The Caldera by John Flanagan
At the end of the bunkhouse, they would have to cross an open space with no cover to reach the remaining three buildings. Hal crouched in the deep shadow of the wall, trying to ascertain which one to try first. But there was nothing to distinguish them. They were all similar in size and construction. Each one had a door in one wall and a window in each of the others. The back wall, so far as Hal could see, was blank.
“Might make a good prison,” he muttered.
Olaf nodded. “Problem is, which one do we try first?” he whispered.
“Might as well try the nearest one,” said Lydia.
Hal glanced at her. “Always practical, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “If it’s the right one, it’ll save us a walk.”
“Have you two finished chattering?” Olaf said tersely.
Hal gestured for him to lead the way across the open ground to the hut. He felt naked and exposed in the moonlight as he followed the burly warrior, sensing that a dozen eyes could be on him watching his progress. His skin crawled as he waited for a shout of alarm, or the thud of an arrow between his shoulder blades. The moonlight, which was no more than average in strength, felt like broad daylight as he ghosted along toward the hut. He heaved a sigh of relief when he was concealed in the shadows of the narrow porch by the door. They paused, listening carefully. From inside the hut, they could hear the gentle noise of snoring. Olaf grimaced and drew his saxe, transferring his sword to his left hand.
He slid the slim blade of the saxe into the narrow gap at the edge of the door and worked it slowly up and down, feeling for the latch. Most doors had a simple drop-latch device—a wooden piece attached to the edge of the door, which swiveled up and down to fit into a corresponding bracket on the doorjamb. He found it now as it blocked the saxe’s downward path. He removed the blade and reinserted it in the gap, some ten centimeters lower. Then he gently raised it.
There was a moment of resistance as it came into contact with the lower edge of the bar. Then he increased the upward pressure and it popped free. The door swung inward five or six centimeters before he managed to hook his fingers around the edge and stop it. He paused a few seconds, then slowly swung the door open.
There were three bunks in the room, each one occupied. The heavy breathing indicated that the occupants were deeply asleep. Olaf edged into the room, with Hal a few paces behind him. Lydia remained outside, keeping watch on the compound.
There was a door in the far wall, opposite the front door of the building, obviously leading to another room. It could well be where they were keeping the boy, Hal thought. He indicated it and raised his eyebrows. Olaf nodded. Hal drew his sword, taking care to make no noise, and Olaf started across the room, moving between the bunks toward the door.
There was another falling bar-and-bracket latch, but this one was on the side of the door that faced into the main room. Olaf raised it gently, slid the door open and peered inside.
The room was no more than a large closet. There was a small barred window high in the wall that let in a minimal amount of light. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, Olaf realized it was unoccupied. It was piled with old clothes, armor, weapons and assorted gear. He stepped back into the main room, easing the door shut behind him and lowering the latch into its bracket. He turned to see Hal’s questioning look and shook his head.
“Who are you?” The nearest of the three sleeping men sat up groggily, his voice thick and slurry with the wine he’d drunk that night, peering at the large figure looming over him.
“I’m the boogerman,” said Olaf, and threw a short, hard right-handed punch that dropped the man back onto his pillow, out cold. Then he jerked his head toward the door and followed Hal outside into the shadow of the small porch.
chapterthirty-five
You realize,” Hal said in a whisper, “you’ve probably undone all the good work that man’s mother did.”
Olaf frowned at him, not understanding. “What are you talking about?”
Hal couldn’t help grinning. “She probably spent years convincing him that the boogerman didn’t exist. Now you’ve gone and ruined it all.”
Olaf’s frown deepened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Hal shrugged and turned to Lydia. “He’s not big on humor,” he said.
But she shared Olaf’s frown. “I’m with him. Now if you’ve finished nattering, can we get on with it?”
Hal held up both hands in a gesture of resignation. “I was just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Well, don’t,” Lydia told him. “The mood’s fine as it is.” Then she gestured to the next hut, which looked identical to the one they had just entered. “Let’s go.”
Once again, Hal felt alarmingly exposed as they crossed the open ground between the buildings. But, as before, there was nobody keeping watch to raise the alarm. They clustered together in the shadow thrown by the small porch, Hal and Lydia deferring to Olaf, who went to work with his saxe again, searching for and opening the latch. As the door began to slide open, the ground heaved to a larger-than-normal tremor. Hal was caught unprepared and thrown off balance against the stucco wall of the hut.
“They’re getting worse. Let’s get out of here as soon as we can,” he muttered.
Lydia made a sign for silence. The upheaval was so severe it may well have woken the sleeping occupants of the hut. But Hal was right. The tremors were becoming more frequent, and stronger. It definitely seemed as if the volcano was building up to something—and that something was liable to be very unpleasant.
Even as she had the thought, there was a sharp splitting noise and a large crack opened in the ground of the compound ten meters from where they stood, zigzagging back and forth and letting clouds of steam escape. It was at least six meters long and, at its widest point, half a meter across. The three exchanged alarmed looks.
