The Red Fox Clan

by John Flanagan

  Gilan studied him carefully. He was weighed down by the breastplate, helmet and shield. The current didn’t seem to be moving him as it had moved the previous crossers. There was always the chance that he might be heavy enough to anchor the rope on this side and allow another swimmer to cross.

  Coming to a decision, Gilan loosed a volley of six arrows at the men on the opposite bank. The arrows rained down in rapid succession, thudding into shields and exposed limbs. It was too much for the men to bear. They had been lashed by these arrow storms twice before, and now they simply broke and ran.

  Knowing that all eyes would be on them for a few minutes, Gilan slipped around the end of the line of bushes and sprinted for the riverbank, drawing his saxe as he went. He stooped over the body of the armored man and quickly slashed the loop of rope around his upper body. The loose end of the rope floated away in the current. Satisfied, Gilan turned and ran back to the bushes. He’d wait awhile longer, then head out after Horace and the rest of the party.

  It would be some time, he thought, before the Foxes attempted another crossing.

  25

  Hal Mikkelson was a distinct contrast to his crewman Stig. He was slighter in build and not as tall, although he was well muscled and fit. His hair was light brown, worn long and tied back from his face in a neat queue. He was clean shaven and, Maddie noticed with interest, very handsome. His brown eyes were friendly as he reached to take her hand.

  “Princess Madelyn,” he said, and she took his hand. His eyes showed slight surprise for a second as he felt her firm grip.

  “Call me Maddie,” she said.

  He nodded, pleased with her lack of formality. Skandians didn’t go in for that sort of thing. She heard Dimon clear his throat, a disapproving sound. She assumed it was because of Hal’s casual approach. The skirl, as she now knew him to be, turned to Cassandra, a wide grin on his face. He relinquished Maddie’s hand and stepped forward to embrace her mother. Again, Dimon shifted his feet awkwardly.

  “Cassandra,” Hal said, “it’s good to see you again.”

  “And you, Hal. It’s been too long,” Cassandra said. When she was free from Hal’s embrace, she touched Maddie’s arm lightly and indicated the third Skandian.

  “This is Thorn,” she said, pausing before adding, “I’m not sure if I ever heard your second name, Thorn.”

  Thorn was unlike anyone Maddie had ever met. He was older than the other two, tall and heavily built—bearlike, she thought—though the bulk was all muscle, not fat. His iron-gray hair grew in wild tangles, and he had it set in two loose plaits. His beard and mustache were equally unkempt. His mustache, in fact, was uneven, one side being longer than the other by several centimeters. This was because a few days prior, working on tarring a seam on the ship’s deck, he had inadvertently gotten a large dollop of tar on the right side of his mustache. Unable to clean it off, he had simply taken his saxe and removed the offending section.

  Thorn was dressed in the leggings and sealskin boots that Skandian sailors habitually wore. And his upper body was covered by an amazing sheepskin vest. At least, Maddie thought it might have been sheepskin originally. Now it was covered with variegated patches, sewn on haphazardly wherever they were needed. Studying him, Maddie thought there might be more patches than original garment.

  His eyes were blue and had a far-seeing look to them. He seemed to view the world with a constant sense of amusement, and she found herself instinctively liking him.

  But the most notable feature of the man was his right hand—or rather, the lack of it. His arm ended halfway down the forearm, and the hand had been replaced with a polished wooden hook. He brandished it now in answer to Cassandra’s implied question.

  “It’s Thorn Hookyhand, Your Royalty,” he told her, grinning hugely. Thorn’s disregard for protocol and royal titles was even stronger than that of most Skandians.

  “Actually, he’s usually known as Thorn Hammerhand,” Stig told them.

  Maddie frowned. The wooden hook was substantial, but it didn’t look at all like a hammer. “Hammerhand?” she queried.

  Stig explained. “When we go into battle, he changes the hook for a huge club that Hal made for him. It fits over the end of his arm, and he can smash helmets, shields and armor with it.” His grin widened. “He’s terrible in battle.”

