Brotherband 4: Slaves of Socorro (38 page)

‘All right, you overgrown oaf. Hear this: you have an unpleasant nature and you smell like a swamp.’

There was a brief cry of laughter from one of the Araluans and Ingvar swung quickly towards the sound, even though he could not see the man who had laughed.

‘Do you speak Skandian?’ he asked.

A different voice replied, in broken Skandian. ‘I speak. I worked with Skandian duty ship at Cresthaven. Sold them fish.’

‘Shut up!’ Bernardo shouted, his gaze switching from Ingvar to the Araluans and then back again. ‘Shut up! I run this prison and I decide who speaks!’

‘Really?’ said Ingvar, reverting to the common tongue. His growing anger had wiped out the doubts he had felt earlier. At least now he could see a course of action presenting itself. ‘I rather thought the guards did that.’

Several of the other prisoners around them snickered briefly. Bernardo glared round at them, silencing them, then grabbed the front of Ingvar’s tunic and pulled him close, so that their faces were only centimetres apart. Flecks of spittle landed on Ingvar as the Iberian raged at him.

‘You don’t make jokes! Understand? You do as I tell you!’

And finally, Ingvar decided enough was enough. The anger, up until now a glowing ember, roared into full flame. He was a Skandian warrior, he thought. He was a member of the Heron Brotherband, after all. And the Herons had triumphed over Tursgud in their brotherband contest, then recaptured the stolen Andomal, sinking Zavac’s pirate ship and killing Zavac himself into the bargain. Ingvar’s pride surged. A Heron could do anything he set his mind to, and it was time this pathetic, posturing Iberian bully was made aware of the fact.

Turning towards Bernardo, he hit the Iberian full in the face with three rapid-fire left jabs. The punches travelled less than twenty centimetres, but they had all the strength of Ingvar’s powerful arm and shoulder behind them.

Bernardo’s head jerked back with the first punch, then came forward in time to meet the second and third. Ingvar heard the sound of bones cracking as the man’s nose broke. Bernardo uttered a choked cry, dazed from the rapid sequence of devastating punches. Then Ingvar whipped the metre-long chain that attached him to the wall into a loop around the Iberian’s neck and pulled it tight.

Bernardo tried to fight against the constricting chain cutting off his breath. But to no avail. Ingvar had him securely and he leaned back to tighten the loop. Bernardo scrabbled at the Skandian’s arms and hands with his nails, kicked his feet ineffectually against the stone floor, then, after a short struggle, he slumped unconscious.

Only then did Ingvar release the pressure on the chain. Bernardo took one enormous, shuddering breath and fell to one side.

‘Nice work,’ said the slave to Ingvar’s left – the one who had previously cursed him for crowding against him. Now, seeing how easily Ingvar had dispatched the prison bully, he thought it might be a good idea to show there were no hard feelings. Ingvar looked at him, his eyes hard.

‘He had it coming,’ he said.

The other prisoner nodded enthusiastically. ‘He did indeed!’

And suddenly, Ingvar felt a whole lot better. The black mood of doubt and despair lifted from him and a sense of triumphant pride flooded through him. Bernardo had just learned the hard way that it didn’t pay to treat a Heron with contempt. Furthermore, as a member of the Heron Brotherband, Ingvar had the support and backing of invincible warriors like Thorn and Stig.

Most of all, he realised that he could count on the ingenuity of his skirl. And in that second, he knew he would escape from this situation. Hal and his shipmates would never let him down. No matter what difficulties or dangers presented themselves, Hal would find a way to overcome them.

He shoved the unconscious figure of Bernardo contemptuously, then spoke in Skandian again.

‘You Araluans take heart! My shipmates are coming to rescue you and take you back to Araluen. But keep it quiet, understand?’

There was a pause while the Skandian-speaking Araluan translated to his comrades. Then he called out again. ‘When? When are they coming?’

