Erak_s ransom ra-7

by John Flanagan

  The two younger men nodded. The Northseekers were magnetised slivers of steel set in a protective container and free to swivel as the magnetic field of the earth dictated. Their use and value had originally been discovered by the Skandians. All Rangers carried them.

  'Then use them,' Halt went on. 'But try to make sure Selethen doesn't notice too much of what we're doing.' Selethen was no fool. He saw the quick look that passed between the three Rangers and resolved to keep a close eye on them. There was no current animosity between their countries. But who knew when that might change?

  The glaring eye of the sun had slid up over the rim of the earth now – a vast red ball rising into the sky. It interested Will that at this time of day it was possible to discern the sun's movement. One moment it was just broaching the horizon, next it was soaring freely. And already its heat was starting to bite, dispelling the remaining chill of the dark hours.

  'Don't like the look of that,' Svengal muttered. He was riding a heavy-set workhorse. The slender Arridi breed would have been too light to carry his bulky frame over a long journey. Selethen looked at him curiously and the Skandian pointed towards the sun.

  'When you see a red sunrise like that at sea, you start looking for a harbour,' he said.

  The Wakir nodded. 'Same in the desert. It often means a storm. But not always,' he added, smiling reassuringly at Evanlyn.

  During the hours before dawn, they had ridden as a group, with Selethen's men riding in a ring around them. Now that visibility had improved, he blew on a small silver whistle and the troop took up its daylight positions. A squad of five riders cantered forward until they were a kilometre in advance – still in sight but able to give ample warning of any impending attack. They spread out into line abreast, each man several hundred metres from his neighbour.

  Another five dropped back and formed a similar screen to the rear. The remaining forty men spit into two files riding either side of the command group, a hundred metres out and on parallel paths. It was one advantage of travelling in such bare, featureless country, Halt thought.' Selethen could deploy his men across a wide space without having to keep them bunched up on a track.

  The other notable feature of the formation was that it precluded the men talking among themselves and missing any possible threat. The horsemen in the two parallel files were all facing outwards, he noticed, their eyes scanning the horizon.

  He nudged Abelard up level with Selethen's pure white stallion.

  'Expecting trouble?' he asked, nodding at the wide-flung screen of men protecting them. Selethen shrugged.

  'Always expect trouble in the desert. Then you usually won't meet it.'

  Halt nodded appreciatively. 'Very wise,' he remarked. 'Who said that first?'

  Selethen allowed himself a thin smile. 'A very wise man,' he said. 'Me, in fact.'

  He glanced round. He could see the younger of the three Rangers making a note on a small sheet of parchment. He was staring intently at a hill in the distance with a distinctive hooked shape to its peak. He decided there was little he could do to stop this activity.

  He realised Halt was asking another question.

  'You mentioned the Tualaghi,' the Ranger said. He nodded meaningfully at the protective screen around them. 'I'd heard you had them pretty well under control.'

  Selethen shook his head in exasperation. 'Nobody can keep those devils under control for too long. What do you know of them?'

  Halt shrugged. 'They're raiders. Bandits. Assassins,' he said.

  Selethen nodded grimly. 'All of that and worse. We call them the Forgotten of God, the Blue-Veiled Riders. They despise the true religion. They worship devils and demons and they're committed to murder and robbery and pillage. The trouble is, they know the desert like the back of their hands and they can strike and fade away before we have a chance to retaliate. They have no honour and no sense of pity. If you are not one of them, you are not human. Your life is worthless.'

  'But you did manage to defeat them at one stage?' Halt prompted.

  'Yes. We formed an alliance with the Bedullin.' Selethen saw the question forming on the other man's lips and went on to explain. 'They're a desert nomad tribe. Warriors. Independent and very proud. But they're honourable people. They know the desert nearly as well as the Tualaghi and they joined with us in a temporary alliance to bring them to heel.'

  'Pity you couldn't make it permanent,' Halt said.

