Brotherband 3: The Hunters

by John Flanagan

  ‘A good captain always goes down with his ship. It’s time for you to start being a good captain,’ Thorn told him. Then he backed out of the cabin, crouching on his knees, and ran across the sloping deck to the Heron.

  ‘Cut her loose!’ he shouted as he leapt aboard. Ulf brought his axe down on the ropes lashing the ships together, and Heron seemed to bounce back and up as she was suddenly freed of the weight of the sinking black ship.

  They drifted clear and, for a minute or two, Raven’s stern remained above the surface, buoyed up by a pocket of trapped air.

  Then a huge bubble burst on the water and she began to slide under. They heard one last, lingering scream, rising in pitch, then suddenly cut off.

  And then she was gone.

  ‘Good riddance,’ said Lydia, her face grim.

  Erak, Oberjarl of the Skandians, had taken to walking down to the harbour front each morning and staring out to sea. Then, after fifteen minutes or so, he would walk back to the Great Hall. People noticed this change in his routine, of course, but nobody commented. Nobody but Svengal, his old friend, that is.

  ‘Why the morning walk, chief?’ he asked one day, grinning widely.

  Erak pretended not to notice the ridiculous grin on Svengal’s homely face. He replied gruffly. ‘Need the exercise,’ he said. ‘I’m putting on weight and the walking does me good.’

  ‘Well,’ said Svengal expansively, ‘if that’s the case, why not walk up the mountain? There’s a lot more exercise involved there. Get the blood pumping. Get the legs working. That’ll bring your belt in a few notches in no time.’

  The Oberjarl regarded his friend stonily. ‘I prefer the view at the harbour,’ he said and Svengal nodded wisely. He knew very well what Erak was looking for every day.

  On this particular day, he had elected to join the Oberjarl on his walk. They passed Anders’ shipyard, where Wolfwind had been re-launched the day before. After Zavac had rammed the wolfship during his escape from Limmat, Svengal had patched her up then sailed her home, where permanent repairs could be undertaken by Hallasholm’s master shipwright.

  ‘Wolfwind’s looking good,’ Svengal ventured. ‘You can hardly see any sign of where Zavac hit her.’

  Erak sniffed. ‘There’s a plank dented badly on her starboard bow,’ he said. ‘It’s just been painted over.’

  Svengal raised an eyebrow. ‘Um. I don’t like to mention it, but that happened two years ago when you rammed the wharf coming alongside.’

  Erak turned to look at him. ‘I don’t ram wharves,’ he said and Svengal shrugged philosophically.

  ‘Of course not. My mistake. The wharf rammed you. I remember now, it fairly leapt off its pilings and banged into the ship. Terrible things, wharves. You can never trust them.’

  ‘Do you ever shut up?’ Erak asked.

  Svengal appeared to consider the question. ‘Rarely.’ He grinned.

  Erak grunted. ‘Didn’t think so.’

  They walked along the mole to the harbour entrance. Erak leaned on a waist-high bollard there and stared out to sea, his eyes moving from left to right as he quartered the horizon. There were half a dozen small fishing boats, probably on their way to Loki’s Bank, and a deep-laden trader was heading for the harbour. But nothing more.

  Erak sighed, not realising that he did so. Svengal laid a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘They’ll turn up one day,’ he said. There was no sign of his previous jocularity. Erak pretended to look puzzled.

  ‘Just who are you talking about?’ he asked.

  Svengal nodded as if he’d made a mistake. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said.

  They scanned the ocean for another ten minutes, then Erak turned and headed back to the Great Hall, his friend keeping pace with him. They had reached the landward end of the mole when a shout came from the watch tower behind them.

  ‘Sail to the south-east!’

  Erak stopped, his back to the ocean, listening as the watch commander called back up to the young sailor in the tower.

  ‘Report properly. What is she?’ There was a pause, then the youngster replied, a note of puzzlement in his voice.

  ‘I’m . . . not sure. She looks sort of . . . weird. The sail is . . . kind of . . . triangular.’

  Slowly, the two old friends turned and began to retrace their steps down the mole, moving faster and faster as they went. By the time they reached the seaward end, the ship was in sight from ground level.

