The Ghostfaces

by John A. Flanagan

  “The feather streams behind the bolt as it’s released and keeps it flying true, without toppling,” she said. “It’s not as efficient as fletching, but it does the job. We’ll be shooting at pretty close range and we don’t need pinpoint accuracy.”

  Hal nodded reflectively. “That’s true,” he said. “Good thinking.”

  Lydia continued. “The bows have been relatively easy to construct. Ulf and Wulf have done a good job and the Mawags are good carpenters. But the bolts were holding us up. Setting the vanes in place is a fiddly job and we need as many bolts as we can manage.”

  Hal handed back the projectile. “Let’s see,” he said, gesturing toward the bow. Lydia placed the bolt in the groove once more and signaled for the shooter to take his place. The bow sat on a framework of four legs and was mounted so that it had only a small amount of traverse and elevation travel. But that would be sufficient for the job they had to do. The shooter crouched behind it, nestling the butt of the bow into his shoulder and peering at the target.

  “I put a simple V backsight and blade foresight on it to help them aim,” Lydia explained. “There’s no adjustment but they’re getting used to allowing for drop over the distance.”

  Hal nodded and glanced at Stig, who had joined them and was watching with interest.

  “Looks like you’re not the only inventor anymore,” Stig said, and Hal nodded.

  “When you’re ready, Harowatta,” Lydia said. The Mawag’s hand tightened around the trigger lever. The two pins slipped down into the body of the bow, releasing the cord, and the tensioned arms slammed forward.

  The bolt shot away and Hal saw that Lydia was right. The big feather streamed out behind the heavy wooden bolt, keeping it flying true. Like its predecessor, the bolt slammed into the bundle of branches being used as a target. There was a splintering sound as it drove through the thin branches, smashing some and pushing some aside. This shot was dead center and the target skidded back on the hard-packed ground for a meter or so.

  “Nice work,” Hal said to the shooter, who grinned appreciatively. Then, turning back to Lydia, he asked, “How many bows are ready?”

  “Six,” she replied. “With another two that should be finished today. We’ve been training all the shooters on this bow. It was the first completed. By now, they’re getting pretty accurate.”

  “So I saw,” Hal said. He waved a greeting to Jesper and Stefan, who had just noticed their arrival. Stefan turned and said something to Ingvar, who was lugging a bundle of long, sharpened stakes that would be set facing out from the palisade. The big lad looked up, saw Hal and waved, a huge grin spreading over his face. Hal waved in reply, then turned back as Lydia spoke.

  “Did you see the Ghostfaces?” she asked.

  Hal nodded. “I figure they’ll be along in about three days.”

  But Simsinnet wasn’t prepared to let it go at that. “Did we see them?” he asked. “We didn’t just see them! Hal, Stig and Thorn took on six of them and just”—he hesitated, holding his hands out uncertainly as he sought the correct word—“demolished them!” he concluded.

  Lydia grinned. “Yes. They’re good at that,” she said, glancing affectionately at Stig. “Particularly Mr. Muscles here and the dreaded Hookyhand.” She used a term that Thorn had applied to himself several years previously, when introduced to the king of Araluen.

  Simsinnet was a little taken aback at her casual acceptance of her shipmates’ prowess. “Hal too!” he insisted excitedly. “He killed one and knocked another cold, in a matter of seconds. I’ve never seen anything like the three of them!”

  Hal and Stig shrugged diffidently as Lydia turned to them. “Wait till he sees Ingvar in action,” she said and they both nodded. Then she turned back to the waiting group of shooters clustered around the crossbow. “Well, I’d better get back to it if the Ghostfaces are on their way,” she said.

  Hal nodded agreement. “And we’d better report in to Mohegas, and make sure everything will be ready for our guests.”

  They crossed the gathering ground, heading for Mohegas’s hut. The older Mawagansett had been informed of their return and met them halfway, reaching out to clasp the arms of each of them in greeting.