  Selethen looked at him. 'Indeed. But as I say, the Bedullin are proud and independent. They're like hawks. You can use them to hunt for you for a while. But they're always really hunting for themselves. Perhaps it's time I approached them again to put the Tualaghi back in their place.'

  Halt noticed that the Wakir was looking more and more often to the southern horizon. He followed the man's gaze and could see a thin dark line there.

  'Trouble?' he said. Selethen flashed him a reassuring grin.

  'Maybe. But at least the Tualaghi won't worry us. They move in groups of no more than ten. Fifty warriors would be too big a force for them to attack.'

  'Quite so,' Halt murmured. 'Yet a wise man should always expect trouble, didn't you say?' Unconsciously, his 'hand touched the string of the massive longbow slung across his shoulders. Selethen noticed the action. He glanced at the southern horizon again. The dark line had thickened noticeably. And it seemed closer. His hand went to the silver whistle inside his shirt.

  'I think I'll call the outriders in a little closer,' he said. 'Invisibility could become a problem before too long.'

  Svengal had urged his sturdy horse up alongside them. He gestured to the approaching storm.

  'Seen that?' he asked, and Selethen nodded. 'When we get hit by one of them at sea, it's full of wind and water and rain so thick you can't breathe. What's in that one?'

  'Sand,' Selethen told them. 'Lots and lots of sand.'

  Chapter 20

  There was a new urgency in Selethen's manner as the outriders closed in, in response to his signal. He looked around the foreigners, ensuring they were all wearing the kheffiyehs he had given them when they set out from Al Shabah. These were desert headdresses – essentially a simple square of cotton, folded into a triangle, then draped over the head so that elongated tails hung down either side and at the back, providing protection from the sun. They were held in place by a twisted coil of camel hair rope.

  Now he quickly showed them how the elongated tails could be pulled across the face then quickly twisted over each other to cover the nose and mouth of the wearer. It was a simple but effective form of head protection in the desert.

  'You'll need them,' he said. 'Once the sand wall hits us, you'll be unable to breathe without them.'

  Will glanced to the south. The thin dark line he had noticed a few minutes ago was now a thick band that spread from one side of the horizon to the other. In fact, he realised, the horizon seemed to have moved closer. He glanced north to confirm the fact. The sandstorm was blotting out the horizon to the south. It was a dirty brown colour at the base, almost black. And now he could see it as it towered thousands of metres into the air, blocking out the sky. The storm itself was rapidly becoming the boundary of their world.

  Selethen stood in his stirrups, looking for any available shelter.

  'There.' he called. 'There's a shallow wadi. The bank will give us a little protection.'

  He urged his horse towards the wadi, a dry gully that jut through the hard rocky ground. The walls were barely three metres in height but they would offer some protection, at least. They hurried to follow him. He halted a few metres short of the edge to allow them to pass by.

  'My god,' said Horace, 'look at how fast it's moving!'

  They looked up. The dirty brown wall of swirling sand now completely blocked their sight to the south. There was nothing but the storm and now they could see how quickly it was advancing on them. It was moving like the wind, Will thought. Then he realised, it was the wind.

  He glanced up and caught Evanlyn's eyes on him. They
exchanged a worried look and he knew they were both thinking of the same thing – the massive storm that had swept down on them when they were prisoners on Wolfwind years before. He tried to grin reassuringly at her but at that moment the first breath of the storm struck them – unbelievably hot and fetid and laden with flying, invisible grains of sand.

  Tug plunged nervously as the sand whipped his face and flanks. Will kept a firm hand on the reins. Usually, Tug only needed him to hold them lightly but in these conditions, he knew, his horse would respond better to the sense of control that a firm pressure on the bit would impart to him.

  'Take it easy, boy,' he said. 'It's just sand.'

  The wind was now a living presence around them, keening horribly. And the light was dying. Will was startled to find that Evanlyn, less than five metres away, was now a shadowy, indistinct form in the dimness. The others were no clearer.

  Selethen rode in among them and they pressed closer to him to hear him, horses tossing and whinnying nervously. He unwound the protective kheffiyeh from his mouth and shouted his instructions.

