Ranger's Apprentice 3 & 4 Bindup (35 page)

Full night fell shortly after they had set out on their way back to Hallasholm. But they continued to move, their way lit by a brilliant three-quarter moon that sailed above them in the clear sky.

Halt, Evanlyn and the two apprentices rode, while the Skandians maintained a steady jog, led by the Jarl. Halt had suggested that Erak ride the captured Temujai horse again, but he had declined the offer, with a certain amount of alacrity. It seemed that now he had his feet firmly back on the ground, he was determined to keep them that way. His thighs and calves ached from the hours he had spent in the saddle that day, and his backside seemed to be one massive bruise. He was glad of the chance to walk the cramps out of his muscles.

Even allowing for the fact that the Skandians were travelling afoot, Halt was content with the pace they were maintaining. Whatever other faults they might have, the sea wolves were in superb condition. They could maintain
their steady jog all night, with only brief rest periods every hour.

At one stage, Horace had urged Kicker up beside Halt.

‘Shouldn't we walk as well?' he suggested. Halt raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Why?' he asked. The big youth shrugged, not quite sure how to articulate his thought.

‘As a gesture of comradeship,' he said finally. ‘It will give them a feeling of camaraderie.'

Camaraderie, Halt knew, was something that was stressed in the early years of Battleschool training. It was part of that inconvenient knightly code. Sometimes he wished that Sir Rodney, the head of Castle Redmont's Battleschool, would give his charges a short course in practicality as well.

‘Well, it will give
me
a feeling of sore legs,' he replied at length. ‘There's no point to it, Horace. The Skandians don't care whether we walk or ride. And when there's no point to something, the best idea is not to do it.'

Horace nodded several times. Truth be told, he was relieved that Halt had rejected his suggestion. He was far more at home in the saddle than tramping through the snow. And, now that he thought about it, the Skandians didn't seem to resent the fact that the four Araluans were riding while they walked.

During one of the brief rest stops, Halt caught Will's eye and made an almost imperceptible gesture for the boy to follow him. They walked a short distance from the rest of the party, who were sprawled at ease in the snow. A few of the Skandians watched them with mild interest, but most ignored them.

When he judged that there was no one within earshot, Halt drew Will closer to him, his hand on the boy's shoulder.

‘This fellow Erak,' he said. ‘What do you make of him?'

Will frowned. He thought back over how Erak had treated them since he had captured them at the bridge in Celtica. In the first place, he had shielded them from Morgarath, refusing to hand them over to the rebel warlord. Then, on the trip across the Stormwhite Sea, and during their stay on Skorghijl, he had shown a certain rough kindness, and even a regard, towards him and Evanlyn. Finally, of course, he had been instrumental in their escape from Hallasholm, providing clothes, food and a pony, and giving them directions to the hunting cabin in the mountains.

There was only one possible answer.

‘I like him,' he replied. Halt nodded once or twice.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘So do I. But do you trust him? That's a different matter to liking.'

This time, Will opened his mouth immediately to reply, then paused, wondering if his response might not be too impulsive. Then he realised that trust was always impulsive and went ahead.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘I do.'

Halt rubbed his chin with his forefinger and thumb. ‘I must say, I agree with you.'

‘Well, he did help us to escape, you know, Halt,' Will pointed out, and the Ranger nodded his recognition of that point.

‘I know,' he said. ‘That's what I was thinking about.'

He was conscious of the boy's curious glance, but he said no more. As the members of the small party resumed
their progress towards the coast, Halt struggled with the problem of how to protect Will and Evanlyn when they returned to Hallasholm. They might be regarded as allies for the moment, merely from force of circumstance. But once they were back in the Skandians' stronghold, things could go badly for the two escaped slaves. Things could become even worse for Evanlyn should her real identity become known to the Skandian Oberjarl.

Yet, try as he might, the grey-haired Ranger could think of no possible alternative to their present course. The way south was barred by thousands of Temujai warriors and there was no chance that he could make it through their lines with the three young people. He and Will might manage it. But it was a big might. And he knew enough about the Temujai to know that with Horace and Evanlyn along, they would never avoid detection.

