Abruptly, he decided, and straightened his shoulders.
“All right!” he said crisply. “We’ll put her ashore and take her down the track.” He looked astern once more. There was no sign of the Temujai. Then he called to Stig.
“Stig! Stand by to beach the ship. We’re taking her down the portage!”
Stig nodded. Several of the crew followed suit. Although Hal hadn’t discussed it with them, they weren’t stupid. They all realized that the portage would be a risk, and that there was a good chance their skirl would elect to run down through the rapids. They had accepted that fact with a certain equanimity. Hal was an expert helmsman and a naturally skilled sailor. Whatever his decision when it came to ship handling, they trusted him.
By the same token, they had all seen the wild downhill run of the river and they were more than a little relieved that they were not going to have to risk it.
They rounded one last bend and there was the open space on the bank where they would put ashore and drag the ship to the downhill track.
“Ulf and Wulf, stay on the oars. The rest of you, over the side as soon as we beach. Grab a hold and get shoving. Lydia, Edvin, be ready with the rollers.”
There was a muttered chorus of understanding from the crew. Stefan and Jesper withdrew their oars and stowed them. Ulf and Wulf kept pulling while Hal slewed the little ship across the river, heading diagonally for the cleared section of bank. This time, they would need the rollers, but only for the first forty meters, as they dragged the ship across level ground to the beginning of the downhill slope. Edvin busied himself getting the lengths of rounded timber ready. Lydia crouched beside him.
The ship slowed suddenly as Hal ran her up onto the bank. She skidded across the mud, coming to rest with two-thirds of her length clear of the water.
“Now!” yelled Stig, vaulting over the rail and finding a purchase point on the hull where he could push. The other crew members followed suit, splashing down in the mud and shoving at the heavy hull. It moved slowly at first, then, as Ingvar leapt down and got his massive frame behind the sternpost, she began to slide faster toward the path down through the trees. Edvin and Lydia began placing the rollers under her keel, and once they were in place, the ship moved even faster than before.
The Sha’shan remained where he was, tied to the mast.
“Hold up!” Hal yelled as they reached the top of the downhill track. The Herons staggered back away from the hull, their breath coming in mighty gasps. Several of them rested their hands on their knees, bending over to recover their breath.
Hal beckoned to Lydia. “Stow the rollers. Then get back to the bank and keep watch. Let us know if you see them coming.”
She nodded. She was nowhere near as breathless as the rest of the crew. She and Edvin had had the easiest task so far. She tossed three of the rollers up over the gunwale, hearing them clatter as they rolled around inside the hull. Edvin could look after the others. They’d need them for the final portage, she realized. Then she climbed aboard, slung her quiver of darts over her shoulder, leapt nimbly down again and ran, light-footed, back to the riverbank behind them.
Stig had spent the time rigging drag ropes to the hull. They’d start the ship sliding down the dirt slope, then slow her down by heaving back on the drag ropes.
“Grab hold!” he ordered. Then he turned to Ingvar. “Ingvar, get us going.”
The massive warrior put his shoulder against the sternpost, set his feet in the loose dirt and heaved. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the Heron began to move: slowly at first, then faster as Ingvar overcame the initial inertia that held her fast. The bow tipped down to the sloping path and the stern came up. From on board, the Sha’shan gave a shrill, panicked cry.
“Grab hold!” yelled Hal. “Don’t let her get away from us!”
He had a momentary vision of the ship, out of control, careering faster and faster down the slope, smashing into trees and boulders as she went. The crew grabbed their drag ropes, digging their heels in, leaning back almost horizontal to the slope, preventing the Heron from gathering too much speed.
After the first initial plunge, they had her under control.
Stig glanced at his friend. “Get your crossbow and get back to Lydia,” he said. “We can hold the ship. You help her keep the Temujai off our backs.”
Hal looked ahead. They were more than halfway down the portage. Unless the Temujai arrived in the next few minutes, they were in the clear. He scrambled back aboard the sliding hull and seized his crossbow. He slung it and his quiver of bolts over his shoulder, leapt down again, ignoring the Sha’shan’s terrified gaze, and pounded back up the trail, Kloof bounding along beside him.
