Erak_s ransom ra-7

by John Flanagan

  Alyss had stood beside her, waving with her as the five mounted figures cantered down the winding road that led away from Castle Redmont. Pauline glanced sidelong at her protegee and couldn't resist the tiniest vestige of a smile at Alyss's set face.

  'Why so glum?' she asked innocently. Alyss looked up at her, grimacing.

  'He's going off with her again,' the young girl said. No need for Pauline to ask who she might mean. Alyss and Will had been seeing a lot of each other in the past year, she knew. They had become very close. Now it obviously bothered Alyss that Will was setting out on a mission with Cassandra once more. Alyss knew that the Ranger's apprentice and the Princess shared a special relationship. She just wasn't sure how special it might be.

  'I've been trying to work out a reason for me to go along with them,' she added, a little disconsolately.

  'To keep an eye on your investment?'

  Alyss nodded. 'Exactly. I thought I could volunteer to go as a companion to her – and as a diplomatic adviser. I'm good at negotiations, you know.'

  'That's true.' Pauline considered the idea. 'In fact, it might have been worth suggesting. I would have supported the idea. Why didn't you?'

  Alyss looked away from her now, her eyes intent on the small group gradually dwindling from sight. At least, Pauline corrected, her eyes were intent on one member of the small group.

  'Two reasons. I decided Will and Halt and the others didn't need the responsibility of another female to look after. If I were there, it would mean that much less protection for Cassandra. And she is the Crown Princess, after all.'

  'And the other reason?' Pauline prompted her. Alyss grinned a little ruefully.

  'I thought I might succumb to the temptation of hitting her over the head with an oar,' she said. 'Which would not have been a good career move.'

  Pauline grinned in her turn. 'And she is the Crown Princess after all,' she parroted.

  The riders had disappeared into the fringes of the forest. Pauline slipped her arm inside Alyss's and led her away from the battlements where they had been standing.

  'Don't worry too much about it,' she said. 'Admittedly, there is a strong bond between Will and the Princess. That's inevitable, after all they've been through… ' Her tone of voice indicated that there was more to be said. It was Alyss's turn to prompt.

  'But?' she said.

  'But Will made a choice several years ago when he opted to remain a Ranger. He knows that a Ranger's life won't mix with life at court. A Princess and a Ranger just aren't a good match. And it would be twice as difficult when Cassandra eventually becomes Queen.'

  'Whereas,' said Alyss, 'there's a lot to be said for Rangers and Couriers marrying?'

  Lady Pauline allowed herself a slow smile. 'Oh, indeed. Of course, the Courier has to accept that the Ranger will often be called away on urgent missions.'

  'And he'd better accept that I'll have missions of my own,' said Alyss, abandoning the pretence of talking in the third person.

  Pauline patted her arm gently. 'That's my girl,' she said.

  ***

  'Why couldn't I go with the others?' Cassandra asked, for perhaps the twentieth time.

  She was in the rooms that had been set aside for her use at Redmont, hastily cramming clothes into her leather travelling valises. Duncan raised an eyebrow at her cavalier treatment of the fine silks and satins she was handling.

  'Perhaps you should let your staff attend to that,' he suggested, seeing that she would never get the lids closed on the jumble of gowns, cloaks, overdresses, petticoats and scarves that reared up out of the cases. Cassandra made an impatient gesture.

  'That's my point. They could have packed all this up. I could have ridden ahead with Will and Horace.'

  'And deprived me of a few last days in your company,' Duncan said gently and she instantly regretted her impatience. He was worried about sending her to Arrida, she knew. He had made no pretence that he wasn't. And she knew he would worry from the moment she left until the moment she returned, safe and sound.

  As she had the thought, she realised that she would miss his calm and confident presence while she was away. And his warmth. They might squabble from time to time but it didn't change the fact that they loved each other deeply.

  She stepped towards her father and put her arms gently around his neck, drawing him to her. 'Sorry, Dad,' she said softly. 'I'd like a few days with you, too.'

  'The others have to get the ship ready,' he reminded her. 'Riding back with me won't hold you up in the long run.'

