The Invaders

by John Flanagan

  “You shake me, boy, and I’ll throw you overboard.”

  Wulf snatched his hand back just in time and moved away. Thorn was obviously awake, he thought.

  To the east, a narrow band of gray light was showing above the horizon. There was no sign of land, but the light was reflecting red off a bank of low clouds. The sea hissed past them, the white water of their wake showing up against the darkness. Gradually, the light began to grow and they could make out more detail. The dim shapes moving around the forward part of the ship became recognizable as individual crew members.

  Handing the tiller to Stig, Hal climbed onto the rail by the stern post and balanced himself with one hand on the backstay. He scanned the sea behind them under the growing light. The knot of anxiety that had been in his gut throughout the night eased as he saw an empty horizon. Stig was watching him, waiting for his report. He smiled down at the anxious face.

  “Nothing in sight,” he said, and he saw Stig’s shoulders relax. He dropped lightly to the deck, feeling better than he had for some hours. The two friends exchanged relieved smiles.

  Edvin had begun preparing a cold breakfast for the crew. He moved aft now, balancing three plates and mugs, and placed them on the deck beside Hal and Stig. He glanced at Thorn’s huddled shape.

  “Is Thorn awake yet?” he asked, indicating the third platter.

  “Try shaking me and find out,” came a low growl.

  Edvin raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like a bear at the end of winter.”

  Stig grinned at him. “Compared to him, a bear would be a pussycat.”

  Edvin glanced at the heavyset figure again.

  “I’ll leave his here,” he said, and made his way forward again. Edvin was no fool.

  The meal was hard bread, cold, cooked bacon and a piece of spiced sausage. It wasn’t the most appetizing fare, Hal thought. But he was ravenous after the long night and he wolfed it down gratefully. Stig made short work of his too, licking his fingers to make sure he had every last bit of the tasty bacon fat.

  They washed it down with cold water. Hal yearned for a hot drink. A mug of coffee would be like heaven, he thought. Even an herbal tea would have been acceptable. Or just hot water, he thought moodily. But of course, there was no way of lighting a cook stove on board ship, so they had to be content with cold water.

  “Breakfast’s up, Thorn,” Stig called. “Get a move on or I’ll eat yours.”

  Thorn finally stirred. He rose and stretched both his arms over his head. Hal noted idly that Thorn had removed his false arm when he slept.

  “This is a sea wolf’s breakfast,” he said to his two young friends. “A stretch, a scratch and a good look round.”

  He had already stretched. Now he applied himself to the second part of the formula, scratching himself liberally and enthusiastically.

  “Careful you don’t tear that lovely new sheepskin to shreds,” Hal said dryly. “I’m not buying you another one.”

  “You haven’t bought me this one yet,” Thorn grunted. Finally, finished with scratching, he peered around the horizon, shading his eyes with his left hand. He’d heard Hal’s report to Stig but it was ingrained in him from years of sailing and raiding to check for possible trouble in every direction. As he scanned in a circle and his view passed the bow and moved toward port, he stopped, hesitated, then went back.

  “What’s that?” he said urgently.

  Hal’s heart leapt into his mouth. Had Wolfwind somehow managed to slip past them in the night? Thorn was pointing to something just off the port bow and Hal followed the direction with his eyes.

  His first sensation was one of relief. Whatever Thorn had seen, it wasn’t Wolfwind. It was a small, dark shape several kilometers away. As he peered more closely, he thought he could discern movement. Instinctively, he went to swing the bow toward the object, then stopped as he realized the mast and sail would block his line of sight if he did so. Besides, it wasn’t always wise to run down directly toward an unknown object at sea, he thought. He held his course, aiming at a point some twenty degrees to the right of the object. The dark shape appeared and disappeared regularly as Heron rose and fell on the waves.

  The rest of the crew had heard Thorn’s exclamation and were staring at it as well.

  “Jesper!” Hal called. “Up the mast and report!”

  Jesper waved acknowledgment and leapt to the shrouds, swarming up them until he reached the lookout position. There was a pause as he peered forward, during which time the distance diminished, making it easier for him to make out details.

