Brotherband: Scorpion Mountain

by John Flanagan

  ‘It’s a strange language, this Arridan, isn’t it?’ he said. His brother had no idea where he was going with this, but he sensed another leg pull and agreed instantly.

  That, in itself, was sufficient to warn the others that the two had something up their sleeves. Ulf and Wulf never agreed on anything, unless they were seeking to make fun of a third person.

  ‘Very strange,’ Ulf said emphatically.

  His brother continued. ‘I mean, look at the lack of variety in their names. We’re hunting a man called Iqbal, and this demi-semi-wemi god, or whatever he was, that they named the Narrows after, was called Ikbar.’

  ‘I see your point,’ Ulf replied promptly, although he most certainly didn’t. His brother continued to expound.

  ‘Wouldn’t you think they could have come up with two names that weren’t so similar? I mean, there’s only two letters’ difference between Ikbar and Iqbal. That’s very odd, I think . . .’

  ‘Very odd indeed,’ Ulf agreed.

  Stig and Hal exchanged a glance, waiting to see if any of the crew would bite. But Lydia squashed the debate conclusively.

  ‘That’s rich,’ she said, ‘coming from two people called Ulf and Wulf.’

  Several of the crew laughed. Ulf and Wulf were taken aback by her logic. For a moment, neither of them could think of a reply. Then Wulf said:

  ‘That’s totally different. It doesn’t matter that our names are so similar.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Ulf, nodding emphatically, and looking to his brother for a further explanation.

  ‘Because nobody takes any notice of Ulf, so who cares if his name is a poor cousin to mine,’ Wulf concluded. In the absence of any discussion with the rest of the crew, he was content to start yet another argument with his brother. Ulf, predictably, rose to the bait.

  ‘Nobody takes any notice of me?’ he said indignantly. ‘What makes you say that?’

  But Wulf said nothing, looking through his twin as if he wasn’t there.

  Ulf’s face reddened with anger. ‘Did you hear me? Explain yourself!’

  Wulf jumped, in mock surprise. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t taking any notice of you, just like the rest of the world.’

  ‘Ingvar?’ There was a warning tone in Hal’s voice. The big boy was seated amidships and he looked up now.

  ‘Yes, Hal?’

  ‘Have you ever wondered what it looks like when you throw one of these idiots overboard?’

  Ingvar nodded. ‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ he said. ‘The sound of the splash is quite edifying but I’ve always wanted to actually see one of them hit the waves.’

  ‘This could be your lucky day,’ Hal said. ‘Put on your spectacles.’

  Ingvar reached into his side pocket and produced the wrapped spectacles. He slipped them on, then took a minute or so to tie the restraining laces that Hal had fitted to them. He looked up, glanced around and beamed. He was still enjoying the novelty of being able to see his surroundings in greater detail.

  ‘Ready, Hal,’ he said. But Ulf and Wulf had wisely fallen silent, retreating back to their post by the sail trimming sheets, as if to remind Hal of their importance when it came to manoeuvring the ship.

  ‘Maybe later, Ingvar,’ said Hal, hiding a smile. Ulf and Wulf busied themselves making minor and totally unnecessary changes to the sail trim.

  Lydia laughed softly. ‘Look at them,’ she said. ‘Just as quiet as two little mice – until they get another stupid idea through their heads.’

  ‘Sail!’ called Edvin, who was the duty lookout. He’d been standing in the bow of the ship, scanning the horizon in a hundred-and-eighty-degree arc to either side. Now he was pointing to port, at a point halfway along the ship. As the strange ship continued to move west, the point changed to further astern.

  ‘Going about to port!’ Hal called. He could see the ship now. Her sail was a small white square on the horizon. The crew moved to their sailing stations and he brought the ship through the eye of the wind and onto the opposite tack, so they were heading towards the other ship. Edvin hauled himself up onto the bulwark, steadying himself on a stay, and shaded his eyes for a clearer look at the newcomer.

  ‘Can you see what she is, Edvin?’ Hal called. There was a pause, then Edvin shook his head.

  ‘Not very big, Hal. I’d say she’s probably a fishing boat.’

  ‘Not a fighting ship then?’ Hal asked. In these waters, the ship could be anything from an innocent trader or fishing smack to a vicious corsair, crammed with men, ready to overwhelm any passing ship.

  ‘She looks like a coastal trader. There only appear to be half a dozen men on deck.’

  ‘Could be more hidden below, of course,’ Hal said. He wasn’t unduly worried. If the approaching ship turned out to be hostile, he was confident his crew could take care of any mischief they might be planning. ‘Stig, Ingvar, ready the Mangler, please.’

  The two moved forward and unlashed the canvas covering over the Mangler – the massive crossbow mounted in the ship’s bow. Ingvar opened the ammunition locker behind the weapon and selected a standard bolt. He stood ready with it. Stig, meanwhile, had dropped onto the operator’s stool and was swivelling the Mangler to bear on the approaching ship, walking it round in a small arc with his feet.

  ‘Lydia,’ said Hal, ‘stand by to give them a hand.’

  She nodded and touched the flights of one of the darts in her quiver, reassuring herself that it would fall easily to hand if she needed to load. ‘I’m ready, Hal.’

  ‘This is great!’ they heard Ingvar call, as he traversed the Mangler to keep it trained in the direction of the unknown ship. ‘It’s so much better when I can see what’s happening.’ In the past, of course, he’d had to rely on directions from Stig or Lydia to keep the Mangler even roughly on line with its target.

  Stig turned and grinned at him. ‘Just remember to obey directions when we get close,’ he warned and Ingvar nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Should we load?’ Stig asked.

  Hal hesitated, glancing at Thorn. ‘What do you say, Thorn?’

  The old sea wolf pursