Scorpion Mountain

  As a result, they dawdled over the adjustments to the rafts’ lashings, even, on occasion, loosening them instead of drawing them tight. Their commander strode among them, checking their work suspiciously, and continuing to harangue them for their cowardice and slovenly workmanship.

  But there was a limit to how long they could successfully stave off the inevitable moment. Late in the morning, their commander declared that the rafts were ready once more. He pointed to the water’s edge and issued a curt command. Reluctantly, the raft crews seized hold of the awkward rafts and carried them once more to the water’s edge.

  “Here they come,” Thorn called softly. “Edvin, stand by to let the anchor cable go, then get to the helm. Jesper and Stefan, you raise the sail . . .” He hesitated, glanced at the wind telltale and the direction in which the ship currently lay. “Make it the port-side sail. Wulf, stand ready on the sheets. Once they’re in the water and fully committed, we’ll get under way and sail in a curve to port. Then we’ll bring her back. Lydia, Ingvar. This time, I want you on the Mangler. Smash up the rafts, cut down the crews. The ones you miss, we’ll ram.”

  They all nodded silently. They had been over this plan while they had been waiting for the Ishti to make their move. As the first rafts were placed into the water, Lydia took her seat at the Mangler. Ingvar leaned past her and seized the cocking handles, drawing the bowstring back to full cock. They had already selected one of the shattering missiles for their first shot. He laid it now in the half-recessed track on top of the giant weapon. Then he seized the training handle and moved it back and forth on the swivel, making sure it moved freely and without obstruction.

  Thorn moved aft, to a point astern of the mast, and peered over the starboard bulwark. The rafts were beginning to crab out from the shore. But they were moving slowly, a sign of their crews’ reluctance.

  “Ready, everyone . . . ,” he called. Then he frowned. He saw Kloof suddenly sit up from where she had been lying beside the mast. Her ears were pricked and her head was canted to one side as she listened.

  Then he heard it too: the drumming of horses’ hooves on the hard-packed sand. And as he watched, a body of horsemen swept out of the oasis and headed for the beach. His heart sank as he saw there at least seventy riders in the tight-packed group.

  “Reinforcements,” he breathed.

  Wulf turned to him. “We’ll never be able to fight that many.”

  Both of them, and the others on board, were all too conscious of the fact that Stig, Hal and Gilan were still somewhere ashore. They would have no chance of reaching the ship through that mass of enemy riders.

  Then Lydia was pointing to a spot to the left of the oasis. “Look! It’s them! Hal and Stig!”

  And they heard the whirring rattle of the land sailer’s wheels over the rough ground as it came into view, traveling at full speed, canted up with its port wheel riding clear of the ground. They heard the wheel crash back to the ground as Hal heaved the strange vehicle through a tack, heard the slap of the sail as it filled with wind. Then it was arrowing back across the beach toward the suddenly panicking Ishti.

  And that was when Thorn realized that the new arrivals weren’t reinforcements for the Shurmel’s men. They were attacking the Ishti warriors, driving into them at a full gallop, using lances and curved swords to spear them and cut them down. The Shurmel’s warriors tried to regroup, but they were caught by surprise, with half their number on the rafts.

  Thorn heard the ugly crash of the Mangler as the huge weapon released. He followed the path of the bolt as it sped toward the leading raft. It hit the raft at an angle, but the impact was enough to shatter the pottery warhead and send shards of hard clay whirring through the crew. The shaft itself cartwheeled, spinning just above the deck and taking the helmsman right near the knees. Men screamed and the water around the raft turned red with their blood. Ingvar was already loading another bolt into the Mangler. Thorn sighed and leaned on the hilt of his sword.

  “Nothing much for me to do,” he muttered. “Might as well watch.”

  • • • • •

  At the controls of the land sailer, Hal scanned the beach in front of him as the little vehicle shot out into the open.

  The Ishti warriors were running in all directions, and falling under the onslaught of Umar and his Bedullins as they carved a grim path through them. The enemy were taken completely by surprise. He saw a group of three men to one side, shouting and gesticulating, yelling orders at the disorganized rabble and at the rafts that were crabbing slowly away from the beach.

