This time, Gilan chose not to avoid or deflect the blow. He blocked it with his own sword, the two blades ringing together like a hammer blow on an anvil, the sound of their contact striking echoes from the stone walls. Only Stig, watching closely with an expert warrior’s eye, noticed how the Ranger’s blade, in the last millisecond before contact, didn’t simply remain static. Gilan’s wrist launched it in its own counter movement towards the Shurmel’s sword – travelling barely five centimetres, but building its own momentum to help counteract the power behind the Shurmel’s blow. Then, at the last moment, the Ranger’s grip tightened and created an unbreakable barrier.
A drawn-out cry of Aaaaah! came from the watching assassins as the Shurmel struck. It died away in a cry of anguish as his blow was stopped by an iron hard defence.
Stig whistled softly in admiration. It was an object lesson in technique and co-ordination, a simple movement that would have taken months or even years to perfect until it became instinctive.
‘I thought these people could only shoot,’ he said to Hal.
The skirl shook his head. ‘Apparently not,’ he replied. ‘They’re full of surprises, aren’t they?’
For the first time, Gilan went on the attack. He flicked his own sword up and over, striking at the Shurmel between the shoulder and the neck. The huge man staggered back clumsily, only just managing to avoid the stroke. Then, before he could recover, Gilan’s sword drove forward inside the other man’s reach, darting like a snake for his midsection. Again, only a frantic, last-minute leap backwards saved the Shurmel’s life. The Shurmel’s massive sword gave him an advantage in reach, but now that Gilan was inside that reach, its size and weight became a drawback, making it clumsy and slow to wield.
Watching his opponent’s eyes, Gilan saw the first signs of doubt and fear. The Scorpion leader had expected a fast victory. He had planned to demolish his opponent with a few easy, devastating blows. But his best attacks had been met and countered, with almost contemptuous ease. The Shurmel had never faced a master swordsman before. Now, he realised, he was doing so for the first time.
Still concentrating on the big man’s eyes, Gilan saw a light of cunning emerge behind the doubt. The Shurmel was planning something, he realised, and he waited to see what it might be. Any moment now, he thought, seeing the resolve harden in the Shurmel’s expression.
The moment came. With a blinding flurry, the Shurmel described a bewildering pattern of movement with his hands, then, suddenly, he switched the massive sword to his left hand, instantly swinging it in a horizontal stroke from the new direction.
Gilan had been unaware what stratagem the Shurmel might attempt. But he knew from the man’s eyes and face that he was planning something unexpected, so he was prepared. His sword blade hammered into the Shurmel’s weapon, stopping it dead and leaving a deep notch in the long blade.
Again, those watching gave a great exhalation of despair. They had seen the Shurmel’s rapid pattern of deception, saw the sword appear in his other hand and expected an instant killing stroke. But the stranger had calmly blocked the left-handed blow.
And now they watched as Gilan began to rain blows down on the Shurmel, who managed to block and parry desperately as he moved back away from his attacker. The blows came with lightning speed and from every direction, one flowing into the other as Gilan, reasoning that the Shurmel would be even less skilful with the left hand than he was with the right, forced him back across the cavern. The blows rang and re-echoed in a constant clash of steel on steel, the sound never seeming to stop, the strikes and the echoes blending into one long, continuous, blood-chilling sound of ringing steel.
And then the Ranger paused momentarily, as if tiring, and the Shurmel seized the brief respite to return his sword to his more capable right hand. As he flicked the sword from left to right, he realised, too late, that the Ranger had drawn a long, heavy-bladed knife from his left hip with his left hand.
Gilan stepped forward and slammed the saxe into the Shurmel’s unprotected ribs, driving the weapon in to the hilt.
The Shurmel’s eyes mirrored shock, then disbelief, then pain, in quick succession. Then his knees gave way under him and his eyes went completely blank as he collapsed to the stone floor.
And lay there, still as the grave.
Once again, a cry of anguish and disbelief was torn from the throats of those watching. Gilan stepped quickly away from the massive form sprawled on the cavern floor. He re-sheathed both his weapons with quick, smooth movements and retrieved his bow and quiver from Hal’s hands.