  “It’s a boat!” he called. “A small boat. And there’s someone in it! He’s waving.”

  That was enough for Hal. One man in a small boat wouldn’t present any danger to Heron and her well-armed crew. He swung the ship to port so she was heading for the boat. Ulf and Wulf automatically trimmed the sail to the new course.

  Hal’s mind raced with possibilities. One man in a small boat. A shipwreck survivor, perhaps? Then his imagination jumped to a whole new track. Maybe it was more than a simple shipwreck. This could be the lone survivor of a ship attacked and sunk by pirates. More specifically, by one pirate! This could be proof of the Raven’s presence in these waters!

  He sensed that Stig and Thorn were thinking the same thing. They exchanged glances, none of them wanting to voice the idea. Hal hit the heel of his left hand against the tiller, as if urging the boat to greater speed.

  “Come on!” he muttered.

  He eased the bow to starboard, clearing his line of vision again. Except for Ulf and Wulf, who remained by the sheets, the crew were clustered in the bow as they ran down on the small boat. Edvin was keeping up a running commentary on events to Ingvar, who couldn’t make out the boat.

  As they drew closer, Hal could see that the boat was a one-man skiff. Its occupant was standing, waving a piece of cloth on the end of a pole—possibly an oar.

  “Jesper! Come down. Get ready to lower the sail with Stefan,” he called. The figure perched on the lookout post waved a hand, then slid down one of the shrouds to the deck.

  “Edvin! Get the boat hook!” Hal called. The man in the skiff was barely fifty meters away. Now that it was obvious he had been sighted, he sat down wearily, laying aside the oar he had been waving.

  Hal’s eyes narrowed as he measured speed, angles and distance.

  “Loose sheets. Down sail!” he ordered. Ulf and Wulf let the sail go free, and Jesper and Stefan hauled it quickly down, gathering its folds and stowing them loosely as they did so. Gradually, the speed began to run off the ship and Hal saw that he had timed it almost perfectly. Heron was barely moving as the skiff went out of his sight under the port bow and Edvin leaned over to hook onto her with the boat hook. Hal felt a slight thump as the skiff was drawn alongside the Heron and the two hulls came together.

  “Careful,” he muttered irritably. Stig, beside him, glanced at him and grinned. He knew that Hal hated anything bumping against his ship, even a harmless small boat like this.

  “You’re as bad as Erak,” he said quietly. Hal ignored him.

  “Get a line on that skiff,” he called. “We’ll tow it behind us.”

  In the bow, Edvin waved acknowledgment. He tossed a length of hemp over to the boat and made it fast. Then he helped the skiff’s lone occupant over the rail. The others moved to help him as he did. Then there was a buzz of surprise from the Heron’s crew and Edvin turned to shout back to Hal.

  “He’s a girl!”

  chapter twenty

  He” was a girl indeed, Hal thought. And as she made her way aft, followed by the curious members of the crew, he realized she was a remarkably beautiful girl. She was slender and fit, with tanned skin and long black hair tied back with a simple ribbon.

  She was dressed in hunting clothes—a deerskin jerkin over a woolen shirt and cross-bound leggings. She had a quiver of what appeared to be arrows slung over her back—although she had no bow. A long dirk and a strange carved wooden handle hung from her broad l
eather belt. She was taller than average, which placed her eyes on a level with his own. Behind her, Ingvar was whispering, in a completely audible voice, to Edvin.

  “Who is she? What’s she like?”

  Edvin replied, equally audibly, “I don’t know. But she’s a real looker.”

  A smile touched the corner of the girl’s mouth, then almost immediately disappeared. She looked around the crew, puzzled by their young faces and the almost total absence of adults. Then her gaze settled on Thorn, as she took in the wooden hook and the grizzled appearance.

  “Are you the captain?” she asked.

  Thorn threw back his head and laughed. “Not me, my dear! I’m more like the ship’s cat.” She frowned, and he elaborated. “I’m a bit of a pet for the skipper. He keeps me around for his own amusement. This is him. His name is Hal.”

  Her eyebrows rose as she studied Hal, seeing he was fresh faced, barely older than she was.