Lydia was sheltering behind a tree a few meters from the riverbank. She heard them coming and beckoned for them to join her. Hal knelt beside her, unslinging the crossbow.
“Down, Kloof,” he ordered, and the big dog sank to her belly, paws outstretched in front of her. She sensed the tension in the two young people, and her hackles rose. She rumbled a growl deep in her chest.
“Settle down,” Hal told her. “Any sign of them so far?” he asked Lydia.
She shook her head. “Not so far. Maybe we—”
They both ducked as an arrow whimpered through the air between them. Forty meters away, a sole rider had appeared among the trees. As they watched, he nocked another arrow and shot again. This one thudded, quivering, into the trunk of the tree behind which they were crouched.
Hal put his foot into the stirrup at the front of the crossbow and heaved back on the heavy string with both hands until it clicked into place over the locking catch. He took a heavy, short bolt from his quiver and loaded it into the bow.
“I’ll take care of this,” he said. If Lydia were to try to launch a dart, she would have to expose herself fully from behind the tree. The crossbow would allow Hal to remain partially in cover, at least.
From farther up the bank, they heard a voice shouting in Temujai.
“Calling his friends, no doubt,” Hal said. He leaned around the bole of the tree, bringing the crossbow up to his shoulder. The sights were set for one hundred meters, a distance over which the bolt would suffer minimal drop. The rider must have seen his movement because he loosed another arrow. This one glanced off the side of the tree just above Hal’s head and cartwheeled off into the forest. Knowing it would be several seconds before the man could shoot again, Hal centered his sights on the Tem’uj’s chest and squeezed the trigger lever.
The crossbow had a much slower rate of shooting than a longbow or the short recurve bows that the Temujai used. But it was far easier to aim and shoot, not needing the months and years of practice spent developing an instinctive feel for the weapon. And Hal’s specially designed sights made it an extremely accurate piece.
The rider had just nocked an arrow to his bow when the crossbow bolt slammed into his left shoulder, spinning him sideways in the saddle. He let out a cry of pain as he lost his balance and fell to the ground. His horse, startled, skipped a few paces away, with a frightened whinny. At that moment, three more Temujai emerged from the trees behind him. Seeing their comrade hurled to the ground and crying out in agony, they hastily retreated back into the cover of the trees.
Grunting slightly with the effort, Hal recocked the crossbow and loaded another bolt. Lydia stepped out from behind the tree. When the Temujai came into view again, she wanted to be ready to shoot. Having to move out of cover gave the enemy several precious seconds’ advantage. This way, as soon as she saw them, she could launch a dart. Hal could shoot from cover, so he stayed behind the tree trunk, the crossbow ready. Dimly, he heard the shouts of his crew as they worked the ship down the portage slope and the sound of the hull sliding over the ground.
“What now?” Lydia asked.
“We wait for them to make a move,” he replied. “Then we stop them.”
chapter
thirty-three
Without warning, the three riders burst from cover once more, riding at a gallop.
But this time, they had separated, with three or four meters between each man. They shot as they came and their arrows hissed and whipped through the air around the two Herons. Fortunately, the heavy foliage affected the accuracy of their shooting, as the arrows struck branches and saplings and ricocheted off at wild angles.
Hal and Lydia shot at the same time. But unfortunately, they both aimed at the same target and the rider in the center went down, transfixed by a dart. As he reeled in his saddle, Hal’s bolt hit him in the leg as well. The other two came on, swerving wildly among the trees.
“I’ll take right!” Lydia yelled, to prevent them both targeting the same man again. She whipped a dart away and plucked the right-hand rider from his saddle, sending him crashing to the soft ground. His horse reared, spun on its heels and cantered back the way it had come.
