Driven by the fast-running current and the sail, Heron sped downriver, angling across the wind. In a few minutes, she had rounded a bend in the river and was lost to sight.
“Right,” said Thorn briskly. “Let’s get ready to receive our guests.”
* * *
• • • • •
The eastern bank was drawing closer as they ran on a long tack downriver. Hal decided not to get too close before he brought the ship about. Better to do so while he still had plenty of speed in hand.
“Ready to tack!” he warned Edvin. “Going about . . . now!”
He heaved the tiller over and Edvin released the sheet, letting the sail fly loose. With the keel fin lowered and giving them extra purchase on the water, Heron came around smoothly. The sail flapped and lost power, flattening against the mast, but the little ship had enough speed to cross the eye of the wind. Once she had done so, Edvin hauled on the sheet again, tightening the sail.
They both felt the reduced speed as the sail, impeded by the mast for a third of its length, came taut again. The ship crabbed awkwardly, and Hal felt that looseness once more, the sense that the hull was twisting against the forces of wind and water. But she kept moving and just maintained steerage way, while the current pushed her downriver.
Hal waited until he felt he had enough room for a long tack to port, then brought her around again so that the wind filled the sail completely, blowing it out from the mast.
It filled with a WHOOMP! as the wind took it. The ship lurched under the increased thrust, and again he felt the hull flexing and twisting.
“How’s she feel?” Edvin called.
Hal shrugged. “She’s okay,” he said noncommittally. She wasn’t, he thought. But there was no use saying so. She’d either hold out for the run down to Hallasholm or she wouldn’t. There was nothing he could do about it. At least this way there was only extra pressure on the keel when they tacked. Later, when they reached the open sea, it would be a different matter. He grinned at Edvin’s worried expression.
“She’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly. “I should know. I built her.”
And that was the problem. He had built her and he knew her so well. And she wasn’t fine. Not by a long way.
* * *
• • • • •
At the barricade, Thorn and Stig paced up and down. As before, they had used the spoil from the ditch to raise a rampart behind it. The ditch itself was lined with sharpened stakes driven into the earth. Stefan and Ingvar had felled some small trees and they used these to raise the barrier behind the ditch so that it was shoulder height. Above that, the big round shields of the defenders formed a further rampart.
They walked a few meters upriver and turned to look back at the fortifications. Spearheads bristled above the earth wall. Each of the crew had two spears, which gave the impression of more defenders than there really were. Several meters behind the barrier, they had built a mound for Lydia, hedged with saplings driven lengthwise into the earth and nailed together with cross bracing. They formed a shield for the young huntress to shelter behind, while still allowing her a clear field to cast her darts over the heads of the defenders and into the attacking Temujai force. Ingvar had suggested that he should stand by her with a full-length shield to protect her from arrows, but Thorn had rejected the idea.
“We need you in the front line,” he told the huge warrior.
Ingvar, who tended to be overprotective when it came to Lydia, began to demur. But she laid a hand on his forearm, stopping his protest.
“He’s right, Ing,” she said calmly. “You’ll be more useful at the barricade.”
Ingvar, in his heart, knew that she was right. The defense of the barricade was centered around Thorn, Stig and Ingvar, the crew’s most fearsome fighters. Ingvar, with his massive strength and the long reach of his voulge, was an integral part of the shield wall.
“Have we forgotten anything?” Thorn asked, studying the defensive line.
Stig shrugged. “Maybe we could have taken the Mangler out of Heron and set it up where Lydia is.”
But Thorn shook his head. “It’d take one or two men to handle it and shoot it. And we can’t weaken the shield wall that way.”
“True,” Stig agreed. “So, what’s the drill when they turn up?”
“Same as at the lake,” Thorn told him. “They’ll probably start off with an arrow storm. But on level ground like this, they’ll have to stop once their men begin to advance. The ditch and the stakes will stop their horses, so they’ll have to dismount and fight on foot.”
