Return of the Temujai

by John Flanagan

  Along the rampart, individual battles were being waged. Ulf and Wulf, fighting as a team, hurled four Temujai back down the slope. A fifth was slow in rising to his feet after scrabbling his way through the loose earth. Wulf’s sword took him in the center of his body as he stood. The man cried out in pain but managed to retaliate, with a horizontal stroke aimed at Wulf’s hip. But he was already falling and the sword caught Wulf lower down, just above the knee. The sail trimmer staggered back from the parapet. The leg gave way underneath him and he fell awkwardly, dropping his sword and clutching at the wounded leg to stem the blood flow.

  Near the middle of the rampart, Ingvar stood like a colossus. His voulge darted in and out, trapping defenders with the hook, dragging them forward off balance and then dispatching them with the spear point or the ax head on his terrifying weapon. The Temujai seemed to have no counter for his attacks. They had never before faced a weapon like this, wielded by such a powerful warrior. A growing pile of bodies sprawled on the ground around him.

  But then disaster struck. One of the Temujai scrambled up the slope toward the gap in the line that had been left when Wulf staggered back and fell. He was approaching Ingvar from an oblique angle, and the giant warrior’s peripheral vision was his weakest point. He didn’t see the attack coming until it was almost too late. The Tem’uj’s saber slashed at Ingvar’s head and the big Skandian reacted just in time, bringing up the shaft of his weapon to deflect the sword.

  The hardwood shaft stopped the blade at the last moment. But the impact of the sword caused the shaft to slam backward into the side of Ingvar’s head. The force of the blow wasn’t serious, but the result was. The shaft smashed into the support frame of Ingvar’s spectacles, shattering the frame and sending the dark lenses spinning away, leaving him almost blinded. Ingvar groped wildly at the blurred figure before him. He got a hold on the Tem’uj’s untanned leather jerkin and heaved him up and out. The Temujai warrior screamed as he hurtled through space and landed heavily in the ditch, taking down two more attackers who were picking their way through the sharpened stakes to join the attack.

  Left semi-blinded on the parapet, Ingvar staggered, hands outstretched for balance. Another Tem’uj, seeing him helpless, drew back his saber to lunge at him.

  Ulf saw what was happening just in time. He leapt across the space to where Ingvar stood, swaying uncertainly, and hit him with his shoulder, sending him crashing back inside the wall, just as the saber stabbed through empty space. The Tem’uj was off balance as his thrust met no resistance, and Ulf quickly dispatched him with an overhead cut from his own sword.

  But now the defensive line was weakened, with Stefan injured and limping and Wulf and Ingvar out of the fight. A Temujai squad commander saw the gaps in the line and shouted to his men to follow him. He led four others along the top of the earth bank in a renewed attack. Ulf, caught off guard, retreated before them, desperately parrying their blows and thrusts. More of the Temujai below saw their comrades driving him back and began scrambling up the earth wall to join the attack.

  Then a massive voice boomed out over the cries and shouts and the clash of swords on shields.

  “Stig! With me!” Thorn yelled, and hurled himself at the group of attackers forcing Ulf back. He smashed into them, sending one reeling. Then his massive club began its deadly work: thrusting, swinging, smashing, hammering. The Temujai had no answer to his power and his blinding speed. They began to fall back, shoving at one another to avoid the huge, shaggy-haired figure as he drove into them. Then Stig joined him from a different angle, the long-handled ax whirling in terrifying arcs as he cut and smashed at the enemy. The two Herons wreaked total havoc on the Temujai. Those who had been rushing to join the attack suddenly turned back, scrambling over one another in their haste to get back down the rampart and across the ditch to safety.

  Stig and Thorn kept up their onslaught, scattering the attackers, breaking their will and sending more than half of them sliding back down the earth wall with terrible wounds.

  It was too much for the survivors. Faced by the two seemingly invincible Skandian warriors, they turned and ran, scrambling and sliding down the rampart and across the ditch.

