The Royal Ranger

Fifty-four

Mill was tied to a thick stake, set firmly in the coarse sand of the beach.

The stake had been one of the supports for the mess tent, but Ruhl had his men uproot it, then replant it deep in the sand, inland from the tents. Will’s hands had been dragged behind the stake and tied securely there. His feet had been tied together at the ankles, then secured to the bottom of the pole. Finally, a third rope had been looped round his throat and the pole, keeping him standing upright.

Around his feet, and reaching as high as his knees, the slavers had placed a vast stack of brushwood. It was already tinder dry, but Ruhl had soaked it in oil to make sure it would burn instantly, and fiercely. The throat-closing smell of the oil reached Will’s nostrils, making him want to cough. He resisted the urge, not wishing to give Ruhl any satisfaction.

He had been tied here for several hours and his hands and feet were numb. Again and again, Will had tried to force the ropes apart, trying to stretch the fibres, or find some give in the knots themselves. But it was a futile effort. He tried once again, but he couldn’t feel his hands any more. If the ropes weren’t loosened soon and the circulation restored to his hands and feet, he thought, he’d lose fingers and toes, or even the hands themselves.

Then he shrugged. Losing fingers was going to be the least of his worries.

Further down the beach, about twenty metres away, Ruhl and his remaining men were seated round the camp fire, passing a flagon of Iberian brandy from hand to hand. As Will watched, the Stealer took a long swig, then placed the flagon to one side.

He rose, a little unsteadily, then stooped and took a flaming brand from the fire.

Weaving slightly, Ruhl made his way up the beach to where Will stood, trapped against the stake, unable to move. Will felt his stomach clench. This would be the third time Ruhl carried out the charade of pretending to light the fire around him.

On the previous two occasions, he had taunted Will, placing the flaming torch a few centimetres from the stacked firewood, then pulling it back again at the last minute. Then he would repeat the action, so that Will never knew when his last moments were about to come.

Would this be the time he would go ahead with his threat?

Now Ruhl stood before his captive, unsteady on his feet, his face flushed with the effect of the alcohol. He leaned forward, peering at the bearded face before him, trying to see some sign of fear, some plea for mercy.

“Well, Treaty, is this the time? Are you about to go to meet your lovely wife once more? What do you say?”

He dipped the flaming end of the brand close to the piled oil-soaked wood. Will stared straight ahead, resisting the almost overwhelming temptation to watch as the flames wavered, inches away from the stacked branches.

“How about it, Treaty? Are you going to ask me for mercy? If you do, I might give you an easy end. Just a quick sword thrust and you won’t have to worry about these flames.”

The burning brand waved in front of Will’s face, so close that he could feel its heat against his eyes, feel his beard and eyebrows beginning to singe.

“Nothing to say? You’ll make plenty of noise in a minute, when I drop this torch in the fire… whoops!”

He let the torch drop, clumsily catching it again just before it fell into the stacked firewood. Will felt his stomach heave with fear. But he showed no sign of it.

“That was a near-run thing, wasn’t it, Treaty?” Ruhl sneered. He rolled his eyes and waved the torch above the firewood once more, making a mocking sing-song noise.

“Get on with it, Jory. Kill him and make an end of it. Stop taunting the man.”

One of the slavers had turned from the camp fire to watch Ruhl’s performance. He had seen him tormenting the Ranger twice before, and seen that the bearded man showed no sign of fear. He felt a grudging respect for him and, in inverse proportion, a diminishing regard for his leader. Ruhl was enjoying himself too much, he thought. Killing an enemy was one thing, but continuing to taunt and sneer and pretend, then pulling back at the last minute, showed a level of malice that even a hardened criminal couldn’t stomach.

But Ruhl now turned on his underling in a fury.

“You don’t tell me what to do, Anders!” he shouted, his voice rising to a high-pitched level just short of hysteria. He strode angrily back down the beach to the camp fire, tossing the flaming branch to one side as he went, and confronting the man who had challenged him. He stood over the man, shouting abuse at him. Will heaved a sigh of relief and sagged a little against the cruel bonds that held him.

“He’s my prisoner!” Ruhl shouted. “I want to hear him beg! I want him to plead for mercy! And I will hear him do it and you will shut up. Or you will join him. Do… you… understand?”

The man shifted back. He was at a disadvantage, sitting while Ruhl stood over him. He knew Ruhl was more than capable of carrying out the threat he had just made. But he’d worked for the Stealer for some months now, and he also knew that if he showed weakness, it could prove fatal. Ruhl preyed on weakness. Besides, he doubted that his companions would back Ruhl up and tie him to the stake with the Ranger.

“It’s not going to happen, Jory, that’s all. As I say, kill him and be done with it.”

“I’ll kill him when I am ready to kill him,” Ruhl said, speaking with exaggerated precision and care. “And not when some third-rate cutpurse like you tells me to. Understand?”

Anders nodded. He’d shown enough defiance, he thought. “Whatever you say, Jory,” he muttered. Ruhl reached past him for the flagon and sat down heavily, his back to the prisoner tied to the stake. He didn’t see Will sag with relief as his death was postponed yet again.

And he didn’t notice that one of the shapeless rock outcrops that studded the beach behind Will had moved several metres closer to the Ranger while he was berating his henchman.

Maddie’s heart thumped against her ribs. She could hear it pounding and she wondered how it was not audible to those on the beach.