  He patted her shoulder. He could feel a pressure building in his eyes as tears started to form. He would miss her. He would worry about her. But above all, he knew, he would be proud of her. Proud of her courage, her sense.of duty, her spirit.

  'You'll make a great Queen,' he said.

  ***

  Svengal lay groaning on the turf. His thighs were sheer agony. His buttocks ached. His calf muscles were on fire. Now, after he had tumbled off the small pony he was riding and thudded heavily to the turf on the point of his shoulder, the shoulder would hurt too. He concentrated on trying to find one part of his body that wasn't a giant source of pain and failed miserably. He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the face of the elderly pony that he had been riding as it peered down at him.

  Now what made you do a strange thing like that? the creature seemed to be asking.

  Gradually, as Svengal's focus widened, he became aware that other eyes were staring at him. Three Ranger horses, for a start, and above them, three Rangers, all with the same puzzled expression. Only Horace and his larger horse looked vaguely sympathetic.

  'You know, it beats me,' Halt said, 'how these people can balance on the deck of a ship that's going up and down and side to side three or four metres at a time. Yet put them on a placid old pony that's as gentle as a rocking horse and they're instantly trying to get off again.'

  'I wasn't trying to get off,' Svengal told him. He slowly rolled over and rose to his knees. His muscles shrieked in protest. 'Oh, by the Great Wallowing Blue Whale, why does everything hurt!' he said. Then he continued his original thought. 'That brute of a horse bucked me off.'

  'Bucked you off?' said Gilan, hiding a grin. 'Did anyone see Plod here do any bucking?'

  Will and Halt shook their heads. To his discredit, Halt was enjoying this just a little too much. During the Temujal invasion, he had been on board a wolfship sent to verify Slagor's treachery. Svengal had been one of the crew members most amused by the reaction of Halt's stomach to the motions of the sea. Halt had a long memory, Will had learnt, when it came to people who laughed at embarrassing moments like that.

  'He bucked, I tell you,' Svengal insisted, standing more or less upright and groaning again. He couldn't quite straighten at the waist. 'I felt a distinct movement.'

  'He turned to the left,' Gilan told him.

  'Suddenly,' Svengal insisted. The Rangers exchanged incredulous looks.

  'Plod never did anything suddenly in his life,' Halt said. 'At least, not in the past fifteen years of it.'

  'That's why we call him Plod,' Will put in helpfully. Svengal glared at him.

  'That's not what I call him,' he said venomously. Again, the three Rangers exchanged amused looks.

  'Well, yes, I'll admit we have heard some colourful language this morning,' Gilan said. He turned to Halt. 'Who is this Gorlag character, by the way? And does he really have horns and teeth and long shaggy hair?'

  'He's a very useful person,' Halt told him. 'You can invoke him by all of those different features. He's the very soul of variety. One never gets bored with Gorlag around.'

  Svengal during this breezy interchange was eyeing the battleaxe hanging from Plod's saddle bow. He wasn't sure if he'd rather use it on the pony, or on the three Rangers who were enjoying his predicament so thoroughly.

  Horace decided it had all gone far enough. He slipped from Kicker's saddle and caught Plod's trailing bridle, leading him towards the aching Skandian.

&nbs
p; 'You three don't have a lot of sympathy, do you?' he asked. The three Rangers exchanged glances again, at each other.

  'Not really,' Gilan agreed cheerfully. Horace dismissed them with a wave of his hand and turned to Svengal. 'Come on. I'll give you a boost.' He held out his hands, forming a stirrup to help Svengal into the saddle. The Skandian backed away, holding his aching back with one hand. 'I'll walk,' he said.

  'You can't walk all the way to Araluen,' Horace said reasonably. 'Now come on. The best thing you can do when you've had a fall is get back in the saddle again.' He looked at the three Rangers. 'Am I right?'

  Three cowled heads nodded. They looked like green and grey vultures, Horace thought.

  'Get on again?' Svengal asked. 'On that?'

  Horace nodded, encouragingly.

