by Warhammer
Five days later and Leerdamme was beginning to worry. Although he'd exaggerated how short on supplies he was to persuade Vierle, he really would have to turn back to Marienburg in the next two or three days. Perhaps five or six, he thought, if he could persuade the crew to shorten the rations a little with the promise of prize money.
He couldn't quite isolate a single reason why it mattered to him so much. Certainly he had seen devastated settlements before. He had even seen the unholy butchery of innocents. But there was something else this time, something that disturbed him on a spiritual level. Maybe it was the fact that he would be returning without a prize for the first time since he had captained his own vessel. He dismissed the notion, knowing that neither he nor his crew needed the money, and that his reputation would not be harmed in the slightest.
No, there was more to it than money and glory. The slaughter of the village had affected him more than any of the other grisly sights he had seen before. He couldn't reconcile what he knew of the Norse with what he had witnessed. There were too many unanswered questions, such as what had happened at the fort, and why the people had been left to die on the rocky island in the cove. There had been something terrifying unleashed there, something so horrific that his soul was yearning to bring justice to those who had set it free.
And where had the Norse gone, he wondered? Often they would raid for a month, sometimes even two, at a time, but he would swear by Manaan that these ones were still out there somewhere.
Just where they were hiding nagged at Leerdamme, only increasing his desire to see them again.
As if Manaan had answered his prayers, Leerdamme was called on deck in the middle of that afternoon. One of Vierle's wolfships was bearing down hard from the north, a red pennant fluttering at her masthead. As she closed, Leerdamme saw that it was Vierle's own ship, the Resplendant. Calling for the officer of the watch to set more sail so that they might catch up as quickly as possible, Leerdamme went back down to his cabin to await the other captain's arrival.
It seemed like an eternity but was in fact less than an hour until Leerdamme heard booted feet tramping on the deck above and the squeal of pulleys as Vierle's boat was pulled in to the side of the ship. He resisted the urge to race up to the deck and instead walked over to his cabinet and poured two glasses of Middenland brandy. Placing them on his small chart table, he sat down again and looked at the map of the Sea of Claws spread there.
He turned as Vierle knocked at the door, and called the young man in.
'Sit down, have a drink!' Leerdamme welcomed him. 'Nice of you to visit.'
'A single sail, nor'east,' blurted Vierle, standing behind the chair.
'Sit down, calm yourself. Have a drink,' insisted Leerdamme, standing up and forcing Vierle into the chair with a heavy hand on his shoulder. 'I'm sure Lord Douwe would not consider that a suitable report.'
'My apologies.' said Vierle with a bow of his head. 'I couldn't believe it, had to go to the top with a glass to see for myself.'
'And what did you see?' prompted Leerdamme.
'A red and white sail, just as you described.' grinned Vierle. 'I've got the Emmanuel and the Fortune to seaward of them, pushing them towards the north.'
'A single sail, you say?' asked Leerdamme. 'No sign of t'other?'
'No, we checked, but there's only one of them.' confirmed Vierle, the brandy glass clutched to his chest in both hands like a holy relic. 'She seemed awfully low in the water, perhaps the other ran into trouble and they had to take the other crew on board.'
'Maybe you're right.' sighed Leerdamme. 'What course are they heading.'
'Directly nor'east when we turned to find you.' Vierle answered quickly. 'They're heading straight as an arrow to Fjaergardhold, just like you said.'
'Well, we best make sure they don't get there.' said Leerdamme, standing up and draining his glass.
'The wind's turning against them, perhaps two point east.' remarked Vierle as they exited the cabin and made their way up the steps to the quarterdeck. 'If I take the Resplendant north while the wind's fair, we can turn her westward. Should be easy to chase her onto the others then.'
'Remember, you have to be in sight of the kill to get the prize, so don't dawdle.' warned Leerdamme as he escorted the wolfship captain back to the side where his boat was awaiting him. 'Run up a yellow pennant when you think she's about due west of me, and I'll follow you in!'
'Aye, captain, and may I say it's a pleasure to work with you,' smiled Vierle.
