‘We’ll set a double watch. Wulf and Jesper, you take the first. Three hours, then wake Stefan and me. The rest of us better get some sleep. It’s going to be a busy morning.’
Hal let go the mainsheet and spilled the wind from the sail. The land sailer slowly trundled to a halt, its wheels rumbling and grumbling over the uneven surface of the desert. Not for the first time, he gave a mental vote of thanks to the chariot builders who had constructed those wheels to cope with this rough terrain.
He groaned softly as he straightened up, relieving the tension in his back muscles. The past hour had been an incredible strain, as he peered through the gathering dusk, trying to find a safe path.
Finally, he had to admit that it was time to stop. ‘I’ll sail us off a cliff if I keep going.’
Gilan had dismounted from his perch on the starboard outrigger. He studied the desert behind them long and hard, looking for some sign of pursuit. He could see nothing, but the failing light and the shadows cast by large rock outcrops could well have concealed riders coming after them.
‘Can’t see anyone,’ he said, at length.
‘Whether you can or not, we’re not going any further tonight,’ Hal told him. ‘And if there’s anyone riding after us, it’ll be just as difficult and dangerous for them in this light.’
‘Of course,’ Stig put in, ‘there may be no pursuit. I think that scar-faced man was glad to be rid of us.’
‘That’s true,’ Gilan agreed. ‘But we’d better set a watch none the less. Hal, you’re all in. You’ve been doing all the work today. You get your head down. I’ll take the first watch and Stig can take the second. That way, you’ll get six hours straight sleep.’
‘I can use them,’ Hal said wearily. He dragged his bedroll off the land sailer, then went to lower the sail and furl it. Stig took the halyard from his hand.
‘I’ll do that,’ he said. ‘You get some rest.’
Without argument, Hal spread out his bedding and literally fell onto it, rolling the blanket around him against the chill of the desert night air. Within seconds, he was asleep. Gilan regarded the still form for a few seconds, then looked at the spidery shape of the land sailer and shook his head once more in admiration.
‘He’s a remarkable young man,’ he said quietly to Stig.
The first mate nodded agreement. ‘We all look up to him,’ he said. ‘Funny, growing up in Hallasholm, he was something of an outcast. He was half Araluan and half Skandian and nobody completely trusted him because of it.’
‘You did,’ Gilan pointed out. Thorn had told him a little about the background of the Heron crew, how they had all been outcasts and misfits, yet had gone on to become the champion brotherband of their year. Stig looked at him, his bottom lip pushed out thoughtfully.
‘He saved my life,’ he said finally. ‘We weren’t friends or anything at that stage, but he risked his life to save mine. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.’
The Ranger nodded. ‘That’s a pretty good basis for a friendship.’ Then, changing the subject, he unpacked the last of their meagre rations. ‘Let’s eat, then you get some sleep. I’ll wake you for the second watch.’
Stig munched on a piece of stale flat bread, wrapping it round some salted pork with just a hint of Edvin’s precious pickles. He nodded wearily.
‘Amazing how good this can taste when you’re hungry,’ he said.
Six hours later, Hal woke instantly to the gentle touch of Stig’s hand on his shoulder. His eyes shot wide open and for a moment he lay still, not sure where he was or what he’d been doing. Then the memory of the wild, plunging ride on the land sailer came back to him and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Stig handed him a beaker of water and he drank deeply.
‘No coffee, I’m afraid,’ the first mate said. ‘Gilan didn’t think we could risk a fire.’
‘He’s probably right,’ Hal said, yawning. He drained off the water, then tossed his blankets aside. Rising to his feet, he shrugged on his sheepskin vest and buckled his sword belt around his waist. The weight of the sword on one side and the heavy saxe on the other was strangely comforting.
Stretching, he walked to the slightly elevated spot where Stig and Gilan had kept watch. It was a small outcrop of rocks and it gave a wider view of the desert around them. He scanned the horizon through three hundred and sixty degrees but there was nothing in sight. Yawning again, he settled down on the hard rock. Stig, he saw, was already stretched out in his blanket. Hal wriggled his buttocks on the hard rock.