  “It’s good to see you safe!” he said, smiling. “Did you find the Ghostfaces?”

  Hal reported on the location of the enemy and the actions they’d taken to slow them down. Again, Simsinnet enthused over the fighting skills his three companions had demonstrated.

  “So perhaps this won’t be a one-sided battle this time?” Mohegas said. Hal, Thorn and Stig all shrugged, but Simsinnet agreed heartily with the tribal elder.

  “Believe me, Uncle,” he said—Uncle was a term of respect among the tribespeople—“this time, the Ghostfaces are going to get the shock of their lives.”

  Mohegas studied the three Skandians for a few seconds. They weren’t boastful or arrogant, but he could see a calm confidence about them. They knew their own capabilities and they trusted their skill in fighting. Simsinnet could be right, he thought. These were trained warriors and ten of them would make a big difference in the coming flight. Ten of them, he thought, and eight of the massive crossbows that he’d seen constructed. As he had the thought, they heard the SLAM! of another shot and a ragged cheer from the warriors practicing their skills. Obviously, that one had gone home as well and done more damage to the target.

  “I’m glad you’re with us,” he said simply.

  Thorn replied with a wolfish grin. “Let’s make sure the Ghostfaces aren’t,” he said.

  • • • • •

  Satisfied that preparations were proceeding satisfactorily, the four travelers rested for the remainder of the day, catching up on the sleep they had lost during their arduous journey downriver. Hal awoke refreshed the following morning, but his arms were still stiff and his shoulder muscles were aching. Stig was in the same condition. Thorn seemed immune. His powerful muscles seemed to be able to take any exertion in their stride.

  “It’s the result of clean living,” he said, in a superior tone.

  Hal raised an eyebrow in his direction. “It may be the result of many things,” he said. “I doubt clean living is one of them in your case.”

  Tecumsa produced a powerful-smelling salve that she rubbed into Stig’s and Hal’s arms and shoulders. The liniment had a burning effect, but it soon eased the cramps and pains that assailed them. Thorn sniffed the air close to the two friends, a pained expression on his face.

  “Maybe you two should try clean living in the future. You smell like a stable full of donkeys.”

  Many years before, on a raid in Iberion, Thorn had seen and, more importantly, smelled donkeys. The memory lived on. Stig and Hal, however, stared at him, uncomprehending. Donkeys were an unknown quantity in Hallasholm.

  “What do donkeys smell like?” Stig asked.

  Thorn shook his head, trying to dispel the powerful aroma that wafted from his two young friends. “Like you two—but not as pungent.”

  It was a little disconcerting to have Thorn, who was not the most fragrant of people, commenting on their personal freshness. But Tecumsa’s salve had a wonderful healing effect on their stiff muscles, so Hal decided it was worth the insults.

  “Let’s take a look at where the boys have placed the crossbows,” he said.

  Lydia, Ingvar, Stefan and Edvin took them on a tour of the site. They had set the eight crossbows up in two batteries, one on either side of the village, inside the tree line facing the palisade, with each set at a forty-five-degree angle to it. From those positions, they would be able to enfilade the attacking Ghosts as they tried to storm the palisade, raking them with bolts from two angles.

  Each crossbow had a respectable pile of heavy bolts set next to it. Hal picked one up and examined it. The shaft was hardwood and there was a sharp flint warhead bound to the tip. As he had seen previously, the other
end was equipped with a large feather to stabilize the bolt in flight. Each crossbow had a dozen bolts lying beside it, ready to shoot.

  “That’s nearly a hundred shots we can take at them,” Hal mused. “And chances are, each bolt will account for more than one of them.”

  “Chances are, once we start shooting, they’ll turn back and attack us,” Thorn pointed out.

  Hal nodded. “We’d better build some defenses here as well,” he said. “A hedge of sharpened stakes pointing outward should do the trick.” He glanced at Stefan. “Can you organize that?”

  Stefan nodded. “I’ll get some of the Mawags onto it immediately.”

