02 The Invaders (36 page)

“They’re hoping to contain the splinters!” he said. “They’ve seen how much damage they do!”

Hal felt a sudden surge of uncertainty. The flying splinters had proved to have a deadly effect on the defenders—far more than he had expected. Now the pirates had found a way to counteract them. And the heavy, draped cloth might even prevent the bolts from penetrating the balustrade. They’d certainly absorb some of their force. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, desperate for a way to counteract this unexpected tactic.

Then a grim smile spread across his face.

“Edvin, get a fire bolt ready. Ingvar, unload the bolt in the Mangler.”

Originally, Hal had only planned to use the fire bolts to ignite the oil bladder on the beach gate. But now he saw an unexpected opportunity for them.

Ingvar removed the projectile that he’d loaded into the Mangler and replaced it in the ready rack. Edvin fetched one of the fire bolts from the tub by the mast. He crouched on the deck and produced
a flint and steel, and a tinderbox. After half a dozen strikes, he had a small handful of tinder flaring up in the tinderbox. Carefully, he held the fire bolt’s head in the flame. The oil-soaked cloth caught almost immediately, the flame quickly spreading to the pitch. Edvin closed the tinderbox, snuffing out the flames inside, and handed the burning bolt to Lydia.

“Hold this,” he said briefly. Then, staying low, he moved to the bow and took up a bucket of water he’d left ready. He threw the water over the front of the Mangler, liberally soaking the wood where the burning head would be seated. This was all part of a prearranged drill Hal had devised.

The deadly rattle of arrows against the hull and deck began once more.

“Load it now, Ingvar,” Hal said. He didn’t want to wait any longer for Ingvar to be exposed. Lydia passed the fire bolt to Ingvar and the big boy reached up to place the smoldering bolt in position. The burning head hissed against the soaked wood, and Ingvar, staying low, scuttled back behind Hal.

“Stay down, everyone,” Hal warned. “Ready, Thorn?” he called.

The one-armed sea wolf met his eye and nodded.

Hal crouched over the Mangler, slowly winding the elevation handle and watching the sights rise to line up with the balustrade. This time, he had a much larger target to aim for, so there was no need to go in as close as before.

“One shot only,” he told Ingvar. He didn’t want the big boy exposed while he reloaded. If the fire bolt worked, there’d be no need for a second shot.

Ingvar grunted assent. He was crouched behind the mass of the crossbow carriage, his hands on the traversing lever.

“Left… left… right a little. Steady there,” Hal called.

He flinched as an arrow struck the front of the Mangler’s carriage and glanced off. Then he focused his attention on the sights, trying to ignore the sound of arrows striking the hull and zipping through the sail. I’ll have to patch that sail when this is over, he thought with a detached part of his mind.

The foresight lined up as the ship reached the crest of a wave, sank below the target as she swooped into the trough, then started to rise again. He eased the elevating cog to compensate, then, a second or so before the ship reached the next crest and the sight was centered on the heavily draped balustrade, he pulled the trigger lanyard. There was the usual slight delay, then…

SLAM!

The Mangler bucked wildly in recoil. The fire bolt streaked away, trailing a thin ribbon of gray smoke behind it. In the instant that it released, Hal knew the shot was good and he watched the thin trail of smoke as it headed straight for the center of the balustrade.

Stig was already bringing the
Heron
’s bow around to head back out to sea and out of range. They heard the dull thud of the bolt striking the tower, exactly where Hal had aimed it. Staying low, he craned around to watch for the result, as the ship swung away from the target. Three more arrows rattled against the hull and the shields ranged along the starboard bulwark.

Then he saw it. A bright flash of flame shot up from the center of the balustrade. The fire bolt had impacted right in the center of
a straw-filled mattress. There was a pause of a few seconds while the flames, suppressed by the wind of the projectile’s flight, rekindled. Then the dry straw and canvas caught and flared wildly, the flames feeding hungrily on the perfect tinder.

“Throw it off! Get rid of it!” the watchtower commander screamed. But the flames, fanned by the sea breeze, were crackling fiercely and none of his men were willing to risk being burned. They backed away, shielding their faces from the heat.

“Curse you! Help me, you cowards!” the commander raved. He drew his sword and, holding it two-handed, tried to snag it under the mattress so that he could throw it clear. But already the flames had spread to the blankets and mattresses on either side. The flames singed his arms and eyebrows as he struggled with the heavy, burning mass of linen and straw.

He managed to tip it over the side of the railing and felt a momentary surge of triumph as it began to fall free. But his optimism was short-lived. The mattress was securely pinned to the timber by the bolt that had set the fire. It fell a meter or so, then stopped, hanging out of his reach, with flames flaring up, licking hungrily at the wood of the tower.

When Hal had planned to use a fire bolt against the beach gate, he knew he would need oil to help set the wood burning. The gate was aged, seasoned hardwood and a single fire bolt would not be enough to make it catch. But the tower was a different matter altogether. The planks and frame were pinewood—soft wood that was oozing with resin and, as a result, highly flammable. But even with this wood, a single fire source like a flaming bolt might not have
been enough. It could have been quickly extinguished. The commander had made a fatal mistake when he draped the length of the balustrade with highly combustible cloth and straw. Now the flames ranged along the entire front of the balustrade, and the planks and frames were already starting to burn beneath the cloth.

To make matters worse, there was no real water supply available—just a few jugs of drinking water for the sentries. There was no way for them to extinguish the flames. The tower was doomed.

A hundred meters away from the tower, Svengal led his men out of the swamps and onto firm ground. The Skandians paused, slightly awestruck, at the sight of the flames now rapidly soaring up the sides of the balustrade and the guardhouse at the top of the tower.

