Brotherband 3: The Hunters (39 page)

‘The duel starts in half an hour,’ he called. ‘You’d best get to your starting position.’

He spoke to his oarsmen and their oars dipped and pulled. The longboat slipped smoothly away from them, heading back to the harbour. Hal reached over to the thirty-minute sandglass mounted near the tiller and tipped it. The grains began to trickle through from top to bottom.

‘Nice of him to wish us good luck,’ Hal said.

Stig grinned at him. ‘He’s probably got his money on
Raven
, too.’

‘Then he’ll lose!’ Lydia’s voice called from the bow. Ingvar rumbled agreement.

Hal took a deep breath. The wind was coming from the starboard side.

‘In oars,’ he called. There was the usual sliding rattle of wood on wood as the oars came in and were stowed. Then the crew moved to their positions for sailing.

‘Jesper, Stefan, raise the port sail!’

There followed the squeak and rattle of halyards through the blocks and the port yardarm and sail slid quickly to the top of the mast, clunking into place in the cradle that held it steady. There was no need to order Ulf and Wulf to the sheets. They were already in place.

The ship seemed to hesitate for a second or two, then the twins hauled in on the trimming sheets and the sail flapped momentarily, then filled with a dull
whoomp
sound. The
Heron
accelerated as smoothly as her namesake, swooping smoothly across the low swell towards their starting position.

‘Keel please, Thorn,’ Hal called and Thorn shoved the fin down through the keel box. Instantly, Hal felt the steadying pressure as the ship’s downwind drift was reduced to almost nothing. He glanced astern. They were carving a pure white wake through the brilliant blue of the sea. As he looked, he saw
Raven
’s black prow emerging through the breakwater.

‘Ease the sheets a little, boys!’ he called. ‘No sense in showing him how fast we can travel.’

Ulf and Wulf eased the sail out and the
Heron
’s speed fell away. But even at this reduced speed, they reached the blue-flagged longboat in a matter of minutes. Hal glanced at the timer. Less than half the sand had run through. He passed the longboat, then tacked and came round level with her, facing back towards Raguza.

Then he ordered the sail down and they drifted.

Waiting was the worst part of it, he thought. The ball in his stomach was tighter than ever. He studied his crew’s faces. They were grim and tight-set for the most part. Stig tried to appear unconcerned, but Hal could see his fingers drumming on the handle of his battleaxe, where it lay ready beside him. He wanted to say something that would raise their spirits and ease their nerves. That’s what a good skirl would do, he thought. But he couldn’t think of anything to say and besides, he knew that if he tried to speak, his dry mouth and tight throat would betray him and his voice would break into a squeak.

Not an inspiring sound, he thought.

The silence dragged on. He looked at the sandglass again. The grains seemed to be falling one at a time. He peered at the red and blue flag. Had it moved? He thought it had, then realised it had simply flapped in a momentary lull in the breeze and now was standing out from the staff once more. The two harbour breakwaters were black with small figures. Spectators, he realised – most of them betting against him and the
Heron
.

Come on, he thought, his fingers clasping and unclasping on the smooth oak of the tiller. Let’s get it over with.

‘See this helmet?’

Thorn’s booming question took him by surprise. The old sea wolf had moved away from the keel box to a position in the very centre of the ship. He was pointing at the massive horned helmet he wore – the treasured headgear of all Skandian warriors.

‘I’ve had this helmet for nigh on thirty years. I’ve worn it on raids. I’ve worn it in battles. It’s seen more action in its time than most warriors you’ll ever meet. It’s saved my life on a dozen occasions. And I’ve been proud to wear it. It’s the symbol of a Skandian warrior.’

He had the attention of everyone on board now. Then he stepped to the port rail and removed the helmet.

‘But I don’t want it any more.’