  'Ride down into the wadi. Dismount and turn your horses' tails to the wind. Try to cover their heads with your cloaks if you can. Then we'll… '

  Whatever he was going to add was lost in a giant fit of coughing as he drew in a mouthful of fine flying sand. He doubled over, pulling his headdress across his face again and waving them towards the wadi.

  Halt led the way. Will's sense of panic rose as he realised that his mentor would be out of sight in a few metres if he didn't hurry to follow him. He was conscious of other blurred figures close to him as Gilan, Horace, Evanlyn and Svengal all followed suit. Further away there were vague forms moving in the storm and he realised these were the Arridi troops moving to the shelter.

  The dim shadow that was Halt and Abelard seemed to sink into the ground and he realised that they must have reached the rim of the wadi. Tug, seeing them disappear, became nervous, sensing that the ground before him was unsafe. He whinnied shrilly and baulked, resisting Will's efforts to urge him forward. The wind was screaming around them, terrifying in its intensity and power, disorienting the little horse. Never before had Tug refused Will's command but now he stood his ground. The wind prevented his hearing the reassuring tones of his trusted master's voice and he sensed danger somewhere ahead. He had seen Halt and Abelard disappear and he was trained to protect his master in situations like this. He braced his legs and stood fast, head down into the screaming, flaying wind.

  Will saw the shadowy figure of Horace move past him, recognisable only because of the fact that Kicker stood hands taller than Tug. Someone else moved past him too. He had no idea who it was. Conditions were getting worse, as unbelievable as that might seem. The wind was like the blast from an oven, the air superheated, and the millions of flying, stinging sand particles tore at any piece of exposed skin. The grains forced their way into clothing, under the face masks of the kheffiyehs, into boots, inside collars and into any crevice in the skin – eyelids, ears, nostrils were full of it and Will coughed rackingly.

  He found the action of coughing caused him to inhale more sand than he expelled but it was unavoidable.

  He couldn't stay here like this, he realised. And he couldn't leave Tug. He would have to dismount and lead the little horse, hoping that the sight of his master in front of him would calm his fears enough for him to move. He took a firm grip on the reins and swung down to the ground. Ordinarily, he would have trusted Tug to stand still when he dismounted. But he knew the little horse was close to panic in this screaming, hellish, sand-laden wind.

  He slipped his right arm up under Tug's neck, caressing him and speaking to him, all the time keeping a firm hold on the reins with the other hand. It seemed to be working. Tug's braced forefeet relaxed and he allowed himself to take a faltering few steps in response to Will's urging.

  'Come on, boy. It's all right. It's only sand.' He tried to croon the words reassuringly but he was startled by the sound of his own voice, which came out as a dry, faltering croak. He doubted that the horse could hear him but he felt that the contact of his right arm and the proximity of his body was keeping the little horse under control.

  He stooped as he led Tug forward, trying to see the point where the ground dropped away into the wadi. It was all he could do to make out the ground itself amid the flying debris of the storm. He glanced up at Tug's face once. The little horse's eyes were tight shut against the wind. Fine sand and dust had crusted over the moisture around the eye sockets and lids.

  Where the hell was that bank? He stumbled forward, awkward with the resistant weight of Tug's reluctant body. He pulled the reins firmly and the horse yielded a little, taking three more hesitant steps forward. He realised that Tug's instinct was to turn tail on to the wind, protecting his eyes and nostrils from the whipping sand. But he had to keep forcing the little horse forward to the meagre shelter offered by the wadi's banks. He had a sense that, the storm had not yet reached its peak.

  Sand whipped across his eyes, blinding him, and he released his hold around Tug's neck for a moment to try to wipe them clear. It was a futile effort. He gasped and spluttered, blinded and suffocated by the storm. He pulled on 'the reins once more and stepped forward, head bowed against the screaming darkness around him.

  And felt his foot fall into empty space.

  Off balance, he teetered on the brink of the wadi bank, Flailing his free arm in the air to try to regain his stance. His whirling arm struck Tug across the nose and the little horse reared back in surprise and alarm, unsighted by the cloying sand around his eyes and not seeing where the blow had come from.

