They found handholds on the log and heaved it backward. With two of them working at it, the log moved more easily and they soon had it floating freely. Hal watched the surface of the water around them as they held it in place, looking for the first sign that the tide had turned.
“Have you noticed that the wind has dropped?” Jesper whispered as they crouched in thigh-deep water.
Hal looked up in alarm. He’d been distracted, first by Jesper’s unexpected reappearance and then by the effort of moving the log. As a result, he hadn’t noticed. Now, as he gazed rapidly around, he realized that what Jesper said was true.
“That could be a problem,” he said quietly.
In the next few minutes, he and Jesper would have to commit themselves to drift out with the tide. But if there was no wind, Stig would be delayed. He might not reach the rendezvous point in time. And if that happened, there was a distinct chance that Jesper and Hal and the log would continue to drift out to sea.
Hal gritted his teeth as he assessed the situation. Jesper’s mind was obviously working along the same lines.
“I guess they could row,” he said.
Hal glanced at him. “Four of them? I suppose so. But it’ll be a long, hard pull for four people.” He paused. “Maybe the wind will get up again,” he added hopefully.
“Maybe,” Jesper replied. He sounded a lot less hopeful about it. “I’ve found in the past that when you’re in a jam and you really need something to happen, it usually doesn’t.”
“Must be great to have such a positive outlook,” Hal said sarcastically.
Jesper shrugged. “So what do we do?”
Hal hesitated before answering. “Let’s look at what we can’t do,” he said. “We can’t stay here. We’ll be spotted once the sun comes up.”
“So we go?” Jesper asked.
Hal hesitated again, weighing the alternatives, finding there were none. He nodded.
“Stig will find a way to reach us,” he said. “Maybe he’ll get one or two extra rowers from Barat’s men.”
As they spoke, he had been watching the water around them. The small piece of wood he had tossed out earlier was slowly drifting out to sea.
“Tide’s turned,” he said. Jesper took a deep breath and they exchanged a long look. Both of them knew the risk they were about to take.
“Let’s go then,” the former thief said reluctantly, tying himself onto the log once more. But again, Hal held up a hand for him to wait.
“I’ll let this out first,” he said.
“This” was a bundle of ten thin wooden stakes, each about thirty centimeters in length, wound around with twine. As Hal unrolled the bundle, Jesper could see that the twine actually tied the stakes together, with a space of five meters between each one. Each stake was rammed through a piece of cork, so that two-thirds of its length remained above the cork. A large dollop of pitch weighted down the lower end of each, while a strip of red cloth was tied to the longer end. Hal set the first stake in the water. The weight of the pitch held the stake floating upright, so that the red ribbon was above the water.
Slowly, Hal paid out the twine as it drifted away from the log. Within a few minutes, the little flags bobbed out to sea in a fifty-meter-long line, borne on the ebbing tide. In the darkness, the red ribbons were all but invisible. Once the sun rose, however, they should stand out.
“It was Edvin’s idea,” Hal explained. “He made it yesterday. It’ll make it a lot easier for Stig to see us.”
Jesper was impressed. “Suddenly,” he said, “everyone’s an inventor.”
Hal waited till the last flag was drifting five meters from them and tied the end of the twine to one of the dead branches on the log. Then he nodded to Jesper.
“Time to go,” he said quietly. He took a deep breath, knowing Jesper was doing the same. “Are you tied on?” he asked. Jesper nodded. “Then come on.”
They raised their feet from the sand, letting their legs float out behind them. Slowly, the log began to drift out, away from the beach. Ahead of it, unseen in the dark, ten tiny red flags dipped and bobbed on the wavelets.
Don’t let me down, Stig, Hal thought. But he kept the wish to himself.
At first, their motion was barely discernible. But as the ebb tide gathered force, they began to move with greater speed, and the beach quickly receded from sight. As they drifted out farther, they could see the torches and lanterns burning in the two watchtowers, and the ever-present halo of light that loomed over the town itself. By contrast, the sea around them looked very dark and very empty.