  “He’s terrible anytime,” Hal interposed, and all three Skandians, and Cassandra, laughed heartily. Hal indicated the ship moored a few meters away.

  “Come and meet the rest of the crew,” he said, adding to Cassandra, “They’ll be pleased to see you again, Princess.”

  They crossed the jetty to the little ship, Hal assisting Cassandra down onto the bulwark and then the deck. Stig held out his hand to Maddie, but she didn’t notice, negotiating the gap from the jetty to ship’s railing easily, then stepping down lightly onto the deck.

  Thorn eyed her astutely. She wasn’t the usual simpering, giggling princess that you might expect, he thought. But then, of course, she was Cassandra’s daughter. Like her mother, she was slim and moved with an easy athleticism—aside from a slight limp, he noticed. His keen eyes noted the sling coiled neatly under her belt, and the pouch of lead shot. He also noticed that she had a sheathed saxe at her side—hardly the sort of thing one would expect a young woman at court to be carrying.

  Altogether, a fascinating character.

  As she met the other members of the crew and chatted with them, Thorn noted her easy confidence and self-assurance. She wasn’t daunted or overawed in the presence of this group of capable, tough men. She seemed quite at home in their presence, in fact. He also noted that the Herons seemed to react well to her, treating her as an equal, albeit one to be respected.

  There’s more to this one than meets the eye, he thought.

  Cassandra was looking round the ship, a slightly puzzled expression on her face. “Where’s Lydia? Is she no longer with you?”

  Stig offered a sad smile. “She’s still a Heron,” he told her. “But Agathe, the old woman who took her in when she first came to Hallasholm, is very ill. Agathe’s been like a surrogate mother to Lydia since she’s been with us. The healers don’t give her a lot of time, and Lydia thought she should stay with her this time, instead of coming on this trip.”

  “More’s the pity,” said the huge man who wore strange dark patches of tortoiseshell over his eyes. He had been introduced as Ingvar. “We all miss her.”

  Cassandra turned to her daughter, her disappointment obvious. “That’s a shame. I really wanted you to meet her. She’s an amazing woman, just as much a warrior as any of this lot.”

  She made an all-encompassing gesture that took in the rest of the crew. Her smile robbed the words of any insult, and several of them grunted assent.

  Thorn frowned thoughtfully. Why would Cassandra be so keen to have her daughter meet a girl warrior like Lydia? He looked at Maddie again. Ingvar had taken her for’ard and was showing her the workings of the Mangler, the massive crossbow that Heron had mounted in her bows. The young woman was studying the weapon with what appeared to be professional interest.

  There’s definitely more to her than meets the eye, he told himself for the second time.

  Cassandra led the way back to the jetty, Stig, Hal and Thorn following her as she stepped ashore. Maddie smiled a farewell to Ingvar. The dark tortoiseshell covers over his eyes were disconcerting at first, but once you became used to them, he was a likable character.

  “I’ve organized a luncheon in the park outside the castle,” Cassandra said as she led the way to the horses. She stopped and turned back, looking at the ship. “The whole crew are welcome to join us, of course.”

  Hal shook his head. “Kind of you. But the lads can stay here. We hit a storm on the way over and there are a few repairs that have to be done—ropes spliced and rigging replaced.”

  “I’ll have food brought down to the ship, in
that case,” Cassandra said.

  “Lots of it,” Ingvar called, and they all laughed.

  They mounted the horses. Hal and Stig seemed reasonably comfortable riding. Thorn showed a little more trepidation. He held the reins tightly in his left hand, looking warily at the sleepy horse he had been given.

  “You don’t like riding?” Maddie asked with a grin.

  “If it doesn’t have a rudder and a tiller, I don’t trust it,” the shaggy old sea wolf replied. “Besides, I can never find the anchor on one of these when I want to stop it moving.”

  “You’ll have a bigger problem starting that one moving,” Maddie told him. He was riding the horse that had looked as if it could fall asleep in mid-stride.

  “That suits me fine,” Thorn replied between clenched teeth.

