The Caldera by John Flanagan
Hal shook his head. “They haven’t seen us yet. But in any event, they don’t need to run her ashore. They’ll sink her in the shallows and recover her cargo after we’ve gone.”
Olaf grunted in understanding. He half drew his sword, then rammed it home into the scabbard again in frustration. “Then we’d better stop them,” he said.
Hal grinned mirthlessly at him—more a grimace than a grin. “That’s what I plan to do,” he said. He glanced round, saw Edvin standing ready and pointed to the tiller. “Take the helm, Edvin. I’ll go for’ard and try a shot.”
The pursuing longboat still hadn’t registered that there was a third escort vessel bearing down on it. The crew, intent on the embattled Southwind, shouted curses and threats as they bent to their oars.
Edvin took over the tiller and Hal ran forward. Olaf, with no assigned battle station, followed him. Lydia was crouched in the bow, a dart clipped to her thrower. She glanced up as she heard Hal take his place behind the Mangler.
“Nearly in range for me,” she said. Hal gestured for her to stand clear of the arc covered by the Mangler and move back behind the huge crossbow. She skipped lightly to the position he’d indicated, leaving him a clear field of shot, no matter which way the longboat turned. He crouched behind the Mangler, flicking up the rear sight for one hundred meters, and slowly wound the elevating wheel, watching the sight rise to cover the helmsman at the rear of the longboat. Then he changed his mind, and his target. Lydia could take care of the helmsman. He’d put a bolt through the side of the boat from the inside, smashing out the planks and opening the boat up to the river. He slowly raised the sights, traversing the Mangler with both feet on the deck, walking the weapon around.
“Take the helmsman,” he said quietly to Lydia. She raised a hand in acknowledgment. He saw the movement from the corner of his eye.
“One of them has a bow.” Olaf’s voice interrupted Hal’s concentration, and he leaned back from the sights. Sure enough, one of the pirates, standing in front of the helmsman, was aiming a short, powerful-looking recurve bow in their direction.
“Lydia . . . ,” he said.
“I see him,” she replied, acknowledging that she would change her target. Hal bent to the sights again and flinched as an arrow slammed into the woodwork of the Mangler, less than a meter away from him. The archer on board was either a very good shot or a very lucky one. Hal realized he had to finish this quickly. Then, as he steadied his aim on the inside of the hull, and his hand tightened on the trigger, he heard a cry of pain from Lydia and saw her stumble back, falling to the deck.
Enraged, he checked his sight and pulled the trigger. But in his haste, he jerked the shot and the bolt whistled just over the row of oarsmen, plunging into the river five meters ahead of the boat.
He turned to help Lydia, a sick fear in his heart. But Olaf was already there, arms around her, dragging her into the starboard rowing well, where she would be safe from more arrows. There was an arrow through the fleshy part of her upper left arm. Olaf studied it and grinned fiercely at her.
“Nothing serious,” he reassured her.
Lydia gritted her teeth. “It feels pretty serious,” she said. Then she gasped as Olaf gripped the shaft and broke off the barbed head, then withdrew the rest of the shaft from the wound.
“Take it easy!” she shouted, adding a curse for emphasis.
Olaf shook his head. “Better to get it out quickly,” he said, and she knew he was right. His abrupt action had been painful in the extreme. But if he’d hesitated and dillydallied over it, it would have hurt even more. She nodded her thanks to him as he tore off a strip of his sleeve and bound it round her arm.
Another arrow slammed into the Mangler close to Hal. He looked at the longboat. They were only twenty-five meters away now. He turned to Olaf.
“Look after Lydia,” he said. “I’m going aft.”
He rose in a crouch. Another arrow whirred close overhead, punching into the sail. Then he ran for the steering platform, where Edvin was ready to hand over the tiller.
“Lydia’s hit,” Hal told him. “Go for’ard and take care of her. And keep your head down.”
As he spoke, he saw Ingvar’s head jerk up at the mention of Lydia’s injury. The huge youth muttered a curse and reached for his long-handled voulge. He half rose from his position in the rowing well, but Hal stopped him.