Ingvar hesitated. There might well be other Skandian speakers in the dungeon and he didn’t want to reveal too much detail. ‘Sometime in the next few days,’ he said vaguely. ‘Just be quiet and be ready to follow my lead when the time comes.’

Beside him, Bernardo stirred groggily, his breathing snuffling wetly through his broken, flattened nose. Ingvar regarded him for a few seconds then, remembering the hours of taunting and goading that he had endured, he jabbed his elbow into the man’s ribs.

Hard.

G
ilan strung his longbow, then slung it diagonally over his back, so that it stretched from just above his left shoulder to the back of his right boot. Slinging it at an angle like that allowed him to fit it under the voluminous white robes, with only a small section of the upper end protruding above his shoulder and making a slight hump under the robe – and even that was hidden by the tail of his
kheffiyeh
.

He had adapted his quiver – normally slung over his shoulder – to hang from his belt. He clipped it into place now and pulled the robe around him. Aside from that one small peak at his shoulder, there was no sign that he was carrying a longbow.

He wore his sword, of course, in a scabbard that hung from his waistbelt. The peculiar double knife scabbard, holding a saxe knife and a smaller throwing knife, balanced the weight of the sword on the opposite side.

‘Nearly time to be off,’ he said quietly.

Hal nodded. He looked around to where Lydia was donning her robe and
kheffiyeh
. She had her quiver of atlatl darts concealed under the robe, hanging diagonally across her back like Gilan’s bow. But they were shorter than the bow and the robe hid them completely.

She glanced up, caught Hal’s eye and nodded. Since their heated discussion the day before, relations between the two of them had returned to normal. Hal knew she was too proud to ever apologise to him or admit that she was in the wrong. But she had gone out of her way to be pleasant and friendly in a dozen small ways, doing small favours for him or sharing the occasional joke – usually at her own expense. He smiled at her now. He was glad they were back on speaking terms – particularly with both of them heading off into uncertain and dangerous situations. He realised that there was a possibility that they might never see each other again and he would have hated the bad blood between them to have continued.

He turned back to Gilan. ‘What time are you heading out?’

‘Around the eleventh hour. That’ll give us time to get into the market, scout out a good place to start the fire and have it well and truly burning by a quarter hour to two. We’ll try to make it as far from the slave market as possible. That way, we’ll draw the
dooryeh
further away from you and leave you with a free hand.’

Hal nodded several times. He was nervous and tense. His stomach was set in tight knots and his mouth was dry.

It wasn’t fear, he knew. Once the action started, once things were under way, he would be fine. But it was the waiting that always got to him. The hours beforehand, thinking over the plan, trying to foresee problems – and there would always be problems – and plan for every eventuality.

He wished he were going with Gilan and Lydia. At least then he’d be doing something, and not having to put up with this seemingly interminable waiting.

The bell in the city watch tower clanged suddenly. All eyes on the ship instantly turned in the direction of the tower, even though they couldn’t actually see it from deck level. Unconsciously, Hal’s lips moved as he counted the clangs, mouthing the numbers from one to eleven.

The bell sounded out each hour, then sounded a single stroke to mark the quarter hours.

‘We’ll be going,’ Gilan said. He glanced at Lydia. ‘Ready?’

She nodded, making a final check of her belt to be sure her atlatl and her long dirk were both in place. Gilan and Hal shook hands, then Lydia embraced him quickly.

The rest of the crew gathered round to farewell them, murmuring good wishes as the two white-robed figures prepared to climb up onto the wharf.

‘Remember,’ Hal said, ‘once you’ve got the fire going, head straight back here. Don’t come looking for us. Just get back here and be ready to sail when we arrive.’

‘Got it,’ Gilan said. He didn’t see any need to point out that Hal had given them those instructions at least ten times during the day. The young skipper was anxious, he realised. A burly figure loomed up beside them and he turned to shake hands with Thorn, doing so left-handed.

‘Mind yourself in that guardroom,’ Gilan told him.

