Scorpion Mountain (31 page)

“If we wear their robes and
kheffiyehs,
the Scorpions will think we're their own men returning. We'll catch them by surprise before they have a chance to fade away!” he said triumphantly.

“At least, you'll catch some of them,” Gilan said. “In that mass of caves and tunnels, some will probably escape.”

“But we'll almost surely put them out of business for years, if not permanently,” said Umar. “And that is something that we would all be glad to see.” He seized Gilan's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “Gilan, my friend, you are as wily as your friend Halt. And even more devious than Will Treaty!”

“I'll take that as a compliment—I think,” Gilan said, smiling a little uncertainly.

“Will you join us on this expedition?” Umar asked. “We have plenty of extra horses now.” He indicated the horses that the
Ishti
had been riding, but Gilan shook his head.

“We've done what we set out to do,” he said. “My princess is safe from the
tolfah
now. And I think my wild Skandians are anxious to leave this desert behind them. Beautiful as it is,” he added.

“Then I wish you godspeed. It is best if we get moving as soon as possible. You never know who's watching in the desert, and we need to strike swiftly.”

Umar gripped Gilan's hand once more, then turned abruptly, shouting orders for his men to gather round. Gilan smiled after him. With Umar, he realized, to think was to act.

He turned back to the Herons standing nearby. “Anybody want to go home?”

chapter
fifty-one

U
lf was waiting on the jetty as the
Heron
glided into Tabork harbor.

“He looks healthy enough,” Hal observed dryly. Ulf was literally dancing from one foot to the other in anticipation of seeing his shipmates. He shoved one of the dockyard workers aside to grab the mooring line that Stefan threw ashore, and set himself to the task of hauling the little ship alongside. He grimaced once, clasping his side, as the strain came onto the rope, then the local laborers took hold of the mooring line to assist him.

As the
Heron
bumped alongside, fenders squealing and grinding between the hull and the stone jetty, Wulf was the first ashore. He bounded up from the ship's rail and dashed to meet his brother, embracing him in a gigantic hug, and actually lifting him several centimeters from the ground.

“Careful!” Ulf said, his face covered with an enormous grin. “My side's still a bit tender.”

Wulf instantly released him, his own face showing concern. “Are you not healed?”

Ulf hastened to reassure him. “I'm fine,” he said. “Just a few muscles left to recover fully. It's so good to see you!” he added.

Wulf put his arm around his twin's shoulder. “I knew when you woke,” he said. “I felt it somehow.”

Ulf nodded eagerly. “I knew you could feel it!” he said. “I sensed your thoughts as well!”

“Amazing!” Wulf said. Then he seized his brother again, this time more carefully.

Ulf, looking over his shoulder, saw their shipmates gathered by the ship's rail, watching them with smiles on their faces. Such a show of affection between the twins was highly unusual, to say the least. He coughed, and muttered in his brother's ear.

“The others are watching.”

Wulf turned quickly, releasing his grip. He too saw the row of grinning faces along the side of the ship. He turned back to Ulf and said in a loud, accusatory voice, “Didn't you ever learn to duck? Didn't anyone ever teach you that?”

“Duck?” said Ulf indignantly. “I was busy stopping a warrior who was about to split your skull.”

“And you forgot to duck!” Wulf finished for him. “You nearly caused me to tell our mam that her second favorite son had got himself filleted.”

“Second favorite?” Ulf challenged. “What do you mean, second favorite?”

“Least favorite, then. I was being polite.”

“I'll have you know, Mam told me that I'm her favorite, by a long way,” Ulf told him.

Wulf shook his head patiently. “Of course she did. She had to do that precisely because you
are
her second favorite. She knew you'd feel challenged and inferior. Whereas I have no need for such false praise. I
know
I'm her favorite, and because I know it, she doesn't have to lie and tell me so.”

“So you admit she'd be lying if she did tell you?” Ulf challenged instantly.

“The point is, she
didn't
tell me. Which makes you her second favorite son. Or rather, since that's a little too flattering for you, her least favorite.”

As they argued, they had been moving farther away from the ship. Wulf, without looking, spoke in a lowered tone. “Can they still hear us?”

