Erak's Ransom (27 page)

'You can yield if you choose,' he said calmly. The Tualaghi nodded once, his eyes still burning with hate.
'I yield,' he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Gilan nodded. He stepped back and his foot twisted as he stepped on the arm of a Bedullin warrior who had fallen earlier in the battle. He glanced down. His eyes were distracted for no more than a fraction of a second, but it was enough for the defeated Tualaghi. Left-handed, he drew a curved knife from his belt and leapt forward at the young Ranger.
There was a massive whistling sound, then a great
whump!
The Tualaghi stopped in mid-leap, seeming to fold double over the huge blade Horace had swung in a horizontal sweep. Horace withdrew the sword and the warrior crumpled to the stony ground of the square, with no more rigidity or resistance than his blood-soaked robes themselves.
'Never take your eyes off them,' Horace said to Gilan, in an admonishing tone. 'Didn't MacNeil ever tell you that?'
Gilan nodded his thanks. The lull in the fighting that had come when he thrust at the Tualaghi now continued as the two groups of enemies stood facing each other. It was a moment when the Arridi-Bedullin force might have claimed victory but a voice rang out across the square and the moment passed.
Yusal was rallying his troops for one last effort.

'Riders of the Blue Veil! Tualaghi warriors! Listen to me!'
Yusal's harsh, grating tones rang out over the market square in the sudden silence that had greeted the pause in combat. As one, Tualaghi, Arridi and Bedullin all turned to look at him.
He was on the eastern side of the square, standing on a market stall to allow him to address them. Halt noted the rough bandage wound round his upper arm. The bandit war leader had made his way clear of the execution platform in the confused moments when Will had begun shooting. Now he had managed to regroup. A force of twenty men stood around him, weapons ready, faces covered by the ubiquitous blue veils.
The square was empty now of townspeople — except for those who had been caught up in the battle between the two forces and now lay in crumpled heaps on the stony ground.
Perched high on the watchtower, Will heard the
Aseikh's
words too. But Yusal was hidden from Will's sight by the buildings along the northern side of the square.
'Look around you! Look at the enemy! There are barely forty of them!' Yusal continued. And he was right. The raiding force had been hard pressed in the battle and many of them had fallen, never to rise again. The remainder were grouped defiantly in front of the platform where Halt and the others were to have been executed.
'We outnumber them! If we work together, we can crush them!'
There was a sullen growl of assent from the throats of the Tualaghi warriors. They, too, had lost men in the hard fighting. But they had started with a four to one superiority and they had maintained the ratio. As Yusal made his point, they began to realise that it was well within their power to crush the small band who opposed them.
'Seley el'then! I will give you one chance. One chance only. Throw down your weapons and surrender!'
Selethen laughed harshly. 'Surrender? Do you think we believe you'd show us mercy, Yusal? You were about to kill us all!'
Yusal spread his hands in front of him. 'I'll offer you the mercy of a quick death,' he replied. 'Otherwise, you'll linger for days in agony. You know my men are masters of slow torture.'
Selethen looked sideways at Halt. 'That's true enough,' he said quietly. 'I think we'd be better to die with our weapons in our hands.'
Halt went to reply, then stopped. Somewhere close by, he could hear a faint humming noise — a hum that gradually rose in pitch and intensity. He had no idea what it was. He shook his head, dismissing the strange sound.
'I'm with you,' he said. 'We'll fight on. You never know when something's going to turn up.'
Yusal had waited several minutes for Selethen's reply. When he realised none was forthcoming, he raised his arm above his head, preparing to give the signal to his men for one final, overwhelming attack on the smaller group.
'Very well. You've rejected my offer. Now you'll pay. Tualaghi riders, let — '
His words were cut off in a strangled grunt of pain and his hands flew up to his forehead. A solid smacking sound could be heard clearly around the square. Then Yusal's hands dropped and revealed a mask of blood covering his eyes and upper face, flowing down to soak into his blue veil. He took one faltering step, missing the edge of the stall he was balanced on, and fell full length to the hard ground below. He lay there, unmoving.
