'This man is a healer,' the trader said and his companion came forward, dropping to his knees beside the muttering lieutenant. He looked around, saw Will's discarded cloak lying close by and rolled it into a makeshift pillow. Then he placed it under Aloom's head, allowing Will to move free. He examined the wounded man briefly, looked up at Will.
'Your friend?' he asked.
Will nodded. He'd only known Aloom for a few days but the man had held off three swordsmen to give Will the chance to save the others. You couldn't ask more of a friend than that.
The surgeon shook his head.
'I can give him something to ease the pain – nothing more,' he said. 'He has lost too much blood.'
Will nodded sadly.
'Do it,' he said and watched as the healer took a small vial from his satchel and allowed several drips of a clear liquid to fall into Aloom's mouth, onto his tongue. In a few seconds, Aloom began breathing more freely. His chest rose and fell more evenly. Then the breaths came more slowly until, finally, they stopped.
The surgeon looked up at Will.
'He's gone,' he said and Will nodded sadly. He glanced up and saw the trader watching him fearfully. The man obviously, was remembering how he had betrayed the two strangers to the Tualaghi. Now one of them was dead and the other had shown that, young as he was, he was not a man to cross. The trader wrung his hands together and moved forward, pleading for mercy. He dropped to his knees.
'Lord, please… I didn't know you were… ' he began.
Will cut him off with a contemptuous hand gesture. The man had betrayed them, he knew. But he had also returned with a surgeon. Suddenly, Will felt there had been enough killing on this day.
'Oh, go away,' he said quietly. 'Just… go away.'
The man's eyes widened. He couldn't believe his luck. He rose slowly,. turned away. Then he hesitated, making sure Will hadn't changed his mind. Finally, reassured, he scuttled into the alley. Will heard his soft shoes pattering on the broken stones for a few minutes, then there was silence. The surgeon regarded him with sympathy. He had laid Aloom out with his hands folded over his chest. Will retrieved his cloak – Aloom had no further use for it. He spread the lieutenant's own cloak over the still form, covering the face. Then he felt in his purse and handed the surgeon a silver coin.
'Stay with him?' he asked. 'Watch over him until I come back.'
He reached down, retrieved his bow and quiver and headed off down the alleyway to the market square.
Chapter 48
Toshak peered round the corner of a narrow street leading onto the square. The beginning of the wide thoroughfare that led to the main gate was forty metres away. He looked now and saw Erak and his friends moving towards the colonnades that lined the far side of the square. Somebody must have seen him running in that direction, he thought.
He smiled grimly. He had gone that way initially. But then he'd doubled round, cutting through a maze of streets and alleys to emerge back here. He had a horse saddled and ready, in a stable a few doors back from the square. Now his enemies were moving away, leaving the way clear for him to escape. And the Rangers, he noted with satisfaction, were without their cursed longbows. All he needed to do was fetch the horse, lead it to this corner, mount and ride for his life.
Once he was out of Maashava, who knew? He'd have a head start, a fresh horse and plenty of water. He'd make forthe coast sixty kilometres away. His ship, Wolfclaw, was moored in a little bay and he was an experienced stellar navigator. He'd travel by night so those damned Rangers couldn't track him. In two days, he could be on board.
But first, he had to get out of Maashava. And this was looking like his best chance. He backed slowly away from the corner for a few paces, then turned and ran lightly to the stable.
'The trouble is, he could have gone anywhere once he made it this far,' Horace said. Halt nodded, chewing his lip reflectively. Beyond the colonnades that lined the market square, they found a maze of narrow, winding streets and crowded buildings.
'We'll just have to keep looking till we find him,' he said. 'At least he'll be easy to spot.'
'What's all that shouting?' Evanlyn interrupted. From the square, they could hear voices raised, calling the alarm. In a group, they ran back through the rear door of the coffee house they had just left, then out onto the square once more.
'It's Toshak!' Svengal yelled.
Diagonally opposite them, the Skandian traitor was seated astride a rearing horse, striking left and right with a battleaxe at a group of Bedullin warriors who had tried to stop him.
He beat his way clear, leaving two of them lying ominously still, and set his horse towards the wide entrance to the road leading to the main gate. Svengal ran forward a few paces and launched his spear after the retreating horseman, but it was a futile gesture and the missile landed, clattering, twenty metres short.
Then Halt heard that strange humming sound again, rising gradually in pitch. He glanced around to see Evanlyn, feet braced apart, whirling the long leather sling around her head, letting the speed build up.
'He's wearing a helmet,' he cautioned. Toshak had been prepared to fight his way clear. He was fully armed and Halt knew that the sling would be useless against his heavy iron helmet.
'I know,' said Evanlyn briefly, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Then there was a whistling slap as she cast the heavy marble ball after the fleeing Toshak. It flew across the square, too fast for the eye to follow, and slammed painfully into the target she had set herself – the horse's rump.
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.