Return of the Temujai

by John Flanagan

  The Sha’shan wriggled around in Hal’s grip to look at him. Hal’s eyes were hard and uncompromising, and Pa’tong realized it would be dangerous to try to trick this young man. He sighed and called in the common tongue.

  “Ho’mat! Are you there? Show yourself.”

  A rider in the center of the second line raised his arm and walked his horse forward to stand beside the dismounted archers. He called something in Temujai, and Hal shook the Sha’shan once more.

  “Tell him to stick to the common tongue!” he warned.

  “Speak the common tongue!” Pa’tong shouted. “The barbarian wants to know what we’re saying.”

  “Very well, lord,” the rider replied, speaking with a thick Temujai accent. “What does the barbarian want?”

  Hal snorted. “Well, for a start, I don’t fancy being called a barbarian,” he said. He felt Pa’tong tense to deliver the message and stopped him. “Let it go,” he said. Then he raised his voice and shouted to the rider on the shore, speaking slowly so that there would be no chance of being misunderstood.

  “Ho’mat! As you can see, we have your Sha’shan with us. He’s our hostage.”

  He paused.

  The Temujai, realizing some reply was expected, called out. “I see.”

  “My men and I are all well sheltered from your arrows. If you shoot at our ship, the only person you risk hitting is your Sha’shan. Is that what you want?”

  There was a slight pause. Then the Ulan commander replied briefly. “No.”

  “Then tell your men to lay down their bows and let us pass,” Hal demanded. “We’re going downriver and that’s the only way you’ll get your Sha’shan back in one piece.”

  There was a brief consultation on the shore as Ho’mat passed on Hal’s demand to those who didn’t understand the common tongue. Hal saw several of the men objecting, pointing their bows threateningly at the little ship, which was slowly edging closer to the river mouth. One of them even stepped forward, nocked an arrow, drew and shot. The missile thudded into the timber shield where Stig was sheltering.

  “Lydia!” Hal called sharply. The girl rose to her feet, a dart already in place in her atlatl. Her arm went back and she cast in a smooth, powerful action. The dart flew in a lazy parabola, then slammed with surprising force into the man who had shot, dropping him instantly to the ground.

  “Don’t try that again!” Hal warned, hearing several surprised exclamations from the men on the bank. Then Ho’mat erupted angrily, shouting orders at his men. Reluctantly, those who had raised their bows lowered them and lapsed into a sulky acquiescence.

  “Very well,” Ho’mat called. “Come ahead. We’ll give you free passage down the river.”

  “I’ll just bet you will,” Hal said softly, then called to Stig. “Take her downriver, Stig. Keep her as far from the east bank as you can.”

  chapter thirty-one

  Out oars,” Hal said quietly. Ulf, Wulf, Jesper and Stefan slid their oars out through the rowlocks. “Give way—easily now,” Hal ordered, once he saw they were ready.

  The rowers bent to their oars and the Heron nosed smoothly into the river, the current getting behind her and adding to her speed. Ho’mat, the Temujai commander, and half a dozen of his men wheeled their horses and trotted along the riverbank, keeping pace with the ship as she moved past them. Some of the dismounted Temujai moved to follow the ship as well. One even went so far as to raise his bow, an arrow on the string. But a sharp order from Ho’mat caused him to lower the weapon at once.

  “Seems to be working,” Thorn said, crouched below the barrier on the port gunwale and peering out at the Temujai keeping pace with them along the riverbank.

  “So far so good,” Hal replied. “Pace it up a little, Ulf.”

  Ulf called a change in rate. The oars moved more swiftly and Heron accelerated, moving faster downriver and leaving the Temujai riders behind. Hal turned to watch them as the ship pulled away. Ho’mat gave a hand signal and the riders reined in, watching the ship. Eventually, the Heron rounded a bend and the Temujai were lost to sight.

  Thorn rose from his crouched position and moved to stand with Hal. “Think we’ve got rid of them?”

  Hal shook his head. “Not by a long shot.”