  'You're telling me that the best thing I can do, after this fiend from hell has lurched and spun and jumped and broken every second bone in my body, is to get back on and give him another chance at me?'

  'That's right. Come on. I'll boost you up.'

  Painfully, Svengal limped forward, raising his right foot and placing it in Horace's cupped hands. The next part, the sudden convulsive leap upwards, involving all his thoroughly abused major muscle groups, was going to hurt like the very devil, he knew. He looked into Horace's eyes. Honest. Encouraging. Free of guile.

  'And I thought you were my friend,' he said bitterly.

  Chapter 11

  'Loower away!' called Svengal. 'Slowly now! Easy does it! A little more… Olaf, take up the slack there! Bring him left! Hold it! A little more… that's it!'

  Tug, suspended by a large canvas sling that passed under his belly, showed the whites of his eyes as he soared high into the air, then swung out over empty space to be lowered gently into the last of the horse-holding pens that had been constructed in Wolfwind's midships.

  The wolfship appeared at first glance to be nothing more than a large open boat. But Will knew this was a false impression. The central decked section that ran between the rowing benches was actually comprised of three separate watertight compartments, which gave the ship buoyancy in the event that a wave swamped it. The large sealed compartments also served as storage space for the booty that the crew 'liberated' on their raids. Now one of these compartments was being used to accommodate the three Ranger horses and Horace's battlehorse, Kicker. The decking had been removed and four small pens had been constructed for the horses. The job had been carried out so quickly and efficiently that it was obvious the Skandians had done it all before.

  The pens were a tight fit but that would be all to the gpod if the ship struck bad weather. The horses would be less likely to slip and fall. In case of extreme conditions, Svengal and his men had prepared more canvas slings that would support the horses and prevent them from falling.

  Will slipped into the pen now with Tug and released the lifting sling that had been attached under his belly. He tied the little horse's halter to a ring in the front of the pen. Abelard, in the next pen, nickered a greeting. Tug looked nervously at his master.

  What was that in aid of? Horses aren't supposed to fly, he seemed to be saying. Will grinned, patted his nose and gave him half an apple.

  'Good boy,' he said. 'You won't be in here for long.'

  The crew were dismantling the shear legs they had assembled to lift the horses on board. The whole operation had gone smoothly. Kicker was the most highly strung of the horses so he had gone aboard first. It was felt that he might panic at the sight of his brothers sailing in the air, legs dangling. If he didn't know what was coming, Halt said, he was more likely to behave. As each horse was lowered into the shallow well in the deck, his rider was waiting with soothing words and reassurance. Will scratched Tug's ear once more and climbed out of the pen.

  'You've done this before,' he said to Svengal. Since Skandians didn't ride horses as a rule, there was only one explanation for it.

  Svengal grinned. 'Sometimes we come upon abandoned horses on the shore. It'd be cruel to leave them, so we take them on board until we can find them a good home.'

  'Abandoned?' Will said. Svengal was all wide-eyed innocence.

  'Well, nobody has ever asked for them back,' he said. Then he added, 'Besides, after what I've heard about Halt and the Temujai horses, I wouldn't make too big a fuss about it if I were you.'

  Many years ago, Halt had 'borrowed' some breeding stock from the Temujai herds. The present-day Ranger horses bore an unmistakable resemblance to those borrowed animals. Sad to say, Halt was yet to return them.

  'Fair point,' said Will. Then, glancing up at the dock, he said, 'Looks like we're almost ready to go.'

  Cassandra and her father were approaching down the dock, followed by a small retinue of friends and officials. Duncan had his arm around his daughter's shoulders. His face showed his lingering concern over the wisdom of this trip. Cassandra, on the other hand, looked eager and alert. She was already feeling the many constraints of life in the Castle slipping away. In place of the stylish gowns she was normally required to wear, she wore tights, knee-high boots, a woollen shirt and a thigh-length belted leather jerkin. She wore a dagger in her belt and carried a lightweight sabre in a scabbard. Her other baggage followed behind, carried by two servants. The time she had spent in Skandia had taught Cassandra the value of travelling light. She beamed a greeting as she caught sight of Will and Horace leaning on the rail of the ship. The two boys grinned back at her.