Hal, meanwhile, was struggling to recock the crossbow. But in his haste, he missed the latch as he drew the string back. Lydia was reaching for another dart, but the horseman was almost upon them. He had discarded his bow, seeing the arrows deflected by the undergrowth, and was wielding a long, slightly curved saber. He was drawing back the razor-sharp blade when a black-brown-and-white shape erupted from the ground by his horse’s feet. Kloof, with a snarling roar, sprang high at the rider, startling his horse and sending it shying to one side. The saber slashed harmlessly through thin air, half a meter away from Hal as he continued to struggle with the crossbow.
Kloof hit the ground behind the swerving horse, rolling over twice. Recovering her feet, she dropped into a crouch, her hackles huge, her eyes slitted and a series of rumbling snarls sounding from her chest. The Tem’uj, an expert rider like all his tribe, recovered his seat in the saddle and, rearing his horse onto its hind legs, spun it in place to face the immediate threat—the huge, snarling dog. He spurred the horse forward, his arm going up and back again with the sword. Steering the horse with his knees, he swerved it at the dog, trying to ride her down. But Kloof was ready for the move. She darted to the right, then back to the left, moving faster than the rider and horse could counter her actions.
The rider, unbalanced as his horse swerved wildly trying to follow Kloof’s movements, grabbed at the reins with his sword hand, letting the sword fall to hang from the lanyard around his wrist. As he did so, Kloof leapt again, her massive jaws clamping shut like a bear trap on the Tem’uj’s hand, locking his wrist in a viselike grip. Then she dropped back to earth again, her entire fifty kilograms of weight dragging on the rider’s arm, hauling him out of the saddle and sending him crashing to the packed leaf mold of the forest floor.
The Tem’uj yelled in pain as Kloof continued to worry at him. Instinct told her that she had to keep him off balance and stop his recovering. With her hindquarters bunched, she kept her deathlike grip on his arm and dragged him across the ground, her rear paws scrabbling at the loose dirt, jerking and heaving at him to prevent him rising to his feet again. The growling and snarling continued unabated. Her eyes were closed with the effort.
Struggling desperately against the dog’s powerful drag, the Tem’uj managed to reach with his left hand and draw the long dagger that was hanging at his belt. He brought the razor-sharp blade up and was about to plunge it deep into Kloof’s side. He knew exactly where to stab to kill a dog, and now he planned to put that knowledge to use.
His blade was mere centimeters from Kloof when Hal shot him.
The Tem’uj fell back, his eyes wide with shock. The knife dropped from his fingers. Instantly, Kloof released her grip on his wrist and backed away, her hackles slowly subsiding, although she continued to growl softly. Hal knelt to study the wounded Tem’uj more closely.
Behind him, Lydia maintained a watch on the trees. “How is he?” she asked.
“He’ll live,” Hal said briefly. The bolt had hit the man high on the right shoulder. It would be a painful wound, but not a fatal one. “But he won’t be using that bow of his for a while.”
From far below them, they heard Thorn calling. The old sea wolf was used to issuing orders that could be heard above raging storms, high winds and thundering surf. His shout carried easily up from the bank below them.
“Hal! Lydia! Come on!”
They exchanged a quick glance. Hal checked the trees behind them once more. As yet, no more riders had appeared. He rose to his feet.
“Let’s go!” he said, and they ran for the downhill path farther inland. The marks in the soft earth were clearly visible, where Heron’s keel had dug a deep groove through the loose dirt and leaf mold that covered the ground. The earth either side was churned up by the boots of the Herons where they had held her in check on the way downhill. Ever fearful that more Temujai would arrive, Hal and Lydia pounded down the path, slipping and sliding, moving faster and faster as gravity took hold and their strides lengthened. Kloof, her tail waving wildly to keep her balance, leapt and bounded ahead of them, barking excitedly. By the time they reached the bottom of the track, Hal and Lydia were both staggering, half falling.
They blundered to a stop, chests heaving, recovering their breath for a few seconds. Kloof danced around them, tail wagging, barking encouragement. Let’s do that again! she seemed to be saying.
“It’s all right for you,” Hal said dourly. “You’ve got four feet.”
