Thorn saw him first. ‘There!’ he shouted, pointing.
A figure was rising from behind a small shrub forty metres away. The shrub was so small that it seemed almost impossible for it to conceal a grown man. But it had. Now, with the dog’s warning bark, as the man realised he had been discovered, he stood clear of its branches.
He was dressed in a light brown flowing robe over a white shirt and billowing white trousers. On his head, he wore a turban, the kind favoured by the inhabitants of the hot, dry deserts of Arrida.
He held a short, single-handed crossbow, with thick, stubby limbs and a bolt in position ready to release. As he stood, he raised the bow, aiming it unwaveringly at the Araluan princess, steadying the hand that held the bow by clamping his other hand around the bow-hand’s wrist.
There was an ugly SMACK! as the bow released, and the short, stubby quarrel flashed across the intervening space, straight at Cassandra. Frozen by the sudden turn of events, she stared, open-mouthed, as she saw death bearing down on her.
Then Thorn threw his right hand up, into the path of the hissing messenger of death.
Thock!
The quarrel struck the hardwood of Thorn’s wooden hook and stuck there, the force of the impact jerking his arm violently back. Thorn staggered a pace, and Cassandra went pale as she realised he had intercepted the deadly quarrel a bare metre from her face.
Then the little tableau, seemingly frozen in place for seconds, erupted into sudden movement. The would-be assassin, seeing his shot intercepted, turned and ran. Ulf and Wulf set off after him – a faint hope seeing that the man had a forty-metre start on them and was just a few metres from the forest proper. At the same moment, Stig released Kloof’s leash and pointed at the fleeing figure.
‘Get him, Kloof!’ he ordered and the dog bounded away in pursuit.
But Lydia had reacted fastest of all. She whipped a shaft from her quiver, fitted the notched end into the atlatl, and cast. It was so smooth and practised, it seemed like one continuous movement.
‘Don’t kill him!’ Thorn shouted. ‘We need to –’
But it was too late, the dart was already on its way, closing the distance between Lydia and the fleeing assassin in seconds.
They heard the ugly smack as it hit him, saw him throw his hands in the air and fall face downwards into the long grass.
Thorn turned a disgruntled look on Lydia. ‘We needed to question him,’ he said, completing the sentence he had begun just as she cast her dart.
She returned his annoyed look, perfectly unperturbed. ‘He’s not dead,’ she replied calmly. ‘I used a blunt.’
Thorn had been about to unleash a torrent of abuse at her. Instead, he closed his mouth, opened it again, then looked at the prone figure in the grass. Kloof had just reached him and was standing over him, growling deep in her chest.
‘A blunt,’ he repeated, finally, and Lydia nodded.
‘A blunt. He’s unconscious. He’ll have a massive headache when he wakes up.’
Stig grinned at the two of them. ‘He’ll have a massive fright when he wakes up. How would you like to come to and have Kloof’s jaws just a few centimetres from your face?’
‘Not a pretty sight,’ Thorn agreed. He gripped the crossbow quarrel close to the end that had penetrated his wooden hook and started slowly working it back and forth to release it. Finally, he jerked it clear and studied the broadhead. There was an ominous dark stain around the tip.
‘Poisoned,’ he said, glancing at Cassandra. ‘Just as well my timber hand got in the way.’
Cassandra was staring, wide eyed, at the three of them. She had grown up around Rangers and warriors. But she had never seen faster reactions than the Herons had just shown. Thorn’s feat in intercepting the quarrel was near miraculous. And Lydia’s shot with the dart – easily fifty metres as the would-be assassin gathered speed – had been exceptional.
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, finally throwing off the shock that had frozen her. There had been a time, she thought regretfully, when she might have reacted as quickly as her companions. But she had spent too much time in the castle, attending to the duties that befell a royal princess, and too little time in the field. Like using a sling properly, she thought, it all required practice.
The three of them brushed aside her thanks.
‘I don’t suppose Kloof can fetch that piece of game back here,’ Stig said cheerfully. ‘We’d best go and collect him.’
