John Flanagan: Erak_s ransom

He shook his head. Maybe he was getting too skittish. Maybe the time he'd spent lolling around Hallasholm was making him behave like a nervous maiden aunt. Abruptly, he made up his mind, moved back to the gateway and signalled Svengal and the others to join him.

The soft thud of sealskin boots across the sandy ground awoke no response from the town. Svengal glanced inquiringly at his leader.

'Where to now, chief?'

Erak gestured with his axe. 'Town centre. We'll follow this street. It seems to be heading in the right direction. Keep your axes ready and your eyes peeled.'

He led the way again and the raiding party followed in two files, peering around them at the silent houses. From time to time, the last two men in the line would do a sweep, turning through a full circle to make sure enemy troops weren't coming up behind them, and studying the flat roofs of the houses that stood to either side of their path for a sign of enemies. But there was nothing to be seen.

The street wound its way towards the centre of the town, eventually opening up into a small square, where a larger building faced them, taking up one entire side of the square. This would be the town headman's official quarters, Erak guessed. He searched his memory for the name of the building – the khadif, he remembered. The equivalent of a town hall or a tax house in other towns.

Half a dozen narrow streets opened onto the small square. The buildings that formed the other three sides – probably shops, eating houses and inns – were colonaded with deep verandahs that would give welcome shade from the heat of the sun during the middle of the day. As he had the thought, Erak glanced to the east, where the sky was already lightening with streaks of pink.

The front of the khadif facing the square was also colonaded. The building itself was the only two-storey structure in sight. Like the others, however, it had a flat roof, hidden by a decorative facade designed to give an added feeling of dominance to the building behind it.

In the centre of the square stood a small fountain. Its reservoir was currently full of water but the mechanism which allowed water to flow from its central spout appeared to be turned off.

Erak stepped out into the square, his men following.

As they exited from the narrow street, they formed into a compact diamond formation, with the Oberjarl, Svengal and Axel at the lead point of the diamond. A few men swung their axes experimentally as they crossed the two-storey building. Still there was a square of light towards the two from the town. The growing light cast their shadows in elongated, fantastic forms behind them. Erak stepped up onto the marble porchway before the khadif's big double doors. He studied them briefly. Solid, he thought. Hardwood with brass binding and a good strong lock. Still, Skandians carried their own keys for doors like this and he motioned to two of his brawnier rowers to step forward.

'Axes,' he said, gesturing to the door.

The men grinned at him. One of them set his axe down for a moment, spat on his hands, then seized the axe in a double-handed grip. Erak stepped away to give the man room for a good roundhouse swing at the lock.

'Stop right there!'

The command rang out, across the square and the Skandians turned in surprise. A figure had appeared from one of the side streets leading into the open space. A few of the raiders cursed in alarm. Erak's eyes narrowed and he felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. It had all been too easy, he thought.

The newcomer was tall and slim, dressed in the ornate fashion of an Arridi warrior. Flowing white shirt and trousers, doubtless of fine linen, were covered by metal-studded leather body armour. A long curved sword hung at his side and a circular shield made of metal – probably brass – was on his arm. The shield, Erak noted, was equipped with a sharp central spike. It was a weapon of attack as well as defence. A simple acorn-style helmet, also spiked, surmounted a small roll of fine cloth that wrapped the man's head. Probably, Erak thought, it was designed to avoid the contact of sun-heated metal on skin during the middle of the day.

The helmet was highly burnished, and a shining silver curtain of chain mail depended from it, protecting the wearer's neck at the sides and back. That, and the highly polished metal on the armour, were enough to show that this was a senior officer.

As they watched, a double file of warriors, equipped in similar, if not as expensive, fashion quickly jogged out of the side street, fanning out to either side of their leader. Erak estimated that there were at least forty of them. There was a surge of movement from his own men as the Arridi warriors appeared.

'Keep it steady,' he growled at them. Out of the corner of his mouth, he said to Svengal, 'We're outnumbered.'

'Not by too many,' Svengal replied. He too had been sunting the opposition. 'I think our boys can take these fancy nancies without too much trouble.'

Unlike Erak, he hadn't bothered to keep his voice low and it carried across the square to the Arridi officer. They saw his narrow, bearded features split by a smile as he heard Svengal's comment. He raised a silver whistle to his lips and blew once.

There was a grinding sound of heavy timbers dragging stone and the Skandians saw each of the half dozen exits that led into the square suddenly blocked by heavy xtuber barriers pushed out from the walls.

'Didn't notice them,' Erak said quietly to Svengal.

They must have passed by one of the barriers as they entered the square but he'd been too busy to realise its significance.

'You appear to be trapped,' the Arridi said.

Erak set himself a little more firmly and brought his shield up to the defence position. His men mirrored the moion. 'So do you,' he replied.

Again the other man smiled. The white teeth were very obvious in his dark, bearded face.

'Ah,' he said. 'But how many archers do you have with you?'

He raised the small silver whistle to his lips and blew one long shrill blast. There was a shuffle of movement overhead and as Erak watched, the rooftops of the three sides of the square facing them were suddenly alive with archers. He had no doubt there were more on top of the khadif's flat roof as well. Even without counting he could see there were close to one hundred men, all armed with short recurve bows, each of them with an arrow nocked and drawn, aimed at the defiant group of Skandians.

Erak glanced grimly along the line of bowmen. The bows were short range weapons. On a battlefield, he might have ignored them. But here, in the confined space of the town square, they would be deadly.

'Don't anybody move,' he said quietly. One false move now could mean a volley of arrows sent in their direction.

Axel, beside him still, growled in frustration. His fighting blood was up and he didn't like the threat of a hundred arrows aimed at him. His instinct was to strike out and damage somebody.

'They can't get us all, chief,' he said. 'At least we can do for pretty boy here.'

The tall Arridi smiled at the words, his hand dropping casually to the hilt of the curved sabre he wore. Erak knew a fighting man when he saw one and in spite of the highly polished accoutrements, he had the feeling that this one was a dangerous warrior.

'Shut up, Axel,' he said, not for the first time that evening. The Arridi took a pace forward. He raised his arm to the men on the rooftops and made a hand signal. The archers released the tension on their bows, although Erak noticed they kept the arrows nocked and ready. 'There's no need for us to fight,' he said. His voice was polite and pleasant. His tone was reasonable and unthreatening. 'There's only one of you we're interested in. Hand him over and the rest of you can go free.'