ERAK'S RANSOM

by John Flanagan

  Horace scanned the shield wall, eyes slitted in concentration, looking for the first weak spot where the Tualaghi might break through. To the left front, an Arridi trooper slipped and was cut down by one of the Tualaghi, who instantly moved into the gap in the line, hacking wildly to left and right, widening the breach so that two of his comrades forced their way in and the line began to bulge inwards.

  Horace drew in breath and turned to the four troopers with him. Before he could act, however, there was a bull-like roar from beside him and Svengal went forward at the run, the huge axe whirring in a circle above his head. Realising he'd only get in the Skandian's way if he joined him, Horace relaxed and gestured for the four men to stand fast as well.

  Svengal hit the Tualaghi who had broken through like a battering ram. He smashed into them with his shield, and in spite of the pressure of the men behind them urging them forward, hurled them back, off balance and staggering. Then he began dropping them left and right with sweeping blows of his axe before they could recover.

  Almost as soon as it had appeared, the breach in the wall was restored and the line closed up. Svengal returned to the point where Horace was waiting.

  'Let me know any time you need a hand,' the young warrior said mildly. Svengal glared at him. There was a dangerous light in his eyes.

  'Unlikely,' he said shortly. Then he was off again as the Tualaghi threatened to break through in another spot, slamming into them with shield and axe, forcing them back, trampling over one who had fallen under his charge. But this time, Horace had no time to watch. He was needed at another trouble spot and he led his four men in a wedge formation, running to the point where a group of Tualaghi had forced their way inside the wall. As Horace approached, one of them went down with an arrow in his chest. Then Horace and his men were on them, forcing them back.

  There was no time for fancy swordsmanship. It was shove and cut and cut again and parry with the shield and hit and hit and hit! Horace's amazing dexterity stood him in good stead as he rained blows down on the Tualaghi with bewildering speed and force, forcing them back in growing panic.

  It was a panic that spread through the attackers and they began to stream away from the shield wall — first in ones and twos, then in larger groups. They retrieved their horses, mounted and fled up the slope, pursued by triumphant jeers and catcalls from the defenders.

  Gilan raised his bow and looked a question at Halt, who shook his head.

  'Save your arrows,' he said. 'We'll need them later.'

  'Can't say I like the idea of shooting men in the back,' Gilan agreed. He replaced the arrow in his quiver.

  Selethen was approaching them. His white outer tunic was ripped and stained with blood and dirt. He was cleaning his sword blade as he came.

  'That hurt them,' he said. 'You shot well,' he added, nodding in acknowledgement to the two Rangers. Their rapid-fire archery had disconcerted the attacking troops, he knew.

  'I doubt they'll try another frontal attack,' Halt said and the Wakir nodded agreement. He gestured to the rim of the hill, where a group of three horsemen were watching, raining abuse on the retreating troops as they rode past them. At one stage, the tallest of the three leaned over in his saddle and struck at a retreating soldier with his riding whip.

  'Unless I miss my guess, that's Yusal Makali up there. He's one of their more capable war leaders. He's cunning and cruel and he's no idiot. He's just seen what a frontal assault will cost him. Now we'll have to see what he tries next.'

  'It's cost us as well,' Gilan said quietly, nodding to where the Arridi troops were tending to their wounded. There were too many of them for comfort. The Tualaghi may have lost men in the attack, but at least ten Arridi soldiers lay dead or wounded.

  Svengal and Horace had moved to join them. Both were cleaning their weapons, as Selethen had done. Svengal's face was still red with battle rage, his eyes still wild in his head.

  'What are they waiting for?' he said, his voice louder than the occasion demanded. 'Why don't they get on with it?'

  Halt eyed him with concern. 'Calm down, Svengal,' he warned. He could see that the Skandian, frustrated by weeks of inaction, was close to the berserk rage that could strike a Skandian in the heat of battle. 'Odds are they won't attack again. You cost them too many casualties. Good work, too, Horace,' he added as an aside. He had seen the young man's devastating counterattack. Horace nodded. His sword was clean now and he resheathed it.

