John Flanagan - Erak_s ransom

'Doesn't it bother you two?' he asked.

Erak looked up and shrugged. 'It's probably market stalls,' he said.

Gilan shook his head in frustration. 'Probably! Is that good enough for you?'

Erak considered the question for a moment, then nodded. 'Yes,' he said simply.

Gilan spread his hands in a gesture of annoyance. 'But don't you want to know?'

'No.'

It probably was market stalls, Erak reasoned. Anyway, Erak had other uses for his brain right now. He was keeping a running total in his mind of the amounts he'd lost and won playing knucklebones with Svengal. A man needed a sharp brain for that as Svengal was not averse to forgetting the odd amount that he might have lost.

'I figure I've won seventeen thousand, three hundred crowns from you so far,' he said now to his second in command.

'True. And that goes against the seventeen thousand, two hundred crowns I've won from you,' Svengal replied instantly.

Erak frowned. 'Are you sure you've won so much?'

Svengal nodded. 'Totally sure,' he said.

Erak shrugged. Svengal was right but it had been worth asking in case he'd forgotten the four hundred crowns he'd won just as their midday meal had been delivered. No such luck, he saw now.

'So that makes two hundred you owe me,' he said innocently. He reached for the bones and became aware of Svengal's pained expression.

'I know that Oberjarls are supposed to rob their subjects blind, Erak. But could you do it with taxes rather than bad arithmetic?' he said. 'Last time I figured it, seventeen thousand, three hundred less seventeen thousand, two hundred leaves one hundred.'

'So it is,' said Erak as if he'd only just realised his mistake. Svengal snorted derisively and reached for the bones clutched in his leader's hand.

And it's my throw. Not yours,' he said.

'So it is,' Erak repeated. Svengal rolled his eyes to heaven, took the bones and prepared to throw.

'Another thing… ' Gilan began.

'Oh my God,' Halt said wearily.

But Gilan merely glanced at him before he continued. 'Another thing,' he repeated. 'Has anyone noticed the strange looks the guards have been giving us? When they bring us our food, they're sort of… grinning about something.'

'They're happy souls,' Halt said.

Gilan shook his head. 'They're smirking at us. Something's in the wind. I can sense it.'

'My friend,' Selethen told him, 'it's no good wasting energy worrying about it. Just relax.'

Gilan shook his head stubbornly. 'I want to be ready for it when it happens,' he said. Evanlyn looked at him curiously.

'How can you be "ready for it" when you don't know what "it" is going to be?'

'Then I'll be ready for anything,' the young Ranger said.

'Which is the same as being ready for nothing,' Halt muttered to himself, although he made sure he muttered it loudly enough for Gilan to hear him.

The younger Ranger drew breath to reply, but the rattle of the key in the door lock caught their attention. The big door opened, the rusty hinges shrieking a nerve-tearing protest over the last few centimetres of their travel, and two of the guards entered with their evening meal. Outside, the last light was fading over the town. With the mass of hills behind them blocking the light from the west, it became dark here earlier than out on the flat plain.

Conscious of Gilan's statements, Evanlyn watched the guards as they set down the cold coffee, flat bread and a meagre handful of dates. One of them caught her watching and grinned at her. Yes, she thought, Gilan has a point. The grin was not a friendly one and it smacked of I know something unpleasant that going to happen to you.

Then the suspicion was confirmed as he raised his thumb to his throat and drew it across in an unmistakable cutting gesture, rolling his eyes in a grim parody of death.

Unnoticed by the guards and the other prisoners, Horace had sidled closer to the open door so that he could look out onto the town below them. Now as they went to leave, the two guards became aware of his position and shoved him roughly back to join the others.

'I didn't like the look of that,' Evanlyn said in a worried tone.

Horace hesitated. Then he realised that his companions deserved to know what he'd seen.

'You'll like it less when you hear what they've been building. It's a big raised platform at the end of the square – about two metres above the ground, with steps running up to it.'

'Like a stage?' Erak suggested. 'Maybe they're going to put on a play.'

'Or an execution,' Horace said.

Will and Aloom joined the throng of field workers making their way back into the town. There were Tualaghi guards at the gateway, of course, but they took little notice of the Arridi workers streaming past them. In all the years that the Tualaghi had been forcing themselves on towns and villages in outlying areas, they had never encountered any real opposition. They were always careful to leave the occupants just enough to live on and regroup after they left. And they usually didn't return to a town for several years after they had ransacked it. As a result, the Arridi people had come to accept the sporadic invasions as part and parcel of life. Not pleasant, but not worth dying over.

In the crowd around them, Will recognised at least three Arridi-Bedullin pairs. He glanced at Aloom and saw that the lieutenant had noticed as well.

'Let's find a coffee house,' he said quietly. 'My back's getting tired.'

Both of them were burdened by large bundles of firewood. They'd spent the afternoon gathering it from the gullies and canyons in the surrounding area. In contrast to the treeless desert, the foothills to the northern massif had a sparse cover of spindly trees and bushes. The underground streams that honeycombed the hills provided sufficient water for the vegetation to grow.

The firewood bundles were useful props. They would be able to sell them to one of the inns or coffee houses in the town, which would make them instantly welcome. The Arridi always needed firewood. Plus they helped disguise Will's slightly foreign appearance as he moved through the gate past the Tualaghi guards. He walked with his head bowed and his back bent under the load, keeping his eyes and face down.

There was an even more important reason for carrying them. In the centre of Will's bundle was his unstrung longbow and quiver of arrows.

They crossed the town square, Will glancing sideways at the large platform built at the western end. Its purpose was unmistakable.

'Looks like they're ready,' he whispered and Aloom nodded agreement.

'Let's move away from here. We're too exposed out in the square.'

They dived into one of the narrow streets that led away from the market square and its ominous wooden platform. Neither of them had any idea where they were going. But they both knew better than to look uncertain. They walked steadily along the street, following its twisting path. Will was aware they were moving upwards as the street followed the natural incline of the land.

He felt Aloom's hand tugging his sleeve and he looked to where the Arridi lieutenant was pointing down a side alley.

There was a two-storey building, larger than its neighbours, about thirty metres away. A signboard hung out over the alleyway, with Arridi symbols painted on it in fading letters.

'There's an inn,' said Aloom, and led the way towards the building.

They had opted to spend the night in an inn. The other pairs would spread themselves out among inns or coffee houses in the town. Obviously, there wouldn't be enough of them to accommodate fifty extra men. But it was normal practice in a market town like this for the buildings that lined the sides of the market square to set up canvas awnings, projecting out into the square itself. The itinerant field and market workers who came into town for market day would bed down for the night under their shelter. So would many of the Arridi-Bedullin pairs.