  Normally, the Araluens would have cantered easily back up the hill to the castle. Out of deference to their guests, they maintained a stately walk.

  “Heron looks in good shape,” Cassandra said to Hal.

  He smiled a little sadly. “Yes. But she takes a lot of maintenance these days. She’s feeling her age, I’m afraid. I suppose I’ll have to build a new ship one of these days, but I can’t bear the idea of parting with her. This may be her last voyage.”

  “Speaking of which, what brings you here this time? The message I got said it was something to do with the archers we send you.”

  In a treaty arranged by Will many years before, Araluen sent a force of one hundred archers to Skandia each year to help protect them against the threat of the Temujai riders. In return, Erak provided a wolfship for the King’s use—in carrying messages and helping suppress smuggling and piracy along the coast. Another part of the treaty had been Erak’s agreement to stop raiding the Araluen coast.

  “Erak was wondering if we could increase the number of archers this year,” Hal told her. “Another twenty men would be welcome.”

  Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” she said. “Are you expecting trouble of some kind?”

  Hal’s horse stumbled slightly over a protruding tree root. He instantly dropped the reins and gripped the pommel of his saddle in both hands. Cassandra smiled and gave him a few minutes to recover the reins and his equanimity.

  “He’s got four feet. Why can’t he stay on an even keel?” Hal asked.

  “You Skandians fascinate me,” Cassandra said. “You can walk around quite calmly on a ship heaving and plunging through four-meter waves for hours on end. But if a horse so much as sneezes, you think you’re in danger of falling off.”

  “You can trust a ship,” Hal told her. “Horses can turn nasty. And they bite.” He added the last darkly. Maddie, listening, wondered if there was a story behind that particular statement.

  “But to answer your question,” Hal continued, “we’re a little concerned about the Temujai. They’ve been sniffing around the border in the past few months, and Erak thinks they might be planning something. Their Sha-shan has never forgiven us for taking him prisoner years ago.”

  Cassandra looked at him with interest. “I didn’t know about that.”

  Hal grinned. “It’s quite a story,” he said. “Kept them quiet for some time, but now they’re getting restless again, and Erak would like to beef up the archers’ numbers. He’s offering you an extra supply of timber and hides in exchange. I’m authorized to negotiate the amounts.”

  “I’m sure we can sort out the details,” Cassandra said. “Although we may have to wait until Horace returns with the men he’s taken.”

  It was Hal’s turn to look disappointed. “Horace isn’t here?”

  She shook her head. “He’s gone north chasing down a bunch of nuisances called the Red Fox Clan,” she said. “He should be back within ten days or so.”

  “Pity,” Hal said. “We’ll probably be gone by then. By the way,” he added, “when we rounded Cape Shelter a few weeks back, we sighted a Sonderland ship crammed with soldiers and heading south. They haven’t bothered you, have they?”

  Cassandra shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

  Dimon, riding behind them, answered the question. “They were probably headed for Iberion,” he said. “We had dinner with the ambassador this week, and he said they were hiring Sonderland mercenaries to put down a revolt in one of their provinces.”

  Hal nodded. “No problem for you then,” he said. “In any event, once we’ve agreed on the changes to the treaty, and restocked the ship with provisions, we’ll head back to Skandia.”

  “Speaking of provisions,” Cassandra told him, “we’ve planned a hunt for tomorrow. There are plenty of deer in the forest, and quite a few boar. And the lake is full of geese and ducks.”

  “That’ll make Edvin happy. He’s always keen to replenish our stocks of fresh meat whenever he can.”

  “It’ll make Ingvar happy too,” Stig put in. “He’s always keen to eat it.”

  26

  Once he was away from the immediate vicinity of the riverbank, Gilan urged Blaze into a steady canter. By the time he caught up with the rest of the party, they were a few hundred meters from the old hill fort.

  “Any developments back at the ford?” Horace asked as Gilan rode up and drew rein beside him.

