Erak's Ransom (18 page)

Now that they had decided on taking the more direct route to the Khor-Abash Wells, there seemed to be no point in having Gilan, Halt and Selethen ride ahead.
Before dawn the following morning, the entire party broke camp and set out together. Initially, Selethen led them on a long swing due west, before angling back to a north-west course — the base course that the Tualaghi had been following. This gave them enough clearance so that they would avoid running into the Tualaghi war party on one of their westerly zigzags.
With no need to follow the Tualaghi's tracks any more, they were able to revert to their original travel pattern, travelling in the cooler hours of darkness before dawn. In addition, they continued to move north-west after the sun had set, giving themselves an extra hour or two of travel each day. In this way, they were able to gain considerable ground on the enemy. As they camped in the darkness on the second day of direct travel, one of Selethen's scouts rode into camp and reported to his
Wakir.
Selethen listened, then approached the spot where the Araluan party were sitting, a satisfied smile on his face.
'We were right,' he said. 'My scout tells me that the Tualaghi force is following a course parallel to ours. They are camped for the night, approximately ten kilometres to the north-east.' He glanced meaningfully at the small, semi-concealed cookfire that was all he had allowed for their party. Its light, he knew, would be barely visible from a distance of more than two kilometres. 'Apparently, they're convinced that we have lost their trail. They're not worrying about concealing their fires.'
Halt scratched his chin thoughtfully. 'Of course, under normal circumstances, you would have given up and turned back long ago, wouldn't you?'
The Arridi leader nodded. 'Exactly. It seems that our friends are becoming overconfident in their ability to lose us.'
'And overconfidence,' Halt added, 'can be a dangerous thing.' He turned to the younger Ranger, who was relaxing, the small of his back supported by his saddle, the ever-present coffee in his hands. 'Gil,' he said, 'd'you think you're up to taking a look at their camp tonight?'
Gilan smiled and finished his coffee. 'Thought you'd never ask,' he said. He glanced up at the quarter moon, now low in the western sky. 'Moon'll set in half an hour or so. Might as well get going now.'
'According to Selethen's man, you should be able to see the loom of their fires from about four kilometres away. Leave Blaze there and go ahead on foot. Make sure you cover your tracks and ... ' Halt paused, aware that Gilan was watching him with a patient smile on his face. 'Sorry,' he said. If anyone knew how to go about a surveillance job like this, it was Gilan. 'You know all this, right?' he added, a rueful smile on his face.
'Right,' said Gilan. 'But it never hurts to be reminded. Anything in particular you want me to look for?'
Halt thought, then shrugged. 'The obvious. See if you can spot Erak. See how they have him guarded. If there's a chance we could break him out of their camp by stealth, I'd rather do that than fight a pitched battle. Numbers, of course. Let's find out how many of them there really are. Anything else you think might be of interest.'
'Consider it done.' Gilan had hoisted his saddle over one shoulder and was heading towards the spot where their horses were quartered for the night. Horace rose hastily, brushing sand from his knees.
'Hold up, Gilan. Want some company?' he asked. Gilan hesitated. He didn't want to offend the young warrior.
'Might be better if he went alone, Horace,' Halt cautioned. 'He's trained to move silently and you're not.'
Horace nodded his understanding. 'I know that. But I can wait back where he leaves Blaze — keep an eye on things. Even I can't be heard from four kilometres away.'
'That's debatable,' Halt said, perfectly straight-faced. Then he looked at Gilan. 'But he does have a point. Might be a good idea to have some backup close by.'
'Fine by me,' Gilan said, relieved now that he knew there was no need to offend Horace. 'I'll be glad of the company. Let's get saddled.'
Horace reached down and seized his own saddle and together, the two walked towards their horses.
'This is as far as you'd better go,' Gilan told Horace. The younger man nodded and they both swung down to the ground. Horace tethered Kicker's reins to a thorn bush. Gilan, in the way of Rangers, simply dropped his reins on the ground.
'Stay,' he said to Blaze.
The bay, they both knew, would confine his movements to a radius of twenty metres or so until his master returned. Gilan and Horace surveyed the skyline to the north-east.
'They're getting cocky, aren't they?' Horace said. Even at this distance, the glow of the Tualaghi camp fires was clearly visible in the sky above the horizon.
'They are indeed,' Gilan said. 'Let that be a lesson to you. Never assume you've given someone the slip until you're absolutely sure of it.'
