02 The Invaders (41 page)

Rikard waved in farewell as the other crew trooped out behind Andras.

Zavac, who had left by a back exit, was waiting for his men in a side alley that led toward the quay. He had a heavy sack slung over his shoulder. Andras pointed to it.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

Zavac smiled fiercely. “Emeralds,” he said. “We’ll keep them safe for the others.”

Andras nodded. “Of course. Good thinking. Be a shame to let the Limmatans get them back.”

Both of them knew that the crews of the
Viper
and the
Stingray
had no chance of seeing any share of the precious stones. They could keep the attacking Skandians and Limmatans at bay while Zavac and his crew escaped in the
Raven
. Zavac studied the faces of his men for a few seconds, then selected one who had been with him for several raiding seasons. He was a man who had proved to be dependable on several occasions in the past.

“Zoltan,” he said, “make your way through the alleys to the mole and cut the cable on the boom. And burn the
Viper
,” he added, as an afterthought. No sense in leaving a ship behind for his enemies.
“Go south initially and you’ll avoid the Skandians. Then cut back west. We’ll pick you up as we head out. Stay on the mole and wait for us.”

The man nodded. “Aye aye, Zavac,” he said. He hitched his sword belt up, turned away and ran south, into the maze of alleys and cross streets that led off the square.

“The rest of you follow me,” Zavac said.

There were several relatively broad thoroughfares leading from the square to the harbor but he chose to ignore them. Any minute now, a horde of Skandians could come yelling down one of them. Instead, he led his men through the back alleys, his innate sense of direction keeping them heading toward the harbor, no matter how the streets twisted and turned.

They eventually emerged onto the quay a few meters from where
Stingray
was moored. Zavac peered out cautiously. There were several Skandians in sight, but the nearest was forty meters away. Others, seeing the quay was now swept clear of enemies—who had either died or withdrawn—had plunged into the network of streets and headed for the town center.

There were three men left on board
Stingray
to keep an eye on things. Zavac jerked his thumb at them and spoke quietly to Andras.

“Kill them. Then burn the ship.”

The flames, which had burned so fiercely, were finally dying down on the gate. A thick column of greasy smoke hung in the sky. Above the blackened gate, the defenders clustered, looking down anxiously to gauge the extent of the damage.

Heron
still rode the waves some hundred meters off the beach. Hal had called a council of war and his crew had moved forward and crouched round him.

“Ulf, Wulf,” Hal said quietly. “Have you got the battering ram?”

The previous day, Ingvar had found a driftwood log on the beach and fashioned a ram from it, fitting rope handles so he could swing it into the burned timbers of the gate. Now the twins would be wielding it in his place.

“It’s ready, Hal,” Ulf told him.

Hal looked at them. “There’s bound to be a locking bar of some kind on the gate. The fire won’t have burned through it completely, but it will have weakened it. A few good thumps with the ram should finish the job.”

Ulf and Wulf exchanged a glance and both nodded at the same moment. Hal turned his attention back to the gate.

So far, there had been no sign of archers on the palisade. But that could change at any minute. Hal glanced round and caught Lydia’s eye.

“Stay back and cover us while we head up the beach. Once we’re there, we’ll probably have their full attention, so you can join us.”

She nodded, licking her lips nervously, then glanced up and saw Thorn grinning at her. She scowled. She didn’t want him thinking she was afraid.

Hal was speaking to the twins once more.

“Once you’ve broken through, move to either side. Thorn will be leading the attack through the gate. Stig and I will be with him. You two come after us. Lydia, find a vantage point once we’ve broken
through and pick off any of the enemy who seem to be causing trouble.”

Lydia pretended to examine the sharpened iron point on one of her darts. She had been concerned that Hal would try to keep her out of the battle. His plan made sense. She had no pretensions about her ability to take on any of the pirates in hand-to-hand combat. They were stronger than she was, and more skilled in close-quarter fighting. This plan made the best use of her principal skill—her uncanny accuracy with the atlatl and its darts.

“What about Ingvar?” Ulf asked. “Are we just going to leave him?”

“I’ll stay with him,” Edvin said immediately. But Hal shook his head. Thorn had often impressed on him the fact that speedy treatment of battle injuries gave the injured man a better chance of survival.

“I want you with us in case someone’s injured. Stefan, you can stay behind and keep an eye on Ingvar.”

It was a good compromise. Aside from Edvin, Stefan was the least skillful with weapons. He was the one they could best spare from the coming fight. As he realized that he’d be two men short, Hal breathed a sigh of thanks for the presence of the Limmatan warriors. That would help even the odds against them.

“I’ll keep shooting as we go in. That should keep their heads down.” He looked at Ulf, Wulf and Edvin. “Keep loading as fast as you can. Thorn,” he said, and the burly one-armed man looked up at him. He was occupied changing his false arm—replacing the grasping hook with the massive, studded war club. “Once we’re on the beach, you lead. You’re the battle commander.”

He looked round the circle of faces, some anxious, some eager to fight.

“Do you all hear that? Thorn’s in charge once we’re off the ship. Follow him. Do as he commands. All right?”

There was a mutter of acknowledgment.

Thorn pulled the restraining strap tight across his forearm and looked around at his troops.

“When the twins have knocked the gate down—or what’s left of it—we move fast. I’ll lead, Hal on my left and Stig on my right. We’ll form a wedge. The rest of you, get behind us and widen it out as we drive through the enemy. Remember what I’ve taught you about not over-hitting. Odds are the ground underfoot will be tricky, so stay in balance.”

He paused expectantly. After a brief interval, there was an affirmative growl from the assembled crew. They were all watching him intently, wondering if they’d forgotten something vital, wondering how they would acquit themselves in this, their first battle.