  “Hang on!” he yelled to Gilan and Stig. They looked at him and saw the determination on his face as he swung the land sailer through a hard tack and hauled in on the sheet; the wheels skimmed the ground as he drove the vehicle across the beach, straight at the group of three, gathering speed with every meter they traveled.

  The Ishti commander was intent on cursing his men and trying to rally them into a defensive circle. But those who hadn’t already been struck down by a Bedullin lance or sword were throwing down their weapons and raising their hands in surrender. He screamed curses at them, then one of his companions plucked at his sleeve.

  “Captain! Look out!”

  The captain turned, saw the strange vehicle flying straight at him and froze in terror.

  Seconds later, the land sailer plowed at full speed into the three men, hurling them to either side like so many ninepins. The impact was too great for the light timbers of the land sailer. The main spar shattered just behind the single steering wheel. The mast whipped forward under the sudden deceleration and snapped off halfway up, hurling the upper half forward, trailing a tangle of rope and canvas with it. Gilan and Stig spilled off the outriggers to the hard ground, rolling to lessen the impact of their fall. Hal was jettisoned forward, landing awkwardly beside the splintered central spar, his head missing contact with the iron-shod steering wheel by a matter of centimeters. As it was, the splintered end of the bamboo central spar tore a furrow across his forehead.

  He rose to his feet, blood running down his face, and surveyed the wreckage of his land sailer. Gilan and Stig stood up stiffly as well. They moved to join him.

  “You all right?” Stig asked. He looked worried and Hal regarded him, puzzled.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because your face is covered in blood,” Stig told him.

  Hal nodded groggily and wiped his face with the end of his kheffiyeh.

  “Oh . . . so it is. I hadn’t noticed. I think I broke the land sailer,” he said.

  “You certainly broke the Ishti command group,” Gilan said, indicating the three still bodies scattered by the crash.

  Hal shrugged. “I’m sure they had it coming.”

  The fight on the beach was over. A third of the Ishti fighters had been killed or wounded in that first wild charge. The others wasted no time in surrendering. The clumsy rafts were slowly returning to shore, their occupants throwing their weapons aside as they waded onto dry land. Fifty meters offshore, Hal saw four oars run out on the Heron. As he watched, they began to rise and fall, driving the little ship slowly toward the beach. As her prow touched, Stefan jumped ashore with a beach anchor and made her fast. The rest of the crew followed him in rapid order, running up the beach to their prodigal shipmates. Kloof, forgotten in the rush and excitement, barked furiously, then hurled herself overboard and swam ashore. Pausing to shake several gallons of seawater from her coat, she then bounded up the beach and reached Hal before any of the others, sending him flying with her rapturous, saturated welcome.

  As he picked himself up, he saw Umar approaching, a huge smile of satisfaction on his face.

  “Wonderful!” he enthused. “We have finally taught these people a lesson they won’t soon forget.” His eye landed on Kloof and he hesitated.

  “What is this?” he said. “Is it some kind of Skandian horse?”

/>   “It’s my dog, Kloof,” Hal told him. Kloof, sensing that Umar was a friend, moved forward, her damp tail swishing, and licked his hand.

  “She likes you,” Stig told the Bedullin leader.

  Umar looked doubtful. “It’s more like she’s tasting me,” he said. “What does this . . . horse-dog eat?”

  Stig, Hal and Thorn, who had arrived in time to hear the question, exchanged grins and answered in unison:

  “Anything she wants to!”

  Hal embraced the old sea wolf, then made introductions as the rest of the Herons arrived. They regarded the Bedullin leader with interest. All of them, with the exception of Lydia, had heard the tale of Erak’s rescue from the Tualaghi, and the role played by the Bedullin tribe in the battle that ensued.