  Svengal, with surprising agility for a man of his bulk, stepped lightly onto the rail of the ship, jumped ashore and approached the royal pair. Out of deference to the King, he raised his knuckled hand to his brow to salute. Duncan acknowledged the gesture with a quick nod of the head.

  It has to be said that Skandians weren't big on protocol and the niceties of court speech. Svengal was a little at a loss as to how he should address the King. Skandians never called anyone 'sir', as that implied that the speaker was somehow inferior to the person he was addressing. Likewise, formal titles such as 'your majesty' or 'my lord' didn't sit comfortably with the egalitarian northerners. In their own society, they solved the problem by using the other person's title or position: skirl, jarl or Oberjarl. No Skandian ever called Erak 'sir' or 'my lord'. If they wanted to show respect, they addressed him by the word that described what he was – Oberjarl. If that was good enough for his own ruler, Svengal thought, it should be good enough for the Araluan King.

  'King,' he said, 'you have Skandia's gratitude for the help you're giving us.'

  Duncan nodded again. It didn't seem necessary to say anything in reply. Svengal looked now at the slim blonde girl at the King's side.

  'And I know how difficult it must be for you to send your daughter on a mission like this.'

  'I won't deny that I have misgivings, Captain,' Duncan replied this time. Svengal nodded rapidly.

  'Then I give you this oath. My helmsman's oath – you're familiar with the helmsman's oath, King?'

  'I know no Skandian will ever break it,' Duncan said.

  'That's true. Well, here's the oath, and it binds me and all my men. We will protect your daughter as if she were one of our own. So long as one of us is alive, no harm will be allowed to come to her.'

  There was a low growl of assent from the members of the crew, who had gathered at the ship's shoreward rail to watch proceedings. Duncan looked around their faces now. Scarred and weatherbeaten, framed by hair wrapped in untidy pigtails and surmounted by horned helmets. Duncan was a big man, but the Skandians were built on a massive scale. They were bulky, hard muscled and well armed. And the faces showed one more thing – determination to uphold their leader's oath. For the first time in the past three days, he felt a little better about the whole situation. These men would never desert his daughter. They would fight tooth and nail to defend and protect her.

  He raised his voice a little, so that his answer was aimed not just at Svengal, but at the entire crew.

  'Thank you, men of Wolfwind. I don't believe my daugh
ter could be in better hands.'

  The sincerity in his voice was obvious, and again there was a fierce growl of assent from the Skandians.

  'One thing, however. I think from this point, until you reach Al Shabah, it might be safer if Cassandra were to travel incognito. She has decided to resume the name most of you know her by – Evanlyn.'

  Will nudged Horace in the ribs. 'Thank goodness for that. I can never get used to calling her Cassandra. I get tongue-tied around her when I'm reminded she's a princess.'

  Horace grinned. It didn't bother him either way. But then, stationed at Araluen as he was, he was more used to seeing Cassandra on a day-to-day basis.

  Evanlyn, as she would now be known, hugged her father one more time. They had already gone through prolonged goodbyes in private. Then she glanced up at the pennant streaming from the masthead – her personal pennant depicting a stooping red hawk.

  'In which case, we'd better have that down for the time being,' she said.

  As one of the crew moved to the halyards to lower the flag, her father muttered to her, 'Make sure you get it back this time. I'm not sure I like the idea of a gang of freebooters sailing under your pennant.'

  She grinned and touched his cheek with her hand. 'You're right. It could be embarrassing at a later date.'

  She moved away from him and stepped lightly aboard the ship, taking Axel's hand to steady herself as she did so.

  'Thank you,' she said. He flushed and nodded, mumbling something indiscernible as she moved to the stern where her companions were waiting.

  'Anything else?' Svengal asked and Halt pointed to the east.

  'Let's get going,' he said.

  'Right! Up oars!' Svengal's voice rose into the familiar ear-shattering bellow that Skandian skirls used when giving orders. The rowing crew clattered into their benches, unstowing their oars and raising the three-metre long oak poles vertically into the air.