Erak's Ransom

Chapter 38

The northern massif loomed over them, row after row of cliffs and hills climbing eventually to a plain high above. The open desert had given way to a narrow road, running between rocky outcrops and cliffs and angling upwards through the first foothills. At an elevation a hundred and fifty metres above the desert floor, there was a level section cut by nature into the sheer walls of the cliffs, cutting back to run in a rough north – south alignment. The town of Maashava stood there.

The town was a market centre for the Arridi farmers who lived and worked in the foothills and the plains below the massif. Its normal population was around five hundred, but it grew to eight or nine hundred in market weeks, when herdsmen and farmers came in from outlying areas and neighbouring hill villages to trade their goods.

It was a perfect temporary base for the Tualaghi warriors – large enough to provide accommodation for them and forage for their animals, and well stocked with foodstuffs brought into the market and stored in the town's warehouses.

The buildings were the usual white-painted mud-brick houses, mostly single-storey structures with flat roofs where the occupants could enjoy the cool air at the end of the day and, on occasion, sleep during the hottest nights. But there were also many dwellings cut into the face of the cliffs themselves – their entrances weathered and worn by the years, indicating that they were ancient. For the most part, these were used as storehouses for the food and other goods traded in the town. But some were dwellings and, as the prisoners filed into the town behind their guards, Halt saw several where the signs of human occupation were obvious: women, burdened with jars containing the family's water supply, climbed access ladders to the higher entrances, and the smoke of cookfires issued from carefully cut smoke holes in the face of the rock. On some, washed garments had been hung on long, slender poles and pushed out into the hot air to dry, the clothes fluttering like pennants in the slight breeze that moved through the canyons.

The three-day march to Maashava hadn't been a pleasant one. They had been led on long ropes tied to the saddles of their guards, forced to jog awkwardly in order to keep up. If anyone fell – and inevitably they did, since they were kept off balance by having their hands tied together in front of them – he was immediately surrounded by riders jabbing with lance points or striking down at them with the butts of their spears.

After a few kilometres, Halt noticed that the riders of the horses they were tied to were expert at sudden, unexpected changes of pace or direction, calculated to throw the prisoners off balance so that they would fall.

Evanlyn was the exception. As Selethen had predicted, the Tualaghi saw her as an investment to be protected and she suffered none of this brutality. She was even given a small horse to ride, although her hands remained bound and the horse was led by a Tualaghi warrior, constantly on the alert for any sign that she might try to escape.

The two Rangers fared the worst. They were foreigners and so regarded with contempt by the Tualaghi. Worse, their uncanny accuracy during the brief attack had made them hated men. Most of the Tualaghi had at least one friend who had suffered at the wrong end of a Ranger arrow and the two longbows carried by Halt and Gilan marked them out as the culprits.

Both men were bruised and battered by the time they reached Maashava. Halt's left cheek was a massive bruise and the eye was nearly closed, courtesy of a Tualaghi fist. Gilan had bled profusely from a head wound inflicted by a small club. The crusted blood matted his hair and face.

It seemed that the presence of the two Rangers diverted the Tualaghi's attention from their original victim – Erak. He and Svengal were generally left alone, aside from the almost casual beating with spear butts when they slipped and fell. Selethen also fared better than the others. Yusal knew his value as a hostage, whereas the Araluans were an unknown quantity in that area..

Horace, fit, athletic and light on his feet, gave their guards the fewest opportunities to beat him, although on one occasion an angry Tualaghi, furious that Horace misunderstood an order to kneel, slashed his dagger across the young man's face, opening a thin, shallow cut on his right cheek. The wound was superficial but as Evanlyn treated it that evening, Horace shamelessly pretended that it was more painful than it really was. He enjoyed the touch of her ministering hands. Halt and Gilan, bruised and weary, watched as she washed the wound and gently patted it dry. Horace did a wonderful job of pretending to bear great pain with stoic bravery. Halt shook his head in disgust.

'What a faker,' he said to Gilan. The younger Ranger nodded.

'Yes. He's really making a meal of it, isn't he?' He paused, then added a little ruefully, 'Wish I'd thought of it first.'

Halt's one good eye glared round at him. Muttering under his breath, the grey-haired Ranger shuffled away a few paces, disgusted now with his former pupil.

'Young men!' he snorted to Erak. 'They think a pretty face can cure every ill.'

'Some of us can remember back that far, Halt,' Erak told him with a grin. 'I suppose that's all far behind an old hack like you. Svengal told me you were settling down. Some plump, motherly widow seizing her last chance with a broken-down old greybeard, is she?'

Erak, of course, had been told by Svengal that Halt had recently married a great beauty. But he enjoyed getting a reaction from the smaller man. Halt's one-eyed stare locked onto the Oberjarl.

'When we get back, I'd advise you not to refer to Pauline as a "plump, motherly widow" in her hearing. She's very good with the dagger she carries and you need your ears to keep that ridiculous helmet of yours in place.'

