'Time for some water, boy,' he said. His voice was little more than a croak, forcing itself out through his dry throat and mouth.
He swung down from the saddle, his body stiff and awkward. He staggered a few paces as he touched the ground, having to steady himself against the horse's flank. Arrow stood unmoving, head drooped almost to the ground. Then he shifted his weight to his left side, seeming to favour his right front hoof. Already, after only a few seconds standing, Will could feel the blazing heat of the ground burning up through the soles of his boots. For Arrow's unprotected hooves, it must be torture, he thought.
'I'll take care of that in a minute,' he told the horse. 'First we'll drink.'
He fumbled with the ties attaching the folding leather bucket behind the saddle and dropped the bucket onto the ground. He laughed briefly.
'Just as well it wasn't full,' he told Arrow. The horse didn't respond. Setting the bucket down carefully, making sure he had placed it on a flat surface, Will took the remaining waterskin and unstoppered it carefully. He was painfully aware of how light it was now. As he poured carefully, Arrow's head turned towards the sound. The horse made a low grumbling noise in his throat.
'Hold your horses,' he said. Then he laughed again at the idea of telling his horse to hold his horses.
'Not that you're my horse, really,' he continued. 'But you're a good horse for all that.'
A part of his mind was a little concerned by the fact that he was laughing and joking with his horse. He had the strange sensation that he was standing to one side, watching himself and Arrow, and he frowned at this irrational behaviour. He shook the ridiculous notion away and held the bucket for Arrow to drink.
As ever, he felt his own mouth and throat working as he watched the horse drink. But, whereas the previous day his mouth had been thick and gummy feeling, today it was dry and swollen, all excess moisture gone from it.
Arrow finished, his big tongue futilely searching the seams of the bucket where a few last drops might be hidden. Will had become accustomed to the horse's almost philosophical acceptance of the amount of water he was given. This time, however, Arrow raised his head and nosed insistently around the waterskin slung over Will's shoulders. It was another indication of how their condition was worsening. The horse's training was overcome by its need for water.
Will pushed the questing muzzle away. 'Sorry, boy,' he said, almost incoherently. 'Later.'
He took two small sips himself, holding each one in his mouth, making it last, before letting it trickle slowly down his throat. Then, reluctantly, he re-stoppered the water skin and laid it in the scant shade of a thornbush.
He raised Arrow's left front hoof to examine it. The horse grumbled and shifted awkwardly. There was no visible injury but when he laid his palm on the soft centre of the hoof, he could feel the heat there. The desert ground was burning Arrow's unprotected feet. Will appreciated it even more now that he was standing. The heat was all around them. It beat down from the sun, hit the desert floor and struck upwards again. At least when he was riding Arrow he had a little relief from it.
He untied his blanket from behind the saddle and cut it into squares and strips. Then he wrapped the little horse's hoofs with pieces of the blanket, padding the underside with several folded layers, and tying the whole thing in place with thin strips. He'd be cold when night fell, he knew. But he'd be in a worse spot if his horse became lame.
Arrow seemed to be standing more comfortably, no longer leaning to his right side. Will took his bridle and led him a few paces, walking backwards to watch his gait. The horse didn't seem to be favouring either side now, he saw with some relief.
Retrieving the water skin, Will slung it over his shoulder and prepared to mount.
Then he stopped and patted Arrow gently on the neck. 'I'll walk for a while,' he said. 'You've been doing all the work.'
He took out his Northseeker and checked his course, seeking a bearing point. There was a vertical pillar of rock and salt in the middle distance, the crystals reflecting painfully in the sun. But that made it easier to keep track of and he set off for it.
Arrow trudged after him, head down, his hooves now making a strangely muffled sound on the desert sand.
***
A further mistake. Burdened by the inescapable heat, Will took off his cloak and draped it over Arrow's saddle. He rolled up his shirt sleeves and, for a few moments, he felt a little cooler. But it was an illusion. The cloak, like the flowing garments of the Arridi, helped the body retain moisture. Without it, and exposed to the sun, he began to dehydrate even more rapidly than before.
