Will shook his head gratefully. 'Once again, you have my gratitude,' he said.
As before, Umar dismissed his thanks. 'It's what we do in the desert. In fact, it's considered good luck to save a fellow traveller in trouble.' Then his face quickened with interest. 'We have your weapons!' he said. He turned and called to a low, wide-spreading tent a few metres away. 'Ahmood! Bring the foreigner's weapons!'
A teenage boy emerged from the tent a few seconds later. Grinning, he deposited Will's knives, in their double scabbard, and his bow and quiver. He also set down the folded chart and the Northseeker in its leather case. Will stood and buckled on the double scabbard. He felt a sense of completeness. No Ranger was ever totally comfortable without his weapons. Umar watched him carefully, then picked up the unstrung bow.
'I've never seen one like this before,' he said. 'It must be amazingly powerful.'
'It is,' Will said. Quickly, he settled the bow in front of his left ankle and behind his right calf. Using his back muscles, he bent the bow and slid the string up into the notch at the end. He handed it to Umar, who tested the draw weight, grimaced slightly, then returned the weapon to Will.
'Show me,' he said, handing Will an arrow from the quiver.
Will nocked the arrow and looked around for a suitable mark. He noticed a group of boys fifty metres away, playing a game with a small leather ball. They used their feet, heads and bodies to keep it in the air, passing it between them without letting it touch the ground. He started to look for a safer area to demonstrate, then glanced back as something caught his eye. The smallest boy, no more than eight years old, had lost control of the ball, sending it bouncing and rolling until it ended under a flat rock. Laughing, he ran after it and dropped to his hands and knees, reaching for it.
Will drew, aimed and fired in the space of a heartbeat. His arrow flashed across the oasis, missing the boy's reaching hand by centimetres, and ended, quivering, embedded under the rock. The boy recoiled, screaming in terror. His companions echoed his cries, turning to see where the arrow had come from.
A massive fist struck Will backhanded across the jaw. He staggered and fell, the bow dropping from his hands. Umar's face was contorted in rage.
'You reckless fool! Do you think you'll impress me by risking the life of my grandchild? You could have killed him!'
His hand dropped to the massive hilt of a heavy dagger in his belt. Will, stunned by the blow, tried to regain his feet but a savage kick from Umar winded him and sent him sprawling again. In the distance, Will could hear the child, still crying in fright, and a jumble of voices calling out – shouting in surprise and anger and fear.
He heard the faint metallic shring! of the dagger being drawn from its scabbard. Then Cielema's voice, shrill and urgent, was carrying above the others.
'Umar, stop! Look at this!'
Umar turned away from the prone figure before him. His wife had been returning with the coffee when she had passed by their grandson and witnessed the incident. Now she was on her knees, reaching for something under the rock. With an effort, she tugged Will's arrow free. With it, held firmly by the barbed broadhead, was the metre-long body of the sand cobra he had shot. The arrow had passed cleanly through the snake's head, killing it instantly.
A second before it could strike at the boy.
The dagger dropped from Umar's hand as he realised what had happened, what he had done. Aghast, he stooped to help Will to his feet.
'Forgive me! I'm sorry! I thought… '
Will was still gasping for breath when Cielema reached them, brandishing the dead snake impaled on the arrow.
'What are you doing, you fool?' she demanded. 'The boy saved Faisal!'
Umar had hauled Will to his feet and begun to feverishly brush him down, a stricken look in his eyes. He had been about to kill the young man who had undoubtedly saved his grandson's life.
'Forgive me!' he said frantically. But Cielema brushed past him, shoving him away from the young foreigner.
'Get away!' she said roughly. She dropped the dead snake, took Will's jaw in her hands and gently worked it from side to side, her head cocked to listen. 'Are you all right?' she asked him. He tried a weak grin, then wished he hadn't when it hurt his jaw.
'Bit swollen,' he said thickly. 'Bu' I'm all ri'.'
She moved quickly to where a jar of water stood outside the large tent nearby. Dipping the end of her scarf in it, she came back and pressed the cool wet cloth against his jaw. Umar tried once more to placate her.
'I'm sorry!' he said. 'I thought that… ' He got no further. She rounded on him savagely.
'You thought? When did you ever think? You were ready to kill the boy! I saw you with that knife of yours!'
Will took her hands and removed the wet cloth from his face. He worked his jaw a little, making sure nothing was broken.
'It's all right,' he told her. 'No harm done. I'm a little bruised. It was just a misunderstanding.'
'Exactly!' Umar told her. 'A misunderstanding.' Cielema looked at him savagely.
'He saved Faisal's life,' she said. 'And what did you do?' Umar went to reply, realised there was nothing he could say that would placate his furious wife, and dropped his hands helplessly. He knew that he had acted in haste, that he was in the wrong. But what could you expect? It certainly had looked as if the stranger had shot close to his grandson in an arrogant and reckless display of his marksmanship. Now that Umar thought about it, he realised that the stranger's marksmanship was of the highest possible order. He had never seen anyone shoot like that. He looked again at his wife, saw the anger in her eyes and the set of her body and knew that there was nothing he could say.
Will stepped into the awkward silence. 'He saved my life, remember?' He grinned a little lopsidedly at the Aseikh. 'I'd say that makes us even.' He held out his hand to the Bedullin, who took it gratefully, and gripped it.
'You see?' he said to his wife. 'There are no hard feelings. It was a mistake!'
Seeing Will's reaction, and his disinclination to hold any sort of grudge, Cielema relaxed a little. She even allowed herself a small, tight smile at the two men as they continued shaking hands.
'Very well,' she said. Then, to Will, 'But you must tell us anything we can do for you.'
He shrugged. 'You've already done more than enough. Just give me a day or two to rest and regain my strength; give me food, water and my horse. Then give me directions for Mararoc and I won't bother you any more.'
But the Aseikh was frowning at his words. 'Your horse,?' he said. 'Your horse died. I told you. A lion took it.'
Will shook his head, smiling. 'Not that horse. Tug. The little shaggy grey that was with you when you found me. He's my horse.'
Now it was the Aseikh's turn to shake his head. He was reluctant to cause any disappointment to the stranger. But he had to face facts.
'He's not your horse,' he said. 'He's ours.'
Chapter 30
Now that they had decided on taking the more direct route to the Khor-Abash Wells, there seemed to be no point in having Gilan, Halt and Selethen ride ahead.
Before dawn the following morning, the entire party broke camp and set out together. Initially, Selethen led them on a long swing due west, before angling back to a north-west course – the base course that the Tualaghi had been following. This gave them enough clearance so that they would avoid running into the Tualaghi war party on one of their westerly zigzags.
With no need to follow the Tualaghi's tracks any more, they were able to revert to their original travel pattern, travelling in the cooler hours of darkness before dawn. In addition, they continued to move north-west after the sun had set, giving themselves an extra hour or two of travel each day. In this way, they were able to gain considerable ground on the enemy. As they camped in the darkness on the second day of direct travel, one of Selethen's scouts rode into camp and reported to his Wakir. Selethen listened, then approached the spot where the Araluan party were sitting, a satisfied smile on his face.