The Battle for Skandia (10 page)

“So the western hemisphere was saved by a dish of bad clams?” Evanlyn said. The grizzled Ranger smiled grimly.

“It's surprising how often history is decided by something as trivial as bad shellfish,” he told her.

“Where were you while this was all going on, Halt?” Will asked his master.

Halt smiled again at the memory. “I suppose it's one of those moments you never forget,” he said. “I was hightailing it for the coast, with a small herd of . . .” He hesitated, glancing sidelong at Horace. “. . . fairly purchased horses, and a Temujai fighting patrol was right behind me. They were gaining on me too. Suddenly, one morning, they reined in and watched me gallop away. Then they simply turned around and started trotting back east—all the way to their homeland.”

There was a brief silence as he finished the tale. Halt could have wagered that it would be Will who would come up with the next question, and he was not disappointed.

“So who became the Sha'shan?” he asked. “The brother, the nephew or the cousin?”

“None of them,” Halt replied. “The election went to a dark horse candidate who had designs on the countries to the east of the Temujai homelands. The other three were executed for abandoning their mission in the west.” He stirred the fire again, thinking back to that well-remembered day when the pursuing riders had suddenly given up the chase and left him to escape.

“And now they're back again,” he said thoughtfully.

THEY BROKE CAMP EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING AND started down toward the pass that would take them across the border once more. Horace had offered Evanlyn the black battlehorse that had belonged to Deparnieux. When she had protested that this was a far superior animal to the bay he rode, he smiled shyly.

“Maybe so. But I'm used to Kicker. He knows my ways.” And that was the end of the matter. The prisoner rode one of the horses they had taken from the Temujai camp. A second was carrying the packs and supplies that, up until now, had been carried by Tug. Naturally, the little Ranger horse was now the proud bearer of his long-lost master.

As they came closer to the treeline at the bottom of the hill, Tug showed his happiness once more, tossing his head and whinnying. Halt turned in the saddle and smiled.

“I'm glad he's happy,” he said. “But I do hope he's not planning on keeping that up all the way home.”

Will grinned in reply and leaned forward to pat the little horse's shaggy neck.

“He'll settle down soon enough,” he said. At the touch, Tug danced a few paces and tossed his head again. Surprisingly, Abelard copied the actions.

“Now he's got my horse doing it too,” Halt said, more than a little surprised. He calmed Abelard with a quiet word, then turned to Will again. “You seem to be popular among the horses of this world, anyway. I thought . . .” His voice trailed away and he didn't finish the sentence. Will saw his body stiffen to attention and the gray-cloaked Ranger twisted in his saddle, peering into the trees, which were now close on either side.

“Damn!” he muttered quietly. He turned to Horace and Evanlyn, riding behind them and leading the prisoner's horse, but before he could speak, there was a scuffle of movement in the trees and a party of armed warriors stepped out into the open behind them, blocking their retreat.

Halt swung quickly to the front once more, as a second group emerged from the trees, fanning out to the sides and moving to cut them off in all directions.

“Skandians!” exclaimed Will, as he recognized the horned helmets and round wooden shields carried by the silent warriors. Halt's shoulder slumped in a gesture of disgust with himself.

“Yes. The horses have been trying to warn us, only I didn't realize it.”

A burly figure, wearing an enormous horned helmet and with a double-bladed battle-ax laid negligently over his right shoulder, stepped forward. Behind them, Halt heard the sinister whisper of steel on leather as Horace drew his sword. Without turning, he said:

“Put it away, Horace. I think there are too many of them, even for you.”

As Horace had moved, the huge ax had risen instantly to the ready position. The Skandian wielded it as if it were a toy. Now he spoke, and Will started at the familiar voice.

“I think we'll have you down from those horses, if you don't mind.”