In addition, his bare arms began to redden, then to burn, then to blister. But by the time he might have realised his mistake, Will was no longer capable of intelligent thought. His system was shutting down. His thinking was becoming erratic and unreliable. And still he hadn't seen that elusive formation of balancing rocks. They were an obsession with him now. They had to be here somewhere and he had to see them. Soon, he told himself. Soon. He could no longer appreciate the fact that he had hoped to see them after an hour or two travelling. He had now been riding and walking for over four hours with no sign of them.
Some time after noon he turned to face Arrow.
'Have you seen them?' he asked. — Arrow looked at him disinterestedly. Will frowned.
'Not talking, eh?' he said. 'Maybe you're a little hoarse.'
He cackled briefly at his own wit and for a moment, he had that uncomfortable sensation again — that he was standing to one side watching himself and the horse stumble across the desert. He became aware of the water skin slung across his shoulders.
'Need a drink,' he said to Arrow. Irrationally, he told himself that the water skin was weighing him down. If he drank some more, it would be lighter. And he would move more easily, he decided.
He drank deeply, then became aware of Arrow's accusing eyes on him. Guiltily, he re-stoppered the skin and set off again.
It was then that the realisation hit him. Selethen had given him a false map. There were no cliffs pockmarked with caves. There was no flat-topped hill. Of course, the Wakir wouldn't hand him such a valuable strategic document! Why hadn't he seen it before? The swine had given him a false chart and sent him out into the desert to die.
'He tricked us,' he told the horse. 'But I'll show him. We must be close to that soak by now. We'll find it and I'll go back and ram his map down his lying throat.' .
He frowned. If the map were false, there would be no water soak just a few kilometres away. He hesitated. Yet there must be a soak. There had to be! Then his thoughts cleared.
'Of course!' he told Arrow. 'He couldn't falsify the whole thing! Some of it must be true! Otherwise we'd have seen right through it straight away! That's real cunning for you.'
That problem solved, he decided that he could afford to give Arrow some more of the precious water. But the effort of untying and assembling the folding bucket seemed too much. Instead, he let the water trickle into his cupped hand, laughing softly as Arrow's big tongue licked at it. Some of it spilled, of course, soaking instantly into the baking sand. But it didn't matter. There would be plenty more at the soak.
'Plenty more at the soak,' he told the horse.
He replaced the stopper and stood swaying beside Arrow. The problem was, he thought, without another drink, he might not have the strength to reach the soak. Then he would die, all because he refused to drink the water he already had. That would be foolish. Halt wouldn't approve of that, he thought. Coming to a decision, he removed the stopper and drained the last of the water. Then he set off, staggering, beckoning Arrow to follow.
'Come on, boy,' he said, the words sounding like the harsh croaking of a crow.
He fell. The ground burnt his hands as he tried to break the fall and he didn't have the strength to rise. He lifted his head and then, wonder of wonders, he saw it!
The balancing rock, just as Selethen had drawn it! It was only a few hundred metres away and he wondered how he co
uld have missed seeing it before this. And just beyond that would be the soak, and all the water he could drink.
He couldn't stand. But he could easily crawl that far. He began to crawl towards those beautiful balancing rocks.
'How do they do it? Why don't they fall over?' he marvelled. Then he added, with a chuckle, 'Good old Selethen! What a map!' He looked behind him. Arrow stood, feet wide apart, head hanging, not following.
'Come on, Arrow!' he called. 'Plenty of water this way! Come on! Just to the rocks! The wonderful, wonderful balancing rocks! How do they do it? Step right up and see!'
He didn't realise that his words were an indecipherable croak. The water he'd just drunk hadn't been enough to compensate for the amount he had lost in the past five hours.
He continued to crawl, dragging himself over the rough, stony ground — the stones cutting his hands and the heat burning them. He left bloody handprints behind him — handprints that quickly dried to a dull brown in the insufferable heat. Arrow watched him going with dispirited eyes. But the horse made no move to follow him. There was no reason to.
