Scorpion Mountain

by John Flanagan

  “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

  There 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.

  “Well, that could be awkward,” he said.

  chapter fourteen

  I’ve sent a message by pigeon relay to Selethen,” Duncan said. “I’ve asked him to find out more about this Scorpion cult.
He’ll be watching for you when you pass through the Narrows of Ikbar. Stay close to the Arridan coast and he’ll signal you.”

  They were gathered on the jetty where Heron was moored, with the crew already on board. Hal and Thorn remained on the jetty with the King, Cassandra, Crowley and Gilan. They had learned nothing more from the assassin. Once he had time to think, Ushir apparently realized that if Duncan were reluctant to torture him, he was unlikely to allow the huge dog to savage him, so he had clammed up.

  “This tolfah thing is a nasty business,” Gilan said. “I never like it when religion gets mixed up with killing.”

  Crowley nodded agreement. “It’s always difficult dealing with fanatics. You may have to destroy the cult itself.”

  Gilan shrugged. “Easier said than done.”

  “See if you can buy them off first,” Duncan said. “Offer a donation to this Imrika. Build her a shrine or a temple or something.”

  “I’ll try. But I don’t think it’ll be that simple,” Gilan said.

  Duncan nodded gloomily. “Neither do I. But try it anyway. And if you need to use force, ask Selethen for men. I’m sure he’s not happy about this murderous cult operating within his borders.”

  Thorn tossed a small twig onto the surface of the river and watched as it circled aimlessly in the water beside the ship, drifting neither up nor downstream.

  “Slack water,” he said. “Tide’ll be running out soon.”

  Hal nodded to him. “Time we were going,” he announced. He shook hands with Duncan, Crowley and Cassandra.

  “Wish I was coming with you,” Cassandra said.

  “Me too,” Hal lied. He had no wish to have a high-ranking passenger on board. That sort of thing blurred the lines of command.

  In fact, the previous night, Cassandra had argued in vain with her father over the fact that she wanted to accompany the expedition. But this time, Duncan would not be persuaded. He had let her have her own way over the hunting expedition and it nearly cost her life. He flatly refused to let her sail with the Herons.

  “Some people get to have all the fun,” Cassandra said reluctantly. “Travel safely, Lydia.”