He unslung his bow and quiver and laid them on the ground. He wouldn't be needing them on this mission and they'd just get in his way. Similarly, he unclipped his scabbarded sword from his belt. That left him with his saxe knife and throwing knife, which were weapons enough.
'Do you want me to loosen Blaze's saddle girth?' Horace asked and Gilan answered without hesitation.
'No. Leave it as it is. Kicker's too. We may want to get out of here in a hurry if anything goes wrong.'
Horace regarded him with some interest. He knew the young Ranger's reputation as one of the finest unseen movers in the Ranger Corps — perhaps
the
finest. It was said that Gilan could approach to within a few metres of a wide awake sentry, steal his belt and shoes, and leave the man wondering why his pants were falling down and his feet were cold. Horace knew it was an exaggeration — but not by much.
'Are you expecting something to go wrong?' he asked. Gilan looked at him seriously and laid one hand on his shoulder.
'Always
expect something to go wrong,' he told him. 'Believe me, if you're wrong, you're not disappointed. If you're right, you're ready for it.'
Sometimes it felt strange to be giving this sort of advice to someone who was a knight, and recognised as a fine swordsman. But Gilan had to make himself remember that Horace was only young, no matter how accomplished he might be.
'See you in a couple of hours,' he said, and melted away into the darkness.
Gilan moved quickly and silently over the rough ground. As he reached the crest of the first ridge between him and the Tualaghi camp, he glanced back once to where the tall figure and the two horses stood waiting. Then he dropped to the ground and rolled silently over the ridge and into the dark area below it, avoiding sky-lining himself to any possible observer. The only thing that such a person might have seen would have been a low, indeterminate shape that briefly broke the line of the horizon before disappearing.
Once he was safely below the ridge itself, Gilan resumed his feet and headed towards the fires.
The fact that he had such a clear-cut guide was a potential hazard, he knew. It would be too easy to simply continue towards the light of the fires, now becoming more and more visible over the horizon, without taking care that he himself wasn't seen. Over-confidence, as they had all observed, was a dangerous thing. So he proceeded as if there were a score of sentries just out of sight, all alert and all forewarned that someone might be trying to slip past them.
It took more time to do it that way. But he knew it might save his life in the end.
It was an hour later when he reached the Tualaghi camp. As before, he dropped to the ground before the crest of the final ridge, and inched forward, the cowl of his cloak pulled up to shade the white oval of his face.
As his eyes rose above the ridge line, he whistled silently to himself. The camp was much bigger than he had expected. They had been following a party of around eighty men. There must have been more than two hundred in this camp, and twice as many fires as he might have expected — another reason why the firelight had been so obvious.
Either they've rejoined a main party, he thought, or met up with another one.
It didn't really matter which, he realised. The fact was, there were nearly four times as many men as they had with them. That meant a direct attack was virtually out of the question.
While he digested this fact, his eyes searched the camp for some sign of Erak. It didn't take long to find him. The Oberjarl's burly figure stood out among the slightly built desert nomads. As might be expected, he was virtually in the centre of the camp, where he would be hardest for a potential rescuer to reach. The Tualaghi had left their prisoner in the open air, while they spent the night in small, low tents, similar to the ones Selethen's Arridi troops used. Erak was left to make himself as comfortable as possible in the cold night air, with only a blanket for warmth. As Gilan watched, the big Skandian re-arranged himself on the stony ground and the chains securing him became more obvious. Gilan frowned, trying to see what Erak was attached to, then realised that he was chained to not one, but two camels that were lying nearby. He shook his head in frustration. Even after a brief time in Arrida, he had learned how stubborn the hump-backed beasts could be. Chaining Erak between two of them would make it virtually impossible for him to escape. And the bad-tempered animals would provide a noisy warning if anyone tried to tamper with his chains.
So, no direct assault and no way to creep in and release him, Gilan thought. This was getting trickier by the minute.
He had no idea what alerted him to the slight movement. He sensed it more than saw it — right out at the periphery of his vision. Something, or someone, had moved on the long ridge he was occupying. But whoever or whatever it might be was four or five hundred metres to the left of his position, where the ridge curved back to the right. He looked directly at the spot now and saw nothing in the uncertain night light. Then he looked to one side ofthe position, to allow his peripheral vision a chance to see if anything were there. This was an old trick for seeing movement in the dark. The peripheral vision was more reliable.