  “Really?” she said a trifle skeptically. Hal was on the brink of taking offense, then realized that her reaction was a natural one.

  “Really,” he replied. “This is the Heron. She’s my ship.”

  “And I’m Stig, first mate,” Stig said hastily, pushing past Hal to offer her his hand. “Delighted to meet you. Welcome aboard.”

  As he spoke, he flushed bright red. Hal smiled to himself. Stig, tall and handsome as he might be, tended to be somewhat awkward around good-looking girls. He would either become absolutely tongue-tied or babble self-consciously. Obviously, this was a day for babbling.

  She shook his hand and the smile touched her features again, but only briefly.

  “Thank you. Pleased to meet you.”

  Stig, still flushing scarlet, swallowed several times, then realized he was still holding her hand and released it abruptly, almost shoving her away in his haste to do so.

  “Ummm… er… Let me know if I can do anything to make you more comfortable. You know… anything at all. I’ll be delighted… just, you know… let me know…” He realized that was the second time he’d said delighted and his voice trailed away uncertainly. The girl pretended not to notice his awkwardness.

  “I certainly will,” she said gravely.

  Stig nodded several times to himself, cleared his throat again for good measure, then stepped back, stumbling over a coil of rope and just managing not to fall.

  Hal stepped forward. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said, and she swung her gaze back to him. Hazel eyes, slightly uptilted. Flawless complexion. He realized that she had answered his question and he hadn’t heard a word.

  “I’m sorry? What was that?” he said, a little flustered.

  Behind the girl, Thorn rolled his eyes skyward.

  “Oh Bungall’s braided beard,” he muttered. Bungall was a minor deity, generally referred to as the god of acting in an embarrassing manner. His name wasn’t often invoked and Hal wished Thorn had chosen not to do so this time. Hastily, he drew his attention back to the girl, before he had to ask her to repeat her name yet again.

  “I’m Lydia,” she said. “Lydia Demarek.” She pronounced the surname with the accent on the middle syllable. Hal nodded several times, as if the name were no surprise to him. He realized that his crew were looking at him curiously, waiting for him to say something meaningful—or even mildly intelligent—and not stand here gaping like a peasant at this beautiful girl.

  “So, Lydia Demarek, what brings you to be drifting out here at sea? Were you shipwrecked?”

  She shook her head. “No. I came from Limmat. The town has been taken by pirates. I managed to escape. But I lost one of my oars and I’ve been drifting.”

  That sent a buzz of excited comment through the crew. Hal took a half pace toward her at the news.

  “Pirates?” he said. “Are they led by a man called Zavac?”

  But she shook her head once more. “I have no idea. I was in the hills, hunting, when they attacked. I saw them and managed to get away. Some of them chased me but I managed to reach the skiff and drifted out into the bay. The tide took me out. Then the current took me farther.”

  “When was this?” Thorn asked.

  She glanced at him. “Yesterday, around midday.” Her voice cracked and a frown touched her features as she looked back to Hal. “Could I have some water?” she said, a little reproachfully. “I’m absolutely parched.”

  “Of course!” Hal said apologetically, realizing that they hadn’t shown her the normal basic courtesy a castaway might expect. They’d all been distracted by her beauty, and then by her reference to pirates. He indicated the small stool by the steering platform. “Sit down, please. Edvin, fetch something to drink, would you?” He looked back at the girl. “Are you hungry?”

  She smiled gratefully at his sudden concern and made a negative gesture. “Not right now. But I really need some water. I didn’t have any in the skiff.”

  Edvin returned with a large beaker of cold water. She took it from him, smiling her thanks, and drank deeply, finally lowering the beaker with a sigh.

  “Oh, that’s a lot better!” she said, and sank gratefully onto the stool, still holding the half-full beaker. She sipped again, more slowly now that her initial thirst had been slaked.

  “Now, where was I?” she said.

  “Limmat,” Hal prompted her. “You said it was attacked by pirates.”

  And she nodded, her eyes clouding as she remembered the scene, the smoke pouring from the burning buildings, the screams of the townspeople. For the hundredth time, she wondered if her grandfather was all right.