The
Heron
, apparently unscathed, cruised smoothly back out to sea, turning toward the companion tower on the other side of the harbor mouth.

“By Orlog’s crossed eyes, he’s done it,” Svengal said. He shook his head in admiration. Nobody had foreseen a result quite as dramatic as this one. He glanced around his men. They had all stopped. Several were leaning on the hafts of their axes as they watched the tower’s superstructure burning. So far, the flames hadn’t spread to the supporting framework, but that was only a matter of time.

“Looks like our job’s done for us, chief,” one of the crew said to him. Then Svengal noticed a line of men hastily stumbling down the wooden ladder that led from the watchtower. He pointed his ax toward them.

“Not quite,” he said happily. “There’s still a little mopping up to do.”

Then he took a deep breath and bellowed the traditional Skandian command for battle.

“Let’s get ’em!”

Wolfwind
’s crew moved forward with a roar. The scorched and bewildered pirates who had made their way down from the burning watchtower turned to see an even more dreadful sight than the flames that had nearly consumed them.

Skandians. Ready for battle.

Concealed in the tree line, Barat and his men watched the
Heron
’s attack on the first of the towers. From their position, the tower itself was mostly concealed by the palisade and the intervening buildings of the town.

They watched as the
Heron
approached the tower, heard the distant slamming sound of the Mangler releasing twice, then saw the ship pirouette neatly and head back out to sea.

Barat glanced at Jonas. “Didn’t seem to accomplish much.”

Jonas shrugged. “Who can tell? But the odds are they’ve got everyone looking their way.”

“Maybe,” Barat said. He fidgeted with his sword hilt as he saw the
Heron
turn once more and head back inshore, this time angling for the other tower. The details of this attack were completely obscured, but a few minutes after the ship had gone out of sight behind the eastern harbor mouth, the watching Limmatans saw a thin spiral of smoke rising above the town, from the direction of the western tower.

Before long, it had grown into a thick, gray-black banner. Something was well and truly on fire and, judging by the direction of the smoke column, it could only be the tower.

“They’ve done it,” Jonas said.

Barat frowned. It appeared that the second attack had been successful—more successful than anyone had foreseen. He looked around. His men were poised behind him, weapons ready, faces tense. Back in the trees, they hadn’t seen what had happened.

“The tower’s on fire,” he said to them now. “That’s going to get everyone’s attention, so let’s go.”

As one, they rose to their feet. There was a low, concerted growl from thirty-eight throats and he held up a hand in caution.

“Quiet! No war cries. No shouting. And stay close to the trees. The closer we can get before we’re spotted, the better chance we’ll have.”

He waited, looking intently around their faces, until he was sure the message had been taken on board.

“Where are the climbers?” he asked, and four men stepped forward. Each one was carrying a bundle of short planks wrapped in rope—coiled rope ladders.

“Grapnel men?”

Two more signified their presence with raised hands. In addition to their weapons, they carried several ropes, each with a three-pronged grapnel at the end. It would be their job to throw the grapnels over the palisade and hold the ropes taut while the climbers mounted the wall and dropped the rope ladders behind them.

“The rest of you, stand ready to help out with bows, slings and spears while they’re climbing,” he ordered. Again, there was a mutter of assent.

“All right,” he said finally. He glanced out to sea and saw the
Heron
was turning back in for another run at the eastern tower. Judging by the smoke, the western tower was now well alight.

I doubt there’ll be a single eye turned our way, he thought. Then he waved his men forward.

“Right. Follow me and keep quiet!” he said, and began to jog along the fringe of the tree line. The soft sand muffled the sound of the thirty-eight pairs of feet that followed him.

There was no sign of defenders on the palisade wall ahead of them.

chapter
thirty - four

A
s they reached the farthest extent of their run out to sea, Stig swung the
Heron
around to head back for a second attack on the eastern tower. Hal rose from his seat behind the Mangler and held up a hand.

“Heave to for a minute, Stig!” he called. Stig nodded, a slightly puzzled frown on his face, as he brought the ship’s head into the wind.

“Let go the sheets,” he told Ulf and Wulf. As they de-powered the sail,
Heron
slowed to a stop, rising and falling gently on the even swell. Hal gestured for Thorn to follow him and made his way aft. Lydia, not wanting to be left out, followed the two of them.

“I’ve had an idea,” he said as they reached the steering platform. Stig was gently working the tiller back and forth, keeping the ship’s head directly into the wind.

“How unusual,” Stig said, grinning. He’d guessed as much when Hal had signaled for him to heave to.

“You’re planning on using another fire bolt?” Thorn suggested.

Hal nodded. “Exactly. Once you get that pinewood burning, nothing will stop it.”

“Except this time, the garrison aren’t going to be kind enough to cover the platform with straw and dry cloth,” Thorn observed.

“True. But look at the support framework, just below the platform.” Hal pointed and they all peered at the distant structure. “There’s a point there where three beams intersect—one vertical, one horizontal and one diagonal. It’s the main support point for that side of the tower.”

Slowly, the others nodded as they saw what he was pointing to.

“That junction point is a pretty big target. And even if I don’t hit it exactly, there’s a good chance I’ll hit one of the three beams. If I can put a fire bolt in there, the wood will catch—maybe not as quickly as the watchtower with the mattresses all over it. But it’ll burn eventually. And once it does, the platform on top will come down. It’ll be much more effective than battering away with ordinary bolts.”

Stig and Thorn exchanged a glance.

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Stig said, and Thorn concurred.

“Certainly worth a try. Do you think you can hit it from a hundred meters? They’ll be ready for us this time and they’ll be shooting back. We’ve been lucky so far that nobody’s been hit.”