The Tualaghi stirred uneasily. Their leader had been cut down in mid-sentence. Yet there had been no evident weapon that had struck him — only that ugly smacking sound followed by a river of blood flowing down his face.
The desert riders were superstitious. They believed that djinns and devils and spirits all lived in these ancient mountains. Now one of them, virtually out of thin air, seemed to have struck down their leader with terrifying force. They began to back away from the defensive line of Arridi and Bedullin warriors, muttering to one another, asking what had happened to Yusal. One of his lieutenants, braver than the rest, sprang up onto the stall in place of his leader and tried to rally them.
'Tualaghi warriors!' he yelled, his voice breaking. 'Now is the time for — '
Again there was a meaty
smack
and, like Yusal, the man's hands flew to grasp at a sudden, vicious wound that appeared on his forehead. He lurched, grabbed for the stall's awning, missed and fell to the ground. He knelt there, doubled over, clutching his face and moaning in pain.
This time, Halt saw Evanlyn, at the rear of the platform, slowly lowering the sling. She caught his eye and gave him a grim smile. He noticed that the necklace of heavy marble stones was no longer round her throat.
'Well, what do you know about that?' he asked of no one in particular.
Demoralised, confused and filled with superstitious fear, the Tualaghi began to back away.
Then there was a chorus of battle cries and the clash of weapons as Umar and the rest of his force burst into the square. The Bedullin warriors fanned out quickly into a half circle and the Tualaghi found themselves surrounded, with Umar and his men at their back and the forty determined defenders before them.
The Tualaghi were essentially bandits and thieves. They would fight without mercy, but only when the odds were solidly in their favour. A four to one advantage was the sort of ratio they looked for in a battle. When the numbers were virtually even, and with no leader to spur them on, their eagerness for battle tended to fade away.
Slowly at first, then with increasing frequency, their weapons began to fall to the ground at their feet.
'There's one last little thing to take care of,' Erak said.
Umar's troops had disarmed the remaining Tualaghi and were busy subduing them, tying their hands behind their back and leaving them seated cross-legged in the square. Yusal had been bound and taken under guard to the store room he had used as a prison. The
Aseikh
was still dazed and only semi-conscious. The heavy marble stone from Evanlyn's sling had left him with a severe concussion.
'Toshak?' Svengal answered him.
Erak nodded. 'Toshak. The treacherous swine has stolen off somewhere in all the confusion.'
'He was in front of the platform when the whole thing began,' Halt pointed out.
Evanlyn nodded. 'But he started to move towards those colonnades when Will began shooting,' she said. She looked around. 'Where is Will, anyway? What's keeping him?'
Will knelt in the rubble beneath the watchtower, his bow and quiver discarded, Aloom's head resting on his knee. The Arridi lieutenant was dying. The loss of blood from his multiple wounds had been too great. As Will had dropped lightly from the wall to tend to him, he glanced up and saw the fat trader who had betrayed them, still standing, frozen to the spot, watching them.
'Find a surgeon,' he ordered and, as the man hesitated, he repeated the command. 'Go! Get a surgeon! Do it quickly!'
The fat man's eyes betrayed him. They slid away from Will's and he turned to go. Will's cold voice stopped him.
'Wait!'
The man turned back. Still he would not make eye contact with the Ranger.
'Look at me,' Will commanded and, slowly, the man raised his eyes. 'If you run away, if you don't come back, be certain that I will hunt you down,' Will told him. 'I promise you won't enjoy that.'
He saw the fear of certain retribution slowly overcoming the treachery in the man's eyes and the trader nodded quickly. Then he turned and slunk off into the alley behind him.
Aloom was muttering feverishly. Will unstrapped the small canteen from the Arridi's belt and trickled a few drops of water into the man's mouth. Aloom's eyes cleared for a few moments and he looked up at Will.
'Did we win?' he asked.
