount of his self-confidence returning. “You can't,” he said.

Then he closed his mouth and stared straight ahead, refusing to speak further. It was obvious that, dog or no dog, he had said as much as he was going to. Hal stepped back and the small group exchanged worried glances. Then Thorn broke the silence.