Unable to stop himself, Will blurted out: “Erak!” and the man took a pace closer, peering at the second cloaked figure in front of him. The cowl had obscured Will's face so that the jarl hadn't recognized him. Now he could make out the boy's features and he frowned as he realized that there was something familiar about another of the riders. He hadn't recognized Evanlyn, swathed in a cloak against the cold. Now, however, he was sure that it must be she. He cursed quietly under his breath, then recovered.

“Down!” he commanded. “All of you.”

He motioned the circle of men back as the four riders dismounted. The fifth, he noticed with some interest, was tied to his horse and couldn't comply. He gestured for two of his men to get the prisoner down from his saddle.

Halt threw back the hood on his cloak and Erak studied the grim, bearded face. Now that he was dismounted, the man looked surprisingly small, particularly measured against Erak's own burly form. Will went to throw back his own cowl, but Erak stopped him with a hand gesture.

“Leave it for the moment,” he said in a lowered voice. He didn't know how many of his men might recognize the former slave who had escaped from Hallasholm months ago, but for now, something told him that the fewer who made the connection, the better it would be. He looked warningly at Evanlyn.

“You too,” he ordered, and she inclined her head in agreement. Erak turned his gaze back to Halt.

“I've seen you before,” he said. Halt nodded.

“If you're Jarl Erak, we saw each other briefly on the beach by the fens,” he said, and recognition dawned in the jarl's eyes. It wasn't the man's face that had struck a chord of memory, rather his bearing—the way he held himself and the massive longbow that he carried still. Halt continued: “There was quite a distance between us, as I recall.”

Erak grunted. “I seem to remember that we were well within bowshot,” he said. Halt nodded, acknowledging the point. The Skandian's face darkened with anger as he looked once more at the bow and the quiver of arrows slung at Halt's belt.

“And now you've been up to the same foul business,” he said. “Although what these two have to do with it is beyond me.” He added the last in a puzzled tone, jerking a thumb at Will and Evanlyn.

Now it was Halt's turn to look puzzled. “What foul business?”

Erak gave a disgusted snort. “I've seen you with that bow, remember? I know what you can do. And I've just seen more of your handiwork at Serpent Pass.”

Understanding dawned on Halt. He remembered the forlorn sight of the bodies at the small fort on the border. That must be the pass this Skandian was referring to. Since the garrison had been killed by archers and Erak knew Halt's skill with a bow, he had jumped to a rapid, if not too logical, conclusion.

“Not our work,” he said, shaking his head. Erak stepped closer to him.

“No? I saw them there. All shot. And we followed your tracks from there.”

“So you may have,” Halt said calmly, “but if you're any sort of tracker, you'd know that there were only two of us. We found the garrison at the pass dead. And we followed the tracks of a larger party—the ones who killed them.”

Erak hesitated. He wasn't a tracker. He was a sea captain. But one of the men who had come with him was an occasional hunter. While he didn't have the uncanny skills that the Rangers had developed in interpreting tracks, Erak now remembered that his man had said something about the possibility of there being two groups.

“Then,” he said, bewildered by this turn of events, “if you didn't do it, who did?”

Halt jerked a thumb at the bound prisoner. “Him—and his friends,” he said. “He was in a Temujai scouting party we ran into yesterday. There was a larger band who attacked the border garrison, then six of them came on into Skandia.”

“Temujai, you say?” Erak asked him. He knew of the warlike people from the east, of course, but it had been decades since they had come this way in any numbers.

“We killed a couple of them,” Halt told him. “Two got away and we captured this one.”

Erak stepped to where the prisoner stood, hands tied in front of him, glaring fiercely at the big northerners who surrounded him. He studied the flat-featured, brown-skinned face and the furs the man wore.

“He's a Tem'uj, all right . . . but what were they doing here?” he asked, almost to himself.

“That's the question I was asking,” Halt replied.

Erak glanced at him with a flash of anger. He hated being confused. He preferred a simple, straightforward problem—the kind he could solve with his broadax. “For that matter,” he snapped, “what are you doing here?”