Will nodded. 'We did,' he assured him. He saw the relief in Aloom's eyes. Then the lieutenant tried to struggle to a sitting position, and Will had to restrain him gently.
'Rest,' he said. 'There's a surgeon coming.'
'The
Wakir?'
Aloom said, then stopped and took several ragged breaths, as if the mere effort of speaking exhausted him. 'Is he safe?'
Again Will nodded.
'He's fine. I saw him with Halt when it was all over. Something happened to Yusal,' he added inconsequentially, still trying to understand what had gone on in the square. He had heard Yusal's voice suddenly cut off in a cry of agony. Yet he knew none of his friends had a bow with them.
Aloom had drifted into a state of delirium again, as if the news that his lord was safe was enough for him. His arms and legs began to twitch and his breath was coming in ragged bursts.
Will heard a soft patter of footsteps approaching in the alley and reached for the hilt of his saxe knife. He had recovered it from the body of the dead Tualaghi when he first climbed down from the wall. Two figures emerged from the shadows of the alley and he recognised the fat trader. Beside him was an older man, carrying a leather satchel over one arm.
'This man is a healer,' the trader said and his companion came forward, dropping to his knees beside the muttering lieutenant. He looked around, saw Will's discarded cloak lying close by and rolled it into a makeshift pillow. Then he placed it under Aloom's head, allowing Will to move free. He examined the wounded man briefly, looked up at Will.
'Your friend?' he asked.
Will nodded. He'd only known Aloom for a few days but the man had held off three swordsmen to give Will the chance to save the others. You couldn't ask more of a friend than that.
The surgeon shook his head.
'I can give him something to ease the pain — nothing more,' he said. 'He has lost too much blood.'
Will nodded sadly.
'Do it,' he said and watched as the healer took a small vial from his satchel and allowed several drips of a clear liquid to fall into Aloom's mouth, onto his tongue. In a few seconds, Aloom began breathing more freely. His chest rose and fell more evenly. Then the breaths came more slowly until, finally, they stopped.
The surgeon looked up at Will.
'He's gone,' he said and Will nodded sadly. He glanced up and saw the trader watching him fearfully. The man obviously, was remembering how he had betrayed the two strangers to the Tualaghi. Now one of them was dead and the other had shown that, young as he was, he was not a man to cross. The trader wrung his hands together and moved forward, pleading for mercy. He dropped to his knees.
'Lord, please ... I didn't know you were ... ' he began.
Will cut him off with a contemptuous hand gesture. The man had betrayed them, he knew. But he had also returned with a surgeon. Suddenly, Will felt there had been enough killing on this day.
'Oh, go away,' he said quietly. 'Just ... go away.'
The man's eyes widened. He couldn't believe his luck. He rose slowly,. turned away. Then he hesitated, making sure Will hadn't changed his mind. Finally, reassured, he scuttled into the alley. Will heard his soft shoes pattering on the broken stones for a few minutes, then there was silence. The surgeon regarded him with sympathy. He had laid Aloom out with his hands folded over his chest. Will retrieved his cloak — Aloom had no further use for it. He spread the lieutenant's own cloak over the still form, covering the face. Then he felt in his purse and handed the surgeon a silver coin.
'Stay with him?' he asked. 'Watch over him until I come back.'
He reached down, retrieved his bow and quiver and headed off down the alleyway to the market square.

Toshak peered round the corner of a narrow street leading onto the square. The beginning of the wide thoroughfare that led to the main gate was forty metres away. He looked now and saw Erak and his friends moving towards the colonnades that lined the far side of the square. Somebody must have seen him running in that direction, he thought.
He smiled grimly. He had gone that way initially. But then he'd doubled round, cutting through a maze of streets and alleys to emerge back here. He had a horse saddled and ready, in a stable a few doors back from the square. Now his enemies were moving away, leaving the way clear for him to escape. And the Rangers, he noted with satisfaction, were without their cursed longbows. All he needed to do was fetch the horse, lead it to this corner, mount and ride for his life.
