ERAK'S RANSOM

by John Flanagan

  'Do you think he'll recover his senses?' she asked the healer who had accompanied the Bedullin war party. The older man touched the massive blue and yellow bruise that disfigured the Tualaghi's forehead and shrugged.

  'Head wounds are uncertain,' he told her. 'Maybe tomorrow he'll improve. Maybe in a year. Maybe never.' He smiled at her. 'Don't be too concerned, young lady. He doesn't merit any pity.'

  She nodded. But she wasn't completely comforted. She didn't like the fact that she had reduced a man — no matter how evil he might be — to a drooling idiot.

  Her spirits recovered on the second night back at the oasis, when the Khoresh Bedullin organised a feast of welcome and celebration.

  They ate spiced roast lamb, and peppers blackened in the fire until their tough outer skins could be peeled away, then stuffed with flavoured rice and a cereal the Bedullin called couscous — light and fluffy, spiced with saffron and cumin and cardamom and garnished with plump sultanas and thin flakes of toasted almonds.

  There were other delicious dishes of mutton or chicken, cooked in strange conical clay cookpots called tagines and mixed with more spices, dates, apricots and root vegetables. The cone-shaped lids of the tagines retained the flavoured steam from the cooking liquids, rendering the meat so succulent and tender that it fell from the bone.

  The meal was eaten with the hands, and pieces of fresh flat bread were tom up to make implements. It was a delicious, greasy-fingered evening of eating to excess — a piece of indulgence the group felt they owed themselves after the hardships of their desert campaign.

  Halt, Gilan, Evanlyn, Horace and the two Skandians were given a prominent position in the circle sitting around the massive fire. Selethen and Will, however, were in the principal places of honour, seated to the right of Umar and his wife, Cielema, respectively. Evanlyn smiled at Horace and jerked her thumb towards the young Ranger, currently engaged in animated conversation with the Bedullin leader and his wife. The two older people roared with laughter at something he had said and he ducked his head, grinning, pleased that he had amused them.

  'He falls on his feet wherever he goes, doesn't he?' she said, a trifle wistfully. Horace looked across the fire at his old friend and nodded.

  'People like him,' he replied. Then he added, 'There's a lot to like, after all.'

  'Yes,' Evanlyn said, her eyes fixed on Will. For a moment, studying her, Horace saw a brief shadow of sadness pass across her face. He jogged her with an elbow, a little more enthusiastically than good manners dictated.

  'Sling us a peach, will you?' he said. She raised an eyebrow at him and grinned.

  'You don't mean that literally, do you?' she said. He smiled, glad to see she had shaken off her melancholy, knowing that she wouldn't be able to resist the pun on his use of the word 'sling'. He held up his hands before his face in mock horror.

  'Please! Spare me that!' he said and they both laughed.

  The Bedullin, as a general rule, didn't use alcohol, but out of deference to the two Skandians, several flasks of arariki, a brandy made from fermented dates and peaches, were provided. Now Erak and Svengal, at their own insistence, decided they would perform a sea chanty for the enjoyment and education of the assembled group. They stood on rather unsteady legs and began to bellow out the ribald tale of a penguin who fell hopelessly in love with a humpback whale.

  Since the desert-dwelling audience had never seen either animal and so had no idea of the discrepancy in their sizes, much of the humour fell flat. So did much of the melody. But they applauded the enthusiasm of the singers, and the sheer volume at which they performed, and the two sea wolves resumed their seats, confident they had upheld the honour of Skandia.

  Halt was quiet, Gilan thought. But then, Halt usually was quiet at events like this. Halt's eyes were intent on the animated young face of his apprentice as he talked and laughed with the Bedullin Aseikh and his wife.

  'He did well,' Gilan said and Halt turned to him, a rare smile touching the bearded face.

  'He did,' he agreed.

  'Told you he would,' Gilan said, grinning.

  Halt nodded acknowledgement. 'Yes. You did. You were right.'

  Gilan shifted to face Halt more directly, remembering something Halt had said some days previously.

  'But you knew, didn't you? You said to us when we were in Maashava that Yusal had forgotten that Will was out there. So you knew he'd survived. How was that?'

