Erak's Ransom

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.

Will 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.