He paused, his eyes scanning the scene of the coming battle, visualizing how it would progress. “As long as they’re shooting, we stay down behind the shields, locking them together to create a solid wall. They can shoot as much as they like. They’ll only be wasting arrows. But sooner or later, they’ll have to attack. They may ride in initially, although there isn’t a lot of room for a mounted attack—maybe only four or five horses abreast. When they see the ditch, they’ll stop and probably turn back. Or they might dismount and come forward on foot. If they do, the ones behind them will have to stop shooting.”
Thorn walked to a point three meters from the ditch and scuffed a line in the sand with his boot. “If they attack on horseback,” he continued, “we’ll let them get to here and then hit them with a volley of spears. We’ll throw one each and keep the other one for close fighting. Even our boys should be able to hit their targets from this range,” he said, ruing the fact that he hadn’t drilled them further in spear throwing, as he had intended. “But if we can bring down three or four of them, that’ll make matters a lot more crowded and awkward for the attackers who follow them.”
“Maybe we should limit the spear throwing to you and me and Jesper?” Stig suggested. Thorn and Stig were both skilled spear throwers—even though Thorn was using his left hand. And Jesper was the best of the rest of the crew. “We’ll throw two each in rapid succession. That should stop a few of them.”
Thorn nodded agreement. “Good idea,” he said. “And I’ll get Lydia to join in as well. She’s worth her weight in gold with that atlatl.”
They paused and looked around, checking one more time to see if there was anything they had forgotten, any weak point they should protect. But they could find nothing. Thorn knew his business when it came to setting a shield wall. He’d been doing it since he was a young man. And Stig was now a seasoned veteran as well. Between them, they didn’t miss much.
Then Stig grinned to himself. There’s always something you don’t think of, he thought. Then, when the fight starts, you’re scrambling to take care of it. He looked up as there was a whistle from the earth rampart.
Jesper was waving to them and pointing upriver. “Looks like our guests have arrived,” he called.
chapter thirty-six
Thorn and Stig made their way back to the rampart, picking their way carefully through the sharpened stakes in the ditch, then scrambling up the earth wall. Jesper leaned out, offering a hand to help them up the loose, slippery slope.
As he dropped over the wall onto the earthen step behind it, Stig reflected on how difficult that short climb might have been if Jesper had welcomed them with a spear point, instead of a helping hand. That was something the Temujai would discover in a short while, he thought.
Thorn turned to study the ground behind them. There were six horsemen visible. They had reined in about eighty meters away, waiting for the rest of their force. As the Skandians watched, another dozen riders appeared, shouldering their way out of the trees and forming up on the narrow bank behind the first half dozen.
“Stay undercover, everyone,” Thorn cautioned. There was no guarantee that a rider in the rear ranks, concealed from their view, mightn’t start shooting while they were unprepared.
But his warning was unnecessary. The Herons stayed crouched behind the barrier of the e
arth wall and their locked-together shields. For several minutes, there was an impasse. The Temujai sat their horses, watching the small group of Skandians blocking their way. The Herons remained hidden behind their wall, only their eyes visible as they waited for the Temujai to make their first move.
It came without any warning. The initial six horsemen moved off as one. Thorn had heard no verbal command nor had he seen a visual signal. One moment, the horsemen were sitting motionless. The next, they were trotting forward in line abreast.
“They’re well drilled, I’ll give them that,” he said, reluctantly admiring the discipline that typified Temujai operations. Skandians didn’t have that same rigid discipline, he thought. They were more inclined to act as individuals in battle, as witness the wide variation in their weapons—his massive club, Ingvar’s voulge, Stig’s battleax and Hal’s darting sword. They all fought differently, although he had trained the Heron brotherband to work as a team, each member supporting his companions.