There were no balancing rocks and Will was crawling in a giant circle.
* * *
Chapter 26
* * *
Selethen looked up quickly at Halt's words, a frown creasing his forehead.
'Who would pay them to do such a thing?' he asked. 'And why would they do it?'
Halt met his gaze evenly. He knew the Arridi was angry and emotional over the death of so many of his men — and he sensed that his feelings were fuelled by a longstanding hatred of the Tualaghi tribesmen. The situation was a dangerous one and he would have to choose his words carefully. The more he knew about what had gone on here, he reasoned, the better he could convince Selethen of what he was about to say. He turned and spoke quietly to Gilan.
'Take a look around. See if you can figure out what happened.'
The young Ranger nodded and moved off. Only then did Halt address Selethen's question.
'I'd say that whoever betrayed Erak to you in the first place is behind this,' he replied.
'That'd be Toshak.' Svengal had approached unnoticed. He had been searching the scene for his Oberjarl's body and had come to the same conclusion as Halt. 'It'd be exactly the sort of thing he'd get up to.'
Selethen looked from Halt to Svengal, then back again. Now there was another emotion showing on his face — suspicion.
'Who is this Toshak?' he challenged. 'I've never heard the name. And why would he pay to have your Oberjarl abducted?'
'For the same reason he betrayed Erak to you in the first place. He wants him out of the way,' Halt said. He saw Selethen was about to ask another question but he continued, talking over the other man. 'It's politics,' he said. 'Skandian politics. There's a small group of Skandians who resent Erak and would like to see him deposed.'
He saw a first glimpse of understanding in the Arridi's face. Arrida was rife with political intrigue and Selethen accepted this as a plausible explanation. But he wasn't fully convinced.
'I repeat. I've never heard of this Toshak person. I take it he's a Skandian, like you?' He addressed the last question to Svengal, whose face darkened into a scowl.
'He's a Skandian. But he's nothing like me.'
Selethen nodded, accepting the distinction. Svengal's anger, matching his own, was possibly the most convincing aspect of Halt's argument. But Selethen had seen a flaw.
'If this Toshak wants your leader out of the way, why bother to have him captured and abducted? Why not simply kill him with the rest of these people?'
But Halt was already shaking his head before Selethen finished voicing the question, as if he had foreseen it.
'He needs time,' he replied instantly. 'I said his group is a small one. Most Skandians are content with Erak as their Oberjarl. So Toshak and his friends need time to build resentment and uncertainty. A dead Oberiarl wouldn't serve their purposes. The other Skandians would simply elect a new one straight away — probably one of Erak's friends. Maybe even Svengal here.'
'Gods forbid that,' Svengal said earnestly. Halt allowed himself a grim smile at the big Skandian.
'But if Erak is missing, held prisoner somewhere — and it can be claimed to be the result of his own incompetence then Toshak and his group can start a whispering campaign to get people doubting his ability, and his suitability to be their leader. Particularly if, at the same time, his captors are demanding a large ransom from the Skandians. Skandians don't like that sort of thing.'
'Indeed we don't,' Svengal agreed. 'That's why the chief told me to go to Araluen for help in the first place.'
Selethen looked around the group and nodded. He was still unconvinced. But he had wondered why Svengal had returned with a group of foreigners to pay the ransom. So far, the only reason he had been given was that Erak was a friend of the Araluans. Now he could see a more plausible explanation for their involvement. A quick resolution to the problem would act in Erak's favour. The more the situation was dragged out, the more opportunity there would be for his enemies to sow dissent among his countrymen.
'Given enough time, the dissenters could create the right conditions to put forward their own candidate as Oberjarl — probably Toshak himself,' Halt said. This time Svengal's only comment was a low growl of anger at the idea.
Selethen paced back and forth, stroking his beard with one hand as he considered Halt's arguments. Abruptly, he stopped and turned to Halt again.
