“I’m Thorn,” he said. “Are you in charge of this lot?”
The man nodded. “I’m Dean,” he said. “I’ve heard about you.”
“Nothing good, I’ll be bound,” said Stig, and earned a scowl from the old sea wolf.
Thorn beckoned Dean forward to a small gap in the shield wall. “Take a look,” he said.
The archer commander craned up and peered through the gap. After several seconds, he turned to Thorn. “They seem very confident,” he said. “Walking around without a care in the world.”
“That’s because they don’t know there are archers here,” Thorn told him.
Dean’s face split in a grin. “Do you think we should let them know?”
“I think that would be a very good idea,” Thorn said.
Quickly, Dean deployed his men along the line of the rampart. They stepped up onto the packed earthen step behind the wall, bringing them level with the shields mounted on top. They crouched to remain hidden while Dean issued instructions.
“Take a look. Pick a target, then stand up and start shooting when I give the word. Five arrows each should do it.” He waited while his men studied the situation, and the Temujai who were wandering carelessly among the trees. “Everyone ready?” he asked, and a chorus of answering growls came to him. “Then shoot!”
The nine archers stood erect, their upper bodies now exposed above the shield wall. As one, they drew back their bows, sighted and released. The first flight of arrows was still in the air when they released their second shots. As they flew, the first volley struck home, and panic reigned in the Temujai lines as men fell, crying out in pain or lying still. Then the second volley arrived and more men fell. The Temujai scattered, running for the cover of the trees. A few reached for their own bows and tried to shoot back. But more Araluen arrows arrived and struck them down.
Thorn, watching through a narrow gap, nodded grimly.
“Been wanting to do that all week,” he said. “Good work, archers.”
“All right, men, stand down,” Dean ordered. He knew that before long, the Temujai would recover from their initial panic and begin shooting back.
“That’ll keep their furry heads down,” Rollond said. “They’ve been having it all their own way for too long.” He gestured to Dean. “Take your men back and get them settled. We may need them later.”
“Leave that,” said a new voice. “We’ll need them now.”
Unnoticed by the others, Svengal, skirl of Wolfwind, had made his way to the wall. Beside him was a familiar figure, clad in his red-brocaded jacket—which by now was looking a little the worse for wear.
“Well, what do you know?” Thorn cried. “His Nibs is back. And what do you have in mind, Your Sha-sha-ness?”
“The Sha’shan has signed a treaty with Erak,” Svengal told them. “He’s here to call off his men and lead them back to the high country.”
Thorn looked impressed. “By Orlog’s dirty socks!” he said. “Hal pulled it off after all?”
The Sha’shan spoke in the common tongue. “Your commander is a very capable young man,” he said. He looked at Svengal. “We’ll need a green tree branch for a flag of truce,” he said “And perhaps two of you would escort me back to my men?”
“Stig and I will do that,” Thorn said immediately, and Stig nodded agreement.
“I want to see their faces when they’re told to back off,” he said as Svengal beckoned to one of the Skandians nearby and dispatched him to find a tree branch.
* * *
• • • • •
Ten minutes later, they were ready. Stig waved the young sapling above the parapet for several seconds, making sure that the Temujai had seen it. Then Pa’tong rose from behind the shield wall and called to his troops. There were a few moments of confusion among the Temujai, then a voice answered him.
He looked at Stig and Thorn. “They’ve recognized me,” he said. “We can go forward.”
They scrambled over the wall and down the earth rampart, picking their way carefully through the ditch before regaining level ground on the other side. Both Skandians carried shields and both were armed—Stig with his ax and Thorn with a sword in his left hand. They walked half a pace behind the Sha’shan, their eyes alert and moving constantly, searching for any sign of treachery. On the wall behind them, Dean and his men stood ready, bows raised and arrows nocked. Twenty spearmen stood beside them.
There was no sound from the Temujai camp as the small party approached. Then one Temujai warrior ran forward to meet them and dropped to his knees before the Sha’shan.
“Lord!” he cried. “Welcome back!”
Pa’tong smiled at him and gestured for him to stand. “Ga’tan,” he said. “It’s good to see you. But speak in the common tongue.” He turned to his two escorts. “Ga’tan is one of my senior Ulan commanders.”
Stig and Thorn nodded at the Tem’uj as he rose. They towered over the slightly built man.
Ga’tan looked at Pa’tong, a puzzled expression on his face. “But General Ho’mat said you were dead—that the barbarians had killed you,” he said.
Pa’tong’s smile became somewhat thinner. “I’m sure he did. I must have words with him.” He nodded to Stig and Thorn. “Thank you for your help. We’ll be leaving for the high country in a few minutes. You can return to your friends now. Ga’tan will see that I’m safe.”
He gestured for the Ulan commander to lead the way and followed him toward the Temujai lines. As they left the two Skandians behind, more and more of the Temujai began streaming out to greet their Sha’shan, cheering and waving their hats in the air, mobbing him and calling greetings.
Thorn turned to Stig. “I suspect Ho’mat might have a little explaining to do.”
Stig grinned. “I expect he might have a lot of explaining to do,” he corrected. Then he gestured to the Skandian shield wall. “Let’s go home.”
Epilogue
Hal was sitting disconsolately on the beach, close to the wreckage of his ship, as Wolfwind ran easily through the harbor mouth and tied up alongside the mole, in her usual position. She had left the previous afternoon, ferrying the Sha’shan back to Ice River. Now she was back, and as he watched, he saw his crew beginning to disembark. He rose to his feet and hurried down the beach to the mole, greeting them as they came ashore. Stig and Thorn moved ahead of the others and embraced him.