So, for the time being, at least, they had no choice but to head towards Hallasholm. In the back of his mind there was a partly formed idea that they might be able to steal a boat. Or even prevail upon Erak to transport them down the coast to the south, leapfrogging the line of advance of the Temujai army. Somehow, some time, he would have to reach some kind of an accommodation with the Skandian Jarl, he knew.

The opportunity came at the next rest stop. And it came from the Jarl himself. As the Skandians allowed themselves to sprawl on the ground under the pines, Erak, seemingly casually, approached the spot where Halt was pouring water from his canteen into a collapsible canvas bucket for Abelard. The horse drank noisily as the wolfship commander stood by and watched. Fully aware of his
presence, Halt continued with what he was doing.

Then, when the horse stopped drinking, he said, without looking up: ‘Something on your mind?'

The Jarl shifted awkwardly from one foot to another.

‘We need to talk,' he said finally and Halt shrugged.

‘We seem to be doing that.' He kept his voice neutral. He could sense that the Skandian leader wanted something from him and he felt this might be his opportunity to gain some kind of bargaining advantage.

Erak glanced round, making sure that none of his men was in earshot. He knew they wouldn't like the idea he was about to propose. But, all the same, he knew that the idea was a good one. And a necessary one.

‘It was you, wasn't it, at the battle of the Thorntree?' he said at length. Halt turned to face him.

‘I was there,' he said. ‘And so were a couple of hundred others.'

The Skandian made an impatient gesture. ‘Yes, yes,' he said. ‘But you were the leader – the tactician – weren't you?'

Halt shrugged diffidently.

‘That's right, I suppose,' he said carefully. The battle at Thorntree forest had been a defeat for the Skandians. He wondered now if Erak might be looking for some kind of revenge over the man who had led the Araluan forces. It didn't seem in character with what he knew of the Skandian, but you never could tell.

Erak, however, was nodding thoughtfully to himself. He hunkered down in the snow, picking up a pine twig and making random marks on the ground with it.

‘And you know these Temujai, don't you?' he said. ‘You know how they fight – how they organise their army?'

It was Halt's turn to nod. ‘I told you. I lived among them for a while.'

‘So …' Erak paused and Halt knew that he was reaching the crucial part of their conversation. ‘You'd know their strengths, and their weaknesses?'

The Ranger barked a short, humourless laugh. ‘There aren't many of those,' he said, but Erak persisted, stabbing the twig deeper into the snow as he talked.

‘But you'd know how to fight them? How to beat them?'

Now Halt began to have a glimmer of where this conversation was leading. And, with that, he felt a slight surge of hope. He might just be about to be handed the bargaining tool that he would need to protect Will and Evanlyn.

‘We fight as individuals,' the Jarl said softly, seeming to talk almost to himself. ‘We aren't organised. We have no tactics. No master plan.'

‘You Skandians have won your share of battles,' Halt pointed out mildly. Erak looked up at him and Halt could see how much the sea wolf disliked what he was about to say.

‘In a straight confrontation. One on one. Or even against odds of two to one. A straightforward conflict with no complications. Just a simple trial of arms. That sort of thing we can handle. But this … this is different.'

‘The Temujai are probably the most efficient fighting force in the world,' Halt told him. ‘With the possible exception of the Arridi in the southern deserts.'

There was silence between them. Halt willed the Skandian to take that one last step that lay in front of him. He saw the intake of breath, then Erak said:

‘You could show us how to beat them.'

It was out in the open now – exactly what Halt had begun to hope for. Carefully, like a man playing a trout that was yet to be hooked, he answered, making sure no hint of the eagerness he felt showed in his voice.

‘Even if I could, I doubt I'd be given that opportunity,' he said, trying to sound as dismissive as possible. Erak's head jerked up, a little flare of anger in his eyes.

‘I could give it to you,' he said. Halt met the other man's gaze, refusing to be intimidated by the anger there.

‘You're not the Oberjarl,' he said flatly. Erak shook his head, acknowledging the statement.

‘That's right,' he said. ‘But I am a senior war leader. I carry a certain amount of weight in our War Council.'