'It's possible, I suppose ... ' he said. The word 'but' was left hanging, unsaid, in the air by the tone of his voice. Halt waited, determined that he wouldn't be the one to voice the obvious doubt. Like Selethen, he could see another possible explanation for the carnage around them. But before he raised that, Selethen had another question.
'You say your countryman Toshak is behind this. That he betrayed your leader in the first place?' he questioned Svengal. The sea wolf nodded and Selethen continued. 'Yet I have never heard of him. Our informant was a fisherman from a small village down the coast. More of a smuggler than a fisherman, as a matter of fact,' he added. 'He's accustomed to moving unseen through the waters around our coast. He saw your ship and brought word to us.'
Svengal said nothing. But once again Halt had a ready answer.
'You'd hardly negotiate with a Skandian. If Toshak had tried to approach you, he wouldn't have got a word in before the first volley of arrows was on its way. Of course he needed a go-between. And it would have been relatively easy for him to make contact with a smuggler. Chances are, your informant was also the one who sold Erak the false timetable for the money transfers.'
'Yes, that's reasonable, I suppose.' In spite of his words, they could all hear the tone of doubt in Selethen's voice. 'But I keep coming back to another possible explanation for all this.'
He waved his arm distastefully around the scene of death and destruction. Halt waited impassively. Make him say it, he thought. Don't say it for him or you'll give it credibility.
'I agree with you, this could be the work of Skandians — or of Tualaghi in the pay of Skandians. But there's another possible reason why Erak's body isn't here. This was a rescue party. The people who killed my men did it to set Erak free. Even now, he could be heading for the coast and another ship.'
'Do you think we'd willingly put ourselves in your hands if we'd planned that?' Halt asked.
'I think it's exactly the sort of double bluff that you might consider,' Selethen told him. 'You negotiate with me while you organise for another party of Skandians to rescue your friend. If they're successful, you save sixty-six thousand reels. If they're not, you can continue as before, and deny all knowledge of the rescue attempt.'
Halt said nothing for a few seconds. As he had realised before, politics and plotting were very much a part of life in Arrida. And this was exactly the sort of convoluted reasoning that would seem logical to Selethen. He knew that his next words were going to be vital to the success of their mission. While he gathered his though
ts, trying to muster the best possible argument to restore Selethen's trust, Halt stepped forward. As Halt and Selethen and Svengal had been talking, Horace and Evanlyn had edged closer listening. Now the young warrior thought it was time he spoke up.
'One question.' he said. All eyes swung to him. Halt held up a hand to stop him going any further. The subtleties of negotiation, the fine cut and thrust.of complex argument was not the young man's strongest suit. Horace was a straightforward person, with a direct approach to any problem that faced him.
'Horace,' Halt said, a warning tone in his voice, 'this might not be the best time ... '
But Horace was holding up his own hand to silence Halt. His face was determined and set in a tight frown. Halt knew he was angered by the suggestion that they had engaged in the sort of underhanded scheme Selethen had described. He didn't need Horace's injured sense of dignity muddying the waters here. But the young man was ploughing ahead, regardless.
'A question for the Wakir,' he said. Evanlyn, beside him, mirrored Halt's worried expression. Horace might be about to put his foot in it, she thought. But Selethen made a gesture for Horace to continue and it was too late.
'Your question is?' he said smoothly.
'How did we know?' Horace asked. His tone was blunt and challenging. Selethen frowned, not understanding immediately.
'How did you know ... what?' he asked.
Horace's face was flushed now, partly with indignation but also because he realised that he was the centre of attention. He never enjoyed that. But he felt his point to be a
valid one and deserved to be made.
'How did we know that Erak was with this party.'
For a moment, nobody understood. Selethen voiced a confused little gesture with both hands.
'I told you,' he said. Standing back and watching, Halt felt an immense surge of warmth for the warrior. Sometimes, he thought, the direct approach could be far more effective than a long, involved dissertation.
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