Once he was out of Maashava, who knew? He'd have a head start, a fresh horse and plenty of water. He'd make forthe coast sixty kilometres away. His ship,
Wolfclaw,
was moored in a little bay and he was an experienced stellar navigator. He'd travel by night so those damned Rangers couldn't track him. In two days, he could be on board.
But first, he had to get out of Maashava. And this was looking like his best chance. He backed slowly away from the corner for a few paces, then turned and ran lightly to the stable.
'The trouble is, he could have gone anywhere once he made it this far,' Horace said. Halt nodded, chewing his lip reflectively. Beyond the colonnades that lined the market square, they found a maze of narrow, winding streets and crowded buildings.
'We'll just have to keep looking till we find him,' he said. 'At least he'll be easy to spot.'
'What's all that shouting?' Evanlyn interrupted. From the square, they could hear voices raised, calling the alarm. In a group, they ran back through the rear door of the coffee house they had just left, then out onto the square once more.
'It's Toshak!' Svengal yelled.
Diagonally opposite them, the Skandian traitor was seated astride a rearing horse, striking left and right with a battleaxe at a group of Bedullin warriors who had tried to stop him.
He beat his way clear, leaving two of them lying ominously still, and set his horse towards the wide entrance to the road leading to the main gate. Svengal ran forward a few paces and launched his spear after the retreating horseman, but it was a futile gesture and the missile landed, clattering, twenty metres short.
Then Halt heard that strange humming sound again, rising gradually in pitch. He glanced around to see Evanlyn, feet braced apart, whirling the long leather sling around her head, letting the speed build up.
'He's wearing a helmet,' he cautioned. Toshak had been prepared to fight his way clear. He was fully armed and Halt knew that the sling would be useless against his heavy iron helmet.
'I know,' said Evanlyn briefly, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Then there was a whistling slap as she cast the heavy marble ball after the fleeing Toshak. It flew across the square, too fast for the eye to follow, and slammed painfully into the target she had set herself — the horse's rump.
Stung by the sudden burning impact, the horse reared and lost its footing on the cobbles of the square. It staggered sideways on its rear legs, trying to regain its balance. The unexpected, violent movement and change of direction was too much for Toshak and he slid backwards over the horse's withers, to fall with a crash on the cobblestones.
'Good shot,' Halt told Evanlyn. She grinned.
'I figured he'd sit a horse as well as most Skandians,' she said.
Momentarily winded, Toshak regained his feet to find himself surrounded by a ring of vengeful Bedullin. The desert warriors circled him cautiously, kept at bay by the threat of the massive battleaxe. A true Skandian, Toshak hadn't released his grip on the weapon when he fell.
He eyed the circle of enemies now, determined to sell his life dearly. Toshak might be a traitor but he was no coward.
'All right,' he said, to nobody in particular. 'Who's going to be first?'
'I think that would be me.'
Erak shouldered his way through the Bedullin warriors and stood facing his enemy. Toshak nodded several times, and smiled. He knew he was going to die but at least he'd have the satisfaction of taking the hated Oberjarl with him. He glanced down scornfully at the Tualaghi sabre Erak was carrying. It looked no bigger than a dagger in the Oberjarl's massive fist.
'You're fighting an axe with that toothpick, Erak?' he sneered. Erak studied the weapon and pursed his lips. He looked round the watching circle and saw a better alternative. He removed his
kheffiyeh
and wrapped it round the palm and fingers of his left hand. Then he set the sabre down and reached his right hand out to Horace.
'D'you think I could borrow that bodkin of yours, Horace?' he said.
Horace stepped forward, reversed the huge executioner's sword and placed the hilt in Erak's outstretched hand. 'Be my guest,' he said.
Erak swiped the long sword back and forth several times, then nodded in satisfaction.
'That'll do,' he said. 'Now step back, everyone. I've got work to do.'