  Lydia hesitated, standing halfway between Stig and Hal, and made an awkward gesture with her hands. Not knowing which one to embrace first, she chose to embrace neither, but said in a subdued tone:

  “You’re back. You’re safe.” Then, noticing the blood running down Hal’s face from under the improvised bandage he had fashioned from the kheffiyeh, she went a little pale. “Are you all right?”

  Hal hesitated. He had been about to say something along the lines of “It’s nothing. Just a scratch,” as wounded heroes always said, but he stopped himself just in time. Instead, he let out a pitiful groan and clasped his hands to his head.

  “No! It hurts! Oh, it hurts!”

  For a moment, Lydia was taken in. She stepped toward him, then saw the irrepressible grin breaking through the dried blood on his face and withdrew in anger.

  “Oh, go cry to your mummy!” she snarled and stalked off, followed by the laughter of the others.

  Umar was sizing up Thorn, taking in the shabby old sea wolf’s heavy chest and thickly muscled arms and legs.

  “Now this one looks like a real Skandian!” he declared. “This one looks like Erak.”

  “No,” said Thorn, “I’m a lot prettier than him.”

  Umar hesitated, eyeing him with his head tilted to one side. “You Skandians have a strange idea of pretty,” he said at length.

  Gilan had been surveying the defeated Ishti cavalrymen, being mustered into a group under the watchful eyes of Umar’s warriors. The prisoners’ hands were bound and their legs hobbled to prevent their running. He took Umar’s arm and led him to one side.

  “Umar, you say you’ve tried to attack the Scorpions’ den in the past,” he began.

  The Aseikh nodded vigorously, showing his frustration. “True. I have wanted to teach that evil band a real lesson for years. But they always disappear into the tunnels and caves of the mountain before we can get close. I’d give a lot to take them by surprise one day. The world would be better off without the Scorpion cult.”

  “I agree. And it occurs to me that this might be your opportunity.”

  Suddenly he had Umar’s undivided attention. The Bedullin chief leaned forward eagerly. “How’s that, friend Gilan?”

  Gilan gestured at the disconsolate prisoners, sitting on the sand. “Well, it occurs to me that the new Shurmel will be expecting these men to return sometime soon. And you have their cloaks and kheffiyehs . . .” He let the sentence hang uncompleted, and saw understanding dawn on Umar’s face.

  “If we wear their robes and kheffiyehs, the Scorpions will think we’re their own men returning. We’ll catch them by surprise before they have a chance to fade away!” he said triumphantly.

  “At least, you’ll catch some of them,” Gilan said. “In that mass of caves and tunnels, some will probably escape.”

  “But we’ll almost surely put them out of business for years, if not permanently,” said Umar. “And that is something that we would all be glad to see.” He seized Gilan’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “Gilan, my friend, you are as wily as your friend Halt. And even more devious than Will Treaty!”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment—I think,” Gilan said, smiling a little uncertainly.

  “Will you join us on this expedition?” Umar asked. “We have plenty of extra horses now.” He indicated the horses that the Ishti had been riding, but Gilan shook his head.

  “We’ve done what we set out to do,” he said. “My princess is safe from the tolfah now. And I think my wild Skandians are anxious to leave this desert behind them. Beautiful as it is,” he added.

  “Then I wish you godspeed. It is best if we get moving as soon as possible. You never know who’s watching in the desert, and we need to strike swiftly.”

  Umar gripped Gilan’s hand once more, then turned abruptly, shouting orders for his men to gather round. Gilan smiled after him. With Umar, he realized, to think was to act.

  He turned back to the Herons standing nearby. “Anybody want to go home?”

  chapter fifty-one

  Ulf was waiting on the jetty as the Heron glided into Tabork harbor.

  “He looks healthy enough,” Hal observed dryly. Ulf was literally dancing from one foot to the other in anticipation of seeing his shipmates. He shoved one of the dockyard workers aside to grab the mooring line that Stefan threw ashore, and set himself to the task of hauling the little ship alongside. He grimaced once, clasping his side, as the strain came onto the rope, then the local laborers took hold of the mooring line to assist him.