Halt appeared unconvinced. ‘Enough to convince the others to accept an outlander as leader?'

Erak shook his head decisively.

‘Not as a leader,' he said. ‘Skandians would never follow your direct orders. Nor any other foreigner's. But as a counsellor – a tactician. There are others on the council who know we need tactics. Who will understand that we need to fight as a cohesive unit, not as a thousand individuals. Borsa, for one, will agree with me.'

Halt raised an eyebrow. ‘Borsa?' He knew some of the Skandian leaders' names. This one was unfamiliar.

‘The hilfmann – Ragnak's chamberlain,' Erak told him. ‘He's no warrior himself but Ragnak respects his opinions, and his brain.'

‘Let me get this straight,' Halt said slowly. ‘You're asking me to come aboard as a tactical adviser and help you find a way to beat the Temujai. And you think you can
convince Ragnak to go along with the idea – and not simply kill me on the spot.'

Erak looked a question at him. Halt continued.

‘I know he has no love for Araluans. His son died at Thorntree, after all.'

‘You'd be under my protection,' Erak said finally. ‘Ragnak would have to respect that, or fight me. And I don't think he'll be quite ready to do that. Whether I can convince the council or not – and I believe I will be able to – you'll be safe while you're in Hallasholm.'

And there, all at once, was the opportunity Halt had been waiting for.

‘What about my companions?' he asked. ‘Will and the girl are escaped slaves.'

Erak waved the matter aside, dismissively. ‘That's a small matter compared to the fact that we're about to be invaded,' he replied. ‘Your friends will be safe as well. You have my word.'

‘No matter what?' Halt insisted. He wanted the Skandian to commit totally. He knew that no jarl would ever go back on a sworn vow of protection.

‘No matter what,' Erak replied and held out his hand to the Ranger. They clasped hands firmly, sealing the bargain.

‘Now,' said Halt, ‘all I have to do is work out a way of beating these horse-riding devils.'

Erak grinned at him. ‘That should be child's play,' he said. ‘The hard part will be convincing Ragnak about it.'

As it turned out, that task was a lot easier than either Erak or Halt would have thought possible.

Ragnak was many things, but he was no fool. When the small party returned to Hallasholm, bringing news that an army of close to six thousand Temujai horsemen were in the process of invading his country, he did the same mental arithmetic that Erak had done. He knew as well as Erak that he could muster a force of no more than fifteen hundred warriors – possibly less, considering that some of the outlying settlements close to the border had probably been overrun and defeated already.

Like most Skandians, Ragnak wasn't afraid of dying in battle. But he also didn't believe that one should seek such an end without first trying all other alternatives. If there were a way of defeating the invaders, he would examine it. Consequently, when Erak told him of Halt's knowledge of the Temujai, and his agreement to lend his services, and when Borsa and several other council members welcomed
the idea, he accepted their arguments with no more than token resistance. As for the matter of the recaptured slaves, he dismissed the matter entirely. In normal times, he might seek to punish runaways, as a way of discouraging further escapes. But these weren't normal times and, with an invading army on his doorstep, the matter of two recaptured slaves was of slight interest to him at best.

He did, however, demand to see Halt in his private quarters, with no one else present.

He knew enough about Rangers to respect their abilities and their courage as a group. But he wanted the chance to assess this man as an individual. Ragnak's ability to form such evaluations of men had been one of his principal qualities as leader of the Skandians. Evidence of his skill was the fact that he habitually chose Erak to handle the more difficult tasks that went with ruling a nation of independentminded, argumentative warriors.

Halt was shown to the low-ceilinged, timber-lined room where Ragnak spent his private hours – and these days, the Oberjarl noted ruefully, there were precious few of those. The room was like all the senior Skandians' quarters – warmed by a pine log fire, with bearskins furnishing the pinewood carved furniture, and decorated with the polyglot results of years of plundering coastal villages and other ships.