‘No risk I’ll fall asleep on watch,’ he reflected.
But he was wrong. In spite of the hard, sharp-edged rocks, he began to nod off after an hour. He jerked awake, got up and walked around. Eventually, deciding he was fully alert again, he sat down once more.
And within a few minutes, he was asleep.
He awoke with a jerk and looked around guiltily. Stig and Gilan were still sleeping peacefully. But in the east, the first red streaks of dawn were showing. Then a sound alerted him – the soft whiffle of a horse’s breath. He swung round and his heart sank.
They were on an elevated piece of land, which afforded a good view of the desert around them. As he watched, a file of horsemen seemed to rise out of the ground behind their camp site, spread in a half circle to enclose them.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
STEFAN AND JESPER had shared the last watch. Now, as dawn began to break over the desert and the ocean, Stefan reached out to shake Thorn’s shoulder. The old sea wolf was leaning against the base of the mast, his sheepskin pulled up around his ears.
‘I’m awake,’ he said, before Jesper’s hand touched him. ‘Anything happening?’
‘Heard a bit of rustling and such a half hour ago,’ Stefan told him. ‘And we thought we heard voices – sounded as if they were trying to keep them quiet.’
Thorn smiled grimly. ‘That usually ensures that people can hear you,’ he said. He stood up and stretched, moving forward into the bow. There was a water skin hanging from the Mangler. He took it, rinsed his mouth and spat over the side. Then he peered through the shadows to the beach.
‘There’s something there,’ he said, pointing. ‘See those dark shapes on the edge of the water?’
Stefan followed the line of his pointing hand. There were several dark shapes lined up on the beach but, in the dim light, he couldn’t make them out.
‘What do you think they are?’
‘I’d say they’re the rafts Lydia saw them making, and they’re getting ready to launch them. Wake the others.’
The sun appeared over the eastern horizon and seemed to shoot up into the sky. The light intensified and, within a few minutes, the objects on the beach took on hard lines. There were five of them, Thorn saw. They were approximately four metres long by three wide, constructed from large bamboo trunks. He heard the rest of the crew moving behind him.
‘Get your weapons,’ he said quietly. He had moved back to his spot by the mast and was fastening his club-hand in place. His sword and saxe hung from his belt. For a moment, he considered donning his shield, then discarded the idea. He’d need both hands free in the coming fight.
The others gathered around him, all of them watching those five dark shapes on the water’s edge.
‘If it all goes pear shaped,’ Thorn said, ‘we may need to make a run for it. Edvin, be ready to cast off the anchor rope, then take the tiller. Stefan and Jesper, you stay ready to raise the sail and sheet home.’
‘What about me?’ Wulf demanded truculently. It was normally his job to look after the mainsheet.
‘You’ll help Ingvar and me keep them off the ship,’ Thorn said. After himself and Ingvar, Wulf was the most skilful fighter aboard.
‘Do you want me on the Mangler?’ Lydia asked.
Thorn shook his head. ‘The Mangler’s not very useful against bamboo rafts. It might smash a log or two, but the raft will stay afloat. Besides, I need Ingvar free to take care of any would-be boarders,’ he said. ‘He won’t be able to load
or train the Mangler for you. Use your atlatl and your darts. Take care of anyone who actually makes it on board.’
Lydia frowned. ‘I’ve only got half a dozen darts left,’ she said. She had lost some of her store of darts in the previous battle.
‘Then make them count,’ Thorn told her. He glanced around and saw Kloof, head on her paws, watching him intently. As usual when Hal was absent, she was tethered to a ring bolt in the deck. ‘Oh, and untie Kloof. If anyone makes it past us, she can be our second line of defence.’
‘That’s some second line.’ Wulf grinned.
Thorn studied him for a few seconds. Wulf had been more cheerful over the past few days. He claimed that he could somehow sense that his twin brother was regaining his health and strength. Just as well, Thorn thought. He didn’t want him distracted by concerns over Ulf in the coming battle.