  As the Heron bumped alongside, fenders squealing and grinding between the hull and the stone jetty, Wulf was the first ashore. He bounded up from the ship’s rail and dashed to meet his brother, embracing him in a gigantic hug, and actually lifting him several centimeters from the ground.

  “Careful!” Ulf said, his face covered with an enormous grin. “My side’s still a bit tender.”

  Wulf instantly released him, his own face showing concern. “Are you not healed?”

  Ulf hastened to reassure him. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just a few muscles left to recover fully. It’s so good to see you!” he added.

  Wulf put his arm around his twin’s shoulder. “I knew when you woke,” he said. “I felt it somehow.”

  Ulf nodded eagerly. “I knew you could feel it!” he said. “I sensed your thoughts as well!”

  “Amazing!” Wulf said. Then he seized his brother again, this time more carefully.

  Ulf, looking over his shoulder, saw their shipmates gathered by the ship’s rail, watching them with smiles on their faces. Such a show of affection between the twins was highly unusual, to say the least. He coughed, and muttered in his brother’s ear.

  “The others are watching.”

  Wulf turned quickly, releasing his grip. He too saw the row of grinning faces along the side of the ship. He turned back to Ulf and said in a loud, accusatory voice, “Didn’t you ever learn to duck? Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

  “Duck?” said Ulf indignantly. “I was busy stopping a warrior who was about to split your skull.”

  “And you forgot to duck!” Wulf finished for him. “You nearly caused me to tell our mam that her second favorite son had got himself filleted.”

  “Second favorite?” Ulf challenged. “What do you mean, second favorite?”

  “Least favorite, then. I was being polite.”

  “I’ll have you know, Mam told me that I’m her favorite, by a long way,” Ulf told him.

  Wulf shook his head patiently. “Of course she did. She had to do that precisely because you are her second favorite. She knew you’d feel challenged and inferior. Whereas I have no need for such false praise. I know I’m her favorite, and because I know it, she doesn’t have to lie and tell me so.”

  “So you admit she’d be lying if she did tell you?” Ulf challenged instantly.

  “The point is, she didn’t tell me. Which makes you her second favorite son. Or rather, since that’s a little too flattering for you, her least favorite.”

  As they argued, they had been moving farther away f
rom the ship. Wulf, without looking, spoke in a lowered tone. “Can they still hear us?”

  Ulf shook his head. “No. They’ve gone back to stowing the gear.”

  Wulf nodded several times, then he placed his arm around his brother’s shoulders again. He felt Ulf’s arm go round his waist.

  “It’s good to see you on your feet again. I thought you were going to die,” Wulf said, with a slight catch in his voice. Ulf said nothing, but momentarily increased the pressure of his arm around his brother’s waist.

  • • • • •

  Selethen was still in Tabork, overseeing the new administration of the city and working on the recruitment of new troops for the garrison. He planned to leave some of his more experienced officers to take over the defense of the city. It was a good opportunity to promote those who had served well in the retaking of Tabork from the Tualaghi.

  Once Heron was secured, Edvin began the task of restocking her with provisions and replacing any lost or damaged equipment. Foremost on his list was an item from Thorn—a large piece of canvas to replace the weather awning over the deck. With this task under way, Hal, Thorn and Gilan tidied themselves up and marched down the jetty to call on Selethen.

  They found the Wakir literally up to his elbows in paperwork. Parchments and forms and requisitions of all kinds were piled up on his temporary desk. Aides rushed in and out, each one with a new set of questions and requirements. He looked up gratefully as the three foreigners walked into his office. Glaring distastefully at the mass of paper littering his desk, he shoved the lot onto the floor and glared at one of his secretaries.

  “Take care of this lot!” he ordered. “And bring coffee for four.”

  He ushered them to cushions set around a low table by the open doorway that led onto the terrace overlooking the harbor. He eyed them all keenly.

  “I take it you’ve settled the matter of the tolfah?” he said quietly.

  “Permanently,” Gilan said.

  Selethen raised an eyebrow, obviously wanting more detail. Hal supplied it.