  Hal turned to Lydia. “You can take command of things here. Thorn, you take the other battery.” He gestured to where the other four crossbows had been set up in the trees. Lydia and Thorn both nodded assent.

  Stig tilted his head curiously. “Where do you want me?”

  “You take command at the main palisade. And have a force of half a dozen Mawag warriors ready as an emergency squad, in case the Ghostfaces break through at any point along the defenses.”

  “Where will you be?” Lydia asked.

  Hal gestured in the direction of the beach. “I’ll take Ulf, Wulf and Edvin with me. We’ll hide the ship inside the north headland and get among the Ghostfaces’ canoes once they’re committed. We’ll ram and sink as many as we can.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I’ll have to wait until all the canoes are out of the river and in the bay. Then I’ll attack them from behind,” he said. “That means you’ll have to cope with probably half the attacking force—the ones who make it to the beach before we can attack them.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Thorn said, and the others murmured agreement.

  Hal glanced at Thorn. “Have I forgotten anything?” he asked.

  The grizzled old sea wolf shook his head. “I think that covers everything. Of course, once the fight starts, a whole lot of things will happen that we haven’t foreseen. It always happens that way.”

  The others all regarded him solemnly. Past experience told them that what he said was only too true. Then Stig broke the silence.

  “Well, even if we get it half right, we’ll make sure they won’t be coming back,” he said.

  “And if we get it all right,” Hal replied, “we’ll make sure they won’t be going home.”

  chapter thirty-eight

  They’re coming!” Ulf shouted, his voice cracking with excitement or anxiety—or both.

  It was the third day after Hal and the others had returned from their expedition upriver. Mohegas had dispatched a series of two-man teams to watch for the enemy’s approach, spacing them up the river, about two or three kilometers apart. Upon seeing the fleet of canoes coming downriver, each pair of observers was to light a signal fire, then flee—either inland if they felt the Ghostfaces were too close, or downriver by canoe if they felt it was safe to do so.

  The Ghosts, having paddled over a long distance, would move more slowly than a single light canoe with two paddlers and only a short distance to cover.

  Now Hal saw a thin spiral of smoke rising from what was the sixth and final observation post, on the bank of the river as it widened into the bay. He knew the river before that point stretched in a straight line for two kilometers, which meant the Ghostface fleet was now less than two kilometers away. As he had the thought, he saw the small two-man canoe streak away from the bank and head for the far beach as fast as its crew could paddle.

  He, Edvin and the twins were aboard the Heron, moored just inside the northern headland. Each day, they had crossed the bay by canoe, bringing Kloof with them, and waited aboard the ship for the first sign of the approaching enemy. The ship itself was festooned with creepers and leafy branches to break up its outline and make it more difficult to spot. The yardarms were lowered, but ready to hoist once the Ghostface fleet of canoes had emerged from the river and were on the broad surface of the bay, where they would be vulnerable to attack from the Heron.

  Shading his eyes against the mid-morning glare, he peered across the bay to the beach, where he saw an answering thread of smoke rising from close to the beginning of the tree line—confirmation that the signal had been received. The sentry on duty there could just be seen, running into the shadows under the trees and heading for the village to spread the warning.

  “Let’s get ready,” he said, and his three companions all checked their weapons. There was a sudden air of tension on board the little ship that Kloof seemed to sense. Her hackles rose around her neck and she emitted a low, whining growl.

  “Steady, girl,” Hal told her, stroking the top of her head to calm her. He didn’t want her barking and possibly warning the approaching enemy of their position.

  “Shall we get rid of the covering, Hal?” Wulf asked, moving toward the intertwined creepers and branches that covered the ship.

  Hal shook his head. “Leave it for the moment. I want all the Ghosts’ canoes out on the bay before we reveal ourselves. If they sight us too soon, some of them might head back up the river and escape.”