‘Thorn?’ It was Edvin, peering at the beach. Instantly, Thorn swung to see what had caught his attention, the others following suit a second or so behind him.
‘Here they come,’ said Jesper.
A dark line of men were advancing quickly from the shelter of the trees in the oasis, fanning out to run to the beach in groups of six.
‘Stay quiet,’ Thorn ordered. ‘Let’s let them think they’ve caught us napping.’
The Ishti warriors reached the rafts and seized them, lifting them over the sand and launching them into the calm sea. Then they scrambled aboard – six men to each raft. They picked up paddles that had been left ready and began driving the clumsy craft out into the small waves that lapped against the beach. As they approached the ship, their courses began to diverge.
‘Two to port. Two to starboard. One over the bows,’ Thorn said, judging their courses. One of the starboard side rafts was pulling away from its comrades as its occupants paddled more skilfully. A mistake, Thorn thought. They should have made sure they all reached the boat at the same time to split the defences.
‘Wulf, Jesper, Stefan,’ he ordered. ‘You take the bow. Ingvar and Edvin, port side. I’ll look after these characters to starboard.’
The men on the rafts saw them moving and realised there was no further need for secrecy. They began to shout – whether it was war cries or calls of encouragement to each other, Thorn had no idea. He smiled mirthlessly.
‘Go ahead and waste your breath,’ he said. He glanced back to the beach, where three men stood at the water’s edge, urging on the paddlers.
‘Attack! Attack!’ shouted the one in the middle, obviously the commander. ‘Kill the invaders! Leave no one alive!’
His voice carried clearly over the water and his men responded with a hoarse chorus of cheers as they redoubled their efforts at the paddles. And, as so often happens in such cases, they lost their rhythm and technique and the paddling became ragged and haphazard.
‘Faster! Faster!’ screamed the man on the beach. ‘No prisoners! Kill them all!’
He spoke in the common tongue, which Thorn found a little strange. In fact, there was a good reason for it. The Ishti were recruited from half a dozen different tribes in the region, each with its own separate dialect. The common tongue was used for all battle commands, to avoid confusion.
Although, on this day, the opposite was about to happen.
The first raft bumped alongside the starboard side. An Ishti warrior seized the bulwark and dragged the raft closer. Then, as he began to heave himself up over the gunwale, he looked up in horror as Thorn appeared over the rail. The heavy club-hand swept down and smashed the man aside. He fell awkwardly, half in the water. The raft tilted crazily under him and one of his comrades went over the side. Spluttering and gasping in a panic, the man seized the raft’s side and tried to haul himself back aboard, setting it rocking and plunging once more. Another would-be boarder, off balance from the violent movements of the uncertain platform beneath him, staggered wildly, windmilling his arms for balance. Thorn’s sword caught him in the middle of the chest and he fell into the sea without another word.
The raft, listing badly to one side and not under control, drifted slowly away from the Heron’s side, the remaining four men on board searching frantically for their paddles.
But now the second raft was thudding into the Heron’s starboard side, and another had crashed heavily into the bow, where Wulf, Jesper and Stefan thrust and hacked at its occupants with sword and axe.
‘Wait till they’re almost on board,’ Wulf called to his companions. ‘Then hit them with everything you’ve got!’
Stefan and Jesper complied. There was a moment of opportunity as the boarders swarmed up onto the bulwarks – a split second where they were off balance and vulnerable. The three Herons took advantage of it and four of the boarders went over the side in quick succession. Two of them struggled to regain their position on the raft. The others floated clear, face down, trailing ominous ribbons of blood in the water.
As the port side rafts made contact, Ingvar let out a bellow of fighting rage and lunged with his voulge over the side. The blade stabbed in and out like a striking cobra, and three of the Ishti fell back from the ship in terror. But another raft had closed with the ship further aft and two men made it unscathed to the deck.
One of them went no further. A heavy dart flashed along the deck and thudded into his chest. He collapsed and crashed over onto the rowing benches. The second man took in his companion’s fate and yelled a challenge to Ingvar, who was standing with his back to him, the voulge now flashing in a giant circle like an axe.