There was an audible intake of breath from the entire crew as he drew back his left arm and tossed the helmet high into the air, so that it arced, then tumbled, spinning slowly, end over end, into the sea. All eyes followed its trajectory and someone let out a low cry of amazement as the helmet threw up a white splash, surprisingly smaller than they expected, then disappeared. When they looked back to Thorn, he was wearing a new piece of headgear. He had pulled on his black watch cap, with the white outline of a heron on it.

‘This is the symbol I choose to wear now. The Heron brotherband symbol. No beat-up old helmet could make me as proud as this.’

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the entire crew began cheering as he grinned at them, nodding his head and pointing proudly to the black watch cap, identical to the ones they all wore. He strode up and down the centre of the deck as they continued to cheer. And Hal cheered with the rest of them. The tight ball in his stomach had gone. He felt relaxed, confident and ready to face whatever was to come. He looked at the cheering, laughing faces of his friends and knew they all felt the same way.

Thorn, you’re a genius, he thought. Then the old sea wolf drew his attention to the harbour mouth.

‘I think the party’s starting,’ he said cheerfully.

The red and blue flag was sliding down the flagstaff as Hal looked. The duel had begun.

A
stir of excitement ran through the crew. Jesper and Stefan moved towards the halyards, ready to raise the sail. Hal held up a hand.

‘Wait,’ he said. He wanted to see what Zavac’s tactics were going to be.

Heron
rocked gently on the swell and he saw the rectangle of
Raven
’s sail suddenly appear as her crew unfurled it and let it drop. Then the shape narrowed as they braced it round to port and the black ship began to surge forward, heading straight for them.

Hal nodded to himself. As he expected, Zavac wasn’t wasting time with subtleties or fancy manoeuvring. He was charging headlong at them, intent on getting to close quarters as soon as possible, then ramming and boarding them. He was conscious that his own crew had their attention fixed on him. He realised, with a remote part of his mind, that now the waiting was over, he was calm and steady. He cleared his throat, making sure that he didn’t squeak his first order.

‘Starboard sail,’ he called. He was pleased to find that his voice was normal.

The yardarm went up smoothly. The sail filled and
Heron
came alive again, accelerating smoothly away, leaving the longboat behind in her wake. As she gathered speed, the initial
thump-thump-thump
of small waves against her hull blended into one constant – a hissing, sluicing sound as she sliced through the water before her.

Hal crouched to look below the sail so he could see
Raven
. She had her bow pointed at the
Heron
but, with her shallow keel, she was drifting downwind. Her real course would take her well to their right. Zavac should have pointed her higher if he wanted to intercept them. But, as Hal had suspected since he saw Zavac run his ship aground during his escape from Limmat harbour, the Magyaran wasn’t a very accomplished helmsman. He didn’t have Hal’s instinctive feel for speeds and angles.

Heron
, with the additional steadying effect of her fin, was going downwind at a much slower rate. That didn’t suit Hal’s purpose. He twitched the tiller and brought the bow around to starboard, so that she was heading closer to the black ship, aiming to pass down her starboard side, on a parallel course.

‘Ingvar! Load the Mangler!’ he called. He didn’t like to leave the massive weapon under strain for too long, but now was the time to get it ready. Ingvar waved and stepped forward to the giant crossbow, seizing the twin levers and hauling them back to set the cord. Then he placed one of the massive bolts in the loading trough and signalled that he was ready.

‘Stig!’ Hal called, and the tall young warrior moved from the rowing bench to stand beside him, ready to take the tiller.

‘We’ll head down his starboard side. He’ll try to turn into us to ram. I’ll swing away at the last minute, then we’ll circle back in at him from astern. Point me at his starboard side,’ Hal said. The Mangler was restricted to shooting in a forty-five-degree arc on either side of the bow. To engage the
Raven,
they’d have to be pointing towards her.

Stig nodded, frowning in concentration. He’d leave it to Hal to judge that initial turn away from their enemy. It had to be timed perfectly and Hal’s judgement was better than his.