  Halt's face grew serious as he considered the question. 'I think knew is too definite a term. I sensed it. I've always had a sense about Will. There's a feeling of destiny to that boy. I've felt it since the first day he joined me.'

  'And now it's nearly time to turn him loose,' Gilan said gently. He saw a mixture of sadness and pride competing in Halt's eyes. Then the grizzled Ranger sighed.

  'Yes it is,' he said.

  ***

  After the feast broke up, Evanlyn's party sat with Umar and Selethen around a smaller fire. Cielema passed around coffee.

  'Perhaps it's time we talked a little business,' Selethen began, his eyes on Evanlyn. 'There is the small matter of Erak's ransom.'

  He paused expectantly, waiting for Evanlyn to produce the money draft and her seal ring. Both items had been recovered from Yusal. Evanlyn, however, showed no sign of doing so.

  'His ransom?' she asked and he nodded impatiently. 'Yes. You agreed to ransom him. I'm sure you can recall that,' he added sardonically.

  Evanlyn nodded several times, went to speak, then stopped, her hand raised in midair. Then, as if uncertain, she said to the Wakir, 'Just explain the concept of ransom to me if you would?'

  Selethen frowned. He had hoped to hurry through this matter and have it settled before anyone thought too deeply about it. It seemed he wasn't going to get away with it.

  'I think we all know what a ransom is,' he said evasively. Evanlyn smiled at him.

  'Humour me. I'm an addle-headed girl.'

  Across the fire, Cielema hid a smile behind her hand. Umar, who had been told the background to this discussion by Will, leaned forward helpfully.

  'If I might assist here. A ransom is paid by one party when a second party is holding a third party hostage.'

  'That's a lot of parties,' Horace whispered to Will and the young Ranger grinned.

  'S-o-o-o,' Evanlyn said, 'if I were the first party, I would pay an agreed amount to the second party who is holding the third party? Is that correct?'

  'Correct,' Selethen said, thin-lipped. Evanlyn frowned at him, a puzzled expression on her face.

  'You can't really expect me to pay sixty-six thousand reels of silver to Yusal, can you?'

  'To Yusal!' the Wakir exclaimed, coming close to choking on his coffee. 'Why in the name of all that's holy would you pay it to Yusal?'

  Evanlyn spread her hands in an ingenuous gesture. 'Well, he was the second party, wasn't he? He was the one holding Erak hostage when we found him. Not you,' she added, after a significant pause.

  'That's a technicality,' Selethen began in a blustering tone. But he had a sinking feeling. He was being outsmarted. He thought it might be a good tactic to change the subject, then work back to the ransom question later. 'Besides, Yusal's future is yet to be decided,' he said.

  'That's a good point,' Halt put in. 'What's going to become of Yusal?'

  Selethen gestured towards Umar. 'That's for the Bedullin to decide, I would say. What do you want to do with him, Aseikh Umar?'

  Umar shrugged. 'I don't want him. You can have him if you want him.'

  Selethen smiled for the first time since this discussion had begun.

  'Oh yes, I want him. The man is a killer and a rebel and we have a cell ready and waiting for him in Mararoc. He's been a thorn in our side for longer than I can remember. With him out of the way, the Tualaghi will be a lot easier to handle. As a matter of fact, the Emtikir has been offering a substantial re — '

  He stopped himself a fraction of a second too late, realising he had said too much. He feigned a fit of co
ughing to cover his lapse.

  Evanlyn waited till he finished, then tugged at his sleeve, forcing him to make eye contact.

  'A substantial "re",' she said, mimicking his hesitation. 'Would that be "reward" that you were going to say?'

  'Yes.' The word was forced out from between Selethen's suddenly thin lips.

  'Now let me get this straight,' Evanlyn said thoughtfully. 'Who actually captured Yusal? I mean, who actually defeated him?' She looked up at the stars, her brow knitted in thought. Then it cleared and she said happily, 'Oh, I remember! I did! With my little sling!'

  'She's right,' Umar said, grinning fiercely. 'If anyone has the right to determine his fate, it's her.'

  'So I'd be entitled to that "substantial reward" you mentioned?'