'You always were a sensible lad, Vierle. Keep with me and I'll see you right,' promised Leerdamme as Vierle lowered himself over the side with a jaunty wave.
The captain of the Graf Suiden turned and bellowed to the quarterdeck.
'Herr Verhoen, set t'gallants as soon as you like,' he roared. 'We've got some pirates to catch!'
CHAPTER FIVE
Escape
Sea of Claws, Summer 1711
'We must run!' said Bjordrin, grabbing Kurt's shoulder as he stood at the prow of the longship, brandishing his sword towards the Imperial wolfship that closed in over the horizon. To starboard, the high cliffs of Norsca could just be seen rearing above the distant sea.
'No! We will fight!' said Kurt, flinging Bjordrin to the deck with a sweep of his arm. 'Did we not face a legion of the dead? It is a single wolfship, no more than two hundred men.'
'And two long cannons in the bow that will crack our hull apart before we can board her,' said Bjordrin, picking himself up. He stood directly in front of Kurt and then pointed back to port. 'And there is more than one!'
Kurt looked to where Bjordrin pointed, and appearing just above the horizon were the topmasts of two more ships.
'They have us trapped.' Bjordrin said. 'If we run now, we can slip northwest, and lose them again in the icy waters west of Norsca. I have done this before, I know what we should do.'
Kurt growled to himself, staring murderously at the approaching Imperial ships, his sword still in his hand. Bjordrin flinched as the Chosen turned towards him, his gaze full of venom.
'How could you let us get ensnared like this?' demanded Kurt.
'It was you who insisted we head for Fjaergard as quickly as possible.' said Bjordrin in a hushed voice. 'They knew where we hail from, and they were waiting for us.'
'Then get us out of here.' said Kurt, pushing past Bjordrin and storming along the deck towards the stern. 'Jakob, get here!'
The shaman scurried along the deck from where he had been curled up midships.
'Swing the tide in our favour.' Kurt said, pointing to the shaman's rune-stones.
'I cannot.' Jakob said with a shake of his head. He pulled out the rune-stones. They were dull and lifeless in his hand. 'The gods require a sacrifice before they breathe again on the stones. There is nothing I can do.'
Kurt did not argue. He could feel the coldness in the air. This far north, he had expected to feel the surging winds of magic through his body, but there was nothing. The gods had left them to their own endeavours this time.
Bjordrin bellowed the order to furl the sail, man the sweeps and row northwards. It was a risky move, as wolfships were designed for chasing marauders in and out of the fjords and had their own oars for moving against the wind.
'Bend your backs to it!' roared Bjordrin. 'Row like never before unless you want to see your gold in the vaults of a fat Empire merchant!'
Bjordrin stared out over the side of the ship at the wolfship ahead, waiting for the change in the shape of the sails that would indicate they were turning into the wind and would be cutting them off. For several minutes the two ships were on a converging course, until they were close enough for Bjordrin to make out the small figures of the sailors on the rigging and manning the cannons.
'Come on, turn your bow cannons on us,' he said to himself, urging the enemy captain to change course. It was the only chance they had of breaking through - the wolfship to turn more directly towards them in the hope of crippling them with its cannons. If they surv
ived the few minutes of fire the enemy had, they would be in a position to race northwards, breaking for the open sea. By the time the wolfship had shortened sail and changed heading, they would be too far to catch them by nightfall and the Norse could slip back to Fjaergard in the darkness.
But it looked as if the enemy captain was content to head them off, risk a boarding action and hold them until his reinforcements arrived. Bjordrin cursed under his breath.
Then, slowly at first but with gathering speed, the sails of the wolfship fattened as it turned until its bow was slicing through the waves directly towards the longship. Bjordrin laughed aloud for a moment, and then fell silent as two puffs of smoke billowed from the wolfship's prow. A few seconds passed and then one cannonball skipped across the waves more than a hundred yards ahead, the other plunging into the sea with a fountain of white spume.