Lying low to the water as they were, they soon lost sight of the town. The towers dipped below the horizon and they could only be seen if the boys heaved themselves up onto the log for a better vantage point. Once the lights were out of sight, there was little sensation of movement, although Hal knew they would still be moving at a considerable speed. He tried in vain to make out the reference points he had given to Stig, but he was too low in the water to see any features of the land.
“Hope Stig gets here soon,” Jesper said. His voice was tight again, from a combination of nerves and cold.
“He should turn up after dawn,” Hal said. He twisted and looked to the east but so far there were no telltale streaks of light to be seen.
They drifted on. Hal’s teeth were chattering and his jaw ached from trying to stop them. He was cold. His upper body wasn’t too bad. The sodden sheepskin was serving its purpose. But his legs ached with the biting cold of the water. Like all the Herons, he’d grown up around boats and ships and bad weather and he was used to being wet and cold. But he’d been immersed now for some time and he hadn’t expected the cold to sap his energy quite as much as it had.
He guessed Jesper was feeling the same. He glanced sideways at his companion and realized that he could make out details on the log—he could see individual branches and the waterproof packet tied firmly to their makeshift raft. He twisted to look over his shoulder and made out the tiny red flag five meters away. As they rose on a wave, he could momentarily see the next flag.
But there was no sign of the Heron anywhere on the horizon.
Time passed. The light strengthened, and soon the sky in the east was streaked with the red glow of the rising sun. Then that faded as the light hardened. There was no sign of the town now. No sign of land. No sign of the Heron.
No sign of anything but the sea.
Finally, Jesper gave voice to the fear that was growing in both of them.
“They’ve missed us,” he said. His voice was flat, defeated.
Hal shook his head. “They’ll find us,” he said, trying to sound as if he believed it. “I’ll give it another ten minutes or so, then I’ll light the signal fire.”
“How will we know when ten minutes are up?” Jesper asked dispiritedly.
Hal kicked with his legs below the surface, moving them, trying to get the blood flowing. He could barely feel them, he realized.
“We’ll know because that’ll be when I light the signal fire,” he said.
Jesper eyed him for a few seconds. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Hal shrugged, still working his legs. Then a cramp hit him and he grimaced, groaning. When he recovered, he replied.
“We’ve chosen to drift on a log, miles from shore, hoping a ship will find us, and you want me to start making sense all of a sudden?”
Jesper grunted. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “Did we bring any water?”
Hal shook his head. “One of those little details I’m famous for,” he told his companion. “Stig says they always seem to involve water. I wonder why?”
“We should have thought to bring water,” Jesper said.
Hal nodded. He was too tired to say anything. He realized that he was drifting away, in danger of falling asleep. He smiled to himself. That’s exactly what you’re doing, he thought. Drifting away on a log. He thought it might be a good idea to tie himself to the log, the way Jesper had done. But he couldn’t raise the energy
to do it.
“Maybe I should light the signal now,” he said. “It must be ten minutes.”
There was no reply. Jesper was sprawled against the log, facedown, held in place by the rope under his armpits. Hal made an attempt to heave himself up. But his weight, and the extra weight of his sodden clothing, were too much. He slid back down into the water, nearly losing his grip on the log. Now his hands were cold, as well as his legs, he thought.
In fact, he realized, his entire body was cold. His teeth began to chatter and he could do nothing to stop them.
“Where are you, Stig?” he said. At least, he tried to say it. All that came from his throat was a harsh croaking sound. He really should have brought water, he thought. He sighed. It had seemed like such a good idea. Drift in with the log, set the oil bladder in place, then drift out again.
Who would have thought that a little detail like the wind dropping could throw things into such disorder? He should have been aware of the possibility, he thought. For a moment, he was angry with himself. Then he shrugged. What did it really matter, after all? He was drifting off to sleep now and, strangely, he felt warm all of a sudden. Warm and comfortable.
