The Transall Saga Part 15

Sarbo stepped back, took a deep breath and slammed his body into the door. It splintered, fell off its leather hinges and crashed, barely missing the sleeping man inside.

"Whaa"What's going on?" Short Man frantically reached for his sword.

Mark kicked it across the room. Sarbo stepped on Short Man's chest, pus.h.i.+ng him down as he held the blade of his sword against the man's neck.

"Sarbo," Short Man gulped. "My good friend. What is the meaning of this?"

"That is what we are here to find out, Short Man." Sarbo stepped down harder. "Light the oil pot, Kakon. The fire doesn't let me see into this deceiver's eyes."

"Deceiver? I would never deceive you, Sarbo. Someone has given you false information."

"There is a reward offered for the capture of my friend. Who is behind it?"

"I do not know what you are talking about. Ia"''

Sarbo pressed the blade into Short Man's flesh until he drew blood. "I have no time to waste. It will be daylight soon. If you value your life, tell me before I cut your head off and feed it to that corwunk on the chain outside."

Short Man closed his eyes. "All right. Someone came here. He said your odd-looking friend was worth a lot to someone very important."

"Who wants him? And why?"

"He did not give a name. All I know is that he rode a fine beast and wore metal armor like the kind tied to your friend's gear."

Mark gave a low whistle. "The Merkon."

"Or one of his men." Sarbo looked down at the white-faced man on the floor. "When did he say he would be back?"

"He did not say. Only that if we wanted the reward we had to hold him here until they came for him. I had no idea he was your companion, Sarbo. I just thought I could pick up some easy booty."

Sarbo stepped back. "I will not kill you, Short Man. My friend and I are leaving now. If you know what is good for you, you will stay out of our way. And if the man in armor returns it would be better for you if you do not tell him we were here."

"Of course." Short Man sat up and rubbed his throat. "I could never betray you, Sarbo. You know that."

"If the reward was large enough, you would betray anyone." Sarbo sheathed his sword. "But see to it that you do not or I will return. And next time, promise that you will not be left attached to your head."

There was a sound in the courtyard. Mark blew the light out and moved silently up the steps.

Standing in front of him was his silver beast, along with a fat b!ack one and a short, hairy animal like the kind the Samatin had been riding.

"See how I think ahead, master?" Yonk said to Mark, pulling the animals closer. "You could use someone like me on your journey."

"For what?" Sarbo climbed the steps. "You would only slow us down."

Yonk appealed to Mark. "Master, you know that if I stay here Short Man will kill me the minute you are out of sight. Haven't I stood by you from the start?"

Mark rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"I can cook," Yonk went on. "And I am good with animals. I will see to your every need. You will not have to lift a finger. It would be a terrible mistake not to take me with you."

Sarbo took the reins of the black beast and jumped on its back. He looked at Mark. "Come, Kakon. Perhaps the Samatin are sleeping."

Mark climbed on his animal and followed Sarbo to the edge of the courtyard. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at Yonk. "If you are coming you'd better hurry. n.o.body's going to wait for you."

"Oh, thank you, master." Yonk hopped on the small donkeylike animal and trotted after them. "I promise you will not regret this."

chapter 42.

"You are very crafty, masters." Yonk's animal jogged through the deep red sand, easily keeping pace with the larger beasts. "You have outsmarted the Samatin. Of course, I knew you would. Otherwise I would not have chosen to come with you."

Sarbo gave Mark a sullen glance. "Does that runt ever shut up?"

"I am sorry if I have offended you, master. I was just saying that it has been almost two days and you have managed to successfully elude the Samatin. It is not everyone who could have escaped their watchful eyes so easily."

"That is what worries me." Sarbo s.h.i.+fted his weight and glanced nervously around. "It seemed too easy."

"Why would they let us go?" Mark asked. "They wanted us pretty badly the other day."

"Who knows? Perhaps the runt is right. I am probably worrying for no reason. It will be dark soon. We will camp just over that next dune."