  Will began to fall and desperately threw himself back from the wadi's edge.

  The reins came loose from his grip as Tug jerked away, terrified by the thundering noise of the wind, startled by the sudden, unexpected blow across his muzzle and panic-stricken by the loss of contact with his master. Blinded by the sand, he wheeled instinctively away from the wind, seeking for some sense of Will in the storm close by him. But his senses, normally so keen and finely honed, were deadened by the all-pervading scream of the storm, the heat and the whipping, flying sand. Still trying to make some contact with Will, he took a pace, then another, whinnying shrilly in alarm. But he was already heading in the wrong direction.

  Will floundered to his feet. He tried to call to his horse but his voice was barely a croak now. He thought – thought – he could sense a presence in the storm a few metres away. He stumbled towards it, knowing it was Tug.

  But the vague shape, nothing more than a half-perceived denser mass in the darkness surrounding him, moved away and he lost sight of it. He stumbled forward, the wind behind him now.

  'Tug!' he tried to shout. But the sound was inaudible even to his own ears, drowned by the triumphant shriek of the massive wind. He stretched out a hand but, touched nothing but flying sand.

  Then, miraculously, he saw a shadow looming out of the dark mass of wind and sand and debris.

  'Tug!' he gasped. But a hand grabbed the collar of his cloak and pulled him forward.

  Dimly, he realised that he was face to face with Selethen.

  'Get… down!' the Wakir shouted at him, dragging him towards the rough ground. Will fought against the iron grip.

  'Horse… ' He managed to force the word out. 'My horse… '

  'Leave… him!' Selethen spoke slowly and deliberately so that he could be heard above the storm. Now he was urging his own horse, trained for and accustomed to these conditions, to its knees, all the time holding Will's collar with his free hand. The Arridi horse lay on its side, head curled round into the shelter of its own body. Will felt a foot slip between his feet to trip him and he and Selethen crashed to the ground together, the Arridi dragging him into the scant shelter provided by the horse's body.

  'Tug!' Will screamed, the effort searing his parched throat with agony. Selethen was fumbling with his cloak, trying to drag it over both their heads to protect them from the sand.
He leaned over to speak directly into Will's ear.

  'You'll die out there!' he shouted. 'You'll never find him now. Try to do it and you'll die! He's gone! Understand?'

  Dully, Will realised that he was right. He would have no chance of finding his horse in the blinding, whirling mass of sand that surrounded them. He felt a great stab of pain in his heart at the thought of his horse – alone and terrified in all that horror – and he sobbed uncontrollably, great racking sobs that heaved and shuddered through his entire body.

  But there were no tears. The heat and the choking, cloying sand and dust denied him even that small comfort.

  Chapter 21

  The storm passed over them. Will had no idea how long it battered them, screamed at them, tortured them. It must have been hours. But eventually it passed.

  While it raged around them, it was as if his senses shut down so that he was conscious only of the screaming, tormenting voice of the wind. In the sudden silence that greeted its passing, he became aware of other sensations. There was something heavy across his legs and body, and on top of the cloak that Selethen had pulled over their heads. He felt Selethen moving and he wriggled, fighting against the constricting weight as well, realising it was sand piled up on them, thrown there by the rampaging wind.

  Selethen coughed beside him and managed to throw a corner of the cloak clear. Dirty yellow-brown sand cascaded in on them both. Will rolled to his back and shoved the cloak away from his own face, managing to look down at himself.

  There was no sign of his body or legs. There was,,nothing but a sand-covered hump. He struggled to sit up, shovelling the sand away from his lower body with his hands. Beside him, he was conscious of Selethen doing the same thing.

  The earth seemed to move behind him and he twisted round, startled, in time to see Selethen's horse rolling and heaving to get its feet under it. The stallion forced its way upright, sending a huge weight of sand crashing onto the two men who had sheltered behind him. Then, upright, the horse shook itself mightily and more dirt flew.