‘Weapons, boys,’ he said softly, and the two Skandians complied, Hal drawing his own sword and Stig flicking his battleaxe from its belt loop.
The Scorpions were stunned for some moments. Then an angry muttering began. Gilan nocked an arrow to his bow, but left the weapon undrawn for the moment.
‘Kill them!’ a voice roared from the congregation. ‘Kill them now!’
Gilan eyes swept the room and lit upon the speaker. He was a scar-faced man in the second row. The Ranger had been wondering who would try to take control of the Scorpion cult. In a group like this, there was always someone who aspired to the leadership. He reasoned that it would be the first man to speak. And here he was.
Several of the scarlet-robed assassins began to move forward. But they moved uncertainly, faced by the triple threat of the axe, sword and longbow. None of them was armed with anything larger than a stiletto.
‘Stay where you are!’ Gilan ordered.
The men who had begun to move forward halted, in some awe of the stranger who had just defeated their mighty Shurmel. Now Gilan brought his bow up and drew the arrow back, aiming directly at the scar-faced man who had spoken.
‘Try to take us,’ he said in a quieter tone, ‘and I estimate that at least a dozen of you will die before you do. Is there any glory in dying that way? It won’t be for a tolfah. Your Shurmel chose to die for that, and the choice was his.’ Then he made direct eye contact with Taluf, the scar-faced man. ‘And I promise you that the first one to die will be you,’ he added.
He saw the sudden fear in the man’s eyes, replaced by a look of animal cunning, and sensed he had guessed correctly. This was the man who would seek to take the leadership position.
‘On the other hand, this is your opportunity to take over the leadership here. To become the new Shurmel. All you have to do is order the others to stand aside while we leave.’
Now a new light came into the man’s eyes: calculation and ambition.
‘Your choice,’ Gilan said, driving home his advantage. ‘Let us go and you live. And you become Shurmel. Or you can order your men to stop us and you can die immediately.’
Calculation and ambition vied with uncertainty and hatred. Taluf studied Gilan’s calm face and saw no sign of hesitation there. He knew that if the Scorpions made a move towards the three men, he would die immediately. At this close range, the archer couldn’t possibly miss.
On the other hand, this stranger had created the opportunity for him to claim the Shurmel’s position. He had defeated the Shurmel in a fair challenge to end the tolfah.
It could be argued, and Taluf would argue this in the hours to come, that it had been Imrika’s will for the Shurmel to die. And when that course of action occurred to him, he made his decision. He held up a hand to the other Scorpions. Their eyes were all riveted on him now.
‘Let them pass,’ he said. ‘Imrika has shown us her will and your new Shurmel orders it.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
WORKING QUICKLY, AND with one eye on the oasis, the crew cleared the camp site of their personal possessions and loaded them back aboard the Heron. The ship was moored with her prow dug into the sand of the beach. A long stern line connected her to an anchor set in the bay offshore.
When the camp site was cleared of bedrolls, spare weapons and foodstuffs, Thorn gave the order for Jesper to untie the beach mooring line while Ingvar and Wulf hauled in on the stern hawser, dragging the li
ttle ship back into deeper water. When he was satisfied that there was sufficient distance between the ship and the beach, Thorn gestured for Ingvar and Wulf to tie off the line. The onshore wind held the ship in position, so that her bow remained facing the shore. Thorn checked her position and grunted with satisfaction.
‘We’ll have to reattach the line to the bow when the wind veers at sunset,’ he said. ‘I want to keep the bow facing the beach.’
‘Why?’ Jesper asked. ‘We’re safe enough here, no matter which way we’re facing.’
Thorn regarded him patiently. ‘If the bow is pointing at the beach, so is the Mangler,’ he said, and understanding dawned in Jesper’s eyes.
‘Oh. Of course,’ he said. ‘I should have realised that.’
‘Perhaps if you ever actually thought for a second or two before you spoke, you might occasionally realise the obvious,’ Thorn said.