Now he was sure of it. Something moved. The movement was an abrupt one and that was what alerted him to it. A small shape had slipped back below the level of the ridge. He looked directly at the spot again but there was nothing to be seen. A sentry? He didn't think so. There was no reason for a sentry to behave in such a clandestine manner. And there was no sign of any other sentries this far out from the perimeter. That had been the first thing Gilan had checked when he made his approach. It made no sense for one sentry to be placed where he had seen the movement. Perhaps it had been a small nocturnal animal? It was possible, but he doubted it. Rangers were trained to listen to their instincts.
Gilan's told him that someone else had been observing the Tualaghi camp.

Will felt the blood rushing to his face. 'Your horse?' he said, his voice a little shriller than he intended. 'What are you talking about? You know he's mine.'
Cielema was frowning at her husband. But the
Aseikh
made a helpless gesture with both hands. He was not happy about the situation but there was nothing he could do about it.
'He
was
yours,' he admitted. 'But now he's ours. That's the way we do things.'
'You steal horses?' Will accused him and he saw the embarrassment on the other man's face change to anger at the words.
'I will ignore that insult because you're ignorant of the way we do things in the desert,' he said. 'Don't make the mistake of repeating it.'
Cielema stepped towards her husband. 'Surely, Umar, you could make an exception ... ' she began but Umar stopped her with an upraised hand. He turned back to Will, seeing the anger seething in every inch of the slightly built youth's body.
'It's not up to me to make that exception.' He turned to Will and continued. 'You must understand our ways. You did own that horse originally. No one contests that.'
'How could you?' Will said. 'There was a spare arrow case on the saddle, carrying arrows identical to that one.' He gestured to the arrow that had transfixed the sand cobra, still lying on the ground at their feet. It was a calculated move. He wanted Umar to be reminded that Will had just saved his grandson's life.
'Yes. We agree. And it was obvious when we found you that the horse knew you. But that's beside the point. You must have allowed him to escape.'
Will was taken aback by the statement. He still blamed himself for letting go of Tug's bridle during the storm. 'Well, yes ... in a way, I suppose. But there was a storm, and I couldn't ... '
He got no further as Umar seized the advantage. 'And in our law, if you release a horse and it runs off, it is no longer your horse. Whoever finds it owns it. And Hassan ib'n Talouk found it. It was wandering, nearly dead of thirst. He rescued it and cared for it and now it is his horse.'
Will shook his head. His voice was bitter. 'I don't believe this. I nearly killed myself looking for Tug and you tell me this ... Hassan Ib'n Talouk ... owns him now because he found him?'
'That's exactly what I'm telling you,' Umar said.
'Umar, we owe this young man,' Cielema said, a pleading note in her voice. 'Surely there is something you can do?'
Umar shook his head. 'Yes, we owe him. And he owes us his life, if you recall. We are even on that score. He has said as much himself.' Unhappy as he might be with the situation, Umar felt obliged to respect his own tribal law. 'Look, if I had found the horse, I would happily return him to you. But it's not up to me. Hassan has taken a fancy to him. He's fascinated by him and he wants to keep him.'
'He'll never be able to ride him!' Will shouted. Ranger horses were trained so that they could never be stolen by another rider. Before mounting for the first time, a rider had to speak a secret code phrase to the horse.
'Yes. We've noticed that. There is obviously some secret to riding that horse. Unfortunately that has intrigued Hassan even more. I doubt he will give him up.'
'Then I'll buy him!' Will said.
Umar raised an eyebrow. 'With what? You had no money on you when we found you. Have you somehow obtained some in the last few hours?'
'I'll owe it to you. You have my word. I'll pay it. Name a price!' He knew he could get Evanlyn to back his promise. But again, Umar was shaking his head.
'How will you pay us? How will you ever find us again? We're nomads, Will. We don't deal in future promises. We deal in gold and silver and we deal in
right now
when we trade. Do you have gold or silver? No, you don't.' He answered his own question with an air of finality. Then, his tone softened a little.
'Look, our laws say that when we find a man dying of thirst in the desert, we must do everything in our power to save him. We could have just ridden by and left you to die. But our law says otherwise. By the same token, another law says that a horse found wandering becomes the finder's property. You can't take advantage of one law and deny the other.'