  Three remaining Temujai, who hadn’t noticed the sudden panic that had overcome their comrades, were engaging Jesper and Stefan. Stefan’s leg wound had opened up again and he hobbled on one leg as he tried to support Jesper in the uneven fight. Jesper cut at one of the attackers, hitting him on the lower arm and causing him to drop his sword. But he didn’t have time to follow up on the advantage as a second Tem’uj struck at him, forcing him to defend desperately. Jesper parried his stroke, then leapt back as the third attacker lunged. Stefan’s sword blade deflected the saber just in time, with a rasping clang of metal on metal.

  Then there was a mighty roar behind the three attackers as Thorn and Stig raced down the rampart and hit them from behind. The Temujai had no chance. Jesper stepped back to let his two terrifying shipmates have fighting room. Within seconds, the three Temujai were sprawled facedown on the top of the rampart.

  Thorn stepped back, breathing heavily, and watched the attacking force fleeing back to their lines. He looked around the thin line of defenders. Ingvar was helpless. Stefan’s wound was bleeding again and his leg had stiffened. Wulf was wounded in the thigh. There was muscle damage and his leg could hardly bear his weight. Thorn shook his head wearily. With three of their number out of the fight, things were looking grim.

  “Next time’s not going to be so easy,” he said.

  chapter thirty-seven

  The sea was ahead of them and Hal kept the Heron on a starboard tack as she raced out past the river mouth, skimmed over the sandbar and rode up the face of the first roller.

  Luckily, the waves were small, barely more than a meter high. But even so, as Heron’s bow sliced into the first one and rode up and over it, Hal felt that same frightening flex in her hull. This time, he even heard the timbers groaning deep inside the ship below the waterline. He swung the bow to port. If he kept her butting headfirst into the seas like that, she wouldn’t last long, he knew. But by taking the waves at an angle, he lessened the impact. The hull still twisted and flexed as Heron went up and over each wave. But there was less direct impact, less sense that the ship was battering herself to pieces.

  The wind stayed steady from the south, and Edvin was able to cleat off the sheet, keeping the sail locked in position. After ten minutes or so, Hal could feel the ship growing heavier, more sluggish and less responsive. Whereas she normally soared up and over the waves like a seabird, now she was heavy, wallowing in the troughs, rising reluctantly to each successive wave. They’d bailed her out back at the riverbank, but she had undoubtedly sprung a few planks, he thought, and she was filling with water with every minute that passed.

  “Edvin!” he yelled. “Rig the pump and start pumping her out!”

  His sole crewman waved assent. He delved into the lockers beside the rowing benches and brought out the portable stirrup pump—another of Hal’s innovations. Most wolfships were bailed out by hand. But Heron had a smaller crew than a full-sized wolfship and Hal was always looking for ways to lessen the physical labor demanded of them. Edvin scrambled onto the central deck, raised the hatch that led to the bilges, and lowered the pump’s intake hose into the void. He began furiously working the handle up and down and, a minute later, the first gush of water poured out of the pump. Quickly, he arranged the exhaust hose over the gunwale, then started pumping again. A steady stream of water poured out over the side, and after several minutes Hal felt the ship becoming lighter, more responsive.

  “Keep it up!” he called.

  Edvin nodded, too busy to reply. Clonk, clonk, clonk went the pump handle, and the water poured back into the sea in a constant stream. But Hal knew Edvin couldn’t keep on pumping indefinitely. It was exhausting work. Sooner or later, Hal would have to spell him, leaving him to steer the ship.
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  He was less than comfortable with that idea. The ship was badly wounded and he felt he needed to nurse it along, avoiding putting too much strain on the damaged keel. Edvin was a good helmsman, but Hal was a better one. He had an instinctive feel for his ship and he didn’t want to hand her over to anyone else in her current state. He realized that the Sha’shan was sitting on the deck by the mast, taking in everything that was going on and watching Kloof nervously as the huge dog watched his every move. He had complained about the dog earlier to Hal, worried that she was likely to bite him—and a bite from Kloof was no minor matter.

  “She’ll only bite you if I tell her to,” Hal informed him. “And if you don’t behave yourself, I will tell her.”

  Now, as he watched the Sha’shan, Hal saw a solution to the pumping problem.