  “Commander!” Pa’tong called from his position in the bows. “I need to talk to you!”

  He obviously was unaware of the correct title for a ship’s captain, even in the common tongue, Hal thought. Not surprising really. The Temujai had little to do with ships. He nodded to Thorn.

  “Untie him and bring him aft,” he said.

  Thorn nodded and moved quickly for’ard. He untied the bindings that held the Temujai leader to the bow post, but left his hands tied. Grabbing hold of one arm, he led him aft to where Hal waited, eyes on the river ahead of them. There was a ring bolt in the deck close by the steering platform. Hal nodded to it.

  “Tie him to that,” he said. As before, he didn’t want to risk having the Sha’shan hurl himself overboard. When this was done, he looked at the man briefly. “What do you want?”

  “I assume you are going back downriver to the lowlands?”

  “That’s right,” Hal said, although he wasn’t sure how he might manage that. The Temujai were sure to follow them, and they’d be vulnerable to attack if they tried to take the ship down the portage trails.

  “What do you plan to do with me?” Pa’tong asked.

  Hal paused a second or two before answering. “Take you back to Hallasholm and hold you as a hostage to make sure your people behave themselves.”

  Pa’tong considered this, then said, “That will work, of course. But only for a short time.”

  “Why so? Why not indefinitely?”

  Pa’tong shrugged. “My people believe that the Sha’shan is a demigod, chosen by the Horse Spirit.”

  “The horse spirit?” Hal asked.

  “Our most important god. We worship Mori, the Great Horse Spirit, one of the three horse gods, and obey his commands. I am his chosen one, and my people will not allow harm to come to me. As you have just seen.”

  “Well, that suits me just fine,” Hal replied, wondering where this was leading.

  “However, that only continues so long as they know I’m alive. I assume you are planning on taking me back to your city . . .” He paused, uncertain of the pronunciation. “Hallasholm, and keeping me there?”

  “That’s what I had in mind, yes,” Hal said.

  The Sha’shan shrugged. “Then once I am out of sight, there are men within my army who will work to replace me. They will begin to claim that the Skandian leader has killed me and they will agitate to be elected in my place. Unless the people see that I am alive, they will eventually agree.”

  “These men would do this in spite of the fact that you were chosen by your horse god?” Hal asked.

  Pa’tong allowed a cynical smile to touch his normally impassive face.

  “That is religion,” he said. “This would be politics. The men who want to replace me would find a way to justify their actions. It would probably involve extensive sacrifices to Mori.”

  Hal took a few seconds to consider this. It sounded reasonable, he thought. “So what’s your solution?”

  “Take me to Hallasholm. I will negotiate a treaty with your Oberjarl. Then return me to my people before my rivals can begin their campaign to undermine me.”

  “Let you go?” Thorn interrupted incredulously. “Just let you go? How could we trust you?”

  “Thorn—” Hal began.

  But the Sha’shan held up a hand to still him. “It’s a reasonable question.” He faced the shaggy-haired warrior squarely. “I would swear a triple oath on the spirit of Mori. No Temujai would dare to break such an oath.”

  “Not even your friends who are planning to replace you?” Hal asked.

  Pa’tong shook hi
s head. “Not even they would dare. No Temujai would break such an oath. It would mean eternal suffering.”

  Hal rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “A treaty, you say?” he said at length.

  Pa’tong nodded. “A non-aggression treaty, where I agree to keep the Temujai away from Skandia. To stop attacking. To stop infringing on your borders.”

  “Forever?” Hal asked.

  “For a period of, say, three years.” The Sha’shan studied Hal’s face carefully. “You know my men will follow you down the river valley, don’t you?” he said, and Hal nodded. “How do you expect to stop them when they reach the lowlands?”

  “There’s a point where the valley narrows. Ten of us could hold off your men there.”

  “For how long? A week? A month? Two months? Eventually, they would break through.”

  “But you’d leave a lot of your men behind if you did,” Hal said stubbornly.

  The Sha’shan smiled—a humorless smile. “We have a lot of men. We’d still have enough to overwhelm your forces. Trust me. This is your best option.”

  There was a long silence. Hal knew he was right, but was reluctant to admit it immediately.

  “I’ll think on it,” he said.

  “Do that,” Pa’tong told him. “You’ll need—”

  Hal rounded on him angrily. “I said I’ll think on it!” he snapped. “Now leave me in peace to do that.”

  Pa’tong shrugged, making a submissive gesture with his bound hands.

  Hal caught Thorn’s eye. “Take him for’ard and tie him to the mast.”

  They continued downriver, and Hal tossed the Sha’shan’s suggestion over in his mind. The more he did, the more he realized that the man was right: This was his best option. But he had other problems to solve. The most pressing was how to get down the river—how to negotiate the portages with the Temujai on his heels. He glanced astern for what seemed like the fiftieth time. There was no sign of them but they were there, he knew. The first portage was short and relatively easy. They had gained enough of a lead over their pursuers to get the boat ashore and down the steep trail without having the Temujai catch up. But their lead would be reduced and the second and third portages would be close-run things.

  There was another problem to solve. The three long timber saplings nailed in place along the port railing had ruined the ship’s balance, so that she listed heavily to port. That made her steering less precise. She was constantly trying to crab to the left, fighting the tiller. He waited till he saw a clear space on the bank and turned Heron toward it.

  “In oars,” he ordered, and ran the prow at an angle onto the soft mud of the bank. The crew looked at him curiously and he gestured at the temporary barricade they had built.

  “Get rid of those saplings,” he ordered. “She’s steering like an overweight sow.”

  The Herons went to work, levering the nails loose, untying the lashings that held the saplings in place and heaving the long poles over the side into the river. The current caught them and spun them away, taking them rapidly downstream.

  The third one had just been pitched into the swift-flowing river when they heard a commotion behind them. As they turned to see what was happening, a horse swam into view, thrashing the water and surging toward the bank. It came ashore a few meters from their beached ship, stood for a moment, then shook itself, sending cascades of water high into the air. It was saddled and had a bridle in place. It stood in the shallows for a minute or two, regaining its strength, then tossed its head and cantered off into the trees.

  Stig looked at Hal, puzzled. “What do you make of that?”

  “Look!” cried Lydia, pointing into the middle of the river.

  The sodden form of a man was drifting rapidly downstream with the current. His arms and legs were outstretched. His fur and leather jacket was saturated, although they could see by the way it was swollen that there was air trapped inside the garment, keeping its wearer afloat—at least for the time being. Facedown, the figure drifted past them and was lost around the bend.

  “I’d say that was the horse’s rider,” Hal said.

  Lydia frowned. “But why would he be in the water?”

  “Because the Temujai are trying to cross the river farther upstream. Swimming their horses across,” Hal said. “He was one who got unlucky. There’ll probably be more.”

  They all looked at one another. They knew the implications of having the Temujai cross to the western bank. The ground was more open there so they would move more quickly in pursuit of the Heron. Plus there was another danger. That was where the portage tracks lay.

  “A lot of them won’t make it across,” Stig said.

  “But a lot more will,” Hal replied. “And we know the Temujai don’t mind taking casualties if they achieve their purpose.”

  “Look!” called Lydia, pointing back upstream. They followed the direction she indicated and could see movement on the opposite bank, near the last bend in the river. Then three horsemen rode into view, their horses held back to a trot. More followed them.

  “Looks like they made it,” Hal said. “Let’s get underway!”

  chapter thirty-two

  Stig and Ingvar joined the oarsmen on the rowing benches. With six rowing, and the powerful current behind them, the Heron quickly outpaced the Temujai horsemen, who had to thread their way through the thick trees on the western bank.

  They were soon lost to sight as Heron sped downstream. But a worried frown creased Hal’s forehead.

  Lydia, who had taken up a position close beside him, noticed it. “What’s the problem?” she asked. “We’re leaving them behind.”

  “They’ll make up a lot of ground when we reach the first portage. We should get down that one all right. But it’s going to make things very tight for the second and third.”

  “Will they chance an attack? After all, we still have the Sha’shan as a hostage.”

  “According to His Nibs, there are people among his army who wouldn’t be too brokenhearted if he was hit by a stray arrow. They wouldn’t dare try it while we were on the river. It’d be too obvious. But if they attack us once we go ashore, it would be all too easy for a mistake to happen in the general confusion.”

  Lydia nodded slowly. “I see what you mean,” she said. “So, what do you plan to do about it?”

  Hal didn’t answer immediately. He felt that if he voiced his idea, he would be committing to it. Finally, he shrugged. “We may have to run the rapids,” he said.

  Lydia’s face paled visibly. “You mean like when we were chasing Zavac?”

  When they had pursued the pirate who stole the Andomal, the river ahead of them had been blocked. They had been forced to take a side route down a steep, rushing section of water. As someone new to ships and sailing, Lydia had found the experience terrifying.

  “Like that. But probably worse. That was wider and not as steep.” He grinned at her, but it wasn’t a very convincing grin. “If we make it, it’ll put us way ahead of those horsemen behind us.”

  “If we make it?” she queried.

  Hal shrugged, saying nothing.

  * * *

  • • • • •

  They reached the site of the first portage and Hal nosed the little ship into the bank.

  “Hurry!” he urged the crew as they tumbled over the side and began dragging the Heron toward the downhill track.

  “Do we need to lighten her?” Stig asked.

  Hal shook his head. “Not when we’re going downhill. The extra weight will help us. And we’ll save a lot of time.”

  Fortunately, they didn’t have far to go and the track wasn’t as steep as the other two portages. They manhandled the ship down the sloping path, with Lydia hanging back to keep an eye out for their pursuers. They reached the bottom of the portage and relaunched the ship. Lydia came running down the track behind them and clambered ab
oard.

  “No sign of them so far,” she said.

  Hal nodded grimly. Already, the rowers were driving the ship out into the current at the center of the river. Hal continued to check the banks behind them as they went. There was no further sign of the pursuing riders. But soon he would have to make a decision—whether to take the ship down the second portage or risk the rapids.

  As they neared the point where they would have to pull over to the western bank, beach the ship and drag it overland, Thorn came to stand beside his young friend.

  “You’re going to run the rapids, aren’t you?” he said quietly. He hadn’t been privy to Hal’s earlier conversation with Lydia, but he’d known the skirl since he was a young boy; he had seen the concerned look growing on Hal’s face the closer they came to the portage point.

  “We may have to,” Hal said, with yet another anxious glance at the riverbank behind them. “If we’re caught halfway down the portage, it’ll all be over for us.”

  “We’ve put some good distance between us and the Temujai,” Thorn said reflectively. “It might be enough.”

  “And if it isn’t?” Hal said.

  His old friend and mentor shrugged fatalistically. “Then we put up as good a fight as we can. And if it looks like we’re losing, we kill the Sha’shan.”

  “There are people among the Temujai who wouldn’t be unhappy if we did that,” Hal said. “Not so long as it looks like they didn’t force the issue.”

  Thorn pursed his lips in a thoughtful moue. “Oh, so that’s the way the land lies, is it?”

  “That’s the way the land lies,” Hal told him, and there was a long silence between them.

  “Well, whatever you decide, you’re going to have to do it soon. We’ll reach the next portage in a few minutes,” Thorn said. He cocked an ear sideways. “Listen.”

  As he said it, Hal could hear the sound of the rapids ahead, rising above the normal river sounds. It was a deep-throated, rumbling roar, growing louder by the minute. He opened and closed his hands on the tiller, then glanced at the wind telltale behind him. It was an automatic reaction, and really it had no bearing on the current situation. But it was a long-ingrained habit of his when it was time to make a difficult choice.