The Invaders

by John Flanagan

  “No, we won’t,” said Ulf.

  “Yes, we will,” Wulf responded instantly. As his brother drew breath to answer, Hal held up a hand.

  “See? It’s starting already.”

  Ulf pouted, then tried once more. “I want to buy something in the market. I’m hungry.”

  Hal sighed. He looked from one twin to the other. They really were impossible to tell apart, he thought.

  “Look, I don’t care which one of you stays and which one goes. Toss a coin to decide.”

  “I haven’t got a coin,” Ulf replied.

  Hal spread his hands. “Then how were you going to buy anything in the market? Problem solved.”

  In fact, Thorn was the only one among them to have money. He quickly doled out a few kroner to each of the boys, giving extra to Edvin and Hal, who had to buy supplies.

  “Jesper,” Hal said, “find a food stall and get a pie or a sausage for Ulf. Buy it. Don’t steal it,” he added. Jesper looked offended, but said nothing. In fact, he had been planning to “liberate” a pie for Ulf and save some money. He didn’t consider taking food to be stealing. Everybody did that, he thought. He just did it better than most.

  “All right,” Hal said. “Let’s split up and meet back here in an hour.”

  As it turned out, he and Ingvar took a little longer than an hour to get what he needed. The boatyard was able to supply them with timber, nails and cordage. But they didn’t have the small ingots of iron that Hal wanted. They directed him to a blacksmith’s forge on the far side of the village, where he bought a good supply.

  The others were all waiting when they returned, Ingvar carrying the heavier items. The crew were sitting in a circle on the beach, eating. Ingvar’s eyes lit up when he saw a wrapped parcel in front of Thorn.

  “Got you a pie,” Thorn told Hal, gesturing to the parcel. Hal nodded his thanks and sank to the sand, reaching for the still-warm pie. He realized he was famished.

  “Did you get me one?” Ingvar asked. His face fell when Thorn shook his head.

  “I got you three,” Thorn said.

  Ingvar’s face brightened. “Well, that’ll do for a snack before dinner,” he said, adding, without any appreciable pause, “When is dinner?”

  Stig looked sidelong at him.

  “You haven’t even had lunch,” he said, “and you’re already thinking of dinner?”

  Ingvar shrugged. “I’m a growing boy,” he replied.

  Stig eyed his already massive frame with some misgivings. “Perish the thought,” he said.

  Hal finished the first huge mouthful of pie that he had taken and brushed crumbs away from his mouth.

  “Anyone find out anything?” he said, looking around as Edvin handed him a mug of hot coffee. He took it and had a swig.

  “There’s a big ship in the area,” Jesper replied. “A warship, people think. Some of the fishing boats spotted her in the distance.”

  “We heard the same thing,” Thorn put in. “Apparently she cruised over the horizon a couple of days ago, then turned and put back out to sea.”

  “Is it the Raven?” Hal asked eagerly. The thought that they might be within reach of their prey set his pulse racing with excitement—and apprehension. Thorn and Jesper exchanged a glance, each looking to see if the other had more information. They both shrugged.

  “Nobody could tell us,” Thorn said. “She was too far away to make out details. They said she had a dark-colored hull, but any ship in the distance looks to have a dark hull.”

  “The fishing boats didn’t stay around to get a closer look,” Jesper said. “Once they spotted her, they took off back to harbor.”

  “Makes sense, I suppose,” Hal said thoughtfully, his previous excitement a little blunted. “But it could be the Raven. What other large ship would be in this area?”

  “Well, that’s the problem,” Thorn replied. “We simply don’t know. From the description, such as it was, it could have been the Raven. Or it could have been any large ship—even a wolfship.”

  “What would a wolfship be doing this far south?” Hal asked, frowning.

  Thorn shrugged. “Probably nothing. I’m just saying, it might be the Raven. Or it might not. It could be anything.”

  “I suppose so,” Hal said, reluctantly facing the facts. It was frustrating to have so little information. In a way, he wished they hadn’t heard anything about the strange ship. He glanced at Edvin.