  Small, with a jaunty triangular sail that looked like a bird’s wing. Moving fast, seeming to fly low across the sea, dashing the waves apart in regular showers of white spray from her bow. As she came closer, they could see the white heron insignia on her sail and there could be no mistake. Erak grabbed one of the young members of the harbour watch by the shoulder.

  ‘Run as fast as you can and tell Karina Mikkelswife her son has come home. Then spread the word through the town. The Heron has flown back to Hallasholm.’

  The young man ran off on his errand, his boots slapping on the stones of the mole. Erak and Svengal watched, shading their eyes, as the little ship tacked neatly, one sail disappearing as another took its place, and arrowed towards the harbour entrance.

  ‘He’s good,’ Erak murmured.

  Svengal looked at him. ‘He’s better than good.’

  Erak didn’t reply immediately, watching the ship heading like a homing pigeon for the harbour. But he nodded. Then, after a few seconds, he commented.

  ‘I’m glad Wolfwind is in the shipyard. He’d be heading right at her again.’

  Word had begun to spread through the town and people were streaming onto the harbour mole now. Erak glanced round and saw Karina, Hal’s mother, trying to force her way through the jostling crowd and make her way to the front. He glared at the people who were unintentionally blocking the small woman’s way.

  ‘Let Karina through or I’ll send for my axe,’ he warned them. The crowd parted miraculously and she came forward, breathless after running all the way from her eating house.

  ‘Is it really them?’ she asked, and Erak pointed to the fast-approaching ship.

  ‘D’you know anyone else who could handle a ship like that?’

  Tears sprang to Karina’s eyes. She wiped them with her apron and Erak tactfully turned away. Then somebody started cheering, and the rest of the watchers followed suit. Their cheers rang over the harbour, startling the gulls, who wheeled high into the air in fright, then chattered back angrily.

  The parents of the other boys began to arrive. Stig’s mother was first, then the others followed. By now, the people on the mole knew well enough to let them through. They stood in the front row of the assembled crowd, grinning at each other, then watching the ship as she approached.

  The Heron shot through the harbour entrance under sail, disdaining to row in. The cheering was replaced by a sudden, concerted intake of breath from the crowd as it seemed she must smash against the stone wall of the mole. Then Hal rounded her up, and she spun in a neat circle into the wind. The sail slid down her mast and she came to a stop in a matter of a few metres, rocking in the waves generated by her own passage.

  The crowd exhaled as one, in relief.

  The breeze drifted her in to the mole, alongside the mooring permanently reserved for Erak’s ship, Wolfwind.

  ‘Cheeky beggar,’ the Oberjarl muttered as bow and stern lines were tossed up and made fast.

  Then he strode to the edge of the mole and looked down at the decks of the little ship. The disreputable Thorn was the first person he saw. He looked as shabby as ever, and his false hand was missing. He grinned at Erak and Erak pretended to ignore him. Thorn had no sense of occasion.

  Then Hal lashed the tiller in place and stepped towards the shoreward rail, a leather sack in his hand. He held it up.

  ‘Oberjarl!’ he called in a loud, clear voice. ‘We’ve brought back the Andomal.’

  Erak looked at the sky for a few seconds, then back at the serious young faces on the ship a few metres below him.
He tugged at his beard, then hitched his belt up.

  ‘Well then,’ he said, ‘you’d better come ashore.’

  Even for Hallasholm, a town with a longstanding record for sensational festivities, the celebration of the Heron’s return was one that would be remembered for decades to come.

  Lydia had come to Hallasholm with the crew. Hal had offered to take her back to Limmat, but she smiled wryly and shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think Barat would be pleased to see me after I ran off and left him,’ she said. Then she coloured slightly. ‘And besides, I did steal a small fortune in emeralds from them.’

  ‘Then come back to Hallasholm with us,’ Hal said. ‘You’re one of the crew now, after all.’ The crew reacted enthusiastically to this idea, assuring her that she’d be welcome in their home town.

  ‘Do you think I’ll like Hallasholm?’ she asked.

  Hal smiled at her. ‘I think so. And I’m sure Hallasholm will love you.’

