The Hunters

by John Flanagan

  ‘Get them ready to move, Stig,’ he said. Sometimes, he thought, as he listened with half a mind to Stig bellowing commands for the fire to be put out and the cooking and eating utensils to be stowed back aboard, it was good to be the skirl.

  While the stream had widened considerably since they left the rift behind, it was still much narrower than the main river, so they continued under oars. But the water was calm and the current was with them, so the effort was minimal. After a further hour, they emerged onto the broad surface of the South Dan and Hal ordered the oars to be stowed and the sail to be run up. The wind was slightly off their port bow and he held the ship on a long, smooth tack, enjoying, as he always did, the sense that he was guiding a living object as the ship sent its subtle messages through its timbers and into the soles of his feet.

  Lydia and Stig joined him at the steering platform. Nobody spoke, but all three of them enjoyed the feeling of companionship. Thorn placed his back to the keel box and went to sleep, his new watch cap pulled down over his eyes. The rest of the crew relaxed on the rowing benches. Edvin checked Ingvar’s wound, as Hal had ordered. There was a small amount of blood seeping from it.

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he reassured the young giant as he re-bandaged it. ‘Just don’t do anything strenuous for a few days.’

  ‘Like what?’ Ingvar asked.

  Edvin considered for a few seconds, then said, straight-faced, ‘Well, for example, I wouldn’t go throwing Ulf and Wulf overboard for a day or so.’

  Ulf brightened at the words. ‘That’s encouraging,’ he said.

  Instantly, Wulf pricked up his ears. ‘That’s a poor way to describe it.’

  Ulf sat up a little straighter. ‘Oh, do you think so . . .’

  But Edvin cut off any further comment. ‘On second thoughts, a bit of light throwing exercise might be good for it. Just don’t extend too far on the follow-through,’ he said to Ingvar, while ostensibly ignoring the twins.

  Ingvar nodded solemnly. ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said. He looked meaningfully at Ulf and Wulf, who had fallen into a wary silence. Satisfied, Edvin sat back on the rowing benches and began to knit once more.

  ‘Who’s that for?’ Wulf asked, eyeing the half-finished watch cap.

  ‘You . . . if you don’t annoy me,’ Edvin said, without looking up. His fingers flew and the needles set up a staccato rhythm as the cap grew, row by row. Wulf said nothing. He really wanted one of the new caps and he felt silence was the safest course.

  Further conversation was curtailed as Hal called them to their sail changing stations. They had come to the end of their current leg. He judged that they had enough room to clear the next headland if they went to the opposite tack now. For a few minutes, the ship was the scene of the usual well-ordered turmoil as one sail came flapping down and another soared up in its place and was sheeted home. Then she settled on her new course, her bow butting rhythmically into the small waves that rippled the river’s surface.

  As they rounded the bend, the next stretch of river was laid out before them.

  ‘Hullo,’ Stig said. ‘Who can they be?’

  He was the first to speak, but everybody had seen the ships at the same time – except, of course, for Ingvar.

  There were five of them, four maintaining a ragged formation on this long, broad stretch of the river. They were wide-hipped, deep-hulled ships. They sat low in the water, bustling valiantly downriver under relatively small sails. To Hal, they resembled a group of elderly ladies, huffing and puffing on their way to market, eager to get the best bargains before their neighbours did, but not managing to move very quickly.

  The fifth was a different matter altogether. She was lean and fast, with a tall mast and a large square sail that was currently filled in a tight curve as she chivvied the slower ships like a sheepdog herding a group of fat, lazy sheep, keeping them moving as quickly as possible. There were ten shields mounted on either side and the hull was pierced for eight oars a side as well. She was obviously a fighting ship.

  ‘Twenty men in the crew, maybe more,’ Thorn said. Hal looked round in surprise. Nobody had noticed the old sea wolf rising from his snoozing spot by the keel box. Yet he must have moved before Stig had spoken. Maybe he sensed the presence of these ships, Hal thought.

  As they watched, the warship caught sight of them and she turned towards them, the square sail swinging round the mast so that she was sailing on a broad reach. She heeled over and a white bow wave formed at her prow.

