The Skandians looked on with ill-concealed amusement as Halt carefully placed the helmet on his head. Borsa, who had joined the expedition on Ragnak’s orders, shook his head and chuckled. The unwarlike hilfmann, who’d never seen a day of battle in his life, knew he looked more the part than Halt did.
“Even if this turns out to be a wild-goose chase,” he said cheerfully, “it will have been worth it to see this.”
Halt turned away angrily. It was a mistake. With the rapid head movement, his helmet became dislodged and tipped down over his eyes. He cursed quietly to himself, straightened the ridiculous headgear and resigned himself to the smothered laughter of the Skandians.
They had been running before a quartering wind, but now, as Erak prepared to bring Wolfwind around the headland and across the wind, there was a flurry of activity on board as the big square sail was gathered in and furled to the cross yard. The long, heavy oars clattered in their tholes as the crew ran them out, and before the ship had time to lose way, they began their smooth, rhythmic stroking. Glancing behind, Halt saw the other ships had followed suit. Once again, the helmet tilted awkwardly on his head and, with a gesture of disgust, he ripped it off and dropped it to the deck. He glared at Erak, daring the big Skandian to make some comment. The jarl merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
They were almost around the last promontory now and those without any duties involved in keeping the ship moving and on course craned eagerly to see whether the beach would be empty—or whether there would be a war party of Temujai warriors waiting for them. With tantalizing slowness, the boat crept past the headland, gradually revealing the strip of sandy beach beyond. Halt felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, as the first sight of the beach showed no sign of any Temujai. But they were only looking at the southern end of the beach, and as they came farther around, there was a soft sigh from those watching and the sinking feeling in Halt’s stomach turned to a flame of fierce exultation.
There, drawn up at the center of the beach, were three squadrons of Temujai cavalry.
Their dome-shaped felt tents were pitched in neatly ordered rows. Horses were tethered on a grass sward where the beach ended. There were sixty men to a squadron, Halt knew. He presumed each squadron would be leaving ten men to tend the horses, which, of course, couldn’t travel on the wolfships. The discordant blare of a Temujai horn from the beach told them that they had been sighted.
Borsa shook his head sadly at the evidence of Slagor’s treachery. “I’d been hoping that this would be an empty quest,” he said bitterly. “The thought of any Skandian turning traitor is a bitter one to face.”
He moved away from Halt and Erak and the two men exchanged glances. Erak shrugged. His was a more cynical temperament than the hilfmann’s, and he had better knowledge of Slagor’s character.
“Time to make absolutely sure,” he said quietly, and heaved on the steering oar to bring Wolfwind’s prow heading straight toward the beach. As arranged, the other two ships hove to, the rowers maintaining a slow, relaxed stroke to hold them in position against wind and tide, some two hundred meters off the beach. They were still within bowshot there, but the huge, circular Skandian shields that were ranged along the bulwarks gave the sailors protection against any Temujai attack.
Those on Wolfwind weren’t so fortunate. They were heading straight inshore, every stroke of the oars making them more vulnerable to a sudden volley of Temujai arrows.
“Keep your heads down,” Erak growled at his rowers. It was an unnecessary warning. They were hunched down as far as they could be, trying to prevent any part of their persons from showing above the oak bulwarks. Halt noticed that the jarl’s right hand strayed from the steering oar from time to time, and brushed almost unconsciously against the haft of the massive battle-ax that leaned close by.
Activity on the beach was growing now, and a party of half a dozen Temujai had moved to the water’s edge. Behind them, orders were being shouted and squads were forming as troop leaders prepared their men to embark on the three wolfships.
The deep water continued in quite close to the beach. Of course, the wolfships were designed to beach in water as shallow as one meter, but the Temujai weren’t aware of the fact and Halt and Erak had agreed that it made better sense to keep the enemy at a distance. Twenty meters from the water’s edge, Erak gave a brief command and the oars on one side of the ship backed while the others went ahead, swinging the narrow craft through ninety degrees, virtually in her own length.