  'What do you think they'll do next, Halt?' he asked.

  Before he answered, the Ranger squinted up at the sun, now almost directly overhead and hammering down on them.

  'I think they'll wait for heat and thirst to do their work for them,' he said. 'That's what I'd do in their place.'

  He was right. The rest of the day passed with no further attack from the Tualaghi. Instead, the Araluans and their Arridi comrades sweltered under the blasting heat of the sun.

  Their water supplies were low. Expecting to reach the Khor-Abash Wells sometime that day, Selethen had relaxed his normally strict water discipline. Now he estimated that with strict rationing, they had water for two more days.

  The Tualaghi, of course, could send riders for all the water they needed. All they had to do was keep watch over the little camp in the middle of the depression. Wary of the accuracy shown by the two bowmen among the enemy, they kept below the ridge. But from time to time they could be seen briefly as the watch changed and sentries were relieved. Halt had no doubt that their low black tents were pitched just beyond the ridge.

  As darkness fell, Selethen drew his men in, shortening the perimeter so that half his force could sleep. At least, that was the idea. An hour after nightfall, the quick, darting attacks began.

  There were never more than a dozen Tualaghi involved. But they would rise shrieking from the desert, having crept within stone's throw of the camp. Then they would dash in on the shield wall, killing a man here, losing one of their own there, then withdrawing, carrying their wounded with them. They were nuisance attacks, pure and simple. But they kept the entire Arridi camp alert and watchful throughout the night, preventing them from resting.

  Even though the attacks were feints, each one had to be countered as Halt and the others never knew when a genuine attack in force might come.

  The result was a nervous, sleepless night for the Arridi troops, punctuated by brief moments of violence and sudden terror.

  In the light of dawn, Halt turned bleary, red-rimmed eyes to the ridge line. He could see occasional movement there but nothing that presented him with a worthwhile target. The Arridi had lost four men killed in the first mass attack, and another two succumbed to their wounds overnight. There were several more wounded and most of these needed water — which was now in short supply. Selethen reluctantly told his medical orderlies to reduce the amount of water the wounded were receiving. It was a hard decision. Water was just about the only comfort they had out in the desert.

  He was visiting the wounded when Halt called to him. A white flag was waving over the crest of the ridge.

  'They want to parley,' Halt said.

  ***

  The tall rider Selethen had identified as Yusal Makali rode down the slope, accompanied by a rider carrying the white flag. Selethen, with Halt carrying a similar flag, stepped through the line of Arridi warriors and walked to meet them.

  'Yusal knows I'll respect the flag of truce. Yet he'd ignore it in a moment if it suited him,' Selethen said bitterly. 'I wish I could ask you to simply shoot him as he rides in.'

  Halt shrugged. 'We could do it, of course, but that wouldn't solve the problem that we're trapped and outnumbered. And we might not get another chance to negotiate.'

  They stopped half a dozen metres from the two mounted men. Yusal swung down from the saddle and advanced to meet them.

  He was taller than the average Arridi or Tualaghi, Halt saw, standing a good head above Halt himself and some centimetres taller than Selethen. He wore white, flowing robes and a kheffiyeh. Wh
ite was a sensible colour in the searing desert heat. But whereas Selethen's robes were all white, Yusal's were trimmed in dark blue. And while the Arridi would wind the ends of the headdress around his face for protection, the Tualaghi left his flowing free. But the lower half of his face was hidden behind a dark blue, mask-like veil. Halt had heard the Arridi refer to their enemies as 'the Veiled Ones, Forgotten of God'. Now he understood the reference.

  Yusal's skin, what could be seen of it above the mask, was dark brown — burnt by years of desert sun and wind. Although the mask covered his lower face, it was obvious that the nose was prominent and curved, like a bird of prey's beak. His eyes were deep-set and hooded, under heavy brows and thick eyebrows. They were deep brown, almost black. They were the only feature Halt could make out yet he knew he would recognise Yusal again if he saw him without the veil. The eyes were cold, black and pitiless. There was no trace of mercy or warmth in them. They were a killer's eyes.