“She’s okay,” he said. “Stay where you are.” He didn’t want to present the archer with any further targets. He raised his voice, addressing the rest of the crew. “Everyone stay down. I’m going to ram.”
Stig stepped up beside him, his large round shield on his left arm, holding it to cover Hal in his exposed position on the steering platform. Hal nodded his thanks as another arrow thudded into the oxhide and wood of the shield. With no targets visible in the bow, the archer had changed his aim to the exposed steering position. Stig’s protective action had been just in time, Hal thought.
“Haul in the sheets!” Hal shouted to Ulf and Wulf. “And stay low!”
The sail tautened, and Heron began to surge faster through the water. Peering around the sail, Hal could see the river rats redoubling their rowing efforts. After a few seconds, they realized they couldn’t outdistance the ship behind them. Belatedly, the helmsman tried to avoid the axlike bow bearing down on him.
It was a mistake—a fatal one. As he tried to swing away from the Heron, he presented the broadside of his hull to her. Hal swung the tiller and easily matched the turn. Then the bow smashed into the rowing boat, caving in the side and spilling men and oars into the river. The ship seemed to hesitate. Then she gathered speed again and rode up and over the shattered hull. The longboats were large but they were flimsy in construction and the bulwarks were no match for the hardened oak of Heron’s bow. The pirate boat was cut in half. Heron shuddered at the impact, almost seeming to shake herself like a wet dog, then began to gather speed again, leaving the two halves of the longboat, and her crew, in her wake.
Two of the pirates, with reactions faster than their companions, sprang for the Heron’s bow and scrambled aboard, weapons ready. They saw the injured Lydia, with Edvin and Olaf crouched over her, just a few meters away. One of them let out an animal-like growl and, raising his jagged-edged sword, advanced on the three figures.
Dimly, he heard the metallic hiss of a sword clearing its scabbard, then Olaf’s curved blade flashed around in a horizontal stroke and almost cut him in half. Shocked and horrified, the pirate looked down, disbelief in his eyes. Then his knees gave way and he toppled to the deck.
The second pirate hesitated as Olaf came to his feet. The former guard commander had dispatched the first man while he was still kneeling. Now the second boarder took a half step back, seeing the rage in the other man’s eyes.
He never saw Ingvar. The huge youth came rushing down the deck, his voulge held ready like a lance. The spear point took the pirate in the middle of his chest, shattering his leather breastplate, picking him up bodily and hurling him back over the bow of the ship into the river.
“Are you all right?” Ingvar demanded of Lydia. His voice was hoarse and his face was twisted with worry.
She smiled weakly and waved a hand at him. “I’m fine,” she said.
Ingvar looked to Edvin, who was tending her wound. The healer glanced up, caught his gaze and nodded confirmation.
“It’s a flesh wound,” he said. “Olaf stopped the bleeding before she lost too much blood.”
Ingvar looked at Olaf with a new regard. “Thank you,” he said simply.
Olaf inclined his head. “Glad to be of service.”
They were interrupted by Hal’s shouted orders from the tiller. “Ingvar! Get back here on your oar! Ulf, Wulf, lower the sail!”
The river rats on Southwind, after seeing the fate of their comrades, had swung the trading ship up into the eye of the wind and run out her
The sail was useless heading into the wind and would only serve to slow them down. Accordingly, he had the twins drop it to the deck. A few seconds later, Heron’s oars ran out. Thorn, manning the oar opposite Ingvar, gestured for Olaf to join him.
“Grab hold,” he said.
Olaf frowned in surprise. “Two of us on one oar?”
Thorn nodded. “Between us, we might just balance Ingvar’s rowing,” he said.
Then Stig called the stroke and they all leaned on their oars. Olaf, not yet in position, felt the ship leap forward, and slew to the side under the uneven thrust of Ingvar’s mighty strength. His eyes widened in surprise, and he grasped hold of the oar handle alongside Thorn, putting all his strength into the next stroke.
