Erak_s ransom ra-7

by John Flanagan

  'That is suitable to us,' she said.

  Selethen smiled and drew himself to attention.

  'I will escort you,' he said. 'I will be back fifteen minutes before the tenth hour. Please be ready to leave at that time.'

  Evanlyn said nothing, looking away with a disinterested expression. Princesses didn't respond to orders, Will realised.

  'We will be ready,' Halt said. He and Selethen exchanged the graceful hand gesture of greeting and farewell once more and the Arridi backed away a few paces before turning to leave. Horace, watching, marvelled at the ease with which Halt fitted in to situations like this. He said as much to Will when the two of them returned to the room they were sharing, and he was a little surprised at his friend's gloomy response.

  'I know. He's amazing, isn't he?' Will said. 'He always knows exactly what to do and say.'

  Horace looked at him curiously, wondering at his less than enthusiastic manner. He had no idea that Will had been thinking exactly the same thing, and comparing himself to his master – a comparison that he found less than favourable. Once again Will was wondering how he would ever cope as a Ranger in his own right.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes before Selethen was due to return, Halt summoned Will and Gilan to his room.

  The two younger men entered curiously, wondering what their leader had in store for them. As it turned out, it was a pleasant and very welcome change to their equipment.

  'Leave your cloaks here,' Halt told them. They noticed he was not wearing his. 'They're designed for the Araluan climate, not Arrida. And there's not a lot of forest and greenery around these parts.'

  He was right, Will thought. The green and grey mottled cloaks were designed to blend into the background colours of their fertile homeland, not the dry, sunbaked vistas they found themselves in now. And the heavy wool cloaks were decidedly uncomfortable in the Arridi heat. Yet they were part of a Ranger's uniform and Will was reluctant to discard his.

  Halt was opening a pack he had brought from the ship. He withdrew a folded garment from it now, shook it out and passed it to Gilan.

  It was a cloak, a cowled Ranger's cloak, Will saw. But instead of the random green and grey colours they were used to, this one was unevenly mottled in varying shades of light brown. Furthermore, he realised, as Halt produced a second cloak and handed it to him, it was made of heavy-duty linen, not wool.

  'Summer issue,' Halt said. 'Cooler in the heat and a lot better if we have to blend into the background here.'

  Gilan had already swung his cloak around his shoulders. He looked at it, impressed. It was definitely more comfortable than the winter weight cloak he had laid across the back of a chair. Will donned his, examining the colouring at closer quarters. He liked the familiar feel of the cloak, the confidence that came with the ability to blend into the countryside and seem to disappear. That ability had become very much part of his life in recent years.

  'Where did you get these from?' he asked. Halt regarded him quizzically.

  'We have visited these parts before, you know,' he said. 'Crowley had the Castle Araluen quartermasters make some up the moment he heard we were coming here.'

  He waited while Gilan and Will moved the cloaks experimentally, eyeing each other and studying the unusual colours, seeing how they would blend into the landscape of rock and desert that surrounded Al Shabah.

  'All right, ladies,' he said, 'if you're finished the fashion show, let's go meet the Wakir.'

  Chapter 17

  Flanked by an escort of a dozen Arridi warriors, the small party followed Selethen as he led the way towards the centre of the town, where the khadif, official residence of the Wakir, was located.

  As they moved away from the harbour, and the cooling influence of the sea breeze, the temperature began to rise. It was a heavy, dry heat and the three Rangers were grateful that they had switched to their new cloaks.

  The Rangers, Horace and Evanlyn kept their eyes straight ahead, as befitted the dignity of a diplomatic mission. Svengal felt no such inhibitions. He looked around curiously, getting a feeling for the town. The approach to the town square was similar to the one he had taken some weeks earlier in Erak's company, even though they had been approaching from the opposite side of the town. The narrow street wound through the same featureless whitewashed buildings. The roofs were flat and from time to time he saw curious brown faces peering over the balustrades at the small party, no doubt attracted by the solid tramp of their escort's feet on the street.

