Brotherband 3: The Hunters (4 page)

The crew lay resting on the oars for several minutes while he inspected it, looking for broken, swirling water that might indicate rocks hidden just below the surface, studying the action of the waves to make sure there was no concealed reef across the mouth of the cove. Finally, he nodded to himself.

‘Stig,’ he called, and his first mate gave the order for the rowers to begin pulling once more.

Hal steered the little ship into the cove. Stefan had resumed his position by the bowpost, searching the water’s surface for any signs of danger. But there were none and the
Heron
cruised smoothly to a small strip of sand Hal had marked out.

‘In oars,’ he called, when they were less than twenty metres from the sand. The oars clattered in the rowlocks as the crew brought them inboard, then clattered once more as they were stowed along the line of the ship.

‘Bring the fin up, Thorn,’ Hal ordered, and Thorn heaved the heavy fin up from its lowered position in the keel box. As he did so, Hal felt the now-familiar drift as the ship lost the steadying lateral force of the keel. Then there was a gentle grating sound as the bow ran up onto the coarse sand, finally canting over slightly to one side. Without needing to be told, Stefan dropped over the bow onto dry land, carrying the beach anchor inland and driving it deep into the sand.

As ever, Hal felt the strange silence that came with the lack of movement from the ship. The constant background chorus of small noises – the slap of ripples along the hull, the muted groaning of the rigging and masts – had ceased and his voice seemed unnaturally loud as he spoke.

‘Let’s get a camp set up.’

The Herons moved to the task quickly. They were well practised now in making camp. They used a large tarpaulin draped over a central ridgepole to create a long A-shaped tent. Edvin and Stefan busied themselves building a smaller shelter for Ingvar.

When the camp was ready, Stig approached Hal and jerked a thumb towards Rikard.

‘Will we leave him on board?’

Hal considered the question, then shook his head. Rikard was securely chained to the mast and there was little chance he could escape. But Hal was reluctant to leave him unattended on board the ship. He knew Rikard was bitter at not being released and he feared he might damage the
Heron
in some way.

‘Bring him ashore. Chain him to a tree and throw a blanket over him,’ he said. He glanced up. There were a few clouds sliding gently across the blue sky, but no dark masses that might indicate rain. A blanket should be sufficient cover.

Ulf and Wulf unchained Rikard and led him to a stout pine tree at the edge of the beach, some twenty metres from the main tent. They fastened the chain round the bole of the tree, tested that it was still firmly attached to the hard leather cuffs padlocked around Rikard’s wrists, then handed him a blanket.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ Ulf said. Rikard grunted at them and scowled as they smiled back. Then they turned and headed back to the camp site.

‘Let’s get something to eat. I’m starved,’ Ulf said.

‘You’re always starved,’ Wulf replied.

‘That’s because I’m older than you. I’ve been waiting longer for my dinner.’

Rikard waited as their voices faded away, then looked down to study his bonds. The leather cuffs were stiff and inflexible. They were padlocked in place and would be impossible to loosen with his bare hands.

But Rikard had more than his bare hands. He pulled the blanket over himself and reached down inside his knee-high boot. A long, razor-sharp blade was concealed in a specially fashioned sheath, running down the inside of the boot and hidden by a flap of soft leather. On board, under constant scrutiny and with crew members always close by, he’d had no opportunity to access it.

He smiled to himself. Now, things were different.

H
al stooped to enter the small tent where Edvin was caring for Ingvar. The wounded boy was lying on his back, on a soft bed of pine boughs overlaid with a thick blanket. Another blanket covered him but, as Hal watched, the big boy muttered and tried to toss it to one side.

Edvin was kneeling beside the prone figure, with a basin of cool water and several wet towels. He took hold of Ingvar’s arm and stopped him tossing the blanket aside. He was worried by the fact that he could this do so easily. Ingvar’s strength had become legendary among them, but now . . .

Sensing Hal’s presence, Edvin looked up. ‘He’s as weak as a kitten,’ he said.

Hal nodded and knelt on the opposite side of the bed. He reached out and laid his palm on Ingvar’s forehead. The heat coming from the big boy’s skin was frightening.

‘He seems to be worse,’ he said sadly. ‘Am I imagining it, or has the fever grown stronger?’

Edvin shrugged. Then he dipped one of the towels in the water basin and began sponging Ingvar’s forehead, face and neck.

‘I’ve no real way of measuring it,’ he said, ‘but I think you’re right. He definitely seems to be reaching a crisis point.’

Hal looked at the new bandage on Ingvar’s side, above the hip. ‘You’ve re-dressed the wound?’

Edvin glanced at it and nodded. ‘Cleaned it and re-bandaged it. That’s all I can do.’

Ingvar’s skin had dried again. The fleeting comfort of the water was gone and he tried to move restlessly on the bed. Gently, Edvin restrained him.

‘Settle down, Ingvar,’ he said softly. ‘Take it easy.’

He took a fresh towel from the basin. Once again, the relief was almost instantaneous and Ingvar quieted under the cooling touch.

Hal studied Edvin as he tended to Ingvar. He was small in stature and, like all of the Herons, he’d been something of a social outcast as he grew up in Hallasholm. But he was studious and highly intelligent, Hal knew, and when he took on a task, he stuck to it.