Lydia had remained for’ard, her eyes sweeping the oasis for any sign of their former attackers. But the Ishti were staying well under cover. They had seen the effect of her atlatl darts and, having no idea as to the actual range of the weapon, deemed it prudent not to expose themselves to further attacks. From time to time, she glimpsed a brief sign of movement within the trees. She had no doubt that the enemy was watching them, waiting for a chance to make another move.
She’d been surveying the trees for over an hour, slumped comfortably in a patch of shade against the mast. Her constant focus was eventually rewarded.
She heard a faint thud of hoof beats on the sand – a large number of hoof beats. And, rising above the trees of the oasis, she saw a drifting cloud of dust. Putting the two facts together, she called to Thorn.
‘Reinforcements! There are more horsemen in the oasis now.’
The shabby old warrior had been napping in the rowing well, out of the sun. He wished Hal hadn’t needed the canvas awning they used as a sun shelter on board the ship while she was at anchor, but it was the only material Hal could use as a sail for the land sailer. He rose now, buckling his belt and moving forward.
Not for the first time, Lydia wondered how such a bulky man could move so quietly when he chose to. He dropped to one knee beside her and she pointed at the oasis. The cloud of dust was dissipating now but it was still evident.
‘They just rode in,’ she explained. ‘You can see the dust cloud they raised and I could hear their hoof beats.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Thorn thoughtfully, tugging at the shaggy edge of his beard. ‘Any idea how many?’
She hesitated. ‘Quite a few,’ she said eventually. ‘More than a dozen, less than a hundred. But I’m only guessing there,’ she added.
Thorn pursed his lips thoughtfully. He had great respect for her tracking and observation skills. ‘Your guesses are usually pretty good,’ he said idly and, once again, she looked at him in some surprise. It always took her unawares when Thorn praised her. ‘Wonder what they’re up to?’ he asked.
The question was a rhetorical one, but Lydia answered none the less. ‘Want me to go take a look?’ she asked. She pointed to a spit of rocks that jutted out from the beach about fifty metres to the south of the abandoned camp site. ‘I could swim to those rocks, then use them as cover to get to the oasis. Once I’m inside the treeline, there’s plenty of cover I could use.’
Thorn hesitated. All his instincts said it was a good idea. A commander needed all the information he could get in a situation like this – particularly when his forces were outnumbered. On the other hand, he’d be sending Lydia into considerable danger if he agreed to her suggestion, and he was loath to do that. He was genuinely fond of the girl.
Lydia, of course, misinterpreted the reason for his hesitation.
‘I can do it, you know!’ she said with some heat. ‘Even if I am just a girl.’
Absently, he patted her wrist with his left hand as he strained his eyes towards the oasis, trying to pierce the dense screen of trees that hid the enemy from sight.
‘I know you can. And better than anyone else, with the possible exception of Jesper.’ Jesper, of course, was a former thief and was highly skilled in the art of moving without being seen. At one stage, Thorn had heard someone say Jesper could slip between two raindrops and use them as cover.
‘Well then?’ Lydia said, a little mollified by his admission – although she didn’t believe Jesper could do the job any better than she.
‘It’s . . . dangerous,’ Thorn said eventually. ‘We don’t know where they are. We don’t know how many of them there are. And we don’t know what they’re up to.’
Lydia rolled her eyes at him when he said the word ‘dangerous’.
‘All good reasons why I should go and take a look,’ she said. ‘As for dangerous, would that affect your thinking if Jesper volunteered to take a look?’
‘Jesper hasn’t volunteered,’ Thorn pointed out.
She sniffed disdainfully. ‘And you could grow old and grey waiting for him to do so.’
Thorn smiled to himself, deciding not to point out that he was already old and grey. ‘True. But in Jesper’s case, the fact that it’s dangerous might influence me to send him.’
She smiled in return, then the smile faded and she held up a hand for silence. From the oasis, they could hear a sudden noise – like metal striking wood.
‘Are they hammering something?’ Thorn asked.
Lydia didn’t answer for a second or two. Then she pointed to where one of the tall bamboo trees was visible above the other trees. As they watched, it slid sideways and fell from their sight.