  He studied the houses they passed. There were few windows, balconies or other openings looking onto the street. But now that he had seen the inside of the guest-'house, he realised that Arridi houses tended to look inwards, onto shaded central courtyards where the inhabitants relaxed.

  They arrived at the open space of the town square. As they passed out of the narrow street into the wide paved area, Svengal noted the wooden barricades hinged back against the walls on either side. Obviously they were a permanent installation. Pity he hadn't noticed them last time, he reflected, or realised their significance.

  Selethen led them across the square. The fountain that Svengal had noticed on his previous visit was now running and he could hear the musical splash of falling water.

  Funny how just the sound of running water made a man feel a little cooler somehow, he thought. He was about to share this insight with the others but, for the first time, he noticed their fixed, unwavering expressions and realised that it might not be the time for idle chitchat.

  They stepped up into the cool shade of the colonnaded grace. The massive brassbound doors were open this time and Selethen stood to one side, gesturing for them to precede him. His troops fanned out to either side of the door.

  Evanlyn led the way in, with Halt a pace behind her. Gilan, Will and Horace walked three abreast and Svengal hurried to catch up with them, falling in step with Horace.

  'Quite a place they've got.'

  The young warrior grinned at him.

  After the hard morning light outside, reflected from the multitude of white buildings, it was dim inside the building so that it took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust. But it was pleasantly cool as well, Svengal noted gratefully.

  They were alone in a vast room, obviously the Wakir's audience hall. Around three sides were other rooms and second-floor galleries, where the doors to yet more rooms were visible. But the central hall itself took up the entire two-storey height of the building. It extended upwards to a vaulted roof, where cleverly designed glazed openings and baffles allowed indirect light to enter the room, without paying the penalty of the heat that would come with direct sunlight.

  The walls were painted in the ubiquitous white, while the floor was tiled in elaborate mosaic patterns, with an overall light blue pattern. The coolness of the tiles underfoot seemed to radiate upwards, contributing to the sensation of coolness in the large room.

  The fourth side of the room, the one they were facing, was the site where the Wakir received delegations. There was a tall wooden chair, carved in intricate patterns and much decorated with gilt and red paint, standing in a central position, on a slightly raised dais. Several low benches, presumably for those seeking audience, were arranged to either side.

  Evanlyn stopped a few paces into the room, waiting for further developments. She looked straight ahead, knowing that it would be a mistake to turn to Halt for advice. That would show any unseen observer that she was unsure of herself, and not in command of this expedition. She knew that if Halt wanted to give her advice, he would do so in an unobtrusive way. For the moment, he was content to follow her lead. He stopped half a pace behind her and to her right. The others halted as well.

  Selethen stepped to her side and said quietly, 'The Wakir will be arriving in a few moments.'

  He gestured towards the raised dais. His intent was obvious. They were to move forward and await the Wakir's arrival.

  'When he does,' Evanlyn said in a clear, carrying voice, 'we shall join him.' />
  Will saw the slight movement of Halt's head as the Ranger nodded approvingly. There was a matter of protocol, and even more important, dignity, here. They had discussed the local system of rank and nobility on the ship. The Wakir was the local ruler, with authority over the province of Al Shabah, and answerable to the Emfikir, the national ruler. That made him the equivalent of a baron in Araluen. And since the Al Shabah province was an important one, this Wakir would be a senior baron, equivalent to someone like Arald.

  But Cassandra was a Crown Princess and far superior in rank to any local ruler. It would not be seemly for her to stand waiting while the Wakir took his time arriving. Of course, as the head of a delegation, she had to show some deference to his position. She could not, for example, insist that he come to her at the guesthouse.

  Stopping here, just inside the entrance to the audience hall, was a compromise that served both her dignity and that of the Wakir. Halt glanced at the Arridi captain as he registered her statement. He thought he saw a small light of approval there as well. It occurred to him that perhaps Evanlyn's sense of self-worth and confidence was being tested – and this would probably not be the last time it happened.

  'I shall inform his Excellence,' said Selethen. This time, Halt was sure he saw the slightest trace of a smile on the dark face before the tall warrior moved away.