Halt faced him evenly, uncowed. “I came for the boy,” he said quietly. Erak looked at him, then at the smaller figure beside him, his face still largely concealed by the gray mottled hood. His anger faded as quickly as it had flared.

“Yes,” he said, in a calmer tone. “He said you would.”

Like most Skandians, Erak valued loyalty and courage. Another thought struck him—something he'd wondered about for some time.

“At the beach,” he said. “How did you know to find us there?”

“You left one of your men behind,” Halt said. “He told me.”

The disbelief was plain on Erak's face.

“Nordal? He'd have spat in your eye before he told you anything.”

“I think he thought he owed me,” Halt said quietly. “He was dying and he'd lost his sword, so I gave it back to him.”

Erak went to speak, then hesitated. Skandians believed that if a man died without a weapon in his hand, his soul was lost forever. It seemed the Ranger knew about the belief.

“Then I'm in your debt,” he said finally. Then, after another pause: “I'm not sure how that affects this current situation, however.” He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, looking at the fierce little Temujai warrior, for all the world like a tethered hawk. “And I'd still like to know what this lad and his bunch are up to.”

“That's what I had in mind,” Halt told him. “I was planning to get my companions here across the border into Teutlandt. Then I thought I might come back with our friend here and find the rest of the Temujai—and see how many of them there are.”

Erak snorted. “You think he'll tell you?” he asked. “I don't know too much about the Temujai, but I know this much: you can torture them to death and they'll never tell you anything they don't want to.”

“Yes. I've heard that too,” Halt said. “But there might be a way.”

“Oh, might there?” the jarl asked scornfully. “And what might ‘that way' be?”

Halt glanced at the horse warrior. He was following their discussion with some interest. Halt knew he spoke the trading language but he had no idea how much of the common tongue he might understand. As a member of a scouting party, it was probable that he had some command of the language. He took the jarl's arm and led him a few paces away, out of earshot.

“I rather thought I might let him escape,” he said mildly.

THE TWO MEN STOOD OVER THE TANGLE OF DISCARDED ROPES lying in the snow. Erak pursed his lips, then turned to Halt. “Well, so far, you're right,” he said. “The little beggar escaped once Olak pretended to fall asleep on guard duty.” He glanced sideways at the large Skandian who had been assigned to the last watch. “You did pretend to fall asleep, didn't you?” he added, with a touch of sarcasm.

The warrior grinned easily at him. “I was wonderful, Jarl Erak,” he said. “You've never seen such a lifelike impersonation of a sleeping man. I should have been a traveling player.”

Erak grunted skeptically. “So what now?” he asked Halt.

“Now, I follow him while he leads me to the main body of Temujai,” the Ranger said. “As we discussed last night.”

“I've been thinking about that,” Erak replied. “And I've decided we're going to make a change. I'm going with you.”

Halt had been walking toward the spot where the horses were tethered. He stopped and turned to face the Skandian leader, a determined look on his face. “We discussed this last night. We agreed that I would be quicker and less noticeable if I went alone.”

“No. We didn't agree that. You agreed that,” Erak corrected him. “And even if you're right, you're just going to have to settle for being slower and noisier, and make allowances for the fact.”

Halt drew in breath to begin a protest, but Erak forestalled him.

“Be reasonable,” he said. “We've agreed that circumstances seem to make us temporary allies—”

“Which is why you'll keep my three companions here as hostages,” Halt put in sarcastically, and Erak simply shrugged.

“Of course. They're my surety that you'll come back. But put yourself in my shoes. If there is a Temujai army out there somewhere, I don't want to take a secondhand report to my Oberjarl. I want to see it for myself. So I'm coming with you. I may need you to track the prisoner, but I can do my own looking.”

He paused, waiting to see Halt's reaction. The Ranger said nothing, so Erak continued: “After all, the hostages might ensure that you come back. But they're no guarantee that you'll give me an accurate report—or even an honest one.”