They plodded along in silence. Mark hoped he had made the right decision. He had been the one to choose their destinationa"Listra. He felt sure the Merkon had the answers he was looking fora"if the man was still alive. If not, there might be someone close to him who knew why he had taken such an interest in Mark. The only way to find out for certain was to go to his stronghold across the river in Listra and ask questions.

Sarbo had refused to consider going back to the village without Mark. And Yonk didn't seem to care which way they went, as long as it was away from Short Man.

"Look, masters! Trees!" Yonk pointed down the sand dune to a stand of short red trees. "We must be getting close to the end of the Death Sand. I had almost forgotten what they looked like. Aren't they beautiful? Are we going to camp there? It would be wonderful to have shade."

"If it will help to get you to close your flapping mouth, I would be willing to camp in a patch of thornspears," Sarbo said. He kicked his beast and moved out in front of them.

"I get the feeling he does not like me much," Yonk said in a low voice. "Have I done something to offend him? Have I not done everything in my power to please him?"

Mark urged his mount down the dune. "I think Sarbo is happy enough with your work. But from now on you might try doing it with a little less talk."

Sarbo had stopped. The trees were still ahead. Mark rode up to him, leaving Yonk behind. "Is something wrong?"

"It is too still." Sarbo studied the line of trees. "I don't like it, Kakon. We must turn back."

As he tugged on the rein, an arrow whizzed and struck Sarbo in the side. The big man slumped forward, hanging on to his beast's mane.

"Go!" Sarbo shouted hoa.r.s.ely.

Mark reached for the reins of Sarbo's mount and tried to make a run for it, but a swarm of Samatin charged out of the trees and surrounded them before he had moved more than a few feet.

The leader, a filthy man wearing a stained white turban, gave them a grin that exposed his rotted front teeth. His look dared Mark to make a move against them.

Mark dropped the reins and slowly put his hands in the air. The Samatin began whooping. For several minutes they pranced around their captives, yelling and occasionally poking at Mark and Sarbo with their spears. Finally they took their captives' weapons and tied Mark's hands behind his back with a thin leather strap.

The language they spoke was even choppier than the arrow people's. Mark couldn't understand a word. They led the two beasts behind their hairy animals, obviously very pleased with themselves, chattering and waving their arms.

Mark chanced a quick glance up at the sand dune. Yonk was nowhere in sight.

The Samatin hadn't bothered to tie Sarbo. He was losing a lot of blood and could barely hang on to his beast.

Mark felt helpless. "Hold on, Sarbo," he whispered. "I'll get us out of thisa"somehow."

There was no answer.

Sweat trickled down Mark's forehead and stung his eyes. This was his fault. He should have insisted that Sarbo return to his village, and he should have gone back to the dark jungle. It had been a mistake to drag his friend into this mess.

A few miles later the Samatin dropped into a sandy canyon that got deeper and deeper. They followed it for almost an hour before they stopped in front of what appeared to be a solid wall of red rock and sand.

One by one they rode to the far side and disappeared around the edge. The man leading Mark's beast got off his animal and clicked a command. The little animal followed the others while he carefully led Mark and the bigger animal around the edge of the narrow opening.

Mark was amazed. The s.h.i.+mmering sand gave the illusion that there was no way through the wall. But once they rounded the opening there was a long, dark tunnel just wide enough for a beast to pa.s.s. He had to duck to avoid being sc.r.a.ped off by low-hanging rocks.

The darkness didn't slow the man leading Mark's mount. He seemed to know the way very well.

Just when Mark thought the tunnel would never end, a light appeared and the little man led him out into a valley.

Mark's eyes widened. The ground was black and the vegetation green. Green, the way he remembered it was supposed to be.

As they walked, a powdery dirt swirled up around the man's ankles. Mark looked down and saw that they were walking through old volcanic ash. The Samatin had founded their hidden paradise on the remains of an inactive volcano. The rim of the blackened cone loomed in front of them.