“That was faster than going up,” Lydia said, ruffling Kloof’s shaggy head.
Hal gestured toward the riverbank, some fifty meters away. “Let’s go,” he said.
They set off at a run. They were halfway there when they heard shouts behind them and the sound of hooves thudding on the soft earth. They redoubled their efforts, and he glanced over his shoulder. As yet there was no sign of any pursuit. But the sounds were getting closer.
They burst out of the trees by the riverbank. Heron was already refloated, lying close to the bank with the crew on board and four oars manned. Stig and Thorn stood by the stern rail, waiting to help the two late arrivals on board. Hal felt himself plucked bodily off the bank by Stig’s powerful arms. He was whirled up and over the railing and deposited on the deck. A few seconds behind him, Thorn heaved Lydia on board. Their feet had barely touched the deck planks when Stig was bellowing orders.
“Shove off! Oars out and stroke as hard as you can!”
Edvin was at the tiller. Ingvar, armed with a long pole, shoved the ship away from the bank and the oars bit into the water. Edvin sent Heron curving away across the river, heading for the far side where they would be a more difficult target for their pursuers.
They heard shouts behind them and Hal turned to see a party of five Temujai riders arriving at the bank, already falling far behind. Two of them raised their bows and released.
“Down!” Hal shouted.
Those crew members who weren’t manning oars crouched below the bulwarks. Only the Sha’shan remained exposed. The two arrows whipped past the spot where Hal crouched. One continued over the deck and disappeared into the river beyond. The other buried itself into the tightly rolled port sail, a few meters from the Sha’shan. Pa’tong shouted a sequence of what were obviously obscenities at his men. Abruptly, they ceased shooting.
The Heron flew on downriver, driven once again by the current. Hal, watching the banks flying by, realized they were traveling faster and faster as the river narrowed. Ahead of them, he could hear the roar of the rapids growing louder. He looked back upstream and saw vague flashes of movement among the trees. The Temujai had closed the distance between them while they dragged the ship downhill.
“We won’t get away with that again. They’re too close,” he said to Thorn.
“Looks like it’s the rapids for us,” Thorn agreed. Then a savage grin spread over his face. “Be just like old times.”
“Orlog’s beard, I hope not,” Hal said, remembering the adrenaline
rush and the moments of sheer terror they had all felt plunging down Wildwater Rift as they went in pursuit of the pirate Zavac. But at least that experience had taught them all what to expect and how to counter the dangers involved—to a point.
Realizing that the boiling downhill rapids would be on them in minutes, he issued his orders.
“Ulf and Wulf, stay on the oars.” The twins nodded their understanding. “Stig, you and Stefan in the bows, please, with spars to fend us off any rocks that get in the way. Thorn, go with them and keep watch.”
Thorn, with his huge strength and reflexes, would have been the logical choice to assist Stig in fending off. But his hook meant that he couldn’t handle a long, heavy pole as efficiently as Stefan could.
“Ingvar,” Hal continued, “get me an oar to steer with and lash it to the sternpost.”
Ingvar nodded and took an oar from the rack that ran the length of the ship. In the boiling, heaving waters of the rapids, the tiller would be all but useless. An oar fixed at the stern would give Hal the extra leverage he would need to heave the ship around.
Ingvar lashed the long oar to the sternpost, winding the lashing around the two in a figure-eight shape, so it projected out behind the ship. He glanced up at Hal.
“Ready, Hal,” he said.
The skirl stepped quickly to the stern and took hold of the butt of the oar, lowering the blade into the water and heaving experimentally, sending the bows from one side to the other.
“That’s fine,” Hal told him. “Unship the tiller now and stand by to help me if I need to shove the ship around.”
He let his gaze travel around the ship, looking to see if he needed to deploy anyone else for special duty. He decided he didn’t and called to the remainder of the crew.
“Edvin, Jesper, Lydia, back into the stern, please. We need to keep the bow as high as possible. Grab hold of a couple of oars in case we need help fending her off the rocks.”
Return of the Temujai Page 22