'This is ridiculous and embarrassing, Umar,' Cielema said angrily. 'You will speak to Hassan. You will tell him that he must return the horse to Will. You are the
Aseikh.
You can do this.'
Umar's lips set in a tight line. 'Don't you understand, wife, it is precisely because I am the
Aseikh
that I can't do this! I cannot order Hassan to ignore our laws! If I do that, how can I discipline anyone in the future for doing the same thing? For stealing? Or for injuring another?
Oh, I am sorry, Aseikh,
people will say,
we thought it was all right to ignore our laws, as you told Hassan to do it.'
'Then you will
ask
him to do this,' she demanded but he shook his head again.
'I will not. I won't embarrass Hassan — or myself. I know he wants to keep this horse. He has every right to do so. I will not try to make him feel guilty about doing something he is entitled to do.'
Cielema looked away angrily, and her tense stance and folded arms spoke volumes about the fury inside her. Will felt a mounting sense of hopelessness.
'Could I speak to Hassan?' he asked, controlling the anger in his own voice, forcing himself to speak calmly. Umar considered the suggestion for a few seconds, then shrugged.
'There's no reason why not,' he said. 'But I warn you, it will do no good.'
Hassan was a young man. He couldn't have been much more than twenty years old. He had a pleasant face and a rather wispy beard that he was obviously trying to grow. His eyes were dark and humorous and in other circumstances, Will would probably have liked him.
Right now, he hated him with every fibre of his body.
The young Bedullin was grooming Tug when they found him in the horse lines. Umar and Cielema had escorted Will and as they passed through the camp, word had spread as to what was happening. Now a small crowd of onlookers followed behind them. It was noticeable that Will was now fully armed, with his saxe and throwing knife, and the massive longbow slung over his shoulder once more.
He heard one whispered comment from the people following behind him as he strode through the camp. 'I've heard the foreigner wants to fight Hassan for the horse!' someone said. And the more he thought about it, the more Will found he wasn't opposed to the idea.
Tug nickered happily when he saw Will approaching. He had recognised the sound of his master's stride. Hassan looked up from his work and smiled a welcome. He made the Arridi greeting gesture to Umar.
'Good morning,
Aseikh
Umar.' He looked at Will, saw the anger in the young man's face and wondered what was troubling him. 'I see the stranger has recovered. That's good.'
Tug tried to move towards his master but Hassan restrained him with a firm hand on his bridle. The little horse baulked and looked puzzled. He whinnied shrilly. The sound tore at Will's heart.
'Hassan,' Umar was saying, 'this is Will. Will, meet Hassan ib'n Talouk.'
Hassan made the polite greeting gesture again. Will responded with a stiff little bow. Once again, Hassan saw the anger and frowned, wondering what had caused it.
'You seem to have recovered, Will,' he said. 'I'm glad to see it.' He wondered what the foreigner was doing here. Hassan, after all, had not been responsible for finding him in the desert. He had only tagged along because the shaggy little horse that he had found some days previously had bolted after the
Aseikh
when he had ridden out to investigate the vultures. The horse must have caught some scent of his former owner, Hassan thought.
It was obvious that the little horse had formerly belonged to the young man they found close to death in the desert. But Hassan had no compunction about keeping Tug. Of course, he had no idea that was the horse's name. He had renamed him Last Light of Day, in memory of the time of day when he had found him. Finders owners was the law of the desert and Hassan and all the Bedullin had seen it exercised many times in the past. He had no reason to think that Will would dispute the fact.
He waited patiently now while the stranger worked to get control of his anger. Finally, Will said in a calm voice: 'Hassan, I would like my horse back, please.'
Hassan frowned. He looked to Umar for guidance but the
Aseikh
avoided his gaze. He smiled pleasantly at the stranger.
'But he's no longer your horse. He's mine.' He looked to Umar again. 'Have you not explained the law,
Aseikh?'
Umar shifted uncomfortably. 'I have. But the stranger is a foreigner. In his land, the law is different.'
Hassan considered this information, then shrugged. 'Then I'm glad we're not in his land. Because I like this little horse.' He hesitated, seeing the unhappy expression on Umar's face. Cielema was beside him, he noticed. She was very stiff-backed and angry looking too.
'Aseikh
Umar,' he said, 'do you wish me to return my horse to the stranger?'
Umar hesitated for a long moment. He knew that the young man held him in the highest regard. He idolised him, in fact. If Umar were to say that he did wish him to return the horse, Hassan would do so, out of respect for his
Aseikh.