  'So, Wakir Seley el'then,' Yusal said, 'why are you following me?'

  The voice was muffled slightly by the veil. But it was harsh and unfriendly, like the eyes. So much for pleasantries, Halt thought.

  Selethen was equally to the point. 'You killed twenty of my men. And you have a prisoner with you. We want him.'

  Yusal shrugged. The movement was a contemptuous one. 'Come and take him then,' he challenged. There was a moment of silence. Then he added, 'You're in a bad position, Seley el'then. You're surrounded. You're outnumbered and your water's running short.'

  The last. statement was a guess, of course. Yusal had no idea how little water they had and Selethen wasn't about to inform him.

  'We have plenty of water,' he said evenly and again, Yusal shrugged. Selethen's statements meant little to him.

  'If you say so. The fact is, you will run out eventually, while I can send for all the water I need. I can afford to wait while thirst and heat starts to kill your men. You can't.'

  He glanced back up the slope that surrounded them on all sides.

  'You can attack us if you like. But it's uphill and we outnumber you four to one. There's only one way such an attack will end.'

  'We might surprise you,' Halt said and the dark, hooded eyes swung to him, studying him, boring into him. Halt realised the unwavering stare and the silence that accompanied it were intended to unnerve him. He raised one eyebrow in a bored fashion.

  'You're one of the archers, aren't you?' Yusal said. 'But in spite of your marksmanship, once the battle gets to close quarters, numbers will tell.'.

  'You requested this parley, Yasal,' Selethen said. 'Was it merely to tell us how hopeless our position is? Or did you have something worthwhile to say?' He allowed the same tone of contempt that the Tualaghi had used to creep into his words.

  Yusal looked back at him.

  'Surrender,' he said simply and Selethen responded with a short bark of laughter.

  'And have you kill us out of hand?' he asked.

  The Tualaghi leader shook his head. 'You're worth money to me, Selethen. I can ask a large ransom for you. I'd be mad to kill you. And I'm sure there are people who will pay for the foreigners with you as well. I've kept the other Skandian alive for that very reason. Why would I do differently with you?'

  Selethen hesitated. The Tualaghi were motivated by greed above all else and he was inclined to believe Yusal. As he thought about it, the Tualaghi leader voiced the alternative.

  'Or stay here and die of thirst. It's only a matter of time. When you're weaker, we'll have no problem walking in and taking the weapons from your hands. And if you make me wait, I might not be so charitable.'

  He turned away, as if disinterested, no matter which course Selethen might choose. The Wakir took Halt's sleeve and led him a few paces away.

  'This concerns your people as well. What do you say?' he asked in a low voice. Halt looked at the tall figure standing a few metres away, his back to them.

  'Do you believe him?' he asked and Selethen nodded, a fractional movement of his head.

  'A Tualaghi will do anything for money,' he said. 'At least this way we'll have a chance. As he says, if we wait, we'll grow progressively weaker until we have to give in anyway.'

  Halt considered the situation. He and Gilan might break through the Tualaghi lines under cover of darkness. But even that wasn't certain. Expert though they might be at unseen movement, the ground was virtually devoid of cover. And scores of eyes would be on watch. And if they did succeed in getting past the Tualaghi, then what? They'd be on foot, with the nearest help many kilometres away. By the time they reached Mararoc to bring help, Selethen and his men would be dead. Evanlyn, Horace and Svengal too. If they surrendered now, they'd all be in reasonable condition and an opportunity might arise to escape or turn the tables on their captors. Better now than later when they were weakened and half mad from thirst.

  'Very well,' he said. 'Let's discuss terms.'

  * * *

  Chapter 35

  * * *

  Will was checking the straps and ties that attached his equipment to Tug's saddle when he heard footsteps crunching the sand behind him. He turned to see Umar approaching, a worried look on his face.

  'There's something you ought to know before you leave,' he said.