The crew were tensed at their positions. Hal noticed that Thorn had equipped himself with a large circular shield from the racks on either side of the ship. The old warrior was standing ready, just astern of the mast. Lydia was crouched in the bow, her atlatl in her hand, a dart already fitted to it. He became aware of a new sound, realised it was the crew of the fast-approaching
Raven
, shouting threats and curses at them. He studied them closely. He could see that two of them had short bows. The others were armed with an assortment of spears, swords and clubs.

‘Lydia!’ he called. ‘There are two bowmen.’

He saw her nod, although she didn’t look back at him. Her gaze was fixed on the onrushing
Raven.

‘They’ll be first to go,’ she said. Thorn chuckled. This time she did take her eyes off the enemy. She glared at the bearded old sea wolf. Then she returned her attention to the
Raven.

‘Wait!’ Hal called. ‘We’re going to swing away, then back in.’

She didn’t reply, but raised a hand in acknowledgement.

One of the bowmen on the other ship took a shot at them. But either he was too excited or he misjudged the roll of the ship. Or maybe he was just a bad shot. His arrow soared well ahead of them. The other man shot a few seconds later. His arrow rattled against the hull, forward of the mast.

‘He’s getting close,’ Stig said. His voice was tight and his eyes were fixed on the white water foaming away from the vicious ram in
Raven
’s bow. Hal said nothing. If he turned too soon, Zavac could slip away and they’d start all over again. He wanted the other skipper to try to follow his turn, before he became too accustomed to
Heron
’s superior manoeuvrability.

On the other hand, he thought, if he turned too late, the ram would smash into
Heron
’s timbers and it would be all over.

‘Ready Ulf and Wulf!’ he shouted. As he turned, they’d have to adjust the sails. Ulf waved a hand. Or maybe it was Wulf, he thought, grinning in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

Now!

He swung the ship away to port, heard the sheets squealing through the pulleys as the twins adjusted the sail, keeping it taut to the wind.
Heron
responded instantly, pivoting away from the larger ship. As he’d hoped, Zavac tried to match their turn, to keep the ram pointed at them.

‘Going about!’ he yelled, and swung the
Heron
back to starboard. One sail came down and the other soared up in its place. Then they were turning inside the
Raven
, cutting across her course so that the
Heron
’s bow, and the Mangler, were pointing at her.

‘Take over!’ he yelled to Stig and, as his friend took the tiller, he ran fleet-footed down the deck to the bow, dropping onto the seat behind the Mangler. Ingvar was ready on the training lever as Hal peered down the sights. The
Raven
was barely forty metres away. He aimed at the crowded group of men in her bow, now turning back to stare at the small ship swooping towards them. He’d hoped for a shot at Zavac, but the sharply up-curving stern concealed him, so that only his head was visible. That was too small a mark to hope to hit.

‘Left . . .’ he ordered Ingvar. ‘Steady now . . . steady . . .’

SLAM!

The Mangler bucked wildly as he released. The bolt streaked away and ploughed through the packed men in the bow of the ship. Ingvar was already reloading. Hal heard a thud as Thorn stepped forward to intercept an arrow with the huge shield.

Then he heard a vicious
flick-hiss!
as Lydia released a dart. One of the bowmen fell.

Now Hal had a new target. He figured that first bolt had killed or wounded at least four men. But now he was training the Mangler on the side of the
Raven,
where the rigging was attached.

There were three main shrouds – thick ropes, fastened to the bulwark – that supported the mast. He called directions to Ingvar, and lowered his aiming point until it was lined up where the centre rope was attached. Then, as the target filled his sights, he released.

SLAM!

Too high. The bolt skimmed over his aiming point, glanced off the upper part of the bulwark and soared high into the sky, causing no damage. Ingvar reloaded. They were very close now. Some of the pirates had run to the stern of the ship and were hurling spears at the
Heron
. So far, they had no effect.