  “Nothing unexpected. Three of them tried to cross and we beat them back. That set them to thinking for a while as they realized how vulnerable they were once they were in the river. Then they sent one man wearing armor to try to get a rope across. He made it to the bank, but got no farther.”

  “You shot him?” Horace said.

  Gilan regarded him with an even gaze. “Well, I didn’t walk down and hand him a bunch of jonquils.”

  “What do you think they’ll do next?”

  Gilan paused. He’d been considering that while he was riding to catch up with the mixed force of cavalry and archers.

  “I think they’ll wait for nightfall,” he said. “It’d be harder to pick them off in the dark.”

  Horace glanced at the sun already dipping below the treetops to the west. “That gives us another hour at least,” he said. “What time is moonrise tonight?”

  “Somewhere between the sixth and seventh hour, I think. That’ll delay them even further. The moon would give us plenty of light to shoot by.”

  “If you were still there to shoot at them,” Horace said.

  Gilan nodded. “If we were still there to shoot at them,” he agreed. Then he gestured toward the ancient structure looming before them. “Let’s take a look at this hill fort.”

  As the name suggested, the fort had been built on the site of a natural feature—a low but steep-sided hill. A path spiraled around the hill, leading up to the summit, where a wooden structure had been built—a palisade of logs two meters high. There would be a walkway constructed inside it for the defenders.

  The sides of the hill were covered with long grass, making the hill difficult to climb—especially for men burdened with armor and weapons. Gilan had a mental picture of men slipping and stumbling as they tried to battle their way upward. They’d be badly exposed to arrows, spears, rocks and other missiles from the fortifications at the top.

  Horace gave the order for the archers and troopers to remain at the base while he and Gilan climbed the hill to survey the fort. He sent two troopers back down the path that led to the river to give early warning if the Red Fox Clan had managed to cross in pursuit. Then he and Gilan urged their horses up the narrow, winding path.

  Even on the path, the going was steep and difficult. The ground underfoot was packed earth, and the track followed the contours of the hill, spiraling upward. The path was three meters wide, and at irregular intervals there were barriers of rock and wood, designed to further delay an attacker’s progress. Eventually, of course, an attacking force could outflank the stone and timber barriers across the path. But it would take time for them to do so.

>   They dismounted at the first of these obstacles and heaved the old, rotting panel that served as a gate to one side.

  “Should we man some of these?” Gilan asked.

  Horace shook his head. “We don’t have enough men. Better to hold the very top—make the Foxes climb all the way, then shove them back down.”

  They rode on, circling round to the far side of the hill, then returning once more, always angling upward, and passing two more barricades as they did. They circled the hill one more time and came to the end of the track. The very top of the hill had been dug out so that they were confronted by a sheer earth wall, a meter and a half high, that ran all the way round the hilltop. Above that, the timber palisade stood another two meters high. A heavy gate was set into it.

  They dismounted. Horace tethered his horse to a nearby bush, and they set about scrambling up the packed earth wall on their hands and knees. At their first attempt, they simply slid back down. Then Gilan drew his saxe and drove it into the hard earth to provide a secure handhold. Horace did likewise, and they gained the upper level beneath the palisade.

  They studied the gate. The timber was old and warped, but it appeared solid. There was no sign of rot.

  “Good hardwood,” Horace said appreciatively. “Lasts for years. That’ll keep them out.”

  “It appears to be doing the same to us,” Gilan observed mildly.

  Horace looked around, seeking some other form of entrance, although he knew there wouldn’t be one. Then he stepped close to the wooden wall, standing with his back to it, and held his hands cupped together at thigh height.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll boost you up.”

  Gilan slung his bow around his shoulders and slid his quiver around to the back of his belt. Then he took a few paces forward and stepped up into Horace’s stirruped hands.

  As Gilan straightened his knee, Horace heaved upward and their combined thrust propelled the Ranger to the top of the wall. He hauled himself over the rough timbers, pausing with one half of his body inside the wall and the other outside while he studied the wooden walkway running around the interior of the wall. It looked solid enough, so he rolled himself over the parapet and dropped lightly to the old planks.