Bjordrin dashed down the deck to the tiller and took over from the man who was there. Laden down with the weight of the treasure they had taken, the ship was low in the water and handled sluggishly. Pushing his full weight against the tiller, Bjordrin strained as the rowing of the Norsemen dragged the ship forward, turning towards the wolfship. If he judged this right, they would have to weather two, perhaps three, more salvoes of fire and then they would pass by the wolfship with several hundred yards of open sea between them.
The captain of the wolfship had realised his mistake, and Bjordrin saw sailors scurrying up the rigging and pulling on ropes to shorten sail and reduce their headway. The cannons fired again, as the wolfship rose on a swell. A black blur whirred overhead, but the second shot impacted on the longship's prow, spraying splinters along the oar benches. Men slumped at the sweeps, bleeding from dozens of cuts, some falling to the floor, arteries severed, limbs torn to ragged stumps.
'Keep rowing!' Kurt bellowed as some of the Norse stood up to help their wounded comrades.
The two ships were less than three hundred yards apart now, heading directly towards each other. The stylised wolfshead ram jutting from the prow of the enemy vessel was plated with polished silver, dripping water as it sliced through the heaving waves. Bjordrin swung the tiller around, throwing his weight to the other side of the deck, heading to pass along the port side of the wolfship.
Bjordrin watched as the wolfship's sails were furled and sweeps were run out from its sides.
'Too late!' he crowed as the enemy oarsmen began to pick up the rhythm of the stroke and the wolfship turned into the wind. He turned to the Norseman who waited beside the tiller and nodded for him to take the helm. 'Keep her straight ahead.'
He joined Kurt in the middle of the deck, just in front of the mast, and stood there watching the Imperial wolfship foundering as it tried to turn quickly to keep its prow pointing at the Norse vessel.
'Call yourselves sailors!' roared Bjordrin, raising a fist in triumph as they swept past the wolfship, barely a hundred yards away. Kurt was shouting too, his sword pointed at the enemy captain standing on the quarterdeck of the other ship.
Handgun fire crackled and bullets whined nearby but missed their mark. Kurt pointed up to the sharpshooters in the wolfship's rigging, busily reloading their muskets. Bjordrin slapped his chest, defying them to hit him.
As the wolfship passed astern, another volley of fire sent bullets whirring into the deck planking. A smoking ball wedged into the masthead beside Bjordrin's head and he flinched as a sliver of wood embedded itself in his cheek. Blood trickled down onto his lip and he licked it.
'The taste of battle,' he said with a grin. He and Kurt walked to the stern and watched the wolfship as it continued its long turn. By the time it was following them, they would be a mile ahead and pulling away northwards.
Kurt clapped a massive hand to Bjordrin's shoulder.
'I'm sorry.' Kurt said. 'I asked you to be my captain, I should not have doubted you.'
Bjordrin's smile faded.
'You are an intelligent man, Kurt.' the Norseman said. 'You will be a great leader one day. You can fight better than any man I have ever known, but you must learn that there are some fights that even the strongest warrior cannot win.'
Kurt did not reply, but turned and walked away, his sword still in his hand.
He won't listen, Bjordrin thought. Men who hear the voices of the gods never listen to the voices of men.
Kurt stood looking up at the stars, feeling welcome at the familiar sight after the strange night skies of the Great Ocean and Araby. They had waited for night to fall before turning south again, hoping to slip past the prowling Imperial ships. Mannslieb, the white moon, was half full and low on the horizon, while Morrslieb was yet to rise. Only a few miles east lay the coast of Norsca, and the glorious return that awaited them.
The sail flapped, breaking the quiet of the ship. Most of the crew were asleep, a few still awake to respond to Bjordrin's clipped orders to trim the sail as the wind veered and shifted occasionally. Kurt strolled along the deck, the sight of the treasure-filled sacks and chests wedged into every available space bringing a smile to his lips. His first raid, one of the greatest of any Norscan, was about to end.
He savoured the feeling of success. Never before had he felt such triumph. Not when he had been a knight of the Osterknacht. Not even when he had slain the witch hunter, Marius van Diesl, and avenged the murder of his parents. This time he had set out to do something, and he had achieved it. He had earned and fought for everything he now had, and the sensation was better than any false glory he had been given before. Now he truly felt like he was the Chosen.
