John Flanagan - Erak_s ransom

In spite of that fact, the crews of the dozen or so merchant ships that were anchored in the harbour or tied up to docks had armed themselves and stood ready along their bulwarks to repel any attempted attack by the Skandians. Sailors in this part of the world, and most others, for that matter, knew the Skandian reputation all too well. The presence of a royal standard did little to allay their suspicions.

Wolfwind, lean, narrow and deadly looking, slipped past the first of the anchored ships, for all the world like a wolf slinking among a flock of fat, nervous sheep.

'Looks like we have a reception committee,' Halt said, indicating the main wharf that ran along the inland side of the harbour. There, they could see a body of men drawn up – perhaps fifty in all – and from time to time, the sun glinted off burnished armour or weapons. A green banner was waving from the pier – the international signal that they were cleared to come alongside.

Svengal leaned on the tiller and the bow swung towards the inner harbour. The bow oarsman called the stroke and the wolfship moved smoothly up the harbour.

'I'd better get my reception clothes on,' Evanlyn said. She slipped below, into the small triangular cabin at the stern of the ship. There was barely head room for her to stand erect there but at least she had a little privacy. A few minutes later, she re-emerged. She had replaced her usual leather tunic with a longer one of dull red satin, which came almost to her knees. It was beautifully embroidered and carried a small red hawk device on the left breast. A broad leather belt gathered the red tunic at the waist. Will noticed idly that the belt was decorated with what seemed to be interwoven leather thongs, threaded in and out through slits in the belt itself, and Criss-crossing for its entire length.

The long boots and hose remained, as did the white silk shirt she wore under the tunic. On her blonde hair, hastily brushed and gathered, she wore a red, narrow-brimmed hat with a long bill. A single hawk's feather was set in the hat band.

She wore a necklace Will had never seen before. It was made of dull grey stones, all the same size. They didn't look to be expensive or even semi-precious stones. More like smooth marble, in fact. He assumed it was just a favourite piece of costume jewellery. Maybe she wore it for luck.

Evanlyn tugged the tunic straight, removing a few last wrinkles where the belt had cinched it too tightly. She cleared her throat nervously.

'How do I look?' she asked Halt.

He nodded approval. 'Just the right blend of practicality and formality,' he replied.

She flashed a quick grin at him. She was nervous, Halt saw.

'Svengal and I will do the talking for the time being. These will just be minor officials – the harbourmaster and so forth,' he said. 'Your turn will come when we meet with the Wakir. For the time being, look arrogant and condescending.'

She started to smile, realised that such an expression didn't fit his instructions and instead arched her eyebrows and raised her chin, tilting her head back imperiously so she could stare down her nose at him.

'How's that?' she asked. She thought she saw the faintest trace of a grin in the shadows under his cowl. 'That's perfect. You could have been born to it.'

'Don't make me smile or I'll have you flogged,' she said quietly.

Halt nodded. 'You could be catching on too fast,' he said. Then his attention was drawn to the business of docking the ship.

Svengal was a flamboyant ship handler and he brought her in fast. At the last moment, he growled an order and the oarsmen backed water fiercely, taking most of the way off her.

'Oars!' he called and the dripping blades rose out of the water, coming vertical before the oarsmen laid them down in their brackets. There was the usual clatter of oak on oak.

The ship ghosted in for a few more metres. They were at an angle of about thirty degrees to the dock and one of the crew threw a line from the bow. An Arridi dockworker quickly grabbed it, wound it once round a bollard and began to haul in.

A few seconds later, another rope soared over the water from the stern. This too was seized and the men on shore began to haul the wolfship alongside. The crew threw felt and wicker fenders over the side to protect the ship's scantlings from the hard stone of the wharf. As the ropes were made tight fore and aft, Wolfwind rocked gently alongside the jetty, the fenders groaning and creaking slightly as she did so.

The railing of the ship was a metre or so below the level of the wharf. Evanlyn started towards it but Halt's low voice stopped her.

'Stay where you are. Look imperious. We have to be invited ashore first.'

The armed men they had seen from further out were ranged along the wharf now, in two ranks, facing the wolfship. They all had their shields slung ready for action and their hands hovered close by the hilts of their swords. An officer detached himself from the line and strode towards the wharf's edge. Svengal recognised him.

'This is the bantam rooster who ambushed us in the town square,' he said, in what he thought was a whisper. Halt glanced at Svengal sardonically.

'I'm sure he's thrilled to hear you say so,' he replied.

The tall Arridi warrior stopped now, a few paces back from the edge of the wharf. Halt studied him keenly and came to the rapid conclusion that this was a man to be reckoned with. There was an air of assurance about him. Halt sensed that this was not a man to bluster or bluff. He knew what he was doing and he exuded a quiet confidence. He would bear watching, the Ranger thought.

The Arridi gave them the traditional desert greeting, touching his right hand to his lips, then his forehead, then his lips again. The gesture was borne from the old tribal-saying on first meeting, Halt knew: We will eat. We will consider. We will talk.

The correct protocol was to return the gesture but Svengal didn't know that. He waved his hand vaguely in the air in a clumsy parody of the man's graceful movement.

'You're back, northman.' The tones were deep and cultured. The voice was calm and unruffled. Its owner had learned the skill of projecting his words without seeming to shout them.

'I've come for the Oberjarl,' Svengal said. He wasn't one for the niceties of protocol or beating round the bush. The Arridi smiled. 'Svengal, isn't it?'

Svengal nodded pugnaciously. 'Aye. It is. But you've got the advantage of me.' He felt uncomfortable, standing below the other man, forced to look up to him. He wondered where the Arridi had learned his name and decided that Erak must have mentioned it to him. In their previous encounter, there had been no introductions. Svengal and the crew had been held prisoner separate from Erak, until the day of their release, when the Oberjarl gave Svengal his instructions about the ransom.

'I am called Seley el'then by my people,' the Arridi told him. 'Foreigners usually find it more convenient to shorten the name to Selethen. I am a captain in the Arridi Guard.'

'Well… enchanted,' Svengal replied brusquely. He recalled the word from some dim memory of lessons in politeness that he'd been given when he was younger. He assumed it was appropriate. Selethen's face remained expressionless but Will was sure he could see a trace of a smile in the dark eyes.

'We didn't expect you back so soon,' Selethen said. Then he gestured to the long pennant that still floated lazily in the slight breeze. 'Nor did we expect you in such company. Surely you haven't had time to return to your home country? Whose flag is that flying at your masthead?'

Halt thought it was time somebody gave Svengal a spell. The Skandian was a master at navigation and seamanship, but his negotiating skills were limited to brandishing an axe and bellowing, 'Hand over everything you've got.' A smoother approach was called for here.