Thorn sensed their uncertainty and smiled at them.

“You’ll do fine,” he said. “Just remember what I’ve taught you. I’ve done this hundreds of times. There’s nothing to it. Just keep your head, and follow my lead.”

He looked around, saw a measure of confidence returning to their faces and grinned reassuringly.

“Any time you’re ready, skirl,” he said to Hal.

chapter
thirty - eight

T
hey’re coming!”

Petrac, the Magyaran commander at the beach gate, yelled the warning. Not that there was any real need to do so. Every eye on the palisade was fixed on the little ship lying off the beach. She had been hove to and drifting for some minutes, presumably while her crew conferred. Now he saw the sail hauled in and she gathered speed and swung toward them.

Where are those archers Zavac promised, he thought bitterly. But in his heart, he already knew. They weren’t coming. There were no archers. Zavac had tricked him and abandoned him.

A man he’d sent down to inspect the damage to the gate scrambled back onto the catwalk now.

“It’s not good,” he said in answer to Petrac’s unspoken question. “The gate’s badly burned. The timbers were dry and some were even rotten. Worst of all, the locking beam is pretty badly burned in the middle.”

The locking beam was a solid timber bar that sat in brackets on either side of the gate to hold it closed. The oil and flames had
spilled through the gap between the two halves of the gate and done serious damage to it. Petrac’s face set in a worried frown.

“Maybe we should get down to the gate and get ready to hold them out,” one of his men suggested. But Petrac shook his head.

“We’re better up here for the moment. We’ll try to keep them back—throw anything we’ve got. Spears, rocks, axes. When they get close, we’ll get down to the—”

He was about to say “gate” but he was violently interrupted.

Something large and heavy smashed into the upright pine poles that formed the palisade. Splinters flew and the missile, whatever it was, cartwheeled end over end over the top of the wall, hitting one of his men and hurling him backward off the catwalk to the street below.

“Down! Down!” Petrac yelled, and threw himself flat on the planks of the catwalk. His men followed suit as another projectile smashed into the wall, a few meters to the left of the first. This one hit the small gap between two of the upright poles and penetrated for twenty centimeters before coming to rest. It sent more splinters flying, which wounded another man. Its sharpened point was reinforced with iron strips, Petrac saw.

He had little time to think about this any further as a third projectile hit the top of the palisade, smashing and splintering more poles, then cartwheeling high into the air before dropping to the ground below. This one caused no injuries, but the sound and the violence of the impact caused Petrac and his men to hug the ground even closer.

Now some semblance of reason returned to him. The projectiles were coming at intervals of about fifteen seconds. He signaled to one of his men.

“After the next one hits, get up and see where they are. You’ll have about ten seconds before they can shoot again.”

The man shook his head emphatically, refusing to meet Petrac’s eyes.

“I’m not poking my head up to have it knocked off,” he muttered. But the commander grabbed his sleeve and jerked on it, forcing the man to look at him.

“Do as I tell you,” he snarled. “There’s a gap between shots while they’re reloading. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

Yet another bolt glanced off the wall and cartwheeled up and over with an eerie, whimpering sound.

“Now!” Petrac yelled, and the man, galvanized by fear of his leader, suddenly leapt to his feet to see how close the ship was.

“They’re almost—” he began, then immediately reeled back, a sixty-centimeter-long dart buried in his chest. His eyes looked at Petrac, accusing him, for a second. Then he toppled off the catwalk and thudded to the street below. Shocked, Petrac hugged the ground a little closer. Having seen that, none of his men would be willing to show their faces above the palisade, he thought. He came to an abrupt decision.

“Down to the gate!” he yelled. “We’ll stop them as they try to break through!”

Hal felt the
Heron
’s bow grate gently onto the sand of the beach.

“On your way!” he yelled. Already the crew members were spilling over the bulwarks and into the shallow water, running up the beach toward the gate. Thorn was one of the first to go.

“Fan out!” he ordered. “Don’t group together!”

Ulf and Wulf carried the massive ram between them, stumbling
in the soft sand under its weight. Lydia went over the rail half a second behind them, landing catlike on her feet and beginning to run for the gate almost immediately.

Hal had a final bolt loaded in the Mangler. He spread his feet either side of the carriage and traversed it by “walking” the weapon from side to side.

Thorn and the others were almost up to the gate now. Still there was no sign of anyone peering over the top of the palisade. Hal’s hand clutched the trigger lanyard, ready to release the heavy bolt the moment he saw someone.

But there was nobody. Finally, seeing the twins and Lydia were nearly at the gate, he aimed at a random section of the palisade above the gate and released. The bolt streaked out. There was the usual splintering sound of wood and a cloud of sharp-edged fragments flew. Then, grabbing his shield, he slipped over the edge and dropped to the sand.

The soft sand grabbed at his ankles, hampering him, making him a perfect, slow-moving target for any archer who might be lurking on the catwalk. But there were none and he reached the relative safety of the gate overhang, puffing and panting, partly from the effort, but also from nervous tension.

“Glad you could join us,” Thorn said. “Are you ready?”

Hal held up a hand, regaining his breath.

“Just… a… moment,” he gasped. Then, after several deep breaths, he straightened and nodded.

“Ready,” he said. His shoulders still heaved, but he was almost recovered. By the time Ulf and Wulf smashed in the gate, he’d be fine. Hal gestured at the gate.

“I imagine they’re waiting for us,” he said. “There’s nobody on the wall now.”

“I imagine you’re right,” Thorn replied. “And that’ll be just too bad for them.” He gestured to the twins, then to the gate. “All right, boys, away you go!”

Holding the ram by the looped rope handles on either side, the twins set their feet and began swinging it back and forth, gradually building momentum.