  He disappeared into one of the many side doors. There would likely be galleries and hallways running the length of the building, Halt thought, as well as offices and rooms for the Wakir's staff.

  Now that they were alone, he felt it was an opportune moment to let Evanlyn know that she had acted correctly.

  'Well done,' he said in a low voice. She didn't turn to look at him but from the three-quarter viewpoint he had, he saw her cheekbones move and knew that she had allowed a faint smile to touch her face.

  'Wasn't sure what to do,' she murmured back to him.

  'Trust your instincts,' he told her. She knew more about these situations than she realised, he thought. She'd spent years at Duncan's side and she was quick-witted and intelligent. 'When in doubt,' he added, 'be pompous.'

  'Don't make me laugh, Halt,' she said out of the corner of her mouth. 'I'm as nervous as a cat here.'

  'You're doing fine,' he said. As he said it, a door opened at the far end of the room, on the left-hand side, and half a dozen men emerged, led by a man who could only be the Wakir.

  He was a disappointing figure, Will thought. So far, he only had experience of Selethen and his soldiers. They were tall and lean and had the look of trained fighting men about them. The Wakir looked like a clerk – a hilfmann, he thought, remembering his despised antagonist at the Skandian court.

  The Wakir was a good head shorter than any of the others in his entourage. A head-and-a-half if compared to Selethen, who, as a mere captain of the guard, had brought up the rear. The Wakir was also a little overweight – no, Will corrected, he was fat – a fact that could not be concealed by the flowing robes he wore. And the face beneath the oversized turban seemed to have been formed from soft clay, moulded hastily to form features, with a squashed lump of a nose set in the middle. He looked around uncertainly, saw the Araluan delegation, scratched his backside and took his seat on the carved, decorated chair. He had to sit well forward to make sure that his short legs actually touched the ground. Had he sat back, they would have swung, childlike, some five centimetres from the polished wood floorboards of the platform. 'A giant, isn't he?' Horace muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

  'Shut up,' Halt replied, in the same fashion.

  'Children, children,' Evanlyn said quietly in mock admonishment. Will regarded her with admiration. She stood straight-backed and confident. She was handling all with great skill and aplomb, he thought, as if she were born to it. Then he shrugged mentally. She had been born to it. For a moment, he had another flash of his own inadequacy. Then, as Evanlyn stepped out towards the dais, he hurried to fall in step with the others.

  Their boots rang on the tiled floor, echoing off the bare walls as they proceeded down the large room. Evanlyn stopped just short of the dais, waiting to be announced.

  Selethen stepped forward, between her and the Wakir.

  'Your Excellence, may I present the delegation of Princess Cassandra of the Kingdom of Araluen. Princess, may I present his Excellence Aman Sh'ubdel, Wakir and overlord of the province of Al Shabah.'

  Evanlyn inclined her head deeply. She'd been told by Lord Anthony that strict protocol required a woman to curtsey in this sort of situation. But she'd told him that she'd be damned if she did.

  'Excellence,' she said, holding the bow for several seconds, then looking up.

  The Wakir gestured for her to approach and as she stepped towards the low dais he said, 'Please be seated, my lady.'

  Evanlyn froze in mid-step. A small frown crossed her face.

  'I am Crown Princess of Araluen, Excellence. As such, I am addressed as "your highness". Or, if that isn't acceptable to your own dignity, "Princess Cassandra" would be suitable.'

  Good girl, thought Halt, although his face remained inscrutable as ever.

  The Wakir seemed a little flustered by her reaction. He glanced to one side and for a moment, Evanlyn had the distinct impression that he was looking to Selethen for guidance. She had an urge to look at the captain as well but she knew she must keep her gaze fixed on the Wakir.

  'Of course, of course! A slip of the tongue. Apologies, Princess… your highness,' he said, waving a hand to dismiss his unintentional gaffe. 'Please, please, sit with me.'