Ulf shook his head. “No. They've gone back to stowing the gear.”

Wulf nodded several times, then he placed his arm around his brother's shoulders again. He felt Ulf's arm go round his waist.

“It's good to see you on your feet again. I thought you were going to die,” Wulf said, with a slight catch in his voice. Ulf said nothing, but momentarily increased the pressure of his arm around his brother's waist.

• • • • •

Selethen was still in Tabork, overseeing the new administration of the city and working on the recruitment of new troops for the garrison. He planned to leave some of his more experienced officers to take over the defense of the city. It was a good opportunity to promote those who had served well in the retaking of Tabork from the Tualaghi.

Once
Heron
was secured, Edvin began the task of restocking her with provisions and replacing any lost or damaged equipment. Foremost on his list was an item from Thorn—a large piece of canvas to replace the weather awning over the deck. With this task under way, Hal, Thorn and Gilan tidied themselves up and marched down the jetty to call on Selethen.

They found the
Wakir
literally up to his elbows in paperwork. Parchments and forms and requisitions of all kinds were piled up on his temporary desk. Aides rushed in and out, each one with a new set of questions and requirements. He looked up gratefully as the three foreigners walked into his office. Glaring distastefully at the mass of paper littering his desk, he shoved the lot onto the floor and glared at one of his secretaries.

“Take care of this lot!” he ordered. “And bring coffee for four.”

He ushered them to cushions set around a low table by the open doorway that led onto the terrace overlooking the harbor. He eyed them all keenly.

“I take it you've settled the matter of the
tolfah
?” he said quietly.

“Permanently,” Gilan said.

Selethen raised an eyebrow, obviously wanting more detail. Hal supplied it.

“Gilan challenged the Shurmel to a duel and killed him,” he explained.

Selethen nodded several times. “That's a good result. The world will be a better place without him.”

Gilan nodded, but added a qualification. “The cult did elect a new leader,” he said. “But he might not enjoy the position too long.” He described the battle at Ephesa and their encounter with Umar and his tribe of wild nomads. At the mention of the
Aseikh
's name, a smile touched Selethen's lips.

“Umar is a good ally to have. And his men are great fighters.”

“When we left Ephesa,” Gilan told him, “he was planning an attack on Scorpion Mountain.”

Selethen shook his head sadly. “A fine idea, but doomed to failure, I'm afraid. Their lookouts can see across the desert for miles. At the first sign of an attacking force, they all withdraw into the labyrinth of caves under the mountain.”

“Except they won't see an attacking force,” Hal pointed out. “They'll see what they assume are their own troops returning from Ephesa. Umar and his men will be in disguise and the Scorpions will actually be expecting to see their own troops returning.”

A smile spread slowly across Selethen's face.

“Now that is a cunning idea.” He assumed a mock frown of thoughtfulness. “Although cunning is not a word I would associate with Umar. Was this his idea?”

Gilan looked at the ceiling.

Thorn let out a brief, explosive laugh. “It was Gilan's idea. He's as cunning as a sea snake, he is!”

Selethen smiled again. “I might have known it. Cunning
is
a word we associate with Rangers.”

Thorn slapped Gilan on the shoulder and nearly sent him sprawling across the coffee table. “This lad has cunning he hasn't even used yet!”

Gilan recovered and glared at the old sea wolf. “I wish you'd be a little less effusive, Thorn,” he said.

Thorn shrugged happily. “No idea what the word means!”

Selethen concealed his own smile. “I trust you'll dine with me tonight?” he said. “Your entire crew.” He addressed the invitation to Hal, who nodded his thanks.

“We plan to sail for Araluen tomorrow,” he said. “But we'd be honored to be your guests tonight.”

“We'll try not to be too effusive,” Thorn added.

Gilan cast a sidelong glance at him. “That'd be a first,” he muttered.

• • • • •

The return voyage down the Constant Sea was uneventful. The weather was fine and the winds were favorable. All in all, it was much like a pleasure cruise.