Now the joking was stilled as they stumbled into Maashava at the end of an exhausting day's march. The Arridi townspeople looked at the new arrivals with dull, uninterested eyes. They had no sympathy for the prisoners. The Tualaghi's invasion of their town would leave them penniless and hungry. It would take several seasons to replace the food and other provisions that the invaders were helping themselves to.

The town was in shadow, as the sun was now hidden behind the high cliffs. They were led through the main square, where the market was held, to one of the warehouse caves at the rear of the town. The long lead ropes were removed and their hands were untied.

'Looks like we've arrived at wherever we're going,' Horace said.

A Tualaghi cursed him and told him to hold his foreign tongue.

The prisoners were shoved unceremoniously into the empty warehouse and a guard was mounted outside the entrance. A few minutes later, food, water and blankets were brought to the captives. Then the outer door was slammed shut and locked and they were left alone.

'So what happens now?' Gilan wondered aloud.

He didn't have to wonder long. Less than an hour later, they heard the rattle of a key in the lock and the door swung open. It was now full dark outside and the interior was lit by the single candle. In the doorway, they could Just make out a dim, bulky figure. Then he shoved through the narrow door, having to turn sideways to do so, and strode into the centre of the large room they were in. A half dozen armed Tualaghi followed him, fingering the hilts of their curved swords, looking around the room, alert for any sign of rebellion from the prisoners. Finally, Yusal entered as well. But none of the prisoners had eyes for him. They were all watching the heavily built, bearded Skandian who had led the way into their cell.

'Toshak!' Svengal said. Angrily, he started to rise from the sand floor of the cave. Immediately, three of the Tualaghi drew their swords and the familiar, warning shriiinnng noise rang through the cave. Erak's hand shot out and gripped Svengal's forearm, forcing him back down.

'Sit easy, Svengal,' he said. 'Can't you see he wants an excuse to kill you?'

'Very astute, Erak,' the renegade replied. His voice was surprisingly smooth and well modulated for a Skandian. Most were seamen and used to having to bellow above storm and wind. Toshak gestured to the guards and the swords were returned to their scabbards.

Yusal, his lower face still shrouded by the blue veil, watched the interplay between the two big men, his head moving from one to the other, his dark eyes unblinking.

Like a hawk, Halt thought. Then he amended the concept. Or a vulture.

'So, Toshak, you're finally showing your face. I thought you'd turn out to be the cowardly traitor behind all this.' Erak's voice was even and controlled. But he couldn't match the smoothness of his enemy's delivery.

Toshak smiled. 'As I say, Oberjarl, very astute. But of course, anyone can be clever in hindsight. It's a pity you didn't show such keen perception a little earlier. You might have avoided my trap. You hardly gain any credit for saying "I knew it was you all along" when I walk into the room, do you?'

'Whether I knew or not, the fact remains, you're a traitor. And you deserve to die.'

'Well, yes. But of course, one man's traitor is another man's patriot, as they say. And I'm afraid any dying is going to be done by you.'

'Which means you'll lose the ransom money,' Halt interrupted. He looked at the Tualaghi leader. 'How does your comrade in arms feel about that? Do you want to give up sixty thousand reels of silver, Yusal?'

The Tualaghi stepped forward, his eyes blazing with anger. He measured himself against the Ranger, and glared down at the shorter man. His finger jabbed Halt in the chest, emphasising his words.

'You do not call me Yusal!' he snapped. 'You address me as Aseikh Yusal or as Excellence. Do you understand me, you insolent foreigner?'

Halt cocked his head to one side, considering the question, even though it had been rhetorical. 'What I understand,' he said, 'is that there is very little about you that is excellent and that Aseikh is a term of honour. There's nothing honourable in a man who hides his face behind a blue woman's hanky.'

The fury flared more brightly in Yusal's eyes. Halt was watching them carefully. He always watched an enemy's eyes and, in Yusal's case, they were the only feature visible.

As Yusal swung his fist backhanded at him, Halt was ready. He swayed slightly to his right and the blow passed by harmlessly. Yusal, expecting to meet resistance, staggered with the follow-through. Burning with fury, he stepped closer to Halt to strike at him again. Toshak raised his hand to stop him.

'Wait!' he said. He peered more closely at Halt, studying the swollen, bruised face. 'You're the Ranger, aren't you? Halt. That's your name! I remember hearing about you now. You made trouble in Skandia three years ago and now you're here. You just get in the way on every continent, don't you? And I suppose that's the other one who was in Skandia with you?'

He gestured to Gilan. Truth be told, Toshak had never seen either Ranger. He simply knew that Halt's assistant had been a younger man.

'Actually… ' Gilan began. But Halt cut him off.

'That's right,' he said quickly. Gilan looked at him, a little surprised. But he said nothing further. Toshak turned to Yusal now.

'These are the archers? The ones who killed so many?' he said.

The Tualaghi nodded. 'My men wanted to kill them. But they might be worth a ransom.'