The centrepiece of the room was an immense crystal chandelier, taken from an abbey on the coast of the Constant Sea years ago. With no high ceiling to hang it from, Ragnak had chosen to leave it resting on a rough pine table. It dominated the room and was more than a little awkward in the confined space. Furthermore, in its
tabletop position it was totally incapable of performing its designed intention. There was no way that the fifty small oil lamps could be lit and kept burning safely.

But Ragnak loved the piece. To him, it represented art at its highest. It was an object of rare beauty, incongruous as it might be in this setting, and so he left it there.

He looked up from a scroll he was reading as Halt knocked at the door and entered, as he had been told to do. Ragnak frowned. He equated prowess in battle with physical strength and size. The man before him looked wiry enough, but his head would barely come past the Oberjarl's shoulder if both were standing. There were no two ways about it. He was a small man.

‘So, you're Halt,' he said, not sounding too interested in the fact. He saw the little man's right eyebrow rise momentarily. Then the man repeated, in exactly the same tone:

‘So, you're Ragnak.'

Ragnak's heavy brows came closer together in an expression of anger. But inwardly, he felt a quick flicker of respect for the man in front of him. He liked Halt's instant reply, liked the way the Ranger was showing no sign of being cowed.

‘People address me as “Oberjarl”,' he said in an ominous tone.

Halt gave just the slightest suggestion of a shrug.

‘Very well, Oberjarl,' he replied. ‘I'll do the same.'

Halt studied the Oberjarl with a keen eye. He was huge, but that was fairly normal for Skandians. He didn't have the classic, sculptured musculature that a person such as Horace would achieve in the next few years, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Rather, like all
Skandians, he was bulky throughout his entire body, built like a bear.

The arms and legs were massively muscled and the face was bearded, with the long beard lovingly separated into two sweeping masses. The hair had been red originally, but now the onset of age was turning it the colour of ashes in a cold fireplace.

There was a faded scar on one cheek, stretching from just under the left eye down to the point of the man's chin. Halt guessed it to be an old injury. Again, there was little to remark on in this. The Skandians chose their leaders from the ranks of warriors, not administrators.

Most of all, Halt noted the eyes. He recognised the dislike that he saw there. He had been expecting to see that. But the eyes were deep-set and he could read an intelligence and cunning there as well. For that, he was grateful.

If Ragnak had been a stupid man, Halt's position might well have become untenable here. He knew of the Oberjarl's ingrained dislike for Rangers, and knew the reasons behind it. But an intelligent leader would be aware of Halt's usefulness to him, and might be prepared to set aside his personal dislike for the greater good of his people.

‘I have no love of your kind, Ranger,' the Oberjarl said. His mind was obviously running on lines similar to Halt's.

‘You have little reason to,' Halt agreed. ‘But you might well find a use for me.'

‘So I'm told,' the Skandian leader replied, once again finding himself admiring the Ranger's forthrightness.

When he'd first heard of his son's death at Thorntree,
Ragnak had been overcome with grief and rage – at Araluans, Rangers and, in particular, at King Duncan.

But that had been an immediate and spontaneous reaction to his grief. A realist, he knew that his son had risked death by joining the ill-fated adventure with Morgarath's forces and, indeed, death in battle was commonplace among the Skandians, who lived to raid and pillage. As a result, over the intervening months, Ragnak's anger, if not his grief, had faded. His son had died honourably, with a weapon in his hands. That was all any Skandian could ask. That wasn't to say that he felt any affection for Rangers, but he could respect their abilities and their courage, and their worth as opponents.

Or even, possibly, as allies.

Ragnak's vow against King Duncan and his family was another matter altogether. Chances are, had he waited, his hatred might well have abated and a more reasonable attitude might have prevailed. But, acting on impulse, he had sworn a vow to the Vallas, the triple deity who ruled Skandian religion, and that vow was inviolable.

Ragnak might be able to accept Halt as an ally. He might be able to recognise that those same qualities that made the Ranger a dangerous opponent could also render him a useful confederate in the upcoming battle against the Temujai invaders. That would be his personal choice. But his Vallasvow against Duncan was irrevocable.

He realised that, while he had been thinking all this, the grey-haired Ranger had stood silently in front of him, waiting for him to speak. Ragnak shook his head angrily. He seemed to be developing the habit of drifting off in the middle of conversations these days.