  “Did you get everything you need?” he asked.

  The other boy nodded. “Even managed to get extra coffee. We seem to be going through it at a prodigious rate.” He looked accusingly at Thorn as he said this, and the old sea wolf assumed a look of utter innocence.

  “I don’t know what prodigious means,” he said, and Edvin snorted in disbelief.

  “All right then,” Hal said, coming to a decision. “There’s no reason to stay here any longer. Let’s head back to Shelter Bay.”

  “There is one thing,” Thorn said, holding up a finger. Hal looked at him curiously and he continued.

  “While I was finding out all about this strange ship, I happened to see this rather nice, rather expensive sheepskin vest in the market.”

  He held up a new sheepskin. Hal had to admit that it was excellent quality, and well made.

  “I decided I should let you buy it for me. It was ten kroner.”

  He held out his left hand, palm uppermost. Hal shook his head, perplexed.

  “I don’t have ten kroner,” he protested. “I only have two and some change. And that came from the money you gave me earlier.” He reached into the side pocket of his jerkin and produced the few coins he had left.

  Thorn pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I see. Well then, give me those.”

  Hal did so.

  “Now you owe me eight kroner.” Thorn delved into the small sack purse he kept on his belt and rummaged around, producing a handful of coins. “So I will lend you eight kroner. Here, take them.”

  Hal did so, mystified by all this high finance. He realized Thorn was clicking his fingers impatiently.

  “You want them back now?” he said.

  Thorn nodded. “You owe me for the vest. Hand them over.”

  Puzzled, Hal did so, dropping the coins into Thorn’s open palm. Thorn nodded in satisfaction and stowed them away in his purse.

  “Now we’re even,” he said. “Except you owe me ten kroner.”

  “I what?”

  Thorn held up his hook to stop further discussion. “Remember? I lent you eight kroner, and I also lent you the other two. Gorlog’s reeking breath, boy, it was only a few minutes ago! So you owe me the ten kroner that I lent you to buy the vest for me.”

  “But…” Hal looked at the others. Stig was similarly confused, he could see. Ulf and Wulf seemed to think it was all perfectly logical, which proved it was anything but. “Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just say I owe you ten kroner for the vest?”

  Thorn shook his head. “No. You’ve paid me for the vest. Remember? I just lent you the money to do it. Now you owe me the money I just lent you so you could pay me.”

  “But it would have been the same result!” Hal protested.

  Thorn smiled beatifically at him. “Maybe. But I just wanted to have you hand over some money.”

  Hal scratched his head, trying to fathom Thorn’s thinking. He decided that was an impossible task.

  “Is it all right by you if we leave now?” he said, giving in, and Thorn made a magnanimous gesture, sweeping his left hand toward the open sea.

  “By all means. Just don’t forget you owe me ten kroner.”

  They launched the Heron and rowed out of the harbor. A few of the townsfolk waved as they rowed out through the breakwater. Once they were far enough offshore, Hal ordered the oars in and Jesper and Stefan raised the sail. The wind was constant and soon the little ship was swooping over the incoming rollers. Hal reveled in the feeling as she would lift over each crest, then fly down into the trough behind it, and the sudden feeling of
drag as the bow bit into the water at the base of the wave, slowing the boat momentarily until the wind sent her soaring up the face of the next wave.

  The sun was very low to the horizon in the west and they wouldn’t reach Shelter Bay before dark. He made a mental note to go in under oars. The entrance to the bay was narrow and he didn’t plan on flying through there under sail in the dark. But for the moment, the crew could relax.

  He beckoned Stig to the steering platform and gestured to the tiller.

  “You might as well take her,” he said, and Stig complied enthusiastically. Truth be told, Hal was reluctant to hand over control of the ship. She was his and he loved steering her, loved the feeling of control and response she gave him. But Stig would be at the helm when they went into battle, so it made sense for him to be thoroughly familiar with the feel of the ship.

  And Stig was a good helmsman, he had to admit.

  His friend seemed to sense his mood and smiled reassuringly at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after her. But she knows who her real master is.”