Erak nodded to his second in command, who hurried to the tiller. Then the jarl stepped to the shoreward side of the ship and raised his voice in his familiar storm-quelling bellow.
“Ahoy the beach!” he called, and Halt, standing close by, hastily moved a few paces farther away.
The Tem’uj standing in the center of the small group on the beach cupped his hands and called back.
“I am Or’kam, commander of this force,” he called. “Where is Slagor?”
Behind him, Halt heard a quick intake of breath and turned to see Borsa shaking his head sadly, his eyes downcast. Several of the other Skandians also exchanged glances at this incontrovertible confirmation that Slagor had been involved in the plan.
“Keep still!” Halt warned them, and the men hurriedly masked their reactions. Erak was answering now, with the story that he, Borsa and Halt had agreed upon.
“Oberjarl Ragnak was growing suspicious of our movements. It was too dangerous for Slagor to come on this expedition. He will join us at Fallkork Island.”
There was a hurried consultation between the Temujai leaders.
“They don’t like it,” Erak muttered out of the side of his mouth.
“They don’t have to like it. They just have to believe it,” Halt told him in the same undertone. After several minutes’ discussion, Or’kam stepped away from the group and called again.
“We expected Slagor. How can we be sure we can trust you? Did he give any message? Any password?”
On the ship, the men exchanged worried glances. This was the one eventuality they had feared. If Slagor had arranged a password with the Temujai, then their plan was spoiled. Of course, their main aim had already been achieved. They had proved Slagor’s complicity in the plot. But now that they were here, the chance of taking 150 men out of the enemy’s battle line, without any loss to their own forces, was tempting in the extreme.
“Bluff it out,” Halt said quickly. “He already said he was expecting Slagor, so they didn’t need a password.” Erak nodded. It made sense.
“Look, horseman,” Erak bellowed again. “I don’t need a password, do I? I’m here to pick you up. And I’m risking my neck to do it! Now if you choose to come aboard, then do so. If not, I’m going raiding and leaving you and Ragnak to your little war. Now you choose!”
Once again there was an urgent consultation on the beach. They could see Or’kam’s reluctance in his movements, but equally, they could see him weighing his options, and after a long, searching glance at the wolfship, he obviously decided he had nothing to fear from the skeleton crews of rowers on the three ships.
“Very well!” he called. “Bring your ships in and we’ll board.”
But now Erak shook his head.
“We’ll bring you out on the skiffs,” he called. “We can’t beach here.”
Or’kam made an angry gesture. Obviously he didn’t like it when things didn’t go precisely according to his wishes.
“What are you talking about?” he yelled. “Slagor beached his ship right here. I saw him do it!”
Erak moved to the bulwark and stood up on it, completely exposed to any possible fire from the beach.
“Careful,” Halt muttered, trying not to let his lips move.
“And tell me, horseman,” Erak said, his voice heavy with sarcasm, “did Slagor then load fifty men aboard his ship and take her off the beach?”
There was a pause as the Temujai leader thought through the reasoning in what Erak had said. Erak saw the
hesitation and pressed on.
“If I beach now and load your men aboard, we’ll never get her off again. Particularly with the tide falling the way it is.”
That seemed to clinch it. Or’kam reluctantly signaled his agreement.
“Very well!” he called. “How many can you take at a time?”
Erak resisted the temptation to heave a sigh of relief.
“Three skiffs, eight men each,” he called. “Twenty-four at a time.”
Or’kam nodded. “All right, Skandian, send in the skiffs.”
31
“POSITION TWO…SHOOT!” CALLED WILL, AND THE HUNDRED archers’ arms rose to the same angle, drew and released, more or less simultaneously. The slithering hiss of the release was magnified a hundred times, and Will and Horace watched in satisfaction as a dark cloud of arrows arced across the intervening space to the target that had suddenly popped up.