Toshak shook his head. 'Nobody will pay to have them back,' he said. 'Rangers are troublemakers. And they're dangerous. Best they're killed as soon as possible.'

'I can ransom them!' Evanlyn said in the deathly silence that fell over the room. 'I'm a… diplomat. I'm close to the King of Araluen. I can arrange to have a large ransom paid for these men.'

Toshak eyed her curiously. He hadn't actually been present in Hallasholm during the war with the Temujai.

But he had heard tales of what had taken place: wild stories about a girl who had been with the Rangers – a high-ranking Araluan girl. It could be this one, he thought. Then he shrugged; her identity was immaterial. What was important was what had been found in her belongings.

'You'll do that anyway,' he said. 'Whether we kill them or not.'

Evanlyn opened her mouth to argue, then stopped as she saw what he was holding: the draft for the Silasian Council.

'It's worthless without a seal,' she told him.

'But you know where to find one, don't you?' he asked.

Evanlyn met his gaze, unflinchingly. Just before they had surrendered, she had hidden the seal under a rock outcrop in the saucer-shaped depression. She was glad now that she had done so. She said nothing, not trusting her voice.

Toshak nodded. Her silence confirmed his suspicion. He turned to Yusal.

'Aseikh Yusal, how would you convince this girl to find the seal she appears to have misplaced?'

Yusal's eyes crinkled and the veil moved slightly over his face. Evanlyn realised he was smiling. The Tualaghi had watched the captives closely all the way to Maashava. He hadn't missed the byplay between the girl and the young warrior. He pointed to Horace now.

'If we began to peel the skin from this one, I think she might remember,' he said. He chuckled. His harsh, unpleasant voice made it an ugly sound.

Evanlyn froze, looking helplessly at Horace. She knew she would never stand by and see him tortured.

But if she made out the warrant, they would all die anyway.

'Toshak?' It was Svengal, his voice soft and questioning. The rebel Skandian looked at him, his eyebrows raised. Svengal continued.

'How about you and me, we have a little wrestle together? Just for fun.'

'Fun?' repeated Toshak.

Svengal smiled winningly. 'Yes. I think it would be such fun to tear that ugly head off your shoulders. And your beaky, blue-faced friend's, too.' He spat the last words out, switching his glare to Yusal.

Toshak raised an eyebrow.

'You should have kept your mouth shut, Svengal. I might have let you live. But now I see how determined you are, well… ' He paused, looking around the tense group who faced him.

'Let's just recap where we stand, shall we?' he said. He indicated Selethen. 'The Wakir is going to be ransomed. He gets off lightly but I have no argument with him. On the other hand, I do have one with Erak and Svengal, so they're going to die. You two Rangers as well.' He pointed at Horace next. 'You're going to have your skin peeled and the young lady here is going to pay us a large amount of money for the privilege of listening to your screams.' He smiled around at them all. 'Have I missed anyone? No? Well, have a nice night thinking on it.'

The smile disappeared. He jerked his head at Yusal and the two of them turned. Then the Tualaghi leader, struck by a thought, stopped and turned back. He held up his left hand as if asking for their attention and moved back towards them.

'There was one more thing,' he said. Then he spat an order to his guards and two of them gripped Halt by the arms, forcing him forward and down until he was on his knees in front of Yusal. The Tualaghi Aseikh then rained closed-fist blows on Halt's face, left and right, striking again and again until the Ranger's face was cut and bleeding and his head lolled to one side. Toshak watched, amused. Erak started to move forward to intervene but the point of a sabre in his belly stopped him. Finally, Yusal stepped back, breathing heavily.

'Let him go,' he told the men holding Halt. They released him and he crumpled to the sand, face down and semi-conscious.

'Not so light on your feet now, are you?' Toshak said to the slumped figure. Yusal uttered a short bark of laughter and together they turned and left the room. The guards, hands on their weapons, backed out after them, slamming the door. In the ensuing silence, the prisoners heard the key rattle in the lock.

Gilan let go a deep, pent-up breath and moved quickly to kneel beside his semi-conscious friend. Gently, he rolled Halt over and began cleaning the mixture of sand and blood from his face. Evanlyn joined him, her hands light and delicate.

Horace brought over the water skin that had been left with them and handed it to Evanlyn. He watched as she gently washed Halt's face. Horace was worried. He had never seen Halt defeated before. Halt was always in control of the situation. Halt always knew what to do next.

'I think we're in big trouble,' he said. Then they all started as Halt moved, raising his hand and trying to sit up. Evanlyn held him down and he stopped his efforts. But he spoke, his voice thick and somewhat slurred by his swollen mouth and face.

'They're forgetting one thing,' he said. There was a light of defiance in his one good eye. The other was now completely closed.

The others all exchanged a glance. They could see no positive side to their predicament.

'And what might that be, Halt?' Evanlyn asked him, willing to humour him.

Halt caught the tone in her voice and glared at her. Then he said, with some force:

'Will's still out there somewhere.'