  Selethen was in an awkward position. If they had been conducting this discussion at Al Shabah or in Mararoc, he would have had the negotiating advantage that came with a large number of armed men to uphold his argument. But the only large force here was Bedullin — and their leader seemed to be in agreement with Evanlyn. On top of that, the Wakir admitted, there was a certain validity to all her claims. He hadn't been holding Erak when the Skandian was rescued — and the Araluan Princess was the one who had brought Yusal down. Technically, the Tualaghi war leader was her prisoner. Technically, she owed Selethen nothing and he owed her the reward. This wasn't how he'd planned things, he thought.

  'All right, let's get down to it,' said Evanlyn, dropping the little girl act and suddenly becoming all business. 'Selethen, I believe we do owe you something. But not sixty-six thousand reels. And we definitely owe Umar and the Bedullin something because, without them, Erak would still be Yusal's captive.'

  'We didn't do it for money. We did it for friendship,' Umar said, indicating Will when he mentioned friendship. Evanlyn nodded acknowledgement.

  'You can always give it back if you like,' she said and, as Umar hastened to make a negative gesture, she smiled. 'So here's the offer: I'm willing to pay Umar and his people twenty thousand reels for their help.'

  She paused, taking in the looks of agreement and approval around the fire. It was a fair sum. She went on:

  'I'll pay the same amount to you, Selethen. Twenty thousand. I think you're owed something.' Before the Wakir could say anything, she added, 'And I'll forego the "substantial reward" for Yusal. You can have him. Keep him. Cut off his ears. Drop him down a well if you like. I don't want him. Is that fair?'

  Selethen hesitated, then his own sense of justice cut in. The offer was effectively more than forty thousand. She could offer nothing and get away with it.

  'It's fair. I accept gratefully,' he said.

  Erak nodded his approval too. He thought Evanlyn had handled the entire matter with great statesmanship. Stateswomanship, he corrected himself.

  'You're very generous, Princess,' he said, smiling indulgently at her. Evanlyn looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

  'No, I'm not,' she said. 'You are. You're repaying the forty thousand to my father, remember?'

  'Oh, yes ... of course,' Erak said. He felt a stabbing sensation in his heart. Skandians often had that sensation when they lost money. Suddenly he didn't feel like smiling any more.

  ***

  The meeting broke up shortly after that and Evanlyn strolled back to her tent, her hand resting lightly on Halts arm. When they were out of earshot of both Bedullin and Arridi ears, she turned to him, a little anxiously.

  'So, Halt, how did I do?'

  Like all of them, she thought, she wanted Halt's approval above all else. He turned that grim, bearded face on her and shook his head slowly.

  'Lord forgive me, I've created a monster,' he said. Then he smiled and patted her hand gently. 'And I'm very proud of you.'

  * * *

  Epilogue

  * * *

  Will and Halt sat facing each other, on either side of the plain wooden table in Halt's cabin on the edge of the woods.

  For the fifth time in the past few minutes, Will glanced down to make sure his uniform was clean and neat, the leather of his belt and double scabbard waxed and shining. As unobtrusively as he could, he reached up and smoothed his hair. Then he checked his fingernails, making sure that in the forty seconds since he'd last checked them, they hadn't somehow become encrusted with dirt and grease.

  'It's not a fashion parade,' Halt said. He seemed totally at ease. But then, Halt always seemed at ease. Will, on the other hand, was nervous as a cat. There was one thing he was grateful for and that was that he didn't have to wear the new formal uniform that Crowley had devised for Halt's wedding. Tradition said that apprentices wore their normal everyday uniform for Graduation Day. Will doubted that he could have kept the white silk shirt and the fine leather tunic clean on such a day. By now, he would surely have spilled something on himself.

  'Wonder what's keeping Crowley?' Halt said idly. And, as if on cue, they heard footsteps on the small verandah at the front of the cabin. The door opened suddenly and Crowley bustled in, head down, a leather folder tucked under his arm.

  'Right! Right! Sorry to keep you waiting! Got held up on the way but here I am at last, eh?'

  At the sudden appearance of the Corps Commandant, Will had jerked up out of his seat to stand to attention. Now he wondered why, since he had never before felt it necessary to do so in Crowley's presence. Crowley looked at him, a little puzzled, and motioned him back into his seat.