  For a moment, Evanlyn fought an overwhelming urge to giggle as she wondered what he'd do if she took him literally and hopped up to sit on his knee on the massive carved chair. She struggled to keep a straight face, realising that the urge was a reaction to her nervousness. Her hesitation served her well, however, as the Wakir took it as a further sign of her displeasure. He rose from his chair. Will had to hide a smile as he saw how awkward this movement was. The short-legged Arridi ruler had to skid his behind forward to the edge of the seat, then virtually drop to the floor.

  Having been shorter than most of those around him all his life, Will enjoyed seeing someone else struggling with the problem.

  'Sit, your highness, please!' he repeated and Evanlyn nodded her consent, moved to a richly upholstered bench that Selethen placed before her and sat gracefully. The Wakir nodded. He climbed back aboard his seat, wriggling his backside again to get into position, cast another sideways glance, then licked his lips nervously. Evanlyn thought she might as well take charge of matters.

  'We've come to discuss the ransom of our friend Erak, Oberjarl of Skandia,' she said. Her voice was high and clear. 'We understand you have set a sum for this?'

  'We have,' the Wakir replied. 'The sum required is… ' Again he hesitated and again there was that sideways shift of the eyes. Evanlyn frowned. The man seemed very unsure of himself, she thought. Then he continued. 'Eighty thousand reels of silver.' There was a renewed tone of confidence in his voice now that he spoke the figure, as if it had just been confirmed for him.

  Evanlyn shook her head. 'Too high,' she said firmly. The Wakir jerked back in his seat in surprise.

  'Too high?' he repeated and Evanlyn nodded. She was conscious of Anthony's briefing on this matter. They'll expect you to bargain, he had said. It's a virtual insult if you don't.

  'We're offering fifty thousand,' Evanlyn told him calmly. The Wakir's hands flew about his head in an agitated fashion.

  'Fifty thousand? But that's… ' He hesitated and Evanlyn finished for him.

  'Our offer.'

  The Wakir's hand played with his chin, tugging at the loose flesh below it. His eyes took on a crafty look.

  'All very well to offer such a low price, your highness. But how do I know you are capable of paying even that much? How do I know you are authorised?'

  'You have my seal,' Evanlyn said simply. She had seen the seal box that she had returned to Selethen the previous day. It
was sitting on a side table beside the Wakir's chair. He looked at it now, picked it up and opened the hinged top.,

  'Aaah, yes. Your seal,' he said, studying it.

  'It identifies me as the Princess Cassandra of Araluen,' Evanlyn replied and Halt, listening intently, detected the slightest note of suspicion in her voice.

  Again the Wakir fingered his chin.

  'So you say. But this seal, of course, could belong to… ' He looked around the room, waved his hand indefinitely and finished, '… anybody.'

  Evanlyn sat back on her bench for a few seconds, her mind racing. She' knew that countries kept a register of official seals and she knew that Arrida was on the list of countries with which Araluen had exchanged such information. Before she had left Araluen, Duncan and Anthony had assured her that in the last exchange, some six months prior, her seal had been included with Duncan's as a matter of course. The Wakir should know that. If he didn't, it could mean only one thing…

  Abruptly, she rose from her chair and turned to her five waiting companions.

  'Let's go,' she said crisply.

  She didn't hesitate, but strode decisively through them. They hurried to follow in her wake, her boot heels loud on the tiled floor. Behind them, there was a buzz of activity on the dais. Will glanced back and saw the Wakir had come to his feet again, and was gesturing uncertainly towards Selethen. The captain stepped forward now and called after her.

  'Princess Cassandra! Please wait!'

  Evanlyn stopped and turned deliberately.

  'Wait?' she asked and he moved towards her, hands stretched out in an imploring gesture. 'Why should I wait to be insulted any further? You've had me dealing with an impostor. I'll wait in the guesthouse, but only as long as the real Wakir doesn't make himself known by next tide, then, we're leaving.'

  Selethen hesitated, then his shoulders relaxed and he smiled ruefully.

  'My apologies, your highness.' He turned to the tubby little figure on the dais. 'Thank you, Aman. You did your best.'