But very sleepy. He’d just sleep a little while, then he’d light the signal fire. He’d be stronger after he slept. He lay his head against the rough log. He felt his grip slipping and he slid back into the water.
Should have tied myself on, like Jesper, he thought. There was a sharp end of a broken-off branch near him and he snagged his sheepskin over it to hold himself in place.
He looked sideways at Jesper. The former thief’s head was lolling, just clear of the water. His breath blew occasional bubbles.
He’s asleep, Hal thought. He’s no fool.
The more he considered it, the more attractive the idea of sleeping became. He rested his head against the log and closed his eyes, marveling at the fact that now, after all these hours in the frigid water, he felt warm and comfortable.
I wonder if I’m dying, he thought, then decided that, even if he was, it didn’t really matter. Nothing mattered.
As he drifted off, a cat’s-paw of wind ruffled the water around him. Then the wind began to blow steadily.
But Hal was too far gone to notice.
chapter thirty
A sound roused him.
It was a strange sound: Something large was moving through the water close by. His first, panicky thought was that it could be a shark. But when he forced his eyes open and looked over his shoulder, he realized that it was a heron. He could see its face. But strangely, it was carved from wood. And it seemed to be speaking to him. Even more strangely, it was speaking in Stig’s voice.
“Hal! Jesper! Thank the gods we’ve found you.”
He smiled as he saw his friend’s face now, beside the wooden heron. He realized he was looking at the Heron’s carved figurehead, with Stig standing beside it in the bow, leaning down to grab hold of his arm.
“I had a little sleep,” he said. His voice was thick and slurred and he wondered why.
Stig heaved Hal’s limp form up and over the bulwark as if he were a child. Ulf and Wulf were waiting, ready. They hurried Hal astern, sat him down and stripped off his sodden clothes. They had a thick blanket ready and they wrapped him in it. Ulf began rubbing the rough wool against his skirl’s near-frozen body, chafing him to bring the blood back to the surface and to warm him. Hal sprawled on the deck, groaning with cold and with the cramps that were now wracking his legs as Ulf continued to work on him.
Wulf returned to the bow, where Stig was trying to drag Jesper on board. The former thief was unconscious, too far gone to help them. Wulf held Stig’s left arm while Stig leaned down, grabbing Jesper’s collar and heaving on it. Something seemed to stop him moving more than a few centimeters. After several seconds, Wulf noticed the thin rope under Jesper’s arms, tying him to the log. He drew his saxe knife and leaned far over the side, slashing at the rope and severing it. Once Jesper was free of the restraint, it was a simple matter for Stig to lift him over the side, depositing him on the deck like a landed fish.
Stig gestured to two of the watching Limmatans.
“Lend a hand here,” he ordered. “Dry him off. Warm him up.” He pointed to where Ulf was pummeling Hal with the blanket, rubbing him ferociously to ease his cramps and get his circulation going. The two townsmen nodded, understanding. One of them took the thick blanket that Stig had left handy and, together, they began to work on Jesper.
Jesper’s eyes opened slowly as they rubbed and pummeled. He frowned, saw Stig and smiled in recognition.
“Stig,” he said. “Thought you’d missed us.”
Stig nodded somberly. “We nearly did,” he said. “That log is so low in the water that it’s nearly invisible. Luckily, we spotted one of Edvin’s red flags, then followed the line to where you two were.”
He realized that Jesper hadn’t heard a word he’d said. He was lying back, eyes closed again, groaning quietly as the circulation gradually returned. Stig studied him for a moment, satisfied himself that Jesper was in no danger and turned to Wulf.
“Let’s get the sail up and get back to the beach.”
He moved to the tiller as Wulf began to raise the sail. Ulf, seeing what was happening, turned Hal over to two of the other Limmatans and moved to the sheets. A minute or so later, Heron was laid over on the starboard tack, her bow wave creaming away on either side, and heading back for the camp on the beach.