Evanlyn was sitting on an old broken cart a few meters behind the line of archers, watching the scene with interest.
They could hear the distinctive soft thudding of arrows striking into the turf around the target, and the harder, clearer smack of those arrows that actually hit it.
“Shields!” bellowed Horace. Beside each archer, a foot soldier stepped forward with a rectangular wooden shield held on his left arm, positioned to cover both himself and the archer as he reloaded. It had been an idea the warrior apprentice had come up with while he’d been watching an earlier practice shoot. Will had readily adopted the improvement. With only one hundred archers, he couldn’t afford to lose any to the return fire the Temujai were sure to mount once they saw his men in action.
Will glanced quickly around to make sure his men were ready for the next shot. Then he turned back to the practice field, searching for the next target to appear.
There! As the team of men behind him hauled on a set of ropes, another flat board swung up out of the grass. But he had nearly missed the movement, waiting to see if the archers were ready. He felt a slight twinge of panic. Things were moving too fast.
“Clear!” he called, wishing his voice wouldn’t tend to break when he did this, and the shield bearers stepped clear.
“Half right! Position three…shoot!”
Again they heard the slithering hiss. Another cloud of arrows cast its fleeting shadow across the field and riddled the area around the target. Already, another target was rising out of the grass, much closer in this time.
“Shields!” Horace called again and once more the archers were hidden from return fire. As he ordered his men to do this, Horace performed the same action, concealing Will behind one of the large shields.
“Come on, come on,” Will muttered, shifting from one foot to the other as he watched the men select new arrows and nock them to the string. The archers sensed his urgency and hurried their reloading. The extra haste made for clumsiness. Three of them dropped the arrows they were about to nock; others fumbled like beginners.
Frustrated, Will realized he’d have to go with the men who were ready. He swung his gaze back to the target. But the men on the ropes were hauling it in, so that it slid toward them on its sled-like runners, matching the speed of an enemy advance. The range had closed too quickly for him to make an instant assessment. In the time that he’d been watching his men, he’d lost his concentration and his sense of the battlefield.
He stepped down angrily from his command position, a low platform built at the end of the line of archers.
“Stand down!” he called. “Everyone take a break.”
He realized he’d been sweating freely with the tension and wiped a corner of his cloak across his forehead. Horace set the large shield down and joined him.
“What’s the trouble?” he asked.
Will shook his head, defeated. “It’s hopeless,” he said. “I can’t keep track of the targets and the men at the same time. I lose my perspective. You’ll have to watch the men and tell me when they’re ready.”
Horace frowned.
“I could,” he agreed. “But on the day, I think I’m going to be a little busy shielding you from any return shots. I really need to keep my eye on the enemy too. Unless you want to be turned into a pincushion.”
“Well, someone’s going to have to do it!” Will said angrily. “We haven’t even begun to practice against the Kaijin and the whole thing’s falling apart already!”
Halt had told them about the Kaijin. They were specialist marksmen and each group of sixty Temujai riders would have one with them. The Kaijin were assigned to pick off the leaders in any enemy group. It would be Will’s task to counteract them and he’d devised a drill for it, with additional, smaller targets set in the field, ready to rise into view unexpectedly. But if Will was dividing his attention between his own archers and the enemy, his chances of nullifying the enemy marksmen would be low indeed.
On the other hand, his chances of being shot by one of them were considerably higher.
“I could do it,” said Evanlyn, and both boys turned toward her. She saw the doubt in their expressions. “I could do it. I could keep an eye on the archers and call when they’re ready.”
“But that’ll put you in the battle line!” Horace objected instantly. “It’ll be dangerous!”
Evanlyn shook her head. She noticed Will hadn’t objected so far. She could see he was at least considering her idea. She hurried on before he could veto the suggestion.