  “Put Pa’tong to work on the pump!” he called, seeing Edvin’s rhythm becoming more ragged. “Tell him he’ll drown along with us if the ship goes down. I’m not going to untie him from the mast.”

  Edvin leaned back with a sigh of relief. He gestured to the Sha’shan to take a turn on the pump. Pa’tong shook his head haughtily. Apparently, he didn’t do manual labor. Edvin shouted at him angrily, making hand gestures to reinforce what he was saying. He mimed the ship sinking beneath the waves, then pointed at the Temujai leader and then overside into the sea. The meaning was clear. If she sinks, you’ll sink with her.

  Kloof amplified the warning with a deep, rumbling growl, rising to her haunches. She could see Edvin was angry with the stranger, and Edvin was one of her favorites. He was, after all, the ship’s cook.

  With a surly glance at Hal, Pa’tong took hold of the pump handle and began to work it—jerkily at first, then more smoothly as he found his rhythm. Once more, water streamed overside. Kloof sank back to her position on the deck. Then she bounded to her feet and ran to the rail, barking excitedly.

  Edvin leapt to his feet, shading his eyes as he stared out to sea, yelling excitedly and pointing.

  “Hal! It’s a ship!”

  Pa’tong ceased pumping, scrambling to his knees and looking in the direction Edvin indicated. The slightly built crewman cuffed him over the side of the head and gestured for him to keep pumping. Pa’tong complied, but with extremely bad grace.

  Hal was looking in the direction Edvin had indicated as well. He made out the large triangular sail of a full-sized wolfship, one of many in the fleet that he’d converted to the fore and aft sail rig that Heron carried. She was about a kilometer farther out to sea, moving west under full sail. As he watched, her hull seemed to foreshorten and her starboard sail disappeared, to be replaced instantly by the port sail and yardarm. The new sail filled and the ship came round neatly, with the wind behind her.

  “She’s turning toward us!” Edvin yelled as the ship bore down on them, a white bow wave foaming before her. Hal could make out the insignia on her sail now—a wolf running at top speed.

  “It’s Wolfrunner!” he shouted. “Rollond’s ship!”

  Rollond was an old friend. He had been one of the other two brotherband leaders who had competed with the Herons when they first began their training. He was a highly capable skirl, an excellent seaman and a much admired warrior, second only to Stig among their contemporaries.

  The bigger ship rounded to neatly and ran alongside Heron as the crew released the sheets and gathered in the sail. Edvin scuttled across the deck and uncleated their own mainsheet, letting the sail fly loose and taking the way off Heron. The two ships rocked in the waves, side by side, separated by seven or eight meters. Rollond’s tall figure left the steering oar on the starboard side of the stern and stepped to the port side. His hands cupped round his mouth as he yelled a greeting to Hal.

  “Hal! Where are Thorn and the others?” He peered curiously at Heron’s empty decks and rowing benches. “Do you need help?”

  Hal nodded vigorously. “Lend us a man to help with the pump,” he shouted back. “We’re taking on water. Thorn and the crew are back at Ice River holding off a Temujai attack. We’ve got to get the Sha’shan”—he indicated the huddled figure by the mast—“to Hallasholm to make a treaty.”

  While they had been talking, Rollond’s first mate had directed one of the crew to throw a grapnel and a line across. Now, with the grapnel’s hooks set firmly in the Heron’s rail, several of the crew tailed onto the line and hauled the ships closer. The two hulls bumped gently together and one of Wolfrunner’s crew stepped lightly across to the Heron’s deck, moving quickly to take over the pump from the Sha’shan, who had neglected the work as he watched the other ship draw close. Rollond stepped aboard a moment after his crew member and moved aft to talk with Hal. Kloof welcomed him with a slow-wagging tail. Rollond watched the steady stream of clear water gushing over the side.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “We hit a rock and cracked the keel,” Hal told him. Rollond grimaced in sympathy. Hal’s expression told him that the damage was serious. “I’m certainly glad to see you,” Hal continued.

  “It’s no accident we’re here,” Rollond told him. “Erak’s had us patrolling this section of the coast for the past four days, in case you needed help. Did you say that’s the Sha’shan?” he asked curiously, changing the subject and indicating the bedraggled figure sitting on the deck.