Ulf and Wulf were already standing by the figure of the assassin. He stirred, then rolled over onto his back. As he opened his eyes, his vision was filled with the sight of Kloof’s slavering, snarling jaws. The man screamed in sudden fright and tried to rear back. But of course, he was lying on the ground and there was nowhere to rear back to. Then he shifted his vision to the twins, both angry and vengeful, both with saxes drawn and ready. He called out in alarm.
The others were hurrying across the grass to secure him.
Stig snorted. ‘Probably thinks he’s seeing double after that crack on the head.’
‘If he is,’ Thorn put in, ‘he may well be seeing four of them.’
‘What a terrible thought,’ Lydia said.
Thorn smiled at her. ‘That was one heck of a shot,’ he said. She looked at him suspiciously. Thorn’s compliments were all too often barbed.
‘And . . .?’ She waited for the sting in the tail.
Thorn shrugged innocently. ‘And nothing. It was a great shot.’ However, he couldn’t resist adding, ‘Just as well you accidentally pulled a blunt out of your quiver.’
Lydia threw her hands in the air. ‘I knew it!’ she said. ‘You can’t resist having a snipe at me, can you?’
Thorn turned away to hide his smile. He reached down and got hold of one of the man’s arms. ‘Let’s get this beauty back to the castle. Get away, Kloof.’
The dog reluctantly backed away, still growling deep in her chest as Thorn heaved the man to his feet. He swayed clumsily, rubbing his head where the dart had struck him.
Stig gestured to the back of the man’s right hand. ‘Thorn, look.’
There was a tattoo on the man’s hand – a depiction of a scorpion, with its stinger raised threateningly.
Thorn whistled softly. ‘Well, what do you know,’ he said. The fierce sea wolf smiled at the semi-conscious man. It wasn’t a pleasant smile.
‘Let’s see what you can tell us about this Scorpion Mountain business,’ he said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GEOFFREY SAT BACK and admired his handiwork with a satisfied smile. Hal, who had sat quietly for the past hour watching the artisan at work, leaned over his shoulder to look at the finished product.
‘Wonderful,’ he said, and Geoffrey turned the smile on him.
‘Yes. Even if I do say so myself,’ he replied. ‘But let’s see if it works.’
The old goldsmith, fascinated by the improvement in vision afforded by the tiny hole in the tortoiseshell disc, had offered to make a device to hold two of the discs in place in front of Ingvar’s eyes. He had created a wire frame to hold the two pieces of tortoiseshell side by side, and about a centimetre apart. In the space between them, he had fashioned a padded rest that would sit on the wearer’s nose. At either side, he had soldered sprung wire arms that stretched back at right angles to the discs, angled in so they would sit firmly against the wearer’s head, resting on the top of the ears.
He picked the device up now and moved to the side window of the house. Bending the side arms slightly apart, he slipped them on, one either side of his head, and settled the discs in place in front of his eyes. The nose rest held them firmly in position.
Then he peered out the window at the countryside behind his workshop.
Hal heard his sudden intake of breath, and his excited exclamation.
‘They work?’ the young Skandian said hopefully, and Geoffrey turned his gaze on him. It was a somewhat disconcerting sight. The two tortoiseshell discs suspended in front of his eyes gave him a sinist
er appearance, looking like the eyeholes in a skull. But no skull ever smiled so contentedly as Geoffrey did now.
‘It’s amazing,’ he said. ‘The holes definitely help focus my vision. I can see much more clearly.’ He slipped the device off, shaking his head a little sadly as he reverted to his normal short-sighted vision. ‘The extra holes were a good idea.’
Once he had determined that a tiny hole would improve the focus of a short-sighted person, Hal had decided to experiment. He purchased a third piece of tortoiseshell from Geoffrey and had the goldsmith pierce it once in the centre, then another dozen times in a circle around the original aperture. The result was a big improvement. The small holes still focused Geoffrey’s sight, but the greater number widened his field of vision as well. The two collaborators smiled at each other now. It had been a fruitful morning’s work. Hal reached for the coin purse hanging at his belt.