  ‘Checking us out,’ Hal said thoughtfully. ‘Keep your weapons handy, everyone, just in case.’

  There was little need for the order. The crew always had their axes and swords within easy reach. He simply wanted everyone to be on the alert. He noticed that the crew of the other ship hadn’t taken their shields down from the bulwarks yet. Had they done so, it would have been clear that they were seeking a confrontation.

  He nudged the tiller. He had refitted the normal rudder after they had passed the rift. The long oar he had used in the rapids gave greater purchase, but it was unwieldy. Heron’s bow fell off a few degrees as he angled her away from the approaching ship.

  His eyes narrowed as the ship matched his change of course, keeping her bow pointed straight at them.

  He saw the helmsman on the approaching ship hand the tiller over to one of his crew and walk quickly forward to the bow. He was wearing chain mail and a helmet, Hal noticed. And a long sword was belted round his waist.

  The man stood in the bow of the ship and made a palms-down waving gesture with both hands. The meaning was obvious. Heave to. Then he held up his right hand, palm outwards – the international signal for peace. Hal thought for a moment. The other crew outnumbered the Herons, and he was reluctant to give away their sole advantage, which was his ship’s superior speed and manoeuvrability. But he sensed that the approaching ship wasn’t looking for a fight.

  ‘Let the sheets go!’ he called. As Ulf and Wulf spilled the wind from the sail, he brought the Heron to port, head to the wind. A few seconds later, he saw the other ship swing head to wind as well and, as the way came off her, the two ships drifted, five metres apart. They bobbed gently on the waves. The other ship had a carved hawk as a figurehead on her bowpost, Hal noticed. The hawk and the heron seemed to bow to each other with the motion of the two ships.

  ‘So let’s hear what he has to say,’ Hal said.

  The skipper of the other ship cupped his hands to form a speaking trumpet and called across the intervening water.

  ‘Can I come aboard to talk?’

  Hal hesitated for a second. He looked around the faces of his friends. Stig shrugged. Lydia was impassive. But he noticed she was fingering one of the long darts in her quiver – probably without realising it. Thorn returned his gaze and gave a brief nod. Hal was pleased to see it. His own reaction had been to agree to the request. Somehow, he didn’t think the other ship offered a threat to them.

  ‘Tell them one person only,’ he said to Stig. As the skirl, he didn’t need to be bellowing across the river to other ships. Stig relayed the message and the man on the other boat nodded.

  ‘Just me,’ he agreed. ‘Stand by for a line.’

  He had a coiled rope in his hand and he swung it now, hurling it towards Heron. Stig caught it as it sailed over his head and began to draw the other ship towards them. He grunted with the effort and Ulf and Wulf moved quickly to help him.

  As they hauled on the rope, the other ship turned bow on to them. They walked forward as they continued to haul in and, as their point of purchase changed, Heron swung as well, so that the two ships came together, bow to bow.

  Stig was standing in the bow of the Heron as the stranger went to board. He held up a hand.

  ‘Leave the sword,’ he said. The man glanced down, grinned and unbuckled his sword belt, letting the sheathed weapon fall to the deck of his ship.

  ‘Forgot I was wearing it,’ he said, then stepped lightly across the gap between the two ships, ignoring the ha
nd Stig stretched out to steady him. He’s a sailor, Stig thought. The carved heron and hawk now seemed to be sizing each other up at close quarters, bobbing up and down on the small waves as Wulf made the line fast.

  The stranger gestured aft, his eyebrows raised in a question, and Stig motioned for him to precede him. He looked with interest around the ship as he walked towards the steering platform, paying particular attention to the twin yardarms and sails. Reaching the stern, he looked around, and addressed Thorn.

  ‘What ship is this?’ he asked. Thorn shook his head and pointed to Hal.

  ‘Ask the skirl,’ he said. Then, realising that people this far south might not know the Skandian term, he explained, ‘The skipper.’

  The newcomer reacted with surprise as he saw how young the skipper of this ship was. But he recovered, and held out his hand in greeting. They clasped forearms briefly.

  ‘My apologies. My name is Mannoc, skipper of the Seahawk there.’ He indicated the craft behind him with a slight movement of his head. ‘I’m escorting that fleet of traders downriver to Drogha. May I ask what ship this is, and where you’re from?’