Thorn and Svengal paced restlessly along the beach, just above the line of incoming waves. Both of them were staring out to sea, looking for the first sign of the Heron’s return.
“They’re late,” Thorn said. “They should have been back by now.”
Svengal looked sidelong at his old friend. “Have you ever known any plan to run to time?” he said. “Don’t worry. They’ll be fine.”
Thorn shook his head. “I should never have let him do it,” he said. “There are too many things that could go wrong.”
Svengal raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that it was ever up to you to let him go,” he said. “Hal seems to have a mind of his own.”
“That’s true enough.” Thorn paused. “But if Stig misses them, they could be lost forever. I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens.”
They passed the silent figure of Lydia, sitting on the sand with her knees drawn up to her chin and staring wordlessly out to sea.
“Looks like we’re not the only ones worried about them,” Svengal commented.
Thorn followed his gaze and grunted agreement.
“Wish she’d make up her mind which one of them she fancies,” he said. He’d noticed the byplay between Lydia and the two boys since they’d first rescued the girl from the sea. “That could cause trouble between them.”
“She seems to be a good type,” Svengal said. “She probably doesn’t know herself. And they’re friends. Friends usually find a way to get round that sort of thing. They won’t be the first two shipmates to be interested in the same girl.”
There was something in his voice that hinted at a deeper meaning, and Thorn looked at him suspiciously.
“Anyone in particular in mind?” he said, his brows drawing together.
Svengal grinned at him. “Are you going to try to pretend that you didn’t fancy Karina when you first laid eyes on her?”
Thorn opened his mouth to speak, but one look at Svengal’s face told him that denial would be useless.
“How did you know?”
Svengal shrugged. “It was pretty obvious. Everyone knew. You mooned around for days, especially when you realized that Mikkel fancied her too—and that she had eyes for him.”
Thorn made a dismissive gesture.
“That was a long time ago,” he said. “And Mikkel was a good man.”
“So were you,” Svengal said. “Still are, in fact. I’m just saying, good friends seem to have a way of coping with that sort of thing. And those boys are good friends.”
They p
aced in silence for a few more meters, then, by unspoken agreement, turned to retrace their steps along the beach.
“Ever thought of trying your luck with Karina again?” Svengal asked.
Thorn shook his head. “That ship sailed long ago.”
Svengal pursed his lips thoughtfully. There was a note in Thorn’s voice that indicated that particular avenue of conversation was definitely closed. He changed tack.
“He’s an amazing lad, isn’t he?” He shaded his eyes, looking out to sea. There was still no sign of a ship anywhere.
“Erak says we need people like Hal,” he continued. “Thinkers and planners. People with ideas.”
“He’s got plenty of those, all right,” Thorn said. He shook his head in admiration as he thought about Hal’s fast-moving, fertile mind. “I mean, you know me, I’ve seen my share of battles. But I could never plan something like this attack. We Skandians just tend to barge in and start hitting people. But look at what he’s come up with—a three-pronged attack, coordinated so that the defenders’ forces will be split. And as for that huge crossbow he’s mounted on the Heron . . . well, can you think of anyone else who could come up with an idea like that?”
Svengal nodded. “He’s impressive, all right,” he said. “Must be the Araluen in him.”
Thorn stopped and eyed his old friend with cold eyes. “He’s a Skandian,” he said bluntly.
After a few seconds, a faint smile touched Svengal’s bearded features. “That’s what I meant.”
Down the beach, Lydia suddenly came to her feet, shading her eyes with one hand as she peered out to sea.
“There she is!” she said.
Word spread quickly and by the time the Heron nosed gently into the beach, the crews of Wolfwind and the Heron were all assembled to greet her. As Stefan took the beach anchor and ran it up the beach, driving it into the sand, Stig tied off the tiller and moved to the bow, his huge grin confirming that Hal and Jesper were safe.
“We’re back,” he said cheerfully. “And we’ve got two half-frozen mackerel we hauled out of the sea on the way home.”
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