The circle of spectators quickly backed off several paces as he launched himself at Toshak, the sword swinging down in a blow that would have split the traitor down to the waist.
There was a massive, ringing
clang
as Toshak caught the blow on the top of his double-bladed axe head. He twisted his wrists, jerking the sword to one side, then it was his turn and he swung in a flailing round arm blow with the axe.
Erak leapt back just in time, the heavy double-bladed head whooshing through the air only millimetres from his ribs. He was already counterattacking with the sword and this time Toshak swayed to one side, letting the huge blade slice down just clear of him, striking sparks from the stones on the ground.
He tried an overhead cut and now Evanlyn understood why Erak had bound his hand with the
kheffiyeh.
He gripped the blade with his left hand and the hilt in his right to block the force of the axe blow. A grip on the hilt alone wouldn't have had sufficient leverage to stop the massive axe, she realised.
The two men strained against each other for several seconds, their weapons locked together. They were both massively built, each one as powerful as an ox. But Erak had been a prisoner for some weeks now and his strength was reduced by the meagre diet and the punishment he had taken from his captors. In a straight-out contest of brute strength like this, Toshak had the advantage and he began to force the Oberjarl back, a pace at a time.
Realising he was overmatched, Erak struck out quickly with a flat-footed kick to Toshak's thigh. The blow staggered the traitor and Erak was able to spin away, leaping suddenly to avoid a lightning fast axe stroke as Toshak recovered his balance.
Then they rushed at each other again and stood toe to toe, hammering blows at each other. Parrying and blocking, sliding to one side to evade each other's weapons and beating at each other in a final trial of strength and speed. There was no science or subtlety to it. Each used the advantage his weapon gave him — Erak the extra reach of the sword, Toshak the massive weight of the battleaxe.
And it was that weight that began to tell as he rained blow after blow down at Erak, forcing the weakened Oberjarl onto the defensive.
Svengal watched in an agony of concern as his leader began to give ground, a few centimetres at a time at first, then in gradually greater amounts. A light of triumph came into Toshak's eyes as he saw the Oberjarl faltering, felt him giving way. He redoubled the effort he was putting into his strokes, feeling Erak's weakening resistance, seeing his knees buckle slightly with each blow. Now Toshak was swinging two blows to Erak's one and the momentum of the battle was with him and it could only be a matter of time.
Erak's eyes were haunted and his breath came in ragged gasps. He caught one final, overpowering axe blow on the blade of the sword and the massive force behind it buckled his knees and drove him back and down onto the cobbles.
There was a groan from the spectators as they saw the Oberjarl fall. Toshak leapt forward with a snarl of triumph, the mighty axe rising in a two-handed grip for the killing blow. Then he saw something strange.
Erak was smiling.
Too late, Toshak realised he had been tricked. Erak was nowhere near as tired and clumsy as he had seemed. And he was holding a weapon with a much longer reach than any battleaxe. With a mighty roar, Erak used his left arm to thrust himself up from the cobbles while he drove the sword deep into Toshak's unprotected body. Then, releasing the sword, he sidestepped the axe stroke that came half a second too late and watched his enemy, impaled by the terrible sword, stagger, drop his axe and fall to the ground.
Toshak's eyes were wide open, in pain and fear. His fingers scrabbled awkwardly on the cobbles and he was mouthing something to Erak. The Oberjarl understood and nodded. With the toe of his boot, he nudged the axe alongside his enemy's scrabbling hand. Toshak's fingers closed over the haft and he nodded once.
Skandians, Horace knew, believed that if they were to die in battle without a weapon in their hand, their soul would wander for all eternity. Even Toshak didn't deserve that.
'Thank ... you ... ' Toshak sighed, the words almost inaudible. Then his eyes closed and he died.
'You should have left him to wander,' Svengal said coldly. Erak looked at him, eyebrows raised.
'Would you?' he asked and Svengal hesitated. At the end, Toshak had fought well and that counted for a lot with Skandians.
'No,' he admitted.