As he had that thought, he realised that Edvin was close to exhaustion, with the emotional strain of his concern for Ingvar and the physical effort of his nonstop ministering to his shipmate. He reached out and took the damp towel from Edvin’s hand.

‘I’ll take a turn for a while,’ he said and, when Edvin looked up to remonstrate with him, he added firmly, ‘There’s nothing here that I can’t do. You need to rest. You need a break. Go and get something to eat. The others have had dinner but I told them to save some for you.’

Edvin looked at him suspiciously. ‘They’ve had dinner? Who cooked?’

‘Stig,’ Hal told him.

Edvin pulled a face. ‘Stig cooked?’ Among his various tasks, Edvin was the official crew cook and he had misgivings about the other boys’ abilities. When they’d first set out from Hallasholm, each of them had cooked in a roster, and the efforts of most of the others had been decidedly unpalatable. Edvin had finally taken on the role of cook, declaring that he had no wish to be poisoned.

‘He’s improved a great deal.’ Hal grinned. ‘Either that or he was foxing in the first place and didn’t want the job. In any event, he caught some nice snapper in the bay and he made a fish stew. Lydia found some wild onions in the forest, and he rummaged through your stock of spices and flavourings.’

Edvin continued to look doubtful, so Hal played his trump card.

‘Thorn had a second helping,’ he said.

Edvin raised his eyebrows in surprise. Thorn was a notoriously picky eater.

‘In that case, I’d better try it.’ He rose from his kneeling position beside Ingvar, watching as Hal continued to bathe the wounded boy with cold water.

‘Call me if there’s any problem,’ Edvin said.

Hal nodded. ‘I will. Tell Lydia to come and take over from me in two hours. And get some sleep yourself.’

He wet the towel in the basin, wrung it out again and continued to bathe Ingvar. It was frightening to see how quickly the thin film of water seemed to dry on his overheated skin. Satisfied that Ingvar was in good hands, Edvin turned and left. Hal heard his soft groan of relief as he straightened up once he was outside.

It was just before dawn. Hal became aware of the birdsong in the trees lining the beach as the birds sensed the coming sunrise and began their daily chorus. He’d resumed caring for Ingvar, taking over from Lydia sometime after midnight.

He’d nodded off several times as he watched over the big boy. Each time, he had been roused by Ingvar’s muttering as the waves of fever ran over him. He continued the seemingly hopeless task of cooling his friend’s body with the towels. The water bucket was almost empty, he realised. He’d have to refill it.

Ingvar seemed to improve at one stage. His calm periods lasted longer between the bouts of muttering and tossing. For a while, Hal felt a ray of hope, thinking that he might have turned the corner and begun to recover. Then he deteriorated once more, so that the water barely eased his discomfort. The fever was bad enough in itself, Hal thought. But it was also draining Ingvar’s strength. His body couldn’t relax as it fought off the floods of burning heat that raced through it. And as his strength became further and further depleted, he had fewer reserves to fight the sickness and it took a firmer hold on him. It was a vicious cycle.

He heard a soft footfall outside the tent and looked up as Thorn entered.

The old sea wolf studied his young friend, seeing his red-rimmed eyes and haggard expression.

‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.

Hal shook his head uncertainly. The daylight outside the tent was growing stronger.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. His voice was thick with fatigue. ‘A few hours, I guess.’

Thorn knelt and took the damp towel he was holding from his unresisting grasp.

‘You’re not going to do him any good if you end up collapsing yourself,’ he said.

Hal turned an unhappy look on him. ‘I’m not doing him any good anyway,’ he said. ‘It’s hopeless, Thorn. We’re losing him.’

Ingvar stirred, muttering and moaning softly. Thorn wet the towel and applied it to his forehead.

‘Nothing’s ever hopeless,’ he said firmly. ‘And he’s not lost yet. We keep going and we keep trying as long as we can. That’s what being in a brotherband is about. We don’t give up on our brothers. We give them every possible chance.’

Hal’s shoulders sagged and he sighed deeply.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘It just seems so futile.’

‘And it’ll seem that way right up to the point where the fever breaks,’ Thorn told him. ‘But we’ve got to stay positive. We’ve got to give Ingvar all the time and care he needs to recover.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’ Hal asked.

It tore Thorn’s heart to see his young friend so despondent. He knew Hal was feeling responsible for Ingvar’s condition and he knew he was too young to cope with that sort of guilt.

‘If he doesn’t,’ he said firmly, ‘then at least we’ll know we did everything we could. Everything,’ he repeated. He watched carefully, seeing the boy’s shoulders begin to rise again as he took a deep breath and regained control of himself.

‘You’re right,’ Hal said. ‘Thanks, Thorn.’

He reached out to take the towel again but Thorn shrugged him away.

‘I’ll look after him for a while,’ he said. ‘You go get some sleep. You look worse than he does.’

Hal gave him a tired smile and rose from his kneeling position beside Ingvar. He walked in a crouch to the doorway, stood upright in the open air outside, and rubbed the stiffness out of the small of his back with both hands. He yawned and stretched. Then he glanced across the camp site and was instantly awake. There was a crumpled blanket lying beside the pine tree.

Rikard was gone.