  And so it had proved. Hal’s mother, knowing how difficult life could be for a foreigner in a foreign land, took the slim, olive-skinned girl under her wing immediately. When Erak announced that there would be a massive celebration to mark the Herons’ return, Lydia had reacted in a most uncharacteristic way.

  ‘A party? But I’ve got nothing to wear!’ she said. The Herons stared in amazement. This was a side of Lydia they had never seen. But Karina patted her hand reassuringly and hustled her away.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got just the thing. It’ll be perfect for you.’

  Karina wasn’t exaggerating. When Lydia arrived at the Great Hall that night, she was wearing a green dress of soft, fine wool. Its simple lines and elegant style made the most of her slim figure. Her long glossy hair, tied back by a green ribbon, had been brushed until it shone under the torchlight. Hal took a step back in mock surprise as he saw her.

  ‘Why, Lyd!’ he exclaimed, with a beaming smile. ‘You’re positively beautiful!’

  ‘Hadn’t you noticed that before?’ Stig asked, his eyes fixed on her.

  Lydia flushed lightly, not sure what she should say. Ingvar solved the problem for her.

  ‘Even I can see that!’ he said. ‘And I claim the first dance with you!’

  Ingvar might seem big and ponderous at times, but he was no slow thinker. She smiled at him, then was surrounded by the rest of the crew, each one clamouring for the promise of a dance.

  ‘First things first!’ Hal shouted, holding up his hand for silence. ‘We have to introduce our new crew member to the Oberjarl.’

  He took her hand and, accompanied by the rest of the Heron brotherband, he led her through the crowded hall to the raised podium where Erak sat in his large carved pine armchair. The Oberjarl looked with interest at the beautiful girl standing between Hal and the ever-present Stig. He rose and stepped forward.

  ‘And who might this vision be?’ he asked.

  ‘Oberjarl,’ Hal said in a ringing voice that carried to every corner of the hall, ‘this is our new crew member. Her name is Lydia and she’s been a brave and faithful member of the crew. She rescued us from prison in the town of Bayrath.’

  ‘And,’ Stig put in, not to be outdone, ‘she’s also a formidable warrior. She can hit the eye of a gnat with a dart from her atlatl. She took care of at least half a dozen of Zavac’s men when we regained the Andomal.’

  The hall buzzed with interest as the two boys extolled Lydia’s qualities. People jostled to get a closer look at her. Many of the men, after a first look, shoved to get even closer for a second look.

  Lydia had never learned to curtsey so she bowed her head slightly, which was fine by Erak. Skandians were an egalitarian lot who didn’t go in for a lot of bowing and scraping. He stepped forward, took her hand and bent over it, pressing it lightly to his lips. Then he straightened, still holding her hand, and eyed the two boys.

  ‘And she’s also remarkably easy on the eyes. This one is definitely a keeper!’

  Lydia smiled warmly and inclined her head. ‘Why, thank you, Oberjarl. How sweet of you to say so,’ she said.

  Thorn was instantly scandalised. ‘Thank you, Oberjarl?’ he shrieked incredulously, his voice rising several tones. ‘Thank you, Oberjarl? What am I, chopped whale blubber? When I say that, all she can say is, Shut up, old man. Thank you, Oberjarl? Words fail me!’ And they did.

  Erak eyed him with a superior expression on his face. ‘It’s a matter of charm, Thorn. Some got it. Some don’t got it.’

  ‘Some don’t got good grammar either,’ said Edvin, grinning, in an aside to Stefan.

  The Oberjarl continued. ‘And you, apparently, are numbered among the Don’t-got-its.’

  Lydia’s smile grew wider. She turned to Thorn, who was red faced and muttering, and slowly lowered one eyelid in a wink.

  Then the dancing and feasting began, with Ingvar shouldering his shipmates aside to claim his promised first dance with Lydia. From then on, she was besieged by dance partners. Hal and Stig managed one dance each before she was whirled away by others. She noted with amusement, and perhaps a slight twinge of jealousy, that two local girls, a brunette and a blonde, were paying a lot of attention to the two boys.

  There were sheep and pigs roasting on spits, the fat sizzling and spitting on the coals beneath them, as the attendants carved thick slices of succulent meat from them. There were platters of roast vegetables, and barrels of ale and wine for those who wished it. The town of Hallasholm went out of its way to welcome the heroes home.