  And what you’re doing here? Hal heard the unspoken question as he studied the stranger. He was a well-built man in his late twenties. He was a few centimetres shorter than Stig, but equally muscular and athletic in appearance. His blond, shoulder-length hair was tied back in a queue. Hal noticed now that his helmet was surmounted by a small silver hawk, identical to his ship’s figurehead. He was clean shaven and had a guileless face and frank blue eyes that returned Hal’s gaze directly. He looked honest, Hal thought.

  Not that looks meant anything, he realised. If pirates and thieves looked like pirates and thieves, they’d never catch anyone by surprise. But . . . he felt an affinity for this man.

  ‘This is the Heron, and we’re the Heron brotherband.’ He indicated his crew with a sweeping gesture. Mannoc frowned at the term. He wasn’t familiar with it. ‘We’re from Skandia originally, but more recently we’ve been in Limmat on the east shore of the Stormwhite.’

  Mannoc nodded. He knew the name.

  Hal took a breath, then continued. ‘We’re heading downriver towards Raguza,’ he said.

  He saw the blue eyes narrow with suspicion and a frown furrowed Mannoc’s brow. He took an involuntary half pace back and his hand instinctively felt for his missing sword. Hal waited, then continued.

  ‘We’re hunting a pirate named Zavac. He’s skipper of a black ship called the Raven.’

  There was another flash of recognition from Mannoc at the two names. Before he could speak, Stig chipped in.

  ‘And when we catch her, we’re going to sink her.’

  There was an angry growl of agreement from the Herons. Lydia stepped forward.

  ‘And kill Zavac,’ she said bluntly. This time, the growl of assent from the crew was louder, almost feral. Mannoc relaxed visibly. The suspicion in his eyes died away.

  ‘So I take it you have no love for pirates,’ he said. It was Lydia who answered.

  ‘They invaded my town and killed my grandfather,’ she said. The hatred in her voice was all too apparent.

  ‘And they stole something very precious from us before that, and shamed our entire brotherband,’ Hal said.

  Mannoc nodded slowly, his gaze travelling from one face to another. He saw a mixture of determination and anger there. He knew of Zavac. Over the years, he had encountered the black ship on more than one occasion. And the encounters usually turned out to Zavac’s advantage. Now this crew of youngsters were planning to hunt him down and sink him.

  A thought sprang into Mannoc’s mind: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. But he couldn’t be certain.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Your story sounds logical. But those ships are in my care and I don’t plan to lose any of them.’ He gestured towards the small fleet of traders.

  ‘You have nothing to fear from us,’ Hal said.

  Mannoc regarded him steadily. ‘That’s as may be,’ he replied. ‘I doubt that you’re pirates, but I have to be sure.’ He looked around the river, gesturing to the thickly wooded banks. ‘This is a dangerous part of the river,’ he said. ‘We’re only two days from Raguza and pirates come up to this stretch to look for prey. Usually, they come in fleets of longboats, big rowing boats with a dozen or fifteen men in each. They dash out from cover along the banks and attack traders passing by. Their boats are fast and manoeuvrable and there are usually a lot of them. My job is to fight them off.’

  ‘And this concerns us . . . how?’ Hal asked. But he thought he knew. Mannoc looked at him, assessing him.

  ‘I don’t know you. I think you’re what you say you are, but I can’t be sure. So I don’t want you or your ship anywhere near those trading craft.’

  Hal shrugged. ‘Problem solved. We’re in a hurry, so we’ll go by you and keep sailing downriver.’

  But Mannoc was shaking his head.

  ‘I don’t want you getting in front of me. Too easy for you to hide, then dart out and take one of the traders. I need you to stay here behind me. Stay back where I can’t see you, and where you can’t see me.’

  ‘And if we don’t?’ Stig said pugnaciously. Hal shot him a warning look – there was no point in antagonising the stranger – but Mannoc answered calmly enough.

  ‘If you don’t, I’ll be forced to sink you.’ He looked quickly at Thorn as the sea wolf snorted with laughter.

  ‘That might not be quite as easy as you think,’ Thorn said. ‘These boys are young, but they’re highly trained.’