  “That’s right. I’ve got to get him to Hallasholm to sign a treaty with Erak. It’ll stop the Temujai trying to invade us.”

  Rollond whistled in surprise. This was big news. “And you say Thorn and Stig and the boys are holding off a Temujai attack?”

  Hal nodded. “They’ve set up a defensive position on the bank of the Ice River, where the valley narrows. It’s about two kilometers inland.”

  “How many Temujai?” Rollond asked.

  Hal pursed his lips as he considered the question. “At the moment, about a hundred and fifty. But there are more on the way. Luckily, they can only come at Thorn and Stig ten or twelve at a time. I need to get the Sha’shan to Hallasholm, get the terms of the treaty agreed, then get him back to Ice River to call off his men.”

  Rollond gestured to Wolfrunner, bobbing gently up and down on the small waves alongside. Heron was rising and falling more sluggishly, although with a fresh hand on the pump, she was becoming noticeably lighter.

  “Better get him on board Wolfrunner. We’ll take you back to Hallasholm and get this treaty sorted out.”

  Hal hesitated. His hand opened and closed on the tiller. Heron was badly damaged. She might not make it back to Hallasholm. On the other hand, Stig and Thorn and the crew were badly outnumbered, and Rollond had thirty or more fully armed, well-trained fighting men on board. Thirty warriors manning the earth rampart could hold off the Temujai easily.

  “Well, what do you say?” Rollond urged.

  * * *

  • • • • •

  “Here they come again!”

  The warning was followed almost immediately by the inevitable hail of arrows against the shield wall. Stig, Thorn, Ulf and Jesper crouched below the rampart, ready to scramble up and repel the Temujai once the arrow storm ceased. Stefan, Wulf and Lydia were behind them. Lydia had forsaken her shooting position behind the wooden shield. The Temujai had her well targeted there and she could achieve little in the event of an attack. Now she stood ready with a spear to support the four fighting men in the depleted defensive line. Stefan and Wulf, injured as they were, could still form a secondary line of defense, and both of them were armed with spears.

  Ingvar, to his absolute fury, could take no part in the coming fight. He was virtually sightless without the special spectacles Hal had made for him some years previously.

  “Don’t you have a spare pair?” Jesper had asked him.

  Ingvar turned a bleak look in his general direction. “Of course I do. They’re with my kit on the ship.”

  And for once, Jesper knew better than to comm
ent further.

  The arrows ceased slamming into the shields. They had left all ten shields erect on the wall, to prevent the Temujai knowing that there were three fewer defenders. Thorn peered through a small gap and saw a line of dismounted Temujai scrambling across the ditch.

  “Let’s get ’em!” he roared, and Stig, Jesper and Ulf joined him as he clambered to the top of the wall and presented a defiant face to the attackers.

  Three of the Temujai, seeing the shortened line of defenders, veered to the left, climbing the wall where there appeared to be nobody to stop them. Thorn waved his left hand toward them.

  “Lydia!” he yelled. “They’re coming up on the left.”

  The girl hefted her long spear and ran to the left-hand end of the wall, just as the first two Temujai appeared over the top, angling in to attack the defenders from the side.

  She set her feet and thrust savagely up with the spear. The Temujai had eyes only for the line of four warriors confronting them and they never saw the attack coming from below. She hit the first man in the hip. The spearhead sliced into him and she twisted and shoved. The Temujai sank to his knees on top of the wall, then toppled over. His companion now saw the girl in the trench below. He slid down the inner earth wall, deflecting her spear thrust with his small round shield, and drew back his saber.

  From a few meters away, Wulf hurled his spear, taking the man in the center of his body and hurling him back against the wall. The third man, seeing his companions’ fate, slipped back over the wall and slid down to the ditch. He’d try again in a safer place, he thought.

  Meanwhile, Thorn and Stig stood shoulder to shoulder, with Jesper and Ulf a little behind them, guarding their flanks. The club and the ax wreaked terrible damage on the attackers, smashing, hacking, tearing at them, sending them reeling or flying bodily off the wall into the ditch.