‘How much do I owe you?’ he asked. But Geoffrey reached out one gnarled hand and closed it over Hal’s, stopping him from opening the purse.
‘No charge,’ the older man said. When Hal went to remonstrate, he spoke more firmly.
‘I’ll be making myself a pair of these,’ he said. ‘And I have you to thank for the idea. So there’s no fee to be paid. You’ve already paid me with improved sight.’
His sincerity was obvious and Hal withdrew his hand from the purse, inclining his head gratefully.
‘You’re sure?’ he said. ‘You’ve spent the best part of the morning working on the frame.’
‘I’m sure,’ Geoffrey said. He took the wire frame and wrapped it carefully in a piece of chamois cloth, then handed it to Hal. ‘Now go and show it to your friend.’
Hal placed the wire frame carefully into one of his side pockets and followed Geoffrey as the older man led the way to the front door.
Geoffrey held out his hand and they shook. ‘Goodbye, young Hal. If all your ideas are as good as this one, you’ve a bright future ahead of you.’
Hal smiled diffidently. ‘Unfortunately, they’re not. I’ve had my share of disasters. I’m just glad this wasn’t one of them.’
‘Me too,’ Geoffrey told him. ‘Now get going. I want to get busy making myself a pair of . . .’ He hesitated. ‘What exactly do we call this idea of yours?’
Hal shrugged, thinking. ‘How about viewing discs?’ he suggested, but Geoffrey made a disapproving face.
‘That’s a little prosaic,’ he said. ‘After all, the improvement in vision is quite spectacular.’
‘Well then,’ Hal said slowly, ‘if that’s the case, how about spectacles?’
Geoffrey thrust out his bottom lip. ‘That’s not a lot better.’
‘That’s the best I’ve got,’ Hal told him. ‘I’m going with spectacles.’
But the goldsmith shook his head gloomily. ‘Can’t see it catching on,’ he said.
Inevitably, when Hal reached the castle and went looking for Ingvar, the big lad was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t in his room, or in the large common room that had been set aside for the Heron crew to relax in as a group. Edvin and Stefan were there. The re-provisioning of the ship was completed and Edvin wasn’t required at the jetty any longer.
Jesper was prowling the corridors, examining the locks on the many doors with a professional interest that Hal found disconcerting. He came upon the former thief crouching by a heavy lock that secured a door on the second floor. The lock was far more formidable than the relatively simple ones on the bedroom doors.
‘Just forget it, Jes,’ Hal said, startling his crewmate.
Jesper looked up and grinned disarmingly. ‘Have you ever noticed,’ he said, ‘that when people have something that’s valuable, they tend to advertise the fact by using bigger and stronger locks on the door where it’s kept? If they’d just put a normal lock on this door, I’d take no notice of it at all.’
‘Which is what I want you to do,’ Hal told him firmly. ‘Have you seen Ingvar around?’
Jesper shook his head. ‘Haven’t seen him all morning.’
Hal turned away. He had gone a couple of paces when he turned back. Jesper was still contemplating the locked door. ‘How strong is that lock?’
‘Oh, it’s quite solid,’ Jesper replied. ‘It’d take me at least a minute to get it open.’
Hal rolled his eyes to heaven and walked away. He continued his search of the massive castle and its grounds and finally discovered Ingvar sitting on a wooden bench in a sunny corner of the battlements, his back leaning against the sun-warmed stone, his face turned up to the sun, eyes closed.
‘Come to talk me out of it, Hal?’
Hal stopped a few metres away, surprised. ‘How did you know it was me?’
Ingvar’s eyes were still closed against the sun’s brightness. The big boy smiled. ‘I’ve got to know your footsteps. You have a distinctive gait. You seem to be always in a hurry to get where you’re going.’
Hal nodded thoughtfully. He’d heard that when people had restricted vision, their other senses, such as their hearing, took on an increased keenness. Apparently that was the case with Ingvar.
Hal sat down beside him on the bench. ‘Good spot,’ he said.
Ingvar nodded. ‘It’s warm and sheltered from the wind. And there’s a young girl in one of the rooms along there who was singing a little earlier. Nice voice she had, too.’
