Instead, he turned to his cohort and said in an approving tone, 'Nice control, Svengal. The man's got good wrists. I'd like to see him with a battleaxe in his hands.'
Svengal frowned, not totally agreeing.
'I'd like to see him with a battleaxe in his head, chief,' he said and they both guffawed again, totally at ease, totally unafraid.
Now Hassaun sensed a growing impatience and puzzlement in the crowd. The chanting of his name had died down as they showed their respect for the courage of these foreigners. Arrida was a hard land and violent death was a daily occurrence. The Arridi and Tualaghi both admired those who could face it with such aplomb. It was vital, Hassaun knew, that he regain the mob's respect. He paced along the line of captives, looking for the weak link.
And saw the girl.
She wouldn't be able to withstand the threat of the huge sword, he reasoned. He could reduce her to a weeping tearful shadow of herself within seconds. And then, he sensed, the other captives would have to lose their disinterested, nonchalant attitude to him as they tried to comfort her.
He let the rage build up in him like water behind a dam. The he released it with a lingering scream of hate as he leapt for the girl, sword raised. Then the blade was sweeping and cutting across her, beside her, above her head, thudding down into the planking by her feet so that the floor of the platform shook with the force of his blows. He cut the air about her, the sword never more than a few millimetres from her. It was a terrifying, terrible display of rage and strength.
The girl didn't move.
Evanlyn stood stock still, knowing she must not move, must not cringe or flinch or blink while the terrifying weapon hissed past, barely a hair's breadth from her face and body. Any one of those blows would cut her in half, she realised. Yet she forced herself to show no fear. Her heart thudded and her pulse raced with it but she hid it deep inside her. She wondered vaguely how Horace had stood up to such an ordeal without fear and then it dawned on her. He hadn't. But he had controlled the fear because that was his way of having revenge on the posturing, leaping, stupid man now in front of her.
And she determined she would have the same revenge. Logic told her that this display of Hassaun's was all for show. They had stated several times that Halt would be the first to die. Therefore all this slashing and cutting was simply to frighten her. At the same time, she realised, the slightest mistake on Hassaun's part would be fatal. If rage or frustration threw him off balance so that he missed a stroke by as little as half a centimetre, she would be dead.
But she stood, eyes open but deliberately unfocused as the razor-sharp blade, nearly a metre and a half long, hissed and whooshed around her face and neck and body.
And finally, it was Hassaun who was defeated. He stepped back, lowering the sword. His body gleamed with perspiration. His eyes above the mask showed his utter bewilderment. And the crowd was silent.
Then one voice, from somewhere in the middle, called out.
'Release her!'
And another joined in, and another. Until a growing section of the crowd were echoing the sentiment. Mostly they were Arridi. But Yusal's eyes narrowed in rage as he saw several of his own men raising their hands and calling for Evanlyn's release.
Furious, he stepped forward, drawing his own sword to emphasise his words.
'That's enough!' he shouted. 'Enough!'
The cries for Evanlyn's release died away as Yusal's bleak eyes swept the crowd. Behind him, Halt realised that this was a moment of maximum danger for Evanlyn.
Yusal might well choose to make a swift end of her here and now to still the chance of any further protest on her behalf. He would have to take the focus away from her and concentrate Yusal's anger on himself. Forcing a tone of utter boredom and disdain into his voice, he stepped forward, calling loudly to the Tualaghi leader:
'Yusal, this is getting very boring. Can we get on with it, please?'
Yusal rounded on him, Evanlyn forgotten. This was the man his soldiers hated, he knew. This was the way to recover control of the situation. Nobody would call for Halt's release. He pointed his sword now at the grey-bearded, shaggy-haired figure.
'Kill him!' he ordered Hassaun. 'Kill him now!'
Two of his men dragged Halt to the edge of the platform while a third brought the execution block forward. This was a tapered timber block about a metre high, designed so that a kneeling victim could be forced to lean their upper body against the tapered, sloping edge, thus providing resistance to the blow from the executioner's sword. He placed it in position while Halt was forced to his knees by the other two. They shoved him hard up against the block, looping his bound arms over it to hold him in position. Halt glanced round, saw Gilan's horrified expression. He smiled grimly.