  The fast, handy canoes would make better time upriver than the Heron. The banks were close together, restricting the wind and making it impossible for the ship to follow a straight course. Out on the open water of the bay, it would be a different matter. Her sails would give her a considerable speed advantage over the canoes. She could swoop down on them, ramming them and smashing their fragile hulls at will.

  His stomach tightened into a knot as he awaited the first sign of the enemy. It’s always the way, he thought. You get the first warning and everyone’s on edge immediately. Then nothing happens. He shaded his eyes again, straining to see the mouth of the river and some sign of movement there. But still, there was nothing.

  • • • • •

  When the sentry had run into the village, breathlessly spreading the word of the Ghostfaces’ approach, there had been an immediate bustle of activity. Thorn smiled grimly as he watched the villagers rushing here and there. There was no real need for the rush. Everyone was ready for the attack—and had been for several days now. The eight crossbows were deployed in the trees to either side of the village. Each was placed so that it had a clear sight line through the trees. There had been some debate as to whether the trees should be cut down to provide a wider angle of shot for the bows but Thorn had vetoed the idea. The bows would be easier to spot if the trees were cut back. As it was, the first shattering impact of the bolts would seem to come from nowhere, and everywhere. And in the event that the Ghostfaces turned to attack the batteries, the close-set trees would prevent their attacking in a concerted line.

  Now he watched as parents hurriedly chivvied their children into huts in the center of the village, where the young women and older tribespeople would care for them during the battle.

  “No need to rush,” he murmured. “They won’t be here for at least an hour.”

  • • • • •

  Lydia, at the other crossbow site, echoed his thoughts. This was always the hardest part, she mused, waiting for the attack. And, like Thorn, she knew that there was still plenty of time to wait. She watched as the Mawagansett warriors began to take their places at the barricade of intertwined branches and sharpened stakes that ringed the village. She could make out Tecumsa as the young woman gathered a group of small children and led them to the relative safety of the central huts. The day prior, Tecumsa and a group of half a dozen other young women had approached Lydia.

  “Will you fight the Ghostfaces?” they asked.

  When she nodded confirmation, Tecumsa stepped forward. “Teach us to fight too,” she said, and the others chorused agreement.

  Their faces fell as Lydia shook her head. “I can’t teach you in such a short time,” she said. “And if you try to take a place at the barricade, you might well distract your warriors. They’d be concerned for you, and i
t might cost them their lives.”

  She saw them realizing the truth of what she’d said. But they were disappointed, she could tell.

  “This much I can teach you,” she said, and their eyes lit up with interest. “Arm yourselves with weapons you can handle easily. Spears would be best. They’re lighter than clubs or axes, and if an enemy warrior does break through and attack you, they’ll keep him at a distance.”

  The girls nodded, eyes intent on her, taking note of every word she said.

  “Attack in pairs if you can. Jab at them. Stab them. Use the point of the spear. Aim for their legs and thighs. It’s harder to counter a stroke there. If you wound them, you’ll put them out of the fight just as surely as if you kill them.”

  She paused. She could see her words had sunk in. The girls’ eyes were still intent on her.

  “One more thing,” she said, “and this is the most important part, and the hardest. Do not give ground. No matter how frightened you are—and you will be frightened—no matter how fierce they appear with their skull faces and black eyes—do not retreat. Attack them. Go forward all the time. Scream at them. Hate them. But most of all, attack them. They won’t be expecting it. They’ll expect you to scream in fear and run away. Don’t do it. Go forward. Always forward.”

  She saw Tecumsa mouthing the word with her, saw the girl’s jaw set and the resolve in her eyes. She’s not going to run from the Ghostfaces, Lydia thought.

  Now she looked at the warriors grouped around the four crossbows.

  “Everyone ready?” she asked, and they chorused an affirmative. She could see they were tense and nervous and she smiled encouragement at them. “They won’t be here for at least an hour,” she said. “Just relax and take it easy. There’ll be plenty to do when they arrive.”

  Several of the young men nodded nervously back at her and it occurred to her for the first time that she had probably been in more battles than any of them.