That lack of rigid discipline was a blessing and a curse, he reflected. Skandians might not be able to mount a machinelike, implacable attack on a position. But they were unpredictable and an enemy never quite knew what to expect—particularly an enemy like the Temujai. They relied on an unbending adherence to set patterns of fighting: the initial arrow storm, followed by a close-quarters attack either on horseback or on foot. As he had the thought, he heard the first clatter of arrows striking against the shield wall as the second rank of horsemen released a volley that traveled in a giant parabola, sailing over the heads of their first rank and whipping down into the shields set on top of the wall.
“Stay down!” Thorn repeated, again unnecessarily. The crew had seen the effect of Temujai arrow volleys when they had faced them at Fort Ragnak. Above the rain of arrows, he heard the hoofbeats speed up, coming closer. He risked a look through a narrow gap between his shield and the next in line. The six horsemen were bearing down on them now, bunching up as the space on the bank narrowed. They were almost knee to knee and only twenty meters out when they saw the ditch ahead of them.
Up to that point, they may well have been planning to urge their horses up the earth wall and send them smashing into the shields above it. Now, at a shouted warning from their leader, they hauled back on the reins, causing their horses to rear back and slide, stiff kneed, in the soft earth.
At the same time, the rattle of arrows on shields lessened, then stopped, as the riders blocked the sightline of their comrades behind them. There was a moment of indecision, of most un-Temujai-like uncertainty. Thorn took advantage of it.
“Stig! Jesper! Now!” he bellowed. Seizing one of the spears planted butt-first in the dirt beside him, he stood up, head and shoulders above the shield wall, and cast the spear at the milling group of riders. On either side of him, he saw Stig and Jesper doing the same. Without waiting to see the result of his first cast, he seized his second spear, weighed it in his hand, checking its balance, then sighted and cast.
He heard a whistling hiss as one of Lydia’s darts flashed overhead and slammed into a rider.
Three of the Temujai and one horse went down under the barrage. The riderless horses added to the confusion, stamping and whinnying, trying to turn away and flee past the other horses, whose riders desperately fought to bring them under control. Thorn was tempted to order another volley of spears. But their numbers were limited and they’d be needed as the fight went on, he realized.
For the moment, the result was a good one. The cramped area in front of the barrier was further constricted now by the bodies of the riders and the dead horse. The next wave would have to pick their way past them.
This time, he heard a shouted command, and the surviving horsemen wheeled their mounts and galloped away. Almost immediately, the rattle of arrows on shields started again.
After several minutes, the shooting slackened, then stopped as the Temujai archers realized they were wasting arrows to no effect. Again, the two sides eyed each other over the eighty-meter gap between them.
“That was easy,” Stig called cheerfully.
Thorn shook his head in a warning. “Next time won’t be. They learn quickly,” he said. He was peering through the narrow gap in the shields again. There was still danger from occasional arrows loosed at the shield wall. They struck at irregular intervals, thudding into the wood-and-cowhide shields or whimpering over the top of the wall. He turned and looked back at the raised mound where Lydia sheltered behind the wall of saplings. There were at least a dozen arrows in the wall. The Temujai had seen her and quickly realized the danger from her darts.
“Are you all right back there, Lydia?” he called.
She answered immediately. “I’m fine, Thorn. Do you want me to take a few long-range shots? I could reach them easily from here.”
He considered the idea, then rejected it. Lydia’s supply of darts was limited and they would be better used in a general attack than in a few random shots now.
“Wait till they attack. There’ll be less chance of them shooting back at you and you can plug any gaps that might open up.”
“Whatever you say,” came the unconcerned reply.
“They’re on the move again!” Stefan called.
Thorn turned quickly back to scan the riverbank. This time, the horsemen had dismounted, realizing that their horses placed them at a disadvantage in the confined space between the riverbank, the valley wall and the ditch. They advanced on foot, some twenty of them. Most had swords drawn—the long, curved sabers that they favored—and had small round shields of wood and hardened cowhide. Half a dozen carried the long, slender lances that they occasionally used from horseback.