'Will's taking his time,' he said. 'I'll give him a piece of my mind over this.'
'Silence!' screamed Yusal, his voice breaking into a higher pitch with the vehemence of his cry. 'Force him round!' he added in a more controlled voice to one of his men. The Tualaghi grabbed Halt's head in both his hands and turned it so that he was facing forward.
Halt found himself scanning the faces before him — faces in the crowd. They were silent now and unmoving. But there was no pity evident there — just the morbid fascination of those looking into the eyes of a man who is about to die. Then he stopped at one face that seemed vaguely familiar. The man met his gaze and nodded slowly. Halt racked his brain and realised he had seen the man before — he had been one of the Arridi troopers turned loose by Yusal to die in the desert. He was sure of it!
There was a vast collective sigh from the crowd as Hassaun stepped forward, advanced his right foot and took the huge sword up and back, high over his right shoulder.
There was a pause. Then Halt heard a hiss as something passed through the air at great speed. It was vaguely familiar, he thought. In a strangely detached way, he decided it must be the sound of the sword flashing down to end his life.
He'd often wondered how it would happen and what it would feel like. In less than a second, he thought, he'd know.
* * *
Chapter 45
* * *
Suspicion turned to certainty in the eyes of Talish, the Tualaghi thief, as he glanced up and saw Will hanging from the watchtower framework, his longbow and quiver slung over one shoulder.
The Tualaghi didn't recognise the young man but he recognised the weapons. He had seen bows like that before, when he and his friends had charged the Arridi camp site.
'He's one of the foreigners!' he yelled, drawing his sword. 'Get him!'
His two henchmen moved forward with him, their own swords ringing clear of their scabbards. Aloom stepped clear of the wall, discarding his cloak and drawing his own weapon to bar their way.
'Keep going, Will!' he called. 'I'll take care of them!'
But there were three of them, all seasoned fighters, and they crowded upon him, swords flashing, rising and failing as they attacked. Aloom gave ground stubbornly before them but he was fighting a losing battle. He set his back to the stones of the wall and desperately parried the storm of blows that rained upon him. Inevitably, one of the swords broke through his defence and he was cut badly on the upper part of his sword arm. Then another stroke slashed across his thigh and he stumbled, recovering just in time to avoid a horizontal slash at his throat.
Hanging awkwardly above him, there was no way Will could unsling his bow in time to help. Even if he could have done so, he couldn't have shot, hanging by his arms. Yet he could see his friend would be dead within a few seconds. Aloom's parries were growing clumsy and awkward now and he was cut again, this time across the forehead so that blood ran into his eyes, half blinding him.
From the square, Will heard the crowd's chanting grow louder and louder, faster and faster.
Hassaun! Hassaun! Hassaun! Hassaun!
The cry came from hundreds of throats and rolled across the town like thunder, waking echoes in the gullies and mountains around them.
Wil
l hesitated for a second. Aloom would die if he didn't help him. But the chanting of the crowd told him that events in the square were building to a climax. Halt needed him ...
But Aloom was here and now, and fighting desperately to save him. There was no question about what he should do. Measuring the distance, he released his grip and let himself drop to the uneven battle below him.
He landed feet first on the shoulders of the Tualaghi leader. The man gave a cry of shock and pain and crumpled beneath the force of Will's body dropping on him from four metres above. Will heard the snap of bones breaking somewhere, then a sickening thud as the bandit's head slammed into the hard, rocky ground. Will rolled forward to cushion the shock of landing, although the greater part of the force of his fall had been broken by the Tualaghi's body.
He leapt to his feet as the other two bandits turned on him. Shocked by his unexpected action, they hesitated a second — and that was a second too long. Will stepped into them, closing the distance between him and them so that he was inside the reach of the nearest man's sword.