And that was what stopped Umar from asking him to do so. He knew it would be using his influence unfairly. The horse was Hassan's, and Hassan was not from a wealthy family. It could be years before he could afford another horse.
'I won't ask you to do that,' he said finally, folding his arms across his chest. Cielema looked angrily at him but said nothing.
Hassan looked back to Will. 'I'm sorry,' he said. He turned away to continue with his grooming.
'I'll pay you for him!' Will said abruptly.
Hassan stopped grooming and looked back at him, 'You have gold?' he asked.
Will shook his head. 'I'll get it. I give you my word.'
Hassan smiled again. He was a polite young man and had no wish to be discourteous but the stranger simply didn't understand how things were done.
'I can't buy anything with words,' he said. He wished the stranger would stop being so pushy. But now that he was here, Hassan thought he might well find out something that had been bothering him about Last Light of Day.
'Can this horse be ridden?' he asked curiously. Every time he had tried to gain the saddle, the little grey had bucked him off. He was a mass of bruises.
Will nodded. 'I can ride him.'
Hassan led Tug forward and handed the bridle to Will. He wanted to see if it were possible.
'Show me,' he said. He watched as Will put a foot in the stirrup and swung easily into the saddle. Hassan waited a few seconds. Usually, about now, the little horse would explode into a leaping, twisting, bucking devil. But he stood calmly, ears pricked.
Sitting astride Tug, Will had a momentary urge to set him to a gallop and simply ride off. As if sensing it, the Bedullin tribesmen tightened the circle around him and the moment was lost. Besides, he thought, he had no idea where he was, no chart and his Northseeker was back by Umar's tent. Umar made an unmistakable gesture with his thumb and Will reluctantly dismounted. He put the bridle back into Hassan's waiting hand.
'So there is a secret to riding him,' Hassan said. 'You will have to tell me.'
He smiled, wishing the stranger would simply accept the inevitable. But he saw the refusal in the younger man's angry expression.
'You'll never ride him,' Will said.
Hassan shrugged. He looked inquiringly to Umar, wishing he would step in and end this unpleasantness. 'I'll find a way,' he said confidently. He was an excellent rider and horse handler, after all. He sensed that Will had come to a decision.
'If you won't let me pay you for him, I'll fight you for him,' Will said tersely. Hassan actually stepped back a pace, appalled at the lack of courtesy and basic good manners. This time Umar did step in, as a buzz ran round the watching crowd.
'There'll be no fighting!' he snapped. He glared at Will. 'What did you have in mind — to stand off fifty paces and kill him with that bow of yours before he comes in reach? That's not fighting. That's murder!'
Will dropped his eyes. Umar was right. But he was torn with anxiety over the loss of his horse. To find him again and then lose him like this was unbearable. Something Cielema had said was moving round in his mind, just out of reach of conscious thought. There
was
a way, he thought, if he could only ...
'Besides, if I can't ride him, I'll use him as a pack pony. He's sturdy enough,' Hassan was saying.
That was the final straw. The idea that Tug, his intelligent, affectionate, wonderful Tug, would see out his days as a beast of burden was too much for Will to bear. Then Cielema's earlier statement came into clear focus and he knew there was one desperate way out of this.
'I'll race you for him,' he challenged. 'I'll race Tug against the best horse and rider you have in the camp.'
Now there was a definite buzz of interest among the crowd. Umar's head snapped up at the challenge. As his wife had said, no Bedullin man could resist a wager. And besides, this would resolve the unpleasant predicament that had come about.
'What terms?' Umar asked. Will thought quickly, then took a deep breath and commited himself.
'If I win, I get Tug back. If your man wins, I'll tell Hassan the secret to riding him. And I'll give up all claim to him.'
Umar looked around the watching circle of faces. He could see a light of interest and expectation in every eye. This was the sort of challenge that set Bedullin blood racing. Already, side wagers were being negotiated among the onlookers. He looked back at Will, saw the defiant look on the young man's face as he staked everything on one throw of the dice.
'Hassan?' he asked and the young Bedullin nodded eagerly.
'As long as I'm the rider,' he said. 'And you let me ride your horse Sandstorm.'
Umar nodded. Hassan was a brilliant rider and Umar's palomino stallion Sandstorm was far and away the best horse in the tribe.
'Done,' he said.