“The archers aren’t actually in the front line. You’ll be behind it, and protected by a trench and an earth mound. You could build me a kind of a dugout at the end, beneath your command position. I’d be safe from arrows there. After all, I don’t need to see the enemy, just our men.”
“But what if the Temujai break through our line?” Horace said. “You’ll be right in the middle of it then!”
Evanlyn shrugged. “If the Temujai break through, it won’t matter where I am. We’ll all be dead. Besides, if everyone else is taking a risk, why shouldn’t I?”
Horace was wise enough not to reply Because you’re a girl. And he had to admit that she had a point. But he wasn’t convinced. He turned to Will.
“What do you think, Will?” he said. He expected the apprentice Ranger to agree with him and he was a little surprised when Will didn’t answer immediately.
“I think,” Will said slowly, “she may be right. Let’s try it.”
“Ready,” Evanlyn said calmly. She was crouched below the platform where Will and Horace stood.
“Clear!” That was Horace. The shield bearers dropped to one knee beside the archers.
“Left left! Position one…shoot!”
The volley was ragged and Will knew that was his fault. He’d called the order to shoot a fraction too quickly and some of the men hadn’t reached full draw. He mentally kicked himself. He heard Horace calling for the shields again and saw the arrow strikes on the target—as well as those that missed and fell short.
But now another danger reared its head. As the next large target swung up and began moving toward them, another, smaller one swung out from the target they had just engaged. This was a man-sized figure and it was Will’s responsibility. He drew and loosed and saw his arrow slam into the target, just as Evanlyn called “ready” once more. He turned his attention quickly to the main target as Horace ordered the shield bearers down.
“Left! Position three…” He waited, then added a correction. “Down a half…”
He forced himself to wait the full term, then called: “Shoot!”
This time, the volley flew truly, with the majority of arrows slamming into the target or close around it. If it had been a charging group of horsemen, the volley would have taken a severe toll.
“Shields!” bellowed Horace, and the pattern began to repeat itself. But now Will waved a weary hand.
“Stand down,” he said, and Horace repeated the order in a louder voice. The archers and shield bearers, who had been working at this drill for the past two hours with only a few short breaks, dropped
gratefully to the grass to rest. Horace grinned at Will.
“Not bad,” he said. “I make it twenty out of twenty-five of those targets peppered pretty solidly. And you hit every one of the Kaijin.”
The smaller targets attached to each large board represented the Kaijin. Freed from the need to check on both his own men and the enemy, Will had coped easily with them.
“True,” Will said in response to Horace’s comment. “But they weren’t shooting back.”
Secretly, he was pleased with his performance. He had shot well, in spite of the distractions involved in estimating range and trajectory for the larger group.
He grinned at Horace and Evanlyn. It was good to feel some of the old camaraderie back.
“Nice work, everyone,” he said, then, raising his voice: “Let’s take a break for half an hour.”
There was a murmur of satisfaction from the archers and they moved to the side of the practice area, where barrels of drinking water were available. Behind Will, a familiar voice spoke.
“Take a break for the rest of the day. You’ve done enough for the moment.”
The three young Araluens turned at the sound of Halt’s voice. Instantly, Will felt reinvigorated, bursting with curiosity about events at Sand Creek Bay.
“Halt!” he cried eagerly. “What happened? Were the Temujai there? Did you manage to fool them?”
But Halt held up a hand to stop the flow of questions he knew he was about to face. He was troubled by what he had just seen as he approached.
“Why have you got Evanlyn involved in this, Will?” he asked. He saw the hesitation in the young man’s eyes, then saw his jaw set in a determined line.
“Because I need her, Halt. I need someone to keep track of the men, to let me know when they’re ready. Without that, the system won’t work.”
“Couldn’t someone else do that?”
“I can’t think of anyone else I can trust. I want someone who won’t panic. Someone who’ll keep her head.”
Halt scratched his beard thoughtfully. “How do you know Evanlyn won’t panic?”
The Battle for Skandia Page 18