  “They must have forced their way through the boom,” she said. “There was a small ship moored against the quay, so the boom couldn’t close. Two others had got inside the harbor. A dark green ship and the biggest of the three—a black ship.”

  There was a stir of interest among the crew.

  “Black, you say?” Hal said. “Are you sure of that?”

  She nodded emphatically. “I’m sure. It was sighted the day before, cruising past. For a while we thought she was going to try to break through the boom. Then she turned and sailed away. Rowed away, actually,” she corrected herself. Again, the Herons exchanged glances.

  “We’re hunting a black ship,” Stig said. “She has fifteen oars a side. Did you notice how many oars this one had?”

  But Lydia shook her head. “I didn’t see her then. I heard people talking about her. When I saw her, she was moored alongside the quay, so I had no way of seeing how many oars she had. But she was big. She could easily have that many oars.” She looked at the faces surrounding her, saw the level of interest, saw how her mention of a black ship had aroused it, and realized this might be her chance to return to Limmat.

  “My grandfather is still there,” she said. “I have to get back and make sure he’s all right. Can you take me?”

  “Of course we can!” Stig said impulsively. But Lydia looked at Hal. He was the skipper, young as he might appear. The decision would be his. Stig, too, turned to look at his friend. Hal was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  “I think we have to see if this is the ship we’re looking for,” he said. “We’ll take you back there. But you might not like what you find. And it will be dangerous.”

  She shrugged aside the mention of danger. “I can look after myself,” she said. “As to what I might find, I have to know, one way or the other.”

  “If these pirates are still there,” Thorn put in, “we can hardly sail into the harbor and wave hello.”

  Lydia thought for a moment. “There’s swampland to the southwest of the town. We could go ashore there out of sight and take the skiff to get closer.”

  Thorn, Hal and Stig exchanged a look and came to a decision.

  “Can you draw us a chart of this swampland?” Hal asked, and she nodded eagerly.

  “Of course.”

  “Then let’s get to it,” Hal said.

  They made good time back to the coast, then swung south toward Limmat. Long before the town itself came
in sight, they could see the heavy pall of smoke that still hung over it.

  Lydia’s eyes filled with tears as she saw it. Her grandfather’s chances, she knew, were getting slimmer and slimmer. He likely would have resisted the pirates, even though such resistance would have been futile. She moved to the bow and stared at the smoke on the horizon. The crew left her to her thoughts.

  Finally, she came aft again. Her face was composed and her manner was calm. She indicated the low-lying shoreline.

  “We should beach your ship here and go on in the skiff,” she said. “Once we round that next point, we’ll be in sight of the town.”

  Hal angled the ship into the shoreline. Lydia watched with interest as Thorn withdrew the fin, allowing the ship to run through the shallow water and gently onto the beach. Stefan and Jesper jumped ashore and made the ship fast with the beach anchor. They had been towing Lydia’s skiff astern. Hal unfastened the line that attached it and dragged it along the side of the ship to the beach.

  Lydia indicated the low headland to the east of their position.

  “If we row round that headland, we can head into the marshes. A small boat like this will be pretty well invisible among the reeds and grass islands.”

  Hal nodded. “You, me and Stig,” he said to her. “The boat won’t take any more.”

  He looked at Thorn. “You stay in charge here, Thorn,” he said, and the older man nodded.

  “We’ll be here,” he said. “If you get into any trouble, just come running.”

  Hal smiled at him, grateful that Thorn hadn’t remonstrated over being left behind.

  “Get the ship turned round, facing out to sea,” he said. “Just in case we have to leave in a hurry.”

  They boarded the skiff. As they had sailed toward Limmat, Hal had quickly fashioned another oar for the skiff from a small spar. It was rough but it would serve, he thought. Stig set the oars in the oarlocks, testing their relative balance, and nodded that he was satisfied. Then he began to stroke smoothly, moving the skiff easily toward the promontory.

  As the skiff gradually pulled away, the rest of the crew busied themselves shoving the Heron off the beach once more and turning her, dragging her stern first onto the beach. Hal looked back after a hundred meters and saw Thorn’s heavyset figure a little away from the ship. Thorn raised his left arm and waved. Hal waved in return.