John Flanagan: Erak_s ransom

Stung by the sudden burning impact, the horse reared and lost its footing on the cobbles of the square. It staggered sideways on its rear legs, trying to regain its balance. The unexpected, violent movement and change of direction was too much for Toshak and he slid backwards over the horse's withers, to fall with a crash on the cobblestones.

'Good shot,' Halt told Evanlyn. She grinned.

'I figured he'd sit a horse as well as most Skandians,' she said.

Momentarily winded, Toshak regained his feet to find himself surrounded by a ring of vengeful Bedullin. The desert warriors circled him cautiously, kept at bay by the threat of the massive battleaxe. A true Skandian, Toshak hadn't released his grip on the weapon when he fell.

He eyed the circle of enemies now, determined to sell his life dearly. Toshak might be a traitor but he was no coward.

'All right,' he said, to nobody in particular. 'Who's going to be first?'

'I think that would be me.'

Erak shouldered his way through the Bedullin warriors and stood facing his enemy. Toshak nodded several times, and smiled. He knew he was going to die but at least he'd have the satisfaction of taking the hated Oberjarl with him. He glanced down scornfully at the Tualaghi sabre Erak was carrying. It looked no bigger than a dagger in the Oberjarl's massive fist.

'You're fighting an axe with that toothpick, Erak?' he sneered. Erak studied the weapon and pursed his lips. He looked round the watching circle and saw a better alternative. He removed his kheffiyeh and wrapped it round the palm and fingers of his left hand. Then he set the sabre down and reached his right hand out to Horace.

'D'you think I could borrow that bodkin of yours, Horace?' he said.

Horace stepped forward, reversed the huge executioner's sword and placed the hilt in Erak's outstretched hand. 'Be my guest,' he said.

Erak swiped the long sword back and forth several times, then nodded in satisfaction.

'That'll do,' he said. 'Now step back, everyone. I've got work to do.'

The circle of spectators quickly backed off several paces as he launched himself at Toshak, the sword swinging down in a blow that would have split the traitor down to the waist.

There was a massive, ringing clang as Toshak caught the blow on the top of his double-bladed axe head. He twisted his wrists, jerking the sword to one side, then it was his turn and he swung in a flailing round arm blow with the axe.

Erak leapt back just in time, the heavy double-bladed head whooshing through the air only millimetres from his ribs. He was already counterattacking with the sword and this time Toshak swayed to one side, letting the huge blade slice down just clear of him, striking sparks from the stones on the ground.

He tried an overhead cut and now Evanlyn understood why Erak had bound his hand with the kheffiyeh. He gripped the blade with his left hand and the hilt in his right to block the force of the axe blow. A grip on the hilt alone wouldn't have had sufficient leverage to stop the massive axe, she realised.

The two men strained against each other for several seconds, their weapons locked together. They were both massively built, each one as powerful as an ox. But Erak had been a prisoner for some weeks now and his strength was reduced by the meagre diet and the punishment he had taken from his captors. In a straight-out contest of brute strength like this, Toshak had the advantage and he began to force the Oberjarl back, a pace at a time.

Realising he was overmatched, Erak struck out quickly with a flat-footed kick to Toshak's thigh. The blow staggered the traitor and Erak was able to spin away, leaping suddenly to avoid a lightning fast axe stroke as Toshak recovered his balance.

Then they rushed at each other again and stood toe to toe, hammering blows at each other. Parrying and blocking, sliding to one side to evade each other's weapons and beating at each other in a final trial of strength and speed. There was no science or subtlety to it. Each used the advantage his weapon gave him – Erak the extra reach of the sword, Toshak the massive weight of the battleaxe.

And it was that weight that began to tell as he rained blow after blow down at Erak, forcing the weakened Oberjarl onto the defensive.

Svengal watched in an agony of concern as his leader began to give ground, a few centimetres at a time at first, then in gradually greater amounts. A light of triumph came into Toshak's eyes as he saw the Oberjarl faltering, felt him giving way. He redoubled the effort he was putting into his strokes, feeling Erak's weakening resistance, seeing his knees buckle slightly with each blow. Now Toshak was swinging two blows to Erak's one and the momentum of the battle was with him and it could only be a matter of time.

Erak's eyes were haunted and his breath came in ragged gasps. He caught one final, overpowering axe blow on the blade of the sword and the massive force behind it buckled his knees and drove him back and down onto the cobbles.

There was a groan from the spectators as they saw the Oberjarl fall. Toshak leapt forward with a snarl of triumph, the mighty axe rising in a two-handed grip for the killing blow. Then he saw something strange.

Erak was smiling.

Too late, Toshak realised he had been tricked. Erak was nowhere near as tired and clumsy as he had seemed. And he was holding a weapon with a much longer reach than any battleaxe. With a mighty roar, Erak used his left arm to thrust himself up from the cobbles while he drove the sword deep into Toshak's unprotected body. Then, releasing the sword, he sidestepped the axe stroke that came half a second too late and watched his enemy, impaled by the terrible sword, stagger, drop his axe and fall to the ground.

Toshak's eyes were wide open, in pain and fear. His fingers scrabbled awkwardly on the cobbles and he was mouthing something to Erak. The Oberjarl understood and nodded. With the toe of his boot, he nudged the axe alongside his enemy's scrabbling hand. Toshak's fingers closed over the haft and he nodded once.

Skandians, Horace knew, believed that if they were to die in battle without a weapon in their hand, their soul would wander for all eternity. Even Toshak didn't deserve that.

'Thank… you… ' Toshak sighed, the words almost inaudible. Then his eyes closed and he died.

'You should have left him to wander,' Svengal said coldly. Erak looked at him, eyebrows raised.

'Would you?' he asked and Svengal hesitated. At the end, Toshak had fought well and that counted for a lot with Skandians.

'No,' he admitted.

The long column wound slowly across the desert, heading for the oasis where the Khoresh Bedullin tribe were camped.

The mounted Bedullin warriors herded a file of manacled Tualaghi prisoners before them, the bandits forced to walk while their captors rode. The Tualaghi, no longer the scourge of the desert, were a pitiful, footsore group – more like beggars than the feared raiders they had been. In a final symbol of their downfall, Selethen and three of his officers had walked among the bandits, tearing the blue veils from their faces and throwing them on the ground. Mindful of the way they had treated his bodyguard, the Wakir also removed their boots, letting them hobble on cut and bruised feet for the Journey.

Unlike Yusal, however, he provided them with sufficient water.

Before the party left Maashava, Selethen called the people together in the market square. Standing above them, on the platform that had been intended for his execution, he harangued the crowd, reminding them of how they had cried for his blood only a few days earlier. The townspeople hung their heads and shuffled their feet guiltily. He assured them that he would be in contact with the Wakir of their province and that a heavy tax would be levied. The first part of this would be a requirement for Maashava to refurbish its walls and watchtowers and organise an effective defence force, he told them. The Maashavites nodded gloomily. The walls were in a parlous state and repairing them would mean months of hot, heavy work. But, philosophically, they accepted his words. He was right, after all. They should be better prepared to defend themselves against future marauders.