Even when they sailed through the Narrows and out into the Endless Ocean, the fine weather stayed with them, and
Heron
rolled the kilometers under her keel day after day. Eventually, the green shores of Araluen could be seen on the horizon as they entered the Narrow Sea. They sailed past the reefs and shoals where Tursgud had so nearly trapped them. This time, Hal stayed well to seaward of the treacherous stretch of water.

Lydia, Hal and Stig stood by the steering position, enjoying the rhythmic lift of the ship over the succeeding swells, and the constant groan of timbers and cordage as she rolled and pitched gently. There was a companionable silence about them, then Lydia, her face turned to the wind, said, “I can see why you love this. It makes up for all the bad weather and gales and salt water drenching everything. This is wonderful!”

“You're becoming a real deepwater sailor.” Stig grinned and she nodded happily.

Hal, who was steering, had a sudden impulse. “Would you like to steer her?” he asked.

Lydia's eyes went wide open. “Could I?”

He gestured to the tiller. “Why not? I think you've earned a turn at the helm.”

Gingerly, she took the tiller, feeling the vibration of the water running past it. As she took hold, she unwittingly released the pressure Hal had kept on the tiller and allowed the rudder to straighten. The ship instantly tried to go downwind. She felt a moment of panic.

“Meet her!” Hal said briskly and she frowned at him. She had no idea what that meant.

“Push the tiller away from you,” Stig explained. She did and the bow swung back upwind. But now it went too far and she saw Ulf and Wulf turning to stare at the steering platform.

“Back!” said Hal, and as she did the bow swung to port again.

“Now center the rudder,” Stig added. “That's it! Hold her there.”

“Bring it up a little,” Hal said quickly.

“But not too much. That's enough!” That was Stig again.

“Remember, if you want to go to port, you push the tiller to starboard,” Hal said.

She glanced at him, concentrating fiercely on the tiller. “Why?”

He shrugged. “That's just the way it is. A little to port.”

“Now ease it,” said Stig.

Lydia laughed. They were like two mother hens with their precious chick of a ship, she thought.

“It's not as simple as you make it look,” she said. The two friends looked at each other and smiled. Lydia felt a great sense of contentment. She felt that she truly belonged with this ship, and particularly with these two young men. And as she had that thought, she felt the same old confusion. A part of her was saying that, one day, she would have to choose between them, but another part was telling her that she never wanted to have to make that choice. She twitched the tiller once more and laughed as the ship responded to her command.

“I thought you just held it in one position the whole time,” she said, indicating the tiller.

“No,” said Hal. “The sea is moving constantly and you have to constantly make little adjustments to keep it all going smoothly. You can't take it for granted.”

“Just like a friendship,” she said, smiling. And Hal nodded.

“Maybe that's why the word ends in
ship,
” he said.

• • • • •

Lydia continued to steer, gradually getting the feel for the ship, until they sighted Cresthaven Bay. Then Hal took over and they sailed into the anchorage with a sense of homecoming.

They were surprised to see a wolfship moored alongside the jetty. She was one of the older models, still fitted with a square sail.

“That's
Wolfcall,
” Thorn said, “Rugen Cloudseeker's ship.”

The crew on the other ship called greetings to them and hurried to take mooring lines and bring
Heron
alongside. As the two hulls bumped and ground together, the skirl of the other ship moved to its waist.

“Permission to come aboard, Thorn?” he called out.

Thorn frowned. Rugen had always been a tactless dolt, he thought.

“Ask the skirl,” he said bluntly.

Rugen made an apologetic gesture. It was sometimes hard to remember that a man as young as Hal could be a skirl.

“Sorry!” he said. “Permission to come aboard, Hal Mikkelson?”

Hal shook his head at Thorn. Sometimes his old friend could be a little too prickly on his behalf. He gestured to the other skirl to board and Rugen stepped lightly across the gap between the two ships. He strode aft and clasped Hal's hand, then Thorn's.

“Welcome back,” he said. “Was it a successful voyage?”

Hal smiled wearily. So much had happened in the preceding weeks. They seemed to have been gone for an age.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “Yes, it was. But tell me, Rugen, what are you doing here?”

Rugen was a tall and cadaverously thin man. His long, bony face creased in a smile.

“We're your relief,” he said. “Your tour as duty ship is finished. You're going home.”