Women and children came out of their mud huts to stare at the prisoners. Dog creatures with long thin tails that dragged on the ground barked and nipped at the heels of the mounts.

The leader pointed at Sarbo and shouted. Two of the Samatin roughly pulled him, unconscious, off his beast and carried him into one of the huts. Then the leader gave another order and pointed at Mark.

A heavy blow hit Mark in the ribs and he fell, landing on his shoulder in the dirt.

The Samatin roared with laughter.

Mark struggled to his knees, his hands still tied. Someone kicked him solidly in the back and he fell on his face. He scrambled to his feet and warily watched the crowd to see who his next attacker would be.

It was the little man who had led his beast. He jumped at Mark, intending to jab him with his spear. Mark side-stepped, whirled and landed a kick to the short man's stomach.

The crowd stopped laughing. One of their own had been bested by a prisoner. They pressed in closer to see what would happen next.

The little man turned, his narrow black eyes flas.h.i.+ng. He braced himself, raised the spear and charged again.

Mark was ready. He dropped to the ground and scissored his legs to trip the man. The small fellow was propelled forward into the crowd. The spear flew out of his hand and landed in the dirt near the leader.

The leader was not amused. He clapped his hands sharply and his men rushed to grab Mark. They took him to a small cage made of tree limbs and pushed him inside. There was a rope attached to the top; they threw it around a high tree branch and raised the cage off the ground.

The prison was not designed for someone as tall as Mark. When he sat flat on the floor, his head touched the top. The cage was so small there was hardly room for him to move. He studied the way it was built. The st.u.r.dy sticks were held in place by leather strips like the one that was cutting into his wrists.

He was carrying his old pocketknife in a pouch around his waist, but it was impossible to get to it.

The Samatin people had crowded around below the cage and were throwing rocks and spitting and jeering at him. Whatever he did, if anything, would have to wait until nightfall.

chapter 43.

The night was warm and bright. The moonlight shone through the haze better here than anywhere else Mark had been in Transall.

The Samatin had finally given up taunting him and gone into their huts to sleep. Wedged in his prison, Mark sat thinking, trying to take his mind off how uncomfortable he was.

Back in his world the sulfur from volcanoes had been used to make many things, particularly explosive powder. He racked his brain, trying to remember the formula.

His science teacher had talked about it. Mark had stored the information because he thought he and his friends might find it useful one day for homemade fireworks.

The Chinese or somebody had figured out that if you added the sulfur from pure deposits of brimstone to charcoal and pota.s.sium nitrate you could produce a potentially lethal explosion.

Mark smiled grimly. It was funny what you could remember in these bizarre situations. He continued to think. The charcoal was easy. It was right there in the residue of old fires the Samatin had let burn down. He suspected the long tunnel they came through had all the pota.s.sium nitrate he would need. But what was the formula?

There was a disturbance on the other side of the camp. In the moonlight he could see a Samatin guard on a mount, dragging someone behind him.

It was Yonk. The man picked up the boy and stuffed him into another cage. Then he raised it off the ground near Mark's.

"I tried to save you, master. Honestly, I did. I would have done it too, if it had not been for the tunnel guard. He is a coward and a thief. He came at me from behind and took my donkey and my pack. When I get out of here I will rip him apart. I willa""

"Yonk?"

"Yes, master?"

"Thank you for coming after us. It's good to see you. But if you don't mind, I'm trying to think right now."

"Are you about to come up with a grand plan to escape from these barbaric people along with Master Sarbo? Where is Master Sarbo? If you do have a plan I can be of great help to you. In fact, I once a" "

"Yonk?"

"Yes, master?"

"Shut up."

"Yes, master."

Mark pulled his knees up under his chin. He inched onto his back and pushed upward with his feet. The round wooden bars didn't budge.

Next he tried bracing his back against one side of the cage and his feet against the other. He pushed again with all his might but nothing happened.