Always move forward if you have the option.
Halt had drummed the lesson into his brain hundreds of times. A man going forward has the momentum to control a battle. Now Will acted spontaneously, stepping forward. The saxe knife hissed out of its scabbard as he drew and lunged in one smooth, continuous movement, taking the closest man in the centre of the body.
The Tualaghi gave a short cry, half surprise, half pain, and sank back against the wall, his sword dropping from his hand and clanging against the stones.
From the square, Will heard a deafening cheer, then the ringing cry came again as the crowd chanted Hassaun's name. Then there was a sudden silence. He didn't like the sound of that. Time was getting short and there was still one Tualaghi to take care of.
As Will had dropped from the tower onto the shoulder of the first bandit, Aloom had sunk gratefully back against the wall, trying to staunch the flow of blood from multiple sword cuts to his arm, leg and body. He watched as the young Ranger took care of two of his opponents in a matter of seconds, saw the third Tualaghi was within reach now and tried to lend a hand.
Coming to his knees, he slashed at the bandit, but his stroke was weak and poorly co-ordinated. The Tualaghi saw it coming and parried it easily, sending Aloom's sword spinning away out of his grip. Then he raised his own sword to finish off the Arridi. He was an experienced fighter and he judged he had time for one quick killing stroke before he must turn and face the foreigner.
Will threw the saxe underhand, following through to the target automatically, in a movement that had been drilled into him, over and over again, in the past five years.
The Tualaghi, arm raised for the killing stroke, was totally defenceless as the saxe knife flashed across the distance separating him from Will. He felt a heavy impact in his side, an impact that staggered him.
Then a huge pain flamed up around the point of impact and he wondered what it ...
Then nothing.
Will started towards Aloom. Then he stopped. From the square, voices were calling again. Initially, they were single voices but then more and more joined together. He frowned, managing to make out the words.
Release her! Release her!
He realised it must be about Evanlyn and for a moment felt a surge of hope. They were going to release his friends. Then Yusal's hard, uncompromising tones cut across the voices of the crowd.
That's enough! Enough!'
The crowd fell silent. Aloom, face screwed up in pain, gestured weakly for Will to climb back up to the watchtower.
'Go! Go! Hurry! There's no time!'
He coughed and scarlet blood stained the front of his robe. But he continued to point to the watchtower and Will realised he was right. He could tend to Aloom later but now, he had to rescue his friends and signal Umar to bring the rest of his men to the attack.
Heedless of the rotting wood that groaned and splintered beneath his movements, he scrambled up the tower. Whereas before he had moved slowly and carefully, this time he moved at lightning speed, reasoning that the less time he put his weight on a hand or a foothold, the less chance there would be that it might collapse beneath him. Several beams, in fact, splintered and shattered after he had stepped clear of them and on to the next. The pieces clattered to the ground below.
'Kill him now!' He heard Yusal's shouted order and he knew, somehow, that he was talking about Halt.
Then he was on the relatively solid footing of the tower platform. He shrugged the bow off his shoulder into his left hand. His right hand automatically sought an arrow from the quiver, had it nocked on the bowstring before he was even aware of performing the action.
From his vantage point he could see across the low, flat-roofed houses of this section of the town to the square. Beyond the milling heads of several hundred spectators, Halt was being dragged forward and forced to kneel beside the executioner's block. His companions stood in a line behind him. Yusal stood to one side, a grim figure with his dark robes and veiled face. On the other side was a monster. A giant Tualaghi, bare to the waist, head and face covered. Hugely muscled, gleaming with oil, holding an immense sword in two hands.
The executioner. Hassaun, Will realised.
He saw Halt kneel, then turn and say something to Gilan, saw Yusal gesture and two men step forward to twist Halt's face back to face the front.
The executioner stepped forward. The sword began to go up over his head.
Will drew the arrow back until the tip of his right forefinger touched the corner of his mouth. His mind and senses analysed the shooting situation in fractions of a second. Range? A little over a hundred and twenty metres. The arrow tip raised slightly in his sighting picture. Wind? Nothing to worry about.