‘So,' he said abruptly. ‘Can you help us?'

Halt answered without any hesitation. ‘I'm willing to do whatever I can,' he said. ‘What that might be, I have no idea as yet.'

‘No idea!' Ragnak repeated scornfully. ‘I was told that Rangers are always full of ideas.'

Halt shook his head. ‘I need to assess your strengths and weaknesses first. And then I'll need maps of the surrounding countryside,' he said. ‘We'll have to find a spot that will offset their superiority of numbers as far as possible. Then I'm going to ride out for another look at the Temujai. Last time I saw them, I had my hands full keeping your senior jarl alive. Then, after I've done all that, I might be able to answer your question.'

Ragnak chewed on one end of his moustache, taking in what the Ranger had said. He was impressed, in spite of himself. His ability to plan for a battle usually amounted to the words, ‘Everyone ready? Follow me!', before he led the way in a frontal assault.

Perhaps, he thought, this Ranger might be useful after all.

‘Be aware of one thing, however, Oberjarl,' Halt continued and Ragnak looked up at him, surprised at the tone of uncompromising command in his voice.

‘I'm going to be asking you questions about your establishment, your fighting men, your numbers. They're questions that might give me an advantage in any future disagreement between our two countries.'

‘I see …' said Ragnak slowly. He didn't like the direction the conversation was taking.

‘You'll be tempted to lie to me. To exaggerate your numbers and your abilities. Don't do it.'

Once more, the Oberjarl was taken aback at the peremptory tone of command. But Halt's gaze was unwavering.

‘If I am to help you, you'll need to be honest with me. And so will your jarls.'

Ragnak considered the statement for a moment or two, then nodded ponderously.

‘Agreed,' he said. ‘Mind you,' he added, ‘that axe cuts two ways. You'll also be showing us how you think and plan for a battle.'

And once more, that trace of a smile hovered around Halt's mouth as he acknowledged the Oberjarl's point.

‘That's true,' he said. ‘I guess if we want to win, we both have to be willing to lose a little.'

The two men studied each other once more. Each decided that he liked what he saw in the other's eyes. Abruptly, Ragnak gestured to one of the massive pinewood armchairs.

‘Sit down!' he said, indicating a flagon of Gallican wine on the table between them, almost lost in the glittering crystal fittings of the chandelier.

‘Have a drink and tell me this. Why do you think these Temujai have chosen to make themselves a nuisance in Skandia? Surely the way would have been easier for them to move south, through Teutlandt and Gallica?'

Halt poured himself a glass of the brilliant red wine and drank deeply. He raised an eyebrow in appreciation. Ragnak certainly knew the right wines to steal, he thought.

‘I've been wondering that myself,' he said at length. He wished the chair he was sitting on was made for someone smaller than the normal massive Skandian build. His feet
barely brushed the floor as he sat there and he felt like a small boy in his father's study. ‘Even if they win here, they must know that you'll be a tough nut to crack. Certainly tougher than the Teutlanders.'

Ragnak snorted in derision at the mention of the unorganised, squabbling race to the immediate south. Riddled by factions and internecine distrust, the Teutlanders were at the mercy of any would-be conquerors. In fact, if Skandian ambitions had lain in that direction, Ragnak would have felt confident that he could have subjugated the country with his small army of warriors.

‘And the Gallicans are nearly as bad,' Halt continued. ‘They'd be almost incapable of agreeing on one overall leader to take command. So I wondered what it was that made the Temujai swing north and risk a bloody nose here in Skandia.'

‘And?' the Oberjarl prompted. Halt took another swallow of wine, and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

‘I asked myself what you had that would make the risk worthwhile,' he said. ‘And there was only one thing I could think of.'

He paused. It was a theatrical thing to do, he knew, but he couldn't resist it. As he felt sure would happen, the Oberjarl leaned forward.

‘What was it? What are they after?'

‘Ships,' replied Halt. ‘The Temujai want control of the seas. And that means their ambitions don't stop here. They're planning to invade Araluen as well.'