As he watched the stars rising and falling with the movement of the ship, he leaned against the mast and looked out over the prow. Somewhere out in the darkness lay Fjaergard, and Anyata and Heldred were waiting there for him. He longed to see his wife and son again, and the thought that the time when he would do so was closing fast only heightened his contentment. Surely even the richest count or king never felt so happy.
Something odd in the sky above the horizon attracted his attention. He could see a cluster of yellow stars that he had never seen before. They seemed to sway against the blackness. He walked to the tiller to ask Bjordrin about them.
'What do you call that group of stars over there?' Kurt said, pointing at the group of yellow pinpoints of light.
Bjordrin looked at them for a moment and then hissed.
'I call them lanterns, you fool,' Bjordrin said.
Kurt looked again and only then did he see the slightly paler expanse behind the spots of light, reflecting their glow. Under topsails, the Imperial greatship was bearing down on them.
'Rouse yourselves!' shouted Kurt, running down the deck. 'Wake up!'
Bjordrin grabbed a shield and drew a knife from his belt banging its hilt repeatedly against the shield boss, the metallic thudding resounding along the ship. With sleepy murmurs, the men and women awoke, grasping for weapons and shields, staring bleary-eyed around the ship.
A loud retort and a flash of orange signalled the greatship's first shot, the ball whining past the longship's stern and splashing into the sea a hundred yards further on.
'Ranging shot,' said Bjordrin, handing the tiller to another sailor so that he could ready his own battlegear. Kurt ran up beside him.
'This is one of those fights we cannot win?' he said, casting a glance at the greatship. She was beginning to turn, bringing her full two-deck broadside to bear against the longship.
'We'll be crushed by the first salvo.' said Bjordrin with a nod.
'Then let's turn and head away. Surely we can outrun her.' said Kurt, gripping the stern of the ship until the wood began to splinter under his incredible strength.
'That would make things worse.' said Bjordrin. 'If they fire at the stern or prow, the cannonballs will travel the length of the ship, destroying us even more quickly.'
'Then what do we do?' Kurt asked, releasing his hold on the ship's timbers and taking an uncertain step towards the prow.
'Turn with her, keep between their broadside and
forecannons, and head for shallow waters.' Bjordrin told him. 'It's the only way we can shake them loose.'
'I trust you.' Kurt said, gripping Bjordrin's arm. 'Is there anything I can do?'
'Youare the Chosen, you can pray to the gods that you are still in their favour.' said Bjordrin before walking away, shouting orders to keep the longship on the same heading as the Imperial vessel.
Kurt strode to the mast and drew his sword, though there was nothing that he could do with it to help them out of their predicament. He stood there in anxious frustration as the crew hurried to their tasks around him, casting occasional fearful glances at the immense greatship that could be seen looming in the darkness, gliding along to port and astern of them.
As they pitched and rolled through the waves, the greatship set her mainsails and began to overhaul them. The slap of waves against hull, the heavy, nervous panting of the crew and the creak of timbers were the only sounds to be heard in the still night.
Time passed. Mannslieb rose higher in the sky and the green glow of Morrslieb appeared on the horizon. Nothing had changed. Not a shot had been fired, not a shout heard. Kurt turned as he heard footsteps on the planking, and saw Bjordrin walking towards him.
'Disciplined crew, sensible captain.' Bjordrin said.
'How do you know?' asked Kurt, turning to the Norseman.
'See how he waits.' Bjordrin said. 'He knows his ship is faster, but we can turn more quickly. He also guesses that we are running for the coast.'
'So?' said Kurt.
'He is hoping to trap us between him and the coast, and then come alongside and blow us out of the water.' Bjordrin said. 'He is a patient man. Other captains would open fire quickly. He has been waiting here for us. He used the wolfships to scare us northwards, knowing we would come back this way at night.'
'Perhaps you'd like to join his crew instead?' said Kurt.
'Respect for enemies who deserve it is not wrong,' Bjordrin said. 'Only by the quality of the enemies we outwit or defeat can the gods judge us.'