She’d taken in the situation in the camp, then crept silently down the cliff path to the beach, close by the cave entrance. From there, she had moved stealthily from one large rock to another, dropping into cover as she reached each one. It was a blessing that the beach was so littered with large rocks, and that Ruhl had elected to place the stake and the fire so far up the beach, and not further down, in the clearer ground past the camp fire. She’d watched the Stealer as he taunted Will and she realised that the man was insane—dangerously insane.

Sooner or later, he would carry out his threat and set fire to the piled brushwood around Will’s knees. And she sensed that it would be sooner. If he moved towards Will again, she believed that the time for threats would be over. Will would never give in and beg, she knew. And she sensed that Ruhl knew it as well by now. Next time he left the fire, Will would die. She was huddled on the beach now, a shapeless mass under her cloak, and only a few metres behind Will. Cautiously, she raised a corner of her cowl. The gang—what remained of them—were sitting round the fire drinking again. They were staring into the flames, which she knew would ruin their night vision. Emboldened by the realisation, she crept forward, a few centimetres at a time to avoid making noise, until she was directly behind Will. Crouched low, hidden by the pile of firewood, she drew her saxe and sliced quickly through the rope around his legs.

She felt him tense as the rope fell away and she stood slowly, staying concealed behind him.

“It’s me. Maddie,” she breathed. “Hold on a moment and I’ll have you free.”

Will groaned softly, trying to suppress the noise. His arms and legs had been constricted by the tight bonds for hours. As the blood rushed back to his numb legs and feet, it was sheer agony. Then the saxe sliced through the rope binding his hands, and the rope around his throat.

His hands and forearms also felt the unbearable stabbing pain of returning circulation and he sagged against the stake, unable to maintain his balance and letting out a louder groan of agony. This time, the men around the fire heard him. One of them stood up.

“What was that?”

He saw Will lurch a pace away from the stake, then clutch his arms around it as he desperately tried to regain his balance.

“It’s the Ranger! He’s loose!”

Pandemonium broke out as they grabbed for their weapons and scrambled to their feet. Maddie dropped the saxe to one side and hastily unwound her sling from her waist, loading a shot into the pouch.

Initially, blinded by the bright flames they’d been staring into, none of Ruhl’s men noticed the dark shape behind Will. But as Maddie stepped clear to one side, her loaded sling swinging gently behind her, they saw her and hesitated.

“Who’s that?”

“There’s someone with him!”

Only Ruhl reacted immediately. He pointed to the two figures beside the stake.

“Get them! Kill them!”

But as he said the words, Maddie’s first shot smashed into one of his men.

Studying the tableau from the top of the cliff, she had noticed that two of them wore boiled-leather breastplates and she doubted that her bow would have the power to punch through them. Accordingly, she had elected to use the sling, leaving the bow and quiver behind for the awkward climb down the cliff. Now, she realised she had made the right choice.

The lead ball, travelling with tremendous force, smashed into the leather breastplate just below the man’s heart, bending and deforming the leather, driving a huge dent into it. The ball didn’t penetrate, but the shock of the impact did. It was transmitted directly and virtually undiminished to the slaver’s body. Two ribs caved in and a huge bruise began to form immediately. His heart faltered, picked up again. The man gave a strangled cry and fell to the ground, knees drawn up, trying to breathe, and feeling knives of pain slice into his ribs as he did.

The slaver beside him barely had time to look at his comrade in horror before Maddie’s second shot hit him on the right shoulder, shattering the large bones there, smashing the joint beyond any possibility of repair and sending him reeling. Faint with pain, he sank to his knees, doubled over, then toppled onto his side, keening softly.

The other three kidnappers looked in shock at their companions, seeing them struck down by some terrible, unseen force out of the darkness. They exchanged a glance, then turned and ran, dropping their weapons behind them.

Maddie let them go, searching for Jory Ruhl. She’d taken the others first, as they were armed and, so far, Ruhl had done nothing but scream orders. Now she saw him, stooping to retrieve something close by the fire. He stood upright and she realised he was holding a short javelin. But he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed on Will, as he slumped against the stake, arms and legs cramping terribly, unable to move.

Ruhl’s right arm went back, then started to come forward. Maddie leapt to Will’s side and shoved him out of the path of the weapon. He fell with a startled cry across the stack of firewood. Maddie’s hand went to her shot pouch, moving with the smooth, automatic precision that came from constant practice. She was loading a ball into the sling when she felt a terrible impact against her right hip—an impact that drove her back several paces, and was followed by a searing burst of agony down her upper leg.

She looked down and saw that Ruhl’s short javelin had transfixed her thigh, just below the hip. She felt a moment of disbelief.

“I’ve been hit,” she said incredulously. She had never expected such a thing to happen. But it had.

The evil, barbed head was buried deep in her thigh and she felt the leg give way under her, unable to bear her weight. Blood was coursing down her leg and she fell, causing more agony as the shaft of the javelin jarred against the ground. Grinding her teeth against the pain, she fought the waves of nausea that threatened to overcome her. Tears streamed from her eyes with the pain and shock and she felt herself slipping away. She couldn’t breathe. The awful trauma of the terrible wound seemed to have paralysed her lungs.

Her vision began to fail, until it seemed she was watching events through a long, narrow tunnel, with darkness on all sides. She saw Ruhl stooping to pick up another flaming brand from the fire. Then he started up the beach towards Will. She tried to call to her mentor, but no sound came. Tried to reach out to him, even though he was metres away and beyond her reach.

And then the world turned red, then black.

And there was nothing any more.