Ingvar didn’t hear the challenge and didn’t see the threat. But as Lydia was reloading with one of her dwindling supply of darts, a black, white and tan blur streaked along the deck and, leaping the last two metres, smashed into the Ishti warrior, driving him to the deck, screaming in fear.
‘Good dog, Kloof!’ Lydia shouted, lowering the dart she had been about to cast.
The man, miraculously disentangling himself from the snapping, snarling dog, wasted no time in counterattack. He simply scrambled for the rail and heaved himself over it, hoping that there might be a raft below him.
There wasn’t. The warrior was wearing a heavy mail shirt. He hit the water with a mighty splash and never resurfaced. Kloof, frustrated by his escape, stood with her paws on the rail, barking furiously at the roil of disturbed water where he’d disappeared.
The second raft on the port side was relatively unscathed. The senior man on board gestured towards the stern of the Heron, where there were no defenders, and yelled orders to his men. They dragged their clumsy craft along the side of the ship and swarmed over the rail, halfway to the stern. One of them instantly flew back over the rail again as a dart hit him. But the other four began to advance on Lydia, who stood defiantly, with only a dirk to defend herself.
Then the voice of their commander cut through the confusion, loud and clear.
‘Retreat! Retreat! It’s a trap! Back to the beach now!’
The four men hesitated. The girl was so close, and looked utterly vulnerable. Perhaps that’s what decided them when their commander repeated his warning.
‘It’s a trap! Get out now!’
As one, they turned and scrambled back over the side onto their raft, and began paddling away towards the beach. The men on the other rafts heard the warning too. They disengaged and pulled away from the ship.
Thorn looked around, puzzled. ‘What the blazes just happened?’
On the beach, the commander of the Ishti was near apoplectic with rage as he saw his men withdrawing. ‘What are you doing? Attack! I tell you!’
Then, the same voice rang out again. ‘Retreat! Retreat! It’s a trap!’
Thorn looked around wildly, then saw Stefan leaning against the bowpost, his hands cupped around his mouth. Stefan shouted again, mimicking the enemy commander’s voice perfectly.
‘Back to the beach! It’s a trap! Look out! Sharks!’
It was the last word that really tipped the balance. The men on the rafts redoubled their efforts at the paddles and
drove their cumbersome craft back to the beach in record time.
Only to be greeted by their furious commander, who strode among them, slapping faces and striking out with the butt of his spear.
‘Cowards! Idiots! What are you doing?’
Stefan watched the performance with interest, then shouted through cupped hands – once more in the commander’s voice.
‘Don’t let him do that to you! He’s an impostor! Stick a sword in him!’
Then he collapsed in laughter, Wulf and Jesper slapping him on the back triumphantly. Thorn strode over to the three of them.
‘Nice work,’ he told Stefan. ‘I knew you’d come in useful one day.’
Ingvar and Lydia joined the others in the bow. ‘That seems to have sent them packing,’ Lydia said.
Thorn nodded, frowning. ‘It won’t work twice,’ he said. ‘That was a near run thing. Next time, we’d better be ready to get under way.’
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
FOR ONE WILD moment, Hal considered flight. But the land sailer was secured for the night, its sail lowered and furled along the boom, and the ring of approaching horsemen would be on them before he could get it hoisted.
He cursed himself bitterly for falling asleep and putting his companions in danger.
‘Gilan, Stig,’ he called, his voice bitter with the sense of failure. ‘Wake up. We’ve got company.’
Stig and the Ranger woke immediately. They were experienced warriors and were ready to wake and fight at the slightest sound of alarm. They tossed their blankets aside and rose to their feet, seeing the silent ring of horsemen closing in on them. In one flowing movement, Gilan slung his quiver over his shoulder, selected an arrow and nocked it. His bow was already strung. In enemy territory, Rangers always kept their bows ready. In the words of his old mentor, an unstrung bow is a stick.
At the same time, Stig stooped to the ground beside his bedroll and seized his axe. He stood now with it held across his body, his left hand balancing the weight just below the gleaming head.
Brotherband: Scorpion Mountain Page 32