  Erak made a short speech, welcoming them back as returning heroes. Their actions in restoring the Andomal to its rightful owners more than made up for any sins of the past, he said. The name of the Heron brotherband would be restored to the records of Hallasholm, and they would be credited as winners of the contest for their year. The crowd cheered enthusiastically.

  Erak even offered to return the horned helmets they had been awarded, but Hal smiled and gracefully refused. He pointed to the watch caps they all wore.

  ‘We have our own headgear now,’ he said.

  Erak peered more closely. ‘They are rather smart,’ he said. ‘I wonder could I get hold of one?’

  Hal smiled. ‘I’ll speak to Edvin about it.’

  After Erak had spoken, Jesper and Stefan clambered up onto a table in the middle of the hall. As the noise swept around them like a tide, Jesper nodded to Ingvar, who filled his lungs and bellowed.

  ‘QUIET!’

  Instantly, the hall fell silent. All eyes turned to the two Herons, perched on the table, crouching slightly beneath the low roof beams.

  ‘People have been asking us for the full story of our amazing voyage,’ Stefan said, and cries of agreement and encouragement rang around the room. He held his hands up for silence once more. When he had it, Jesper spoke.

  ‘So we’ve written a saga,’ he said. ‘The Saga of Hal and the Heron Brotherband.’

  ‘Oh, Gorlog help us,’ Hal muttered.

  ‘Let’s hear it!’ bellowed one enthusiastic listener. Jesper turned a pitying eye on him.

  ‘Um . . . that’s why we’re standing here on this table, in case you hadn’t realised it.’

  Shouts came from all corners of the hall for the two to perform their saga. Skandians loved a good party. They loved good food and drink. They loved a fight from time to time. And they dearly loved a saga – and the more full of exaggeration, self-praise and utterly shameless boasting it was, the better they loved it.

  ‘All right!’ Stefan shouted, and the crowd quieted a little. ‘We’ll sing you the chorus. Then you can join it. Someone hand me a lute or a harp or something.’

  A small harp was passed up to him and he struck a random chord on it, then he and Jesper began to sing, in a key that had absolutely no relationship to the one he had just sounded:

  The Herons! The Herons!

  The mighty, fighting Herons!

  No other brotherband you’ll see

  is even half as darin’!

  Hal shook his h
ead sadly. ‘Herons and darin’?’ he said. ‘Orlog’s toenails!’

  Erak was standing close by him. He frowned at Hal’s obvious lack of cultural appreciation.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said. ‘This is good!’ He began to beat time with his tankard, slopping ale over people within a two-metre radius. Jesper and Stefan continued.

  Now, Erak told the members of the Heron brotherband,

  ‘Your name will be reviled by everybody in this land.’

  The crowd turned to Erak and shook their fists.

  ‘Boooo!’ they shouted. He shook his own fist back, drenching a few more bystanders in the process.

  ‘They deserved it!’ he roared. But he was laughing. People love being mentioned in a saga, and he was no exception. He turned back as the boys continued.

  ‘So turn in all your weapons and then give your ship to me.’

  But Hal, the Herons’ skipper, said, ‘That isn’t going to be.’

  ‘Hooray!’ bellowed the crowd. Hal hid his face in his hands.

  ‘I know this is going to get worse,’ he said, to nobody in particular. ‘I just know it.’

  When mighty Thorn had joined with them to help them fight their foes,

  they sailed away from Hallasholm, right under Erak’s nose.

  This time, Erak frowned. His nose was a trifle on the large side and he never liked anyone referring to it.

  Svengal cackled with laughter. ‘They got that right!’

  And then the room joined in on the chorus, shaking the walls and setting plates rattling on the tables.

  The Herons! The Herons!

  The mighty, fighting Herons!

  No other brotherband you’ll see

  is even half as darin’!

  Jesper and Stefan began the next verse.

  Hal spied a lovely warrior girl. She said, ‘My name is Lydia.’

  He said to her, ‘Please come aboard. Have a drink and then we’ll feed ya.’

  ‘What?’ Hal looked at Erak, shaking his head. ‘Lydia and “feed ya”? What sort of rhyme is that?’