  It was four days after the race — a race that was already set to become part of the Bedullin verbal history. In that time, Will and Tug had been feted by the tribe, and fussed over nonstop by Cielema. The cheerful, grinning foreigner and his amazing barrel-bodied horse had become popular figures in the camp. Hassan and Will had become good friends too — the young man bore no grudge for being defeated in the race and losing his claim to Tug. The Bedullin were inveterate gamblers, as Will had noticed, but they accepted their losses without complaint.

  The friendship was helped along by the fact that Umar, delighted with the outcome of the race, had presented Hassan with a horse from his own herd — a blood relative of Sandstorm. Hassan was overjoyed and had volunteered to guide Will on his way to Mararoc.

  The mystery of the faltering Northseeker had finally been solved. Asked how he had planned to navigate the trackless desert, Will had shown them the Northseeker and explained the secret of its magnetic properties. To demonstrate, he had brought the blade of his saxe knife close to the needle and showed how it wavered away from the earth's magnetic field. It took only seconds for Umar to see the connection.

  'You rode through the Red Hills?' he said and Will confirmed the fact. 'But they're almost pure iron — huge deposits of iron. Surely that would serve to make your instrument unreliable.'

  As Will realised the truth of the statement, he felt a small sense of relief. In the back of his mind, he had still harboured a vague suspicion that Selethen had given him a false map. On top of that, he felt an unreasonable guilt that he had somehow failed Halt's belief in him. Now that he could see a reason for the mistake — and realised that he couldn't have foreseen it — he could lay those fears to rest.

  While he had been preparing Tug for their departure, a rider had come in from the desert — dusty and dishevelled, riding a tired horse. He had reported straight away to Umar's tent. Will had watched with no particular interest. Doubtless it was some business of concern only to the Bedullin. Now, however, he wasn't so sure.

  He followed Umar to the wide-spread, low tent that he occupied with Cielema. Stooping, he entered and made the required lips-brow-lips greeting gesture. In the past few days, he had become familiar with it.

  The tent was floored with a thick carpet, with soft cushions scattered across it. He selected one and sat cross-legged on it in the tribe's fashion. A Bedullin he hadn't seen before was sitting on another, eating and drinking eagerly as Cielema plied him with fruit and water. He looked up at Will, then glanced curiously at Umar.

  'This is Jamil, one of our scouts,' Umar explained and the Bedullin nodded in greeting. He was in his thirties, Will estimated, although it was hard to tell with the Bedullin men, whose skin was usually brown and heavily lined
by the sun.

  'This is the foreigner I told you about. His name is Will.'

  Again Will made the greeting gesture. It seemed appropriate, he thought. Jamil seemed a little surprised that a foreigner should have a grasp of Bedullin etiquette and he responded hastily. Will glanced at Umar, a question on his face. The Aseikh gestured to Jamil to proceed.

  'Tell Will what you have told us.'

  Jamil finished eating an orange, licked the last of the juice off his fingers, and wiped his mouth with a cloth.

  'You were travelling with a group of Arridi soldiers?' he said. It was as much a statement as a question. Will nodded confirmation, his brow furrowing. He sensed, from the man's serious manner, that something had gone wrong.

  'That's right,' he said.

  'And there were other foreigners as well ... two of them dressed as you are.' He indicated the mottled brown cloak Will was wearing. Again, Will nodded. The Bedullin scout shook his head in displeasure at the fact and Will's premonition of impending bad news deepened.

  'What's happened to them?' he asked. The Bedullin looked at him a moment, then, thankfully, came straight to the point without any useless attempts to soften the news.

  'They've been captured by the Tualaghi,' he said.

  Will looked quickly at Umar. 'The Tualaghi?' he queried.

  The Aseikh's expression was one of intense distaste.

  'Brigands. Bandits. The Forgotten of God. They're nomads like us but they prey on other travellers and undefended villages. They encircled your friends and captured them. Now they're taking them towards the northern massif, along with Wakir Seley el'then and his surviving men. There was a skirmish,' he added in explanation and Will felt a stab of fear.