“I see what you mean,” he said.
chaptereighteen
With the extra thrust of Ingvar, Thorn and Olaf at the oars, Heron skimmed the calm river water, gaining ground on Southwind with every stroke. After a few minutes, Hal could see they were going to be up with the captured trader before she reached the shallows close to the bank.
But when they caught her, he realized, he would face a problem. Normal procedure would be for Stig and Thorn to form a boarding party and smash their way through the enemy. But the moment he ordered them forward to do so, the Heron would slow down as they left their oars and the pirates would pull away once more.
Plus there was still the problem of the archer on board Southwind. Another arrow slammed into Stig’s shield, which Hal was now holding on his left arm to protect him from the projectiles. The shield jerked sideways under the impact and he only just managed to get it back in place as another arrow thudded into it. This time, the barbed point bit right through the wood and oxhide and protruded on the inside of the shield.
This bowman was getting to be a nuisance, Hal thought.
As he had the thought, he saw Lydia, her upper left arm heavily bandaged, haul herself up onto the center deck in the bow, crouching behind the protective bulk of the Mangler. In her right hand, she held her atlatl, with a dart already nocked in position. The bowman saw the movement and let fly with another shaft, which ricocheted off the front of the Mangler and whined overboard.
It was now a race against time, with two expert shooters each desperate to get a missile away before the other.
The bowman had an arrow nocked and half drawn when Lydia’s shot came streaking over the gap between the two ships and hit him in the chest. He was hurled backward, crashing heavily onto the deck, his half-drawn arrow flipping feebly into the air.
“Good work!” Hal shouted, and the slim girl acknowledged him with a wave of her right hand. Then she loaded another dart and let fly once more. The captured ship was very close now. They were only five meters behind her.
Hal shouted to Edvin, who was still in the bows with Lydia. “Edvin! Grapple them!”
Edvin nodded his understanding and stooped to take the iron grapnel from the forepeak. It was a triple-barbed hook that would bite into the other ship’s timbers and hold her fast. The grapnel was attached to Heron by a long hemp rope. The first four meters of the grappling cable were iron chain, to prevent the enemy from cutting the hooks loose.
Lydia’s flashing darts would add a further incentive for the pirates to leave the grapnel untouched.
Edvin drew back his arm and threw. The heavy iron hooks sailed across the intervening space and thudded onto the stern deck of Southwind. The moment the grapnel hit the planks, both Edvin and Lydia seized the rope and hauled on it as hard as they could. The hooked grapnel slid back across the deck, then bit into the base of the steering platform at the stern. The two Herons heaved once more to set the hooks solidly, and Heron was sliding along in Southwind’s wake.
The minute she saw the hooks were set, Lydia retrieved her atlatl and began to pepper the captured ship with darts, sending the pirates scattering for cover.
Edvin, meanwhile, led the rope in a turn around the base of the mast and, with the extra purchase this provided, began hauling the Heron closer and closer to Southwind. Hal turned to call to Stig and Thorn, but he had only just drawn in breath to do so when he heard a furious roar, like that of a wounded bull, and saw Olaf sprinting forward along the central decking.
His sword was drawn, and with his left hand he held a small metal shield—about the size of a large platter, with a protruding bowl-shaped section in the center, surmounted by a long spike. He barely paused in his headlong rush along the deck, leaping onto the upward curving bulwark in the bow and springing across the three-meter gap to the deck of Southwind.
One of the pirates had seen him coming and thrust with a spear at him as he was in mid-leap. Almost contemptuously, Olaf flicked the spear aside with his sword while he was still in the air. Then, landing as sure-footed as a cat, ready immediately to fight, he slammed the deadly spike on his shield into the defender’s midsection. The pirate grunted in shock and pain and fell back, dead before he hit the deck planks. Two more defenders took his place and Olaf dispatched them with the same ease, cutting left then right with his curved sword, now red with the blood of his enemies, and dropping them to the deck as well.