They knew that the Skandians had no bows or slings so they could advance safely. Lydia was the only one of the defenders who had a projectile weapon available. It was a safe bet that at least a dozen of the bowmen who remained behind were targeted on her shelter, waiting for her to show herself.
“Stay undercover, Lydia!” Thorn shouted. “They’ll be watching for you!”
The twenty men advanced, moving in two loose ranks. As before, the closer they came, the more they were compressed by the narrowing terrain. Once again, the rattle of arrows hitting the shield wall commenced. There was a grunt of pain from Stefan. Thorn turned and saw him clutching his calf, where an arrow had found its way through a small gap in the shield wall and hit him. Ulf moved to help him, grabbing up a medical pack that was standing ready. Edvin had prepared half a dozen of these before he had left and distributed them among the crew. Ulf snapped off the barbed head where it had passed clean through the muscle, then pulled out the shaft. Stefan grunted in pain again, then Ulf smeared a painkilling paste on the wound and rapidly wound a linen bandage around it.
“Are you all right?” Thorn called. They couldn’t afford any gaps in their line. There were too few of them as it was.
“I’ll be fine,” Stefan replied. His voice was strained. Obviously, he was gritting his teeth against the pain. Once the painkilling paste, derived from the drug warmweed, took effect, Thorn thought, that wouldn’t be a problem—at least for an hour or two.
Ulf finished binding up the wound and helped Stefan to his feet. Stefan tested his weight on the wounded leg and grimaced. Then he hobbled a few steps, his movements becoming easier as the paste took effect, numbing the leg.
“That’s fine,” he said. “Thanks, Ulf.”
“Heads up!” Jesper shouted. “They’re at the ditch!”
Almost immediately, the arrow barrage died away, as the attackers masked the sightlines of the archers behind them. The Herons stood up behind the shield wall, spears ready to thrust at the attackers. As they did so, three of the Temujai carrying lances thrust their long, slender weapons through the shield wall, into the narrow gaps where the circular shields didn’t quite meet.
“Watch out for those lances!” Stig shouted, swaying to avoid a lance th
rust blindly toward him. He shoved his shield sideways, trapping the lance between it and Wulf’s shield, which was next in line to his. As the Temujai tried to pull it free, he smashed the head off it with a sideways swipe of his ax.
Elsewhere along the line, the defenders copied his action, leaving the lances harmless without their metal points. Seeing that tactic had failed, the lancers drew their sabers and began to clamber up the earthen bank with their comrades.
“Let’s get ’em!” Thorn yelled, thrusting at a climbing warrior with his spear, sending the man hurtling back into the ditch, taking another attacker with him.
A group of three Temujai warriors, scrambling on hands and knees to climb the slope, appeared over the parapet, yelling battle cries and quickly rising to their feet, swords drawn and shields ready. Their cries died away as they found themselves facing Stig, standing ready with his shield and his battleax. He slammed his shield into the nearest of the Temujai, sending the man sailing bodily through the air to crash back into the ditch. Fortunately for the attacker, the pointed stakes were angled outward, away from him, and he flattened three of them under his body weight. He lay there, winded, as his comrades struggled past him, some of them actually stepping on him in their haste to gain the earth wall.
The second of the three Temujai lunged at Stig with his saber. The tall Skandian flicked the blade aside with his ax, then used his shield as a weapon once more, bringing the iron-rimmed edge up and driving it into the Tem’uj’s rib cage. The attacker gasped in pain, then, seeing the ax beginning to swing in a horizontal arc toward him, let himself fall backward down the earth slope, after his comrade.
The third man swung at Stig’s head but the big shield was already in place to block the swing. The sword’s edge caught in the rim of the shield and its owner foolishly tried to free it, leaving himself open to a counterattack from the big, long-handled ax. He too went sliding back down the slope. Unlike his two companions, he didn’t move when he hit the bottom.
Return of the Temujai Page 24