Inside the hut, they heard a voice call out. “What was that?”
“The volcano. It’s been acting up all night,” said a second voice. “Go back to sleep.”
“It hasn’t been doing that all night. I’m taking a look.”
Olaf turned from the door and caught Hal’s eye. He made a gesture indicating that he was going in, and Hal nodded agreement. He drew his saxe. It would be more effective in the confined space of the hut. Then he signaled for Olaf to go ahead.
The big man paused for a second, then slammed his weight against the unlatched door, sending it flying back on its hinges. He plunged into the room, closely followed by Hal. This time, Lydia joined them.
There were four men in the room, all of them awake. Two were still wrapped in their blankets on their cots. The other two were on their feet. Olaf slammed his shoulder into the nearest, sending him flying back against the stucco wall. The hut shuddered with the impact, and the man slid slowly down the wall to lie in a heap on the floor. The second man was looking wildly around for his weapons when Olaf’s fist caught him on the side of the head and he went down as well.
By this time, one of the others had untangled himself from his blankets and came at Hal with a long knife. Hal parried the stroke with his saxe, thankful that he’d chosen to use it over his sword. The sword would have been too cumbersome at these close quarters.
The man lunged again. Hal beat the knife blade down, then grabbed the man’s wrist with his left hand and jerked him forward. As he staggered, Hal brought the brass pommel in the hilt of the saxe down on his head. The man gave a little groan and fell facedown.
The fourth man decided he was outnumbered. He threw his blankets aside and broke for the door, beginning to yell a warning as he went. Lydia shot out a foot and tripped him. He crashed full length on the wooden planks. Half dazed, he attempted to rise. Lydia hit him with the edge of her open right hand, aiming for the point where his neck and shoulder intersected. This time, when he went down, he stayed down.
The three raiders looked warily a
“That’ll have them all awake before too long,” Hal said. He gestured to the far door. The hut was the same design as the one they had just searched. But this time, the inner door was fastened with a padlock through a metal hasp.
“This must be it,” Hal said. “If they’re taking the trouble to lock it, there must be something valuable in there. Or someone,” he amended.
Olaf moved quickly to the door and pounded on it with a big fist. They heard a startled cry from the other side—a young, high-pitched voice.
“Constantus? Are you there, my lord?” Olaf called.
For a moment, there was silence, then a small, wavering voice replied, “Olaf? Is that you?”
Olaf flashed a smile of triumph at his two companions. Lydia began to search the cluttered table in the middle of the room for the key to the padlock. But Olaf was in no mood to wait for a key. He jammed his sword blade down inside the hasp, twisted it so the blade was edge on and jerked back violently.
The screws holding the hasp to the wooden door gave way and the wood splintered as the hasp came free. Olaf staggered back a pace, then recovered and grabbed the edge of the door, dragging it open. A small figure darted out of the inner room and engulfed him, hurling his arms around the heavy-set Skandian. Olaf folded his massive arms around the boy.
“I knew you’d come for me,” Constantus said, his voice muffled against Olaf’s jerkin. Olaf patted his back, a surprisingly gentle gesture for such a big man.
“Of course I came for you,” he said softly. “I’m your bodyguard, after all.”
Constantus was pale haired and blue eyed. He was at that age in his early teens when his limbs were thin and gawky and his body hadn’t caught up with his rapidly growing height. He was a good-looking boy, as Hal and Lydia could see when Olaf gently disentangled his grip and held him back at arm’s length.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Did they hurt you?”
Constantus shook his head, dashing one hand across his eyes to wipe the tears that were forming.
“I’m fine,” he reassured his bodyguard. He was smiling with relief when the ground shook once more with yet another tremor—even bigger than before. His smiled disappeared, wiped away by fear.
“Why does it keep doing that?” he asked.
Olaf shook his head. “The mountain is angry,” he said. “Now we have to get out of here before it gets any worse.”
Lydia was at the door, holding it half closed and surveying the compound.
“It’s all clear for the moment,” she said. “Let’s get going.” She ushered Olaf and the boy out the door, pointing to the hut they had searched previously. “Head back the way we came,” she told them. “Make for the stairs up to the parapet. We’ll be right behind you.”
Gripping Constantus firmly by the arm, Olaf ran out into the open space, crouching as he went, and headed for the nearby hut. After a brief pause, Hal followed him, with Lydia behind him. He didn’t argue when she gestured for him to go first. It made sense for Lydia to act as the rear guard. She had her atlatl and darts to discourage any potential pursuers. He had his crossbow, of course, but it took over thirty seconds to reload, whereas with the atlatl Lydia could lay down a regular storm of darts in the time it took him to reload.
They paused for a few seconds at the first hut, then Olaf and Constantus led off again for the long bunkhouse. Hal followed and, as they drew closer, he became aware of raised voices coming from inside. The thundering and crashing volcano had woken the pirates. Crouching to stay below the level of the windows, the four of them ran along the side of the building to the far end, where they could strike out for the warehouses.
