He checked behind him. The anchor watch of four men were standing by the bow of Wolfwind, guarding it while the main party went inland. He nodded, satisfied that everything was ready.
‘Send your scouts ahead,’ he told Svengal. The second in command gestured to the two men to go ahead of the main raiding party.
The beach rose gradually to a low line of scrubby bushes and trees. The scouts ran to this line, surveyed the country beyond, then beckoned the main party forward. The ground was flat here but, some kilometres inland, a range of low hills rose from the plain. The first rose-coloured rays of the sun were beginning to show about the peaks. They were behind schedule, Erak thought. He had wanted to reach the town before sun-up, while people were still drowsy and longing for their beds, as yet reluctant to accept the challenges of a new day.
‘Let’s pace it up,’ he said tersely and the group settled into a steady jog behind him, moving in two columns. The scouts continued to range some fifty metres in advance of the raiding party. Erak could already see that there was nowhere a substantial party of armed men could remain hidden. Still, it did no harm to be sure.
Waved forward by the scouts, they crested a low rise and there, before them, stood Santa Sebilla.
The buildings were made of clay bricks, finished in whitewash. Later in the day, under the hot Iberian sun, they would glisten and gleam an almost blinding white. In the pre-dawn light they looked dull and grey and mundane. The town had been built with no particular plan in mind, instead growing over the years so that houses and warehouses were placed wherever their owners chose to build them. The result was a chaotic mass of winding alleys, outlying buildings and twisting, formless streets. But Erak ignored the jumble of houses and shops. He was looking for the repository – a large building set to one side of the town, where the gold and jewels were stored.
And there it was. Larger than the other buildings, with a substantial brass-bound wooden door. Normally, Erak knew, there would be a guard in place. But it seemed his diversion had achieved the result he wanted and the local militia were absent. The only possible resistance could come from a small castle set on a cliff a kilometre away from the town itself. There would possibly be armed men there. But the castle was the home of a minor Iberian nobleman and its location here was a mere coincidence. Knowing the snobbish and superior nature of the Iberian nobility, Erak guessed that the castle lord and his people had as little to do with the common tradesmen of Santa Sebilla as possible. They might buy from them, but they wouldn’t mix with them or be eager to protect them in an emergency.
They headed for the repository. As they passed a side street, a sleepy townsman emerged, leading a donkey loaded with what seemed to be an impossibly heavy stack of firewood. For a few seconds, head down and still half asleep, the man failed to notice the force of grim-faced, armed sea wolves. Then his eyes snapped open, his jaw followed suit and he froze in place, staring at them. From the corner of his eye, Erak saw two of his men start to detach from the main body. But the firewood seller could do them little harm.
‘Leave him,’ he ordered and the men dropped back into line.
Galvanised by the sound of Erak’s voice, the man dropped the donkey’s halter and took off back into the narrow alleyway from which he had emerged. They heard the soft sound of his bare feet flapping on the hard earth as he put as much distance between himself and the raiders as he could.
‘Get that door open,’ Erak ordered.
Mikkel and Thorn stepped forward. Mikkel, whose preferred weapon was a sword, borrowed an axe from one of the other sea wolves and together, he and Thorn attacked the heavy door. They were Erak’s two most reliable warriors, and he nodded appreciatively at the economy of effort with which they reduced the door to matchwood, placing alternate axe strokes precisely where they would do the most good, each building on the damage the other had caused.
The two men were best friends. They always fought together in the shield wall, each trusting the other to protect his back and sides. Yet they were a contrast in body shapes. Mikkel was taller and leaner than the average Skandian. But he was powerful and hard muscled. And he had the reflexes of a cat.
Thorn was slightly shorter than his friend, but much wider in the shoulders and chest. He was one of the most skilled and dangerous warriors Erak had ever seen. Erak often thought that he would hate to come up against Thorn in battle. He’d never seen an opponent who had survived such an encounter. Belying his heavy build, Thorn could also move with blinding speed when he chose.
Erak roused himself from his musing as the door fell in two shattered halves.
‘Get the gold,’ he ordered and his men surged forward.
It took them half an hour to load the gold and silver into sacks. They took only as much as they could carry and they left easily the same amount behind.
RANGER’S APPRENTICE: THE ROYAL RANGER
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 448 10103 0
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Copyright © John Flanagan, 2013
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First published in Australia in 2013 by Random House Australia (Pty) Ltd
Corgi Yearling 9780440869931 2013
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Ranger's Apprentice 12: The Royal Ranger Page 38