  Hal nodded and sat on a small stool close to the steering position. They continued in companionable silence for some minutes. The rest of the crew were relaxing on the rowing benches. Thorn was in his usual position, leaning his back against the keel box.

  “Sail! Sail to the northwest!”

  It was Jesper who was on watch, in the bow. He ran nimbly back now and swarmed up the shrouds to the lookout position at the top of the mast.

  “She’s a big ship. Square rigged. Coming this way.”

  As soon as he heard the first call, Thorn leapt to his feet and joined Stig and Hal at the steering platform. Without any need to discuss it, Stig turned the tiller over to Hal.

  “Has she seen us?” Hal called. Even though Jesper was high on the mast, they could recognize his uncertain body language as he shaded his eyes and tried to see more clearly.

  “No way of telling,” he called, after a brief pause. “But she’s not heading directly toward us and she hasn’t altered course. So probably not.”

  “She’s got the setting sun behind her,” Thorn said thoughtfully. “We’re against the dark mass of the land. She probably hasn’t seen us yet.”

  Hal nodded and came to a decision. “Get the sail down!” he ordered. “Jump to it! Stig, give them a hand!”

  Stig ran forward as Jesper slid down the shrouds. The twins let the sail fly loose and Stig, Jesper and Stefan brought the mast and sail down. Without its big, light-colored shape to catch the slanting rays of the sun, they would be almost invisible to the other ship.

  “Out oars!” Hal ordered. “Don’t bother stowing the sail. Do it later!”

  The crew rushed to the rowing benches and ran the oars out. Stig took over control of the rowers.

  “Give way all,” he ordered, and they lowered their oars, set their feet and heaved. The Heron had come to a stop after the sail was lowered. Now she began to glide through the water once more.

  “There she is!” Thorn said, shading his eyes as he peered over the starboard bow. Hal followed the line of his gaze and saw a small, light-colored rectangle just rising above the horizon—the other ship’s sail, catching the last rays of the sun.

  “Is it the Raven?” he asked, but Thorn was shaking his head.

  “I’d know that ship anywhere,” he said. “It’s Wolfwind.”

  “Wolfwind? Erak’s ship?” Hal said, a hand of panic clutching his heart. “Are you sure?”

  “I sailed on her for twenty years,” Thorn said. “It’s her, all right. I wonder what she’s doing in these parts?”

  Hal’s expression was grim as he answered his friend. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s come to take us back.”

  “So what do we do?” Stig asked.

  Hal hesitated, thinking. If he continued to head north, back to their camp at Shelter Bay, he increased the chance that Wolfwind might see them. There was really only one choice. He had to get as far away from the other ship as possible. He leaned on the tiller, setting the Heron on a long, curving course until she was heading away from Wolfwind.

  “We’re going south,” he said.

  chapter nineteen

  The sun set and the Herons raised the sail again, speeding due south, away from the course Wolfwind had been following. Thorn, Stig and Hal stood in a small group by the tiller, casting anxious glances astern. After an hour, the moon rose, casting a brilliant silver path down the sea. There was no sign of a ship following them.

  “They mustn’t have seen us,” Stig said hopefully. The others were not quite so certain, but they didn’t say anything. Hal had learned over the years that voicing your hopes like that often led to having them dashed. After several more minutes, Thorn replied.

  “You could be right. We were in relative darkness when we sighted her. And even if she had seen us, and turned after us, there’s no way she could hold to this course. She’d lose far too much distance downwind. We’re heading south and she’d be blown onto a southwest course.”

  The thought was a comforting one. If the two ships sailed on those diverging courses for the eight hours of darkness that remained, dawn should find the Heron alone on the ocean, with no sign of Wolfwind.

  “Unless they’re rowing, of course,” Thorn added, and burst that bubble of hope for them.

  Hal fidgeted for a few seconds, his fingers opening and closing on the tiller. Finally, he reached his decision—the only logical one in the circumstances.

  “We’ll keep going,” he said. “And we’ll see how things are at first light.”