Thorn grinned cheerfully. He never had any stomach butterflies before a fight.

‘I plan to be subtle,’ he said.

Gilan looked at him, his head tilted curiously. ‘How’s that?’

‘Once we go through that door, I’ll bash anything that moves. And if they don’t move, Stig will bash them.’

‘You have a strange concept of subtle,’ Gilan said.

Thorn’s grin grew wider. ‘So I’ve been told.’ Then he became serious. ‘Take care out there. And take care of the girl too. Sometimes, she can be a little impulsive.’

Being Thorn, he made no effort to lower his voice when he added the second instruction. Lydia’s temper flared. ‘Impulsive! I’ll give you impulsive, old man!’

‘See what I mean?’ Thorn said to Gilan.

Gilan grinned back. ‘I don’t think Lydia needs anyone to look after her.’

‘Maybe not. But do it anyway,’ Thorn told him. ‘Or you’ll answer to me.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ Gilan said. Thorn was constantly teasing and infuriating Lydia. It was obvious, however, that he felt a strong regard for her – obvious to everyone but Lydia.

‘Are we going or not?’ she said impatiently.

Gilan winked at Thorn and turned away. ‘We’re going,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this done, shall we?’

He clambered up onto the wharf, Lydia close on his heels. They looked back to the ship, raised their arms in farewell, then turned and hurried off into the narrow entrance of an alley leading away from the waterfront.

As they travelled further into the city, the narrow, winding streets that took them under dark archways and past silent doorways gave way to wider thoroughfares that were well lit and bustling with noise and people. Taverns and eating houses predominated here. There were stalls as well, selling all kinds of merchandise, and lit by flaring oil lamps to show off their goods.

Lydia and Gilan, walking in single file with Gilan leading the way, threaded a path through the slow moving tide of eaters, drinkers and shoppers. On all sides, the spruikers for restaurants and bars called out to them, promising the
tastiest
food, the
finest
wine and ale and the most
convivial
company in the city. They ignored all these entreaties and pressed on.

Gradually, the streets became darker and quieter again, as they reached a residential area of the city. Here the walls were high and windowless, maintaining the privacy of those inside. The roofs were flat and covered with awnings, so that the residents could relax and enjoy the evening breeze high above the streets. As they walked quickly past the darkened fronts of the houses, through the occasional pool of light thrown by an oil light mounted high on the plastered walls, Lydia had the uncomfortable and unwelcome feeling that dozens of eyes were watching her from above.

Her softly shod feet made little noise on the uneven cobbles. To Lydia, however, each footfall sounded deafening. And she was convinced that anyone seeing them as they hurried along would immediately divine their purpose and raise the alarm.

They passed through a small square where a fountain splashed invitingly and trees were set about benches to provide shelter during the heat of day. By night, they provided deep shadows and Lydia’s overworked imagination peopled those shadows with enemies. Lydia didn’t like cities – particularly a city as big and extensive as Socorro. She had grown up spending most of her time in the forests and fields around her home town. She knew the sounds of a forest and could identify potential danger easily. In a large city like this, with its tortuous alleyways, high walls and shadowy archways, every noise she heard and every movement she saw was enough to set her teeth on edge.

Even the pleasant splashing of the fountain bothered her. It could be masking other sounds, less benevolent.

She glanced sideways at Gilan. As the crowds died away, she moved up to walk beside him. She wondered whether he was feeling the same nervous tension that she was. But the hanging sides of the
kheffiyeh
masked his face.

‘Not long now,’ he said. His voice was calm and encouraging, as if he had sensed her doubts. He turned and smiled at her, and she became aware that she had been gripping the handle of her dirk beneath her cloak in an iron grasp. Lydia relaxed her fingers as she and Gilan plunged through another archway, followed a curving, narrow alley, then emerged into the clear square that faced the gold market.

The marketplace itself loomed above them, a dark mass pierced only by a gateway opposite where yellow light shone, spilling out onto the cobblestones of the square.