But as they drew level with the door, it flew open and three men emerged, in varying stages of undress, but all of them armed. They stopped in shock at the unexpected sight of three strangers. Then one of them noticed the small figure being hurried along by the leader of the group.
“It’s the boy!” the pirate shouted, turning his head to call back into the bunkhouse. “He’s escaping. Get—”
He got no further. Olaf’s fist caught him in a wide backhanded swing, and he staggered and went down. The second aimed an ax blow at Olaf, but Hal stepped between them and parried with his sword, deflecting the heavier weapon down to one side. As the man was off balance, Hal kicked out flat-footed, catching him in the center of the chest and hurling him back through the half-open door. His companion swung a wild roundhouse sword stroke at the stranger in front of him. Hal dropped to one knee, and the blade whistled over his head. In almost the same movement, he pushed off with his left leg and lunged with the point of his sword, taking the pirate in the side. The man looked down, horrified, at the blood gushing from the wound, then slid sideways to the ground, supporting himself against the rough stucco wall and groaning in pain.
Hal jabbed his sword at two more men who were impeding each other in the doorway. Unable to defend themselves, they both reared backward into the hut and Hal slammed the door after them. Lydia appeared beside him with a long bench and jammed it against the door, holding it closed. The men inside hammered on the door with their fists, then threw their shoulders against it in a series of violent assaults. But the bench held firm.
“Run!” Lydia told him. “Any minute now they’ll start coming out the windows.”
Together, they sprinted across the heaving, quaking compound, after Olaf and Constantus. In the last few meters before they reached the steps to the parapet, Lydia turned and skipped backward, watching the bunkhouse. As she did, she saw a leg emerging over one of the windowsills, followed by the doubled-over body of one of the men inside. As he dropped to the ground, she notched a dart to her thrower, aimed and let fly. The dart hit the man as he was recovering from the drop. He straightened up, then felt the staggering impact of the missile against his chest. He fell back against the wall, dead before his body slid to the ground. One of his comrades, intent on following him, had his head and shoulders out the window. He saw his comrade hit by the massive dart and threw himself back inside, landing on the ground in a heap.
Lydia turned and ran for the stairs. It would be a few minutes before anyone tried the windows again, she reasoned.
The other three were waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. She gestured for them to go up. They could hear people shouting now from all parts of the compound as the word quickly spread that Constantus was escaping. But nobody knew where he was or where he was heading, and they cast around blindly to try to find him.
Olaf, Constantus and Hal dashed up the stairs, with Lydia bringing up the rear. The staircase was in deep shadow under the walkway, but as they emerged at the top, they were bathed in moonlight.
“There they go! On the wall!” One voice cut above the confusion of shouted questions.
Lydia and Hal shoved Olaf toward the parapet, where the rope still hung down. The sentry Lydia had hit with her blunted dart remained crumpled on the planks.
“Get down!” Hal yelled. “I’ll pass the boy to you.”
Nodding in understanding, Olaf threw a leg over the parapet, paused, then launched himself off the wall, landing on the ground three meters below and rolling to absorb the impact. Covered in dust, he regained his feet and held out his arms to receive the boy emperor. Hal grabbed Constantus by both wrists and urged him over the parapet. Behind him, he heard Lydia release a dart and, a few seconds later, heard a cry of pain and shock from inside the compound as it found its mark.
Constantus scrambled over the battlements, and Hal lowered him to full arm’s length down the far side till he had barely a meter to fall. Then he released him, and Constantus dropped into Olaf’s waiting arms.
Hal turned back to where Lydia was scanni
She pointed to a row of barrels stacked by one of the store huts, barely forty meters away. “They’ve taken cover there,” she said.
He nodded, licking his lips to moisten them. “We’ll wait till they break cover, then shoot together,” he said. “You throw two darts, I’ll shoot a bolt. If we knock three of them down, that should discourage the others.”
The ground quaked and the walkway heaved. Hal swore he could see the planks buckle in a wave-shaped motion that ran along the parapet.
“That’s if we can hit anything with the ground leaping around like this,” he added.
“They’re coming,” Lydia said calmly as half a dozen of the pirates broke from cover behind the casks and rushed the stairs. Hal brought his crossbow up to his shoulder and centered the sights on a target in the middle of the group. That way, if he missed, he had a chance of hitting someone else.
“Now,” Lydia said in the same unexcited tone. Hal led his target carefully, aiming ahead of the running man so that his bolt and the man would arrive at the same spot simultaneously, and squeezed the release lever. The crossbow bucked in his grip and the bolt sped away. Lydia allowed for her lead instinctively, as she had done thousands of times while hunting. Then she released another dart within a few seconds of the first.
All three missiles found their marks. Lydia’s first target was dead when he hit the ground. The other man, and the one Hal had shot, fell to the ground badly wounded, clutching at the cruel missiles that had transfixed them and howling in agony. The remaining three scrambled for cover.
Hal rose to his feet. “That should hold them for a few minutes,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”