  They sailed on through the night, staying on the same tack. After several hours, the tense feeling in Hal’s stomach eased. He passed the tiller to Stig, and lay down in his bedroll to rest. Stefan took over from Jesper as lookout and the rest of the crew dozed at their stations. But none of them slept soundly. They were all too aware of the presence of Wolfwind, somewhere out there in the darkness.

  Ingvar was awake, seated with his back to the mast, legs sprawled out in front of him. A little after midnight, he saw Edvin shrug off his blankets, move to the rail and peer astern.

  “See anything?” he asked quietly.

  Edvin turned to him. “Nothing. Too dark out there. Can’t see beyond the stern of the ship.”

  “Welcome to my world,” Ingvar replied with a smile.

  Sleep eluded Hal. He lay on the hard deck, feeling the movement of the Heron through his entire body. It was a soothing sensation, and the creaks and groans of the mast and the rigging were familiar friends. But the thought of Wolfwind behind them, and the devastating sense of despair he would feel if she were to find them and force them to return to Hallasholm, weighed on his mind.

  This desperate voyage was their sole chance to redeem themselves. They had embarked on it on a wild impulse because, truly, it was their only hope for any sort of future life. If they could catch up with the Raven, and somehow retrieve the stolen Andomal, they would be able to return to Hallasholm with their heads high. They would have atoned for the terrible crime they had committed, in allowing Zavac to steal Skandia’s most precious artifact in the first place.

  But if Wolfwind caught them now and forced them back to Hallasholm in disgrace, they would simply have piled one failure on top of another. And they would never have another chance to set things right.

  Zavac was somewhere close by. Hal could sense it. And this would be their best opportunity to find him and take back the Andomal.

  What would he do if Wolfwind caught up with them? They couldn’t fight Erak’s crew. He knew that. They were Skandians. They were fellow countrymen.

  Although, he thought bitterly, not his countrymen. Skandians had made that clear all his life. He was an Araluen in their eyes. And in the one brief, wonderful moment when they had accepted him as one of their own, the wonderful sense of belonging that he had always sought had been shattered by Zavac—and his own carelessness. If only he hadn’t left his post, none of this would have ever happened. The Ando
mal would still be safe back in Skandia.

  Their only course was to elude Wolfwind—to use Heron’s superior sailing qualities to escape from her. But the time they spent doing that was time when Zavac could be slipping farther and farther away from them. Up until now, the prevailing bad weather had kept the Raven confined to a relatively predictable area, somewhere on the Stormwhite’s southeast coast. But now the weather was improving and she could head off in any direction, leaving no clue behind her, no trace of her whereabouts.

  He rolled over and tried to relax his tensed muscles, hoping that the constant rising and falling rhythm of the ship would lull him. But the bitter thought of failure gnawed at his mind and dispelled the soothing oblivion of sleep, hour after hour.

  “Dawn’s coming up.”

  Stig’s soft call intruded into his consciousness. At some stage, he must have finally managed to doze off. Although as he sat up, bleary-eyed and foggy-minded, it seemed that it must have been mere minutes ago.

  He rose, stretched his stiff and aching limbs and moved to stand beside Stig. He saw that his friend’s eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue.

  “You stayed on watch all night?”

  Stig shrugged. “You needed to sleep.”

  Hal touched his friend’s shoulder in gratitude. “Didn’t do much of that,” he admitted.

  He looked astern. Stig followed his gaze. “Still too dark to see anything,” he said. “But I’ve got a crick in my neck from looking all night.”

  Thorn was huddled by the keel box, wrapped in his brand-new sheepskin. The rest of the crew were asleep at their sailing stations, with only Wulf awake. He had taken over as lookout some hours previously.

  Hal called to him now.

  “Wake them up, Wulf,” he said, and the sail trimmer began moving among his shipmates, shaking them and rousing them from sleep. They stretched and yawned, as Hal had done, shivering slightly as they threw off their blankets and peered around to see if there was any sign of pursuit.

  Wulf approached the huddled form by the keel box last of all. But as he stretched out his hand, he was greeted by a low, growling voice.