The other pirates, seeing his deadly speed and skill, began to abandon their oars and clamber forward toward the bow of the ship, shoving one another out of the way in their efforts to escape him.
He pursued them relentlessly, striking left and right with the sword and sending his enemies sprawling into the scuppers, wounded and dying.
In the space of thirty seconds, he accounted for a further six of the pirates, his sword barely seeming to stop, forming a continuing glitter of red-tinged steel as he fought his way down the deck.
On board Heron, Hal watched in awe as Stig’s father spread fear and havoc among the pirates. Already, several of them had decided discretion was the better part of valor and hurled themselves overboard, striking out for the shore. As the young skirl watched, more and more of the boarders joined their companions until the river was seemingly full of heads bobbing and arms and legs thrashing the surface to foam in their panic to escape.
Hal had moved forward into the bows of Heron and now he leaned his hip against the railing where it curved upward and inward to form the prow. Edvin and Lydia joined him, watching the solitary figure cutting, slashing, kicking and thrusting, driving the pirate crew back before him.
“He must have been outnumbered ten to one,” Lydia said quietly.
“More like twenty to one,” Edvin corrected her, and she nodded agreement.
“You can see where Stig gets it from,” Hal commented, and glanced around as his friend joined them in the bows, with Thorn a few paces behind him.
“He’s quite good, isn’t he?” Stig said, slightly awed by Olaf’s prowess. Once again, he found himself conflicted. He had been offended by Olaf’s attitude some days prior. Now he found himself impressed by his father’s skill and power.
“He was always good,” Thorn said. “Now he’s a whole lot better.”
Olaf had reached the bow of Southwind now, where the surviving members of the crew were being held captive. Seeing the one-man juggernaut coming at them, their captors turned and ran, climbing onto the railings to leap overboard. As soon as they did, their former captives seized the weapons they had dropped and went after them. They had lost good shipmates in the attack on their craft and were in no mood to be merciful now. They lined the rail, hurling spears, axes and even swords at the bobbing heads in the water. Soon, the air rang with the cries of those river rats struck by the flying missiles that peppered the water around them. Eventually, they grew silent, either because their former captives had run out of weapons to throw or bec
“He sort of spoiled your fun, didn’t he?” Hal grinned at Thorn. He knew how much the one-handed sea wolf loved a fight, and how much he loved to smash into pirate crews.
Thorn nodded morosely. “At least he didn’t say let’s get ’em,” he said.
• • • • •
Once the crew of Southwind were back in control of their ship, Hal took stock of the situation with the others in the fleet.
Seahawk had sunk one of her attackers, leaving its crew struggling in the water. They didn’t cry for help. They knew there would be none forthcoming. Like their comrades, they struck out for shore, hoping to make it before the crew of Seahawk could muster enough bows and spears to prevent them.
The other pirate longboat, badly damaged and low in the water, crabbed awkwardly for the bank under an uneven spread of oars. It was doubtful that it would make it, Hal thought. Before too long, its crew would be swimming as well.
Foxhound, likewise, had sunk her lone attacker. One of her crew had hurled a small cask of oil into the longboat, following it up with a burning torch, while his comrades fended the longboat off with spars and oars. The battered, burning hulk was drifting slowly downriver. It was a race as to whether she would burn to the waterline before she sank. Either way, she posed no more danger to the fleet—or to any future traders.
The longboat that had been sandwiched between two of the traders was gone as well. There was no sign of her crew in the water. Trading ships’ crew showed little mercy to pirates once they gained the upper hand. The boat was sunk and her crew were killed.
As Southwind and Heron set sail to rejoin the rest of the fleet, Olaf leapt nimbly across the gap between the two hulls and joined Hal at the steering platform. He had taken a long scarf from one of the dead river rats and he used it now to wipe his sword blade clean.
“That was pretty impressive,” Hal told him, and several of the crew joined in with words of praise.
Olaf grinned at them all. “All in a day’s work,” he said. His grin widened when Stig moved up and held out his hand in congratulation. Olaf took it and gripped it firmly, looking deep into his son’s eyes.