The executioner was almost at full stretch now, measuring his stroke before the sword started down. Will knew this shot had to be right. There would be no time for a second attempt. He shrugged away the confidence-sapping uncertainty that followed the thought.
Worry that you might miss a shot and you almost certainly will, Halt had taught him.
He heard the long sigh of expectation from the crowd, emptied his mind of worry and uncertainty and allowed the bow string to slide free of his fingers, almost of its own volition, sending the arrow on its way.
* * *
Chapter 46
* * *
Gilan watched helplessly as the massive sword rose higher and higher in Hassaun's two-handed grip. The young Ranger's face was twisted in a grimace of impotent horror. He watched his friend and teacher about to die, torn by a combination of grief and the thought that he was unable to do anything to prevent it. He tried to cry out Halt's name but the word choked in his throat and he felt tears running freely down his cheeks.
The sword rose higher still. Any moment, he knew, it would begin its downward, cleaving path.
But then, Inexplicably, it continued to rise, going past the vertical, past the point where the executioner should have begun his killing stroke.
There was a sudden chorus of surprise from several points in the crowd. Gilan frowned. What was Hassaun doing?
The sword continued up and over as the executioner, arms fully extended above his head, slowly toppled backwards, to fall with a plank-shuddering crash on his back. Only then did those on the platform see what had been visible to the crowd in the square: the grey-shafted arrow buried deep in the executioner's chest. The huge sword fell free as Hassaun hit the planks, stone dead.
'It's Will!' Gilan yelled, scanning the crowd feverishly to see where his friend was concealed.
Kneeling by the block, Halt lowered his head, closed his eyes and whispered a prayer of thanks.
Around them, pandemonium erupted. Yusal watched, amazed, as his executioner fell dead before him. Then he saw the arrow and knew instinctively where the next shot would be aimed. Sword still in hand, he hesitated a second, tempted to finish off the kneeling figure. But he knew he had no time. He turned to his right to e
scape.
The second arrow was already on its way before the first struck Hassaun down. The moment he released the first shot, Will knew, with the instincts of a master marksman, that it was good. In less time than it takes to say it, he nocked, drew, sighted on the black-robed figure of Yusal and released.
It was the turn to the right that saved Yusal's life. The arrow had been aimed at his heart. Instead, it took him in the muscle of his upper left arm as he turned away. He screamed in pain and fury, dropping his sword as he clutched at the wound with his right hand. Stumbling, he lurched towards the rear of the platform to escape, doubled over in pain, holding his bleeding left arm.
Will, high on his vantage point, saw the movement and realised he had missed. But he had other priorities for the moment. Yusal was out of the picture but there were still armed Tualaghi all over the platform, threatening his friends. His hands moved in a blur of action as he nocked, drew, shot, nocked, drew, shot, until half a dozen arrows were arcing over the square, and the guards began dropping with shrieks of agony and terror.
Four of them went down, dead or wounded, before the others regained their wits. Faced with the prospect of staying on the platform, exposed to the deadly shooting of the unseen archer, they chose to escape, leaping from the platform into the square below.
Already, a series of individual battles had begun as the infiltrating pairs of Bedullin and Arridi troopers threw off their cloaks, drew their weapons and struck out at the nearest Tualaghi warriors. The square was soon a seething, struggling mass of clashing warriors. The townspeople of Maashava attempted to escape from the killing ground, but many of them were wounded as the Tualaghi, fighting for their lives, not knowing where the sudden attack had come from, simply struck out blindly around them.
On the platform, a few guards remained. But not for long. Erak and Svengal combined to pick one bodily off the ground and heaved him into three of his comrades. The four bodies crashed over and rolled off the edge of the platform into the struggling mob below. Gilan, meanwhile, had seized Yusal's fallen sabre and was cutting through Evanlyn's bonds with its razor-sharp edge.
ERAK'S RANSOM Page 31