Hal looked around. The battlements were higher than the floor where they had been quartered. They looked out over the outer wall and down to the forest. From this height, however, one could see the roofs of the buildings in the village.
‘Nice view too,’ he said.
Ingvar’s smile faded. He opened his eyes to look directly at Hal. It wasn’t like his old friend to be so tactless, he thought.
‘I’ll have to take your word for that.’
Hal shrugged elaborately. ‘Maybe not.’ He reached into his pocket and produced the spectacles, wrapped in their protective layer of chamois. He carefully unwrapped them and held them out towards Ingvar.
Ingvar frowned. Close up like this, he could see them with reasonable clarity. But he had no idea what they were, or what their purpose might be.
‘What have you got there?’ he asked. Ingvar sensed Hal’s feeling of excited anticipation. Hal had been the same when he’d built the Mangler and they’d tested it on the beach many months ago, on the far side of the Storm-white Sea.
‘Just try these on,’ Hal said. ‘Hold still, and close your eyes.’
Carefully, Hal spread the arms and slid them onto either side of Ingvar’s face, setting them to rest on his ears, and then releasing them so they held firmly in place.
Ingvar flinched slightly at the unaccustomed touch of the nose pad between the two discs as Hal settled it into position. ‘What is it? What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Just wait. You’ll see,’ Hal said – and realised belatedly how prophetic those words were. ‘Keep your eyes closed and stand up.’
He took Ingvar’s arm and steadied him as he rose from the bench. Then he placed his hands on the big boy’s wide shoulders and turned him to face the view below them.
‘Open your eyes,’ he said.
It took several seconds. Then Ingvar uttered an incomprehensible grunt of surprise. He shook his head, turning it from side to side.
‘Gorlog’s eyebrows!’ he said, his tone a mixture of surprise and delight. ‘I can see!’
He pointed to the dark line where the forest began. ‘I can see the trees!’ he said excitedly. ‘I could only see a dark blur before. But now I see trees! And look there!’ he continued, pointing down to the parkland, where a squad of soldiers were drilling. ‘There are people down there. I can see them!’
‘What kind of people are they?’ Hal asked quickly. He was eager to know how much the spectacles improved Ingvar’s vision. Ingvar leaned forward.
‘They’re soldiers,’ he said. ‘I can see their shields and spears. And the sun is glinting off their armour. Oh by my sainted auntie’s mousta
che, this is just amazing!’
‘Your sainted auntie had a moustache?’ Hal asked and Ingvar nodded.
‘That’s how we told her from my uncle,’ Ingvar replied. ‘He was clean-shaven.’ He looked around excitedly, peering up at the pennants fluttering from the towers above them, seeing them as more than a blur of movement for the first time.
‘Flags!’ he said in delight. ‘Yellow and blue and purple flags! They’re beautiful.’
Hal looked at them and frowned. ‘They’re just flags,’ he said, but Ingvar shook his head emphatically.
‘To you, maybe. But to me, they’re beautiful!’ His head darted from side to side as he sought new sights. ‘Oh, this is just too wonderful for words! How did you ever come up with this idea? It’s one of your very best ever!’
Hal shrugged. ‘You know, I’m not sure. I started to think when you said that if you narrowed your eyelids, things became clearer. Then I just sort of . . . experimented, I guess.’
Ingvar shook his head. Reaching up, he carefully removed the wire frame, with its two glossy brown discs, and looked at it in wonder.
‘How can I ever thank you?’
A slow smile spread over Hal’s features. ‘Just stop this nonsense about leaving the brotherband.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THERE WAS A bustle of commotion at the drawbridge when the hunting party returned, with their captive secured between Ulf and Wulf. The twins had a firm hold of an arm each. They held the would-be killer so that he was forced to stand on tiptoe, and frogmarched him up the grassy slope to the castle. Kloof pranced beside the three of them, moving around them in circles, emitting deep, threatening growls at the stranger.
At the drawbridge, the commander of the sentry detail approached and saluted Cassandra.
Brotherband: Scorpion Mountain Page 8