‘They’re chopping,’ she said. ‘They’re chopping down trees.’
Thorn nodded slowly. She was right. That was what they were doing. The next question was, why were they doing it?
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Go take a look. But for pity’s sake be careful. I don’t want to have to tell Hal that I’ve let you get yourself taken prisoner.’
She laughed derisively. ‘You won’t be letting me be taken,’ she said. ‘And I certainly have no plans to do it myself.’
She unbuckled her belt and shrugged off her heavy, waist-length jerkin. Then she kicked her sealskin boots off as well, leaving herself barefoot and wearing only her light linen shirt and trousers.
‘Go in over the stern,’ Thorn told her, ‘on the side away from the beach. Then swim underwater as far as you can. That way, if they’re watching the ship, they may not see you go.’ She nodded, unclipping her atlatl from the belt, then redonning it, so that her long, razor-sharp dirk hung by her side.
The other crew members became aware of her preparations. Ingvar approached her.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, and she smiled at him.
‘I’m going to see what the enemy are up to.’
Ingvar began to shed his own outer jacket. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said immediately.
Lydia laughed out loud, laying a hand on his arm to stop him.
‘Ingvar, I love you dearly,’ she said. ‘But you’re simply not built for sneaking around and staying unnoticed. You’re a very noticeable person.’
He stopped, his face a mask of concern. ‘But if anything happens to you. If they catch you –’
She cut him off. ‘I don’t plan on letting anyone catch me,’ she said. ‘But if anyone does, I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re here to come and fetch me.’
He paused, and looked steadily at her. ‘Count on it,’ he said.
She patted his arm again, then turned towards the stern bulwark.
‘Now give me a hand over the side,’ she said.
Ranulf bin Shellah, the leader of the squad of fifty, crouched inside the treeline of the oasis and studied the enemy ship, sitting serenely on its own inverted reflection, fifty metres offshore. It might as well be fifty leagues, he thought bitterly.
He had sent fifteen men ahead to observe and make sure the foreigners didn’t escape. Now the leader of those fifteen was gone – dragged by his horse out into the desert and probably dead. Two oth
er men were dead and three were badly wounded.
He had been told of their failed attack on the camp site, and the unexpected barrier of thorns that had prevented their breaking through the defences. Now, the ship floated defiantly, just out of his reach. Occasionally, he could see men moving on the deck, but for the most part there was no sign of life aboard her. He cursed the impulsive leader of his advance party, who had given away the advantage of surprise and made the enemy aware of their presence. At least, he thought, they would have no idea that the advance party had been reinforced. That could work to his advantage.
If only he could think of a way to reach that insolent vessel floating offshore.
He rolled onto his back, looking up into the trees, seeking inspiration. Then it came to him and he crawled back away from the edge of the treeline, into the main section of the oasis itself. He beckoned to his second in command and, when the man came to him, he pointed to the bamboo grove.
‘Cut down trees,’ he said. ‘A lot of trees.’
His subordinate touched his mouth, forehead and mouth in the strangely graceful gesture of greeting or acquiescence.
‘Yes, Captain,’ he said. ‘And what shall we do with these trees?’
‘We’re going to use them to attack the foreign ship,’ Ranulf told him.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
SLOWLY, KEEPING HIS bow half drawn and levelled at the group of red-clad men, Gilan began to move sideways towards the exit.
‘Weapons ready, lads,’ he said in a quiet voice, and Hal and Stig moved in concert with him, axe and sword raised and levelled at the men watching them. Hal stumbled on something and, glancing down, saw that it was the Shurmel’s staff. On an impulse, he stooped and picked it up, holding it behind him and masking it with his body to keep the action as unobtrusive as he could. All eyes in the room were on Gilan and there was no sign that anyone had noticed what he had done.
The assassins moved a pace forward as the three interlopers reached the entrance. Gilan drew the arrow back a few centimetres and sought the eye of the man he had picked as the heir apparent to the Shurmel. He raised an eyebrow in warning.
Brotherband: Scorpion Mountain Page 30