  'Sit down, Will, there's a good fellow. We don't stand on ceremony too much, you know.'

  'Yes, sir,' said Will.

  Halt raised an eyebrow to Crowley. 'He's never called me sir,' he said.

  Crowley shrugged. 'Probably trying to get on my good side. Make sure I don't change my mind and have him study for another year before graduation.'

  Halt nodded sagely. 'That could be it.'

  Will glanced from one to the other, nervously wetting his lips. He wasn't sure what he'd expected of Graduation Day. He had assumed there would be more of a ceremony. More of a sense of occasion. But then, as Crowley had said, they were Rangers. Maybe Graduation Day was like any other day. Except you graduated.

  Crowley pulled another chair to the table and sat, spilling papers out of the leather folder, taking out a quill pen and a sealed ink well. He uncorked the ink and began flicking through the pages, muttering to himself as he read the official forms.

  'Right! Let's get on with it! All right ... you ... Will ... have trained as apprentice to Ranger Halt of Redmont Fief these last five twelve-months and blah blah blah and so on and so on. You've shown the necessary level of proficiency in the use of the weapons a Ranger uses — the longbow, the saxe knife, the throwing knife.'

  He paused and glanced up at Halt. 'He has shown that proficiency, hasn't he? Of course he has,' he went on, before Halt could answer. 'Furthermore, you are a trusted officer in the service of the King and so on and so on and hi diddle diddle dee dee ... ' He glanced up again. 'These forms really carry on a bit, don't they? But I have to make a pretence of reading them. And so forth and so on and such like.' He paused, nodded several times, then continued.

  'So basically ... ' He flicked a few more pages, found the one he was after and then continued, 'You are in all ways ready to assume the position and authority of a fully operational Ranger in the Kingdom of Araluen. Correct?'

  He glanced up again, his eyebrows raised. Will realised he was waiting for an answer.

  'Correct,' he said hastily, then in case that wasn't enough, he added, 'Yes. I mean ... I do ... I am. Yes.'

  'Well, good for you. So ... one other detail. You know we need to give you more of a title than Ranger Will because there are three other Wills in the Corps., It's not a problem that applies to Halt, of course, because there's only one Halt. Normally we'd use your family name but you were an orphan. So in your case, we looked for a name that reflected your achievements over the past five years. We looked at Will Boar Killer.' He made a move of distaste. 'Didn't like that. Someone suggested Will o' the Bridge
to commemorate the destruction of Morgarath's bridge. But it sounded too much like Will o' the wisp so we let that one go as well.

  'Finally, your mentor,' he nodded to Halt, 'suggested a name that had to do with one of your most meaningful contributions to the Kingdom. He pointed out that you were one of those instrumental in the creation of the treaty between Araluen and Skandia — a very important milestone in our country's history. So the suggestion is that you be known from now on as Will Treaty. How does that suit?'

  Will nodded slowly. 'I like that very much. Thank you, Crowley ... sir,' he amended, feeling the occasion required formality.

  'Excellent! So Will Treaty you shall be!' Crowley wrote the name at the bottom of a form and swung it round to face Will, handing him the quill pen. 'Just sign there at the bottom and we're done.'

  He watched as Will scratched his signature at the bottom of the parchment form, then slapped his hands on the table top in satisfaction.

  'There, all done! Congratulations, Will, you're a Ranger now. Well done! Is there anything to drink?' He addressed the last part to Halt.

  Will sat stunned. That was it? He'd expected ... he didn't know what he'd expected but he certainly hadn't expected this breezy, off-the-cuff 'Sign here and you're a Ranger' approach.

  'Is that all?' he blurted out.

  Crowley and Halt exchanged slightly puzzled glances. Then Crowley pursed his lips thoughtfully.

  'Um ... it seems to be ... Listed your training, mentioned a few achievements, made sure you know which end of an arrow is the sharp part ... decided on your new name ... I think that's ... ' Then it seemed that understanding dawned on him and his eyes opened wide.

  'Of course! You have to have your Silver ... whatsis, don't you?' he took hold of the chain that held his own Silver Oakleaf around his throat and shook it lightly. It was the badge of a fully fledged Ranger. Then he began to search through his pockets, frowning.