  ‘I’m sure they are. But I have twenty-five men on Seahawk, and they’re all seasoned fighting men.’

  He switched his gaze back to Hal and for a few seconds there was an impasse. Then he said, in a reasonable tone:

  ‘Look, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. I’m nine-tenths convinced you aren’t a threat. But I have to be ten-tenths. I don’t want to fight you and I’m sure you don’t want to fight me. But I can’t continue downriver looking back over my shoulder to see what you’re up to.’

  ‘I told you, we’re in a hurry. We don’t have time to waste,’ Hal said.

  Mannoc shrugged. ‘I can’t help that. But if we end up fighting each other, that’s going to cost you more than time. I’ll get those fat old trading ships moving as fast as they can. But I have to insist that you stay back, out of sight, while I get them to Drogha. It’s only four hours away.’

  Hal glanced quickly at his friends. He could see that Stig would prefer to ignore Mannoc’s demand, but Stig had always been impulsive. Thorn raised his eyebrows and pouted his lips. Hal took that to mean that the old warrior thought Mannoc’s point was a reasonable one. Lydia, as ever, was impassive. He hesitated, then realised that he was the skirl and the decision was his.

  ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll let you get clear. But keep them moving as fast as you can.’

  Mannoc smiled gratefully. He held out his hand to Hal once more and Hal took it.

  ‘I’ll get them rowing as well as having their sails set,’ he promised. He looked around the others and nodded to them all. ‘Thanks. If you ever need a favour from me, just ask.’

  ‘Well, we might need one if the Raven makes it to Raguza before we can catch her,’ Stig said belligerently.

  ‘Let it go, Stig,’ Hal told him. Stig flushed, then shrugged.

  Mannoc nodded to them all again, then turned back towards the bow. He was already calling orders to his men as he went for’ard. As he reached the Heron’s bowpost, he untied the rope lashing the ships together and leapt lightly across to the bow of Seahawk. His crew had run out several oars and they wasted no time backing the ship away from Heron. Hal heard the creaking of ropes as the sail went up the mast, before they’d completed their turn. Then it filled on the port tack and Seahawk pulled away from them, accelerating to catch up with the four traders, now a third of a kilometre downriver.

  ‘We should have told him to mind his own business,’ Stig said trucul
ently.

  Thorn couldn’t help smiling at the incongruity of his words. ‘Actually, that’s exactly what he was doing,’ he pointed out.

  ‘We should have called his bluff. He wouldn’t have fought us,’ Stig said, but Lydia disagreed.

  ‘He wasn’t bluffing. Didn’t you see his eyes? I think he’s a man who doesn’t make idle threats.’

  ‘Put yourself in his position, Stig,’ Hal said. ‘He’s responsible for those ships getting to Drogha safely. The river is infested with pirates and he doesn’t know us from a piece of beef jerky. And if we had fought him, we would have taken casualties. We could hardly go after Zavac if we lost two or three of the crew.’

  Stig went to answer, then thought better of it. Hal had a point, he thought. Sometimes, it was better not to fight – particularly when a fight wasn’t really necessary.

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said reluctantly. Then he paused, and smiled ruefully. ‘No. I know you’re right. Sometimes, I just don’t think things through.’

  ‘Only sometimes?’ Hal said.

  Stig scratched his head, thinking. ‘Well, I remember one time when I thought something through. I was ten at the time.’

  Hal grinned at him, glad that good feeling had been re-established among them. He glanced around, taking stock of their situation. Heron was drifting gently with the current, but she had swung broadside on to it.

  ‘Well, we may as well make some distance at least,’ he said. ‘There’s no need to just drift.’ He was about to call on Ulf and Wulf again, then realised that they’d been doing the bulk of the rowing in the past hours.

  ‘Stefan, Jesper,’ he called. ‘Take the oars and keep us moving slowly. We’ll spell you in an hour. For now, we might as well relax and enjoy the sunshine.’

  They continued, moving just ahead of the current. When they rounded the next bend, the little convoy was out of sight. Obviously, Mannoc had been true to his word and had convinced the trading ships that they needed to muster their maximum speed. The Heron half drifted, half rowed down this stretch of river, then rounded the next bend, this time to port.