“Good to see you made it,” Thorn said. He looked along the beach, and his face twisted in grief as he saw the wrecked ship lying there. “She’s ruined?”
“She got us home before she gave up,” Hal said.
“She was a good ship,” Stig said. His face too showed his grief.
Hal simply nodded. He didn’t have words to express his feelings. Then he looked along the mole, and his face clouded with concern as he saw Stefan, Wulf and Ingvar being helped across the gangplank to shore. Ulf was supporting his brother. Jesper had charge of Stefan, and Lydia, of course, was leading Ingvar. Hal started toward them but Thorn stopped him.
“They’re all right,” he said. “Stefan took an arrow in the calf. Wulf has a sword cut on the thigh. But they’re fine.”
Edvin, who had heard news of Wolfwind’s imminent arrival, hurried past them to look after his wounded shipmates.
“They’ll be even better now that Edvin has taken charge,” said Stig, grinning. Edvin was regarded as the finest healer in Hallasholm.
“What happened to Ingvar? Is he all right?” said Hal, the worry in his voice obvious. The thought that his giant friend might have come to serious harm was too much for him to bear. He had been feeling guilty over the fact that he had deserted—in his mind—his friends in the face of danger.
Stig patted his arm. “He’s fine. His spectacles were smashed, that’s all. He’s angry more than anything because he couldn’t take part in the final battle.”
“And what about you two?” Hal asked. Stig was bandaged in several places and a bloodstained cloth was wound about Thorn’s forehead.
The old sea wolf shrugged. “Nothing serious. They hit me in the head, which is my least vulnerable point.”
Hal shook his head miserably. “I should never have left you,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
But Thorn embraced him roughly. “It’s as well you did. You found Rollond and sent him to help. He and his men came as a great surprise to the Temujai, let me tell you. Then you took your life in your hands sailing a wrecked ship back here with the Sha’shan. If you hadn’t done that, we’d still be fighting at Ice River. Believe me, you have nothing to apologize for.”
“I take it the Sha’shan convinced his men to withdraw?” Hal asked.
Stig nodded. “The fighting’s over. They’ve headed back up to the high country. Thorn and I escorted him back to his people under a flag of truce. On the whole, they were pretty glad to see him.” He paused and smiled. “Although a couple of his senior officers seemed less than delighted to find out that he was alive.”
The crew were filing past now, on their way to their homes ashore. They gathered around their skirl, calling cheerful greetings to him. When he had sailed away from Ice River on the badly damaged Heron, they had half expected never to see him again. Stefan and Wulf grinned at him when he inquired as to their well-being.
“Nothing serious,” Wulf told him. “I’ll be fine in a week or so.” Stefan echoed the sentiment.
Then Jesper pointed sadly at the wrecked ship on the beach. “I take it she’s finished?”
Silence settled over the crew as they regarded the twisted hull.
Hal nodded sadly. “She won’t sail again,” he said. “I’ve been salvaging what I can reuse.”
Coils of rope, the yardarms and sails, the tiller and other fittings were stacked neatly on the sand, along with a row of kit bags. The Mangler, still under its tarpaulin cover, was set to one side.
“I’ve unloaded your personal gear,” he told them. “You can collect it later. For now, go and get a hot drink and something to eat. Your families will be wanting to see you’re all right.”
One by one the Herons straggled off, calling their goodbyes and promising to meet up again later. Hal was left with Thorn and Stig, and the three of them made their way back down the beach to where the Heron’s shattered hull lay.
“You said you were salvaging what you can reuse?” Stig said. There was a note of hope in his voice.
Hal nodded. “I plan to build a new ship,” he said. “There are a few improvements I’d like to make.”
Thorn smiled, relieved to hear the determination and positive tone behind the words. “Don’t change her too much,” he said. “She was a good ship.”
“Maybe I’ll give her a longer waterline,” Hal said. “That’ll make her faster.”
Stig wandered over to the wrecked hull and busied himself removing something from the bow post. He walked back to where his two friends stood.
“So, when do we start?”
Hal looked curiously at him. “We?”
Stig nodded. “The brotherband. After all, we helped you build the last one. Did you think we’d leave the new one to you? You might get it all wrong.”
A wide smile spread across Hal’s face. Suddenly, his spirits lifted. He may have lost this beloved ship. But his friends were still standing by him, ready to help him face the future.
“I hoped you’d feel that way,” he said.
Thorn was taking a last look at their old ship. “What do you plan on calling the new one?”
Hal formed a small, uncertain moue with his lips. “I hadn’t really decided,” he said.
Stig chuckled and handed him the item he’d just taken from the bow post. It was the beautifully carved, hand-polished figurehead of a seabird, its long, sharp beak open in a defiant challenge.
“How about Heron?” he said.
About the Author
John Flanagan (www.WorldofJohnFlanagan.com) grew up in Sydney, Australia, hoping to be an author, and after a successful career in advertising and television, he began writing a series of short stories for his son, Michael, in order to encourage him to read. Those stories would eventually become The Ruins of Gorlan, Book 1 of the Ranger's Apprentice epic. Together with his companion series, the Brotherband Chronicles, the novels of John Flanagan have sold millions of copies and made readers of kids the world over. Mr. Flanagan lives in the suburb of Mosman, Australia, with his wife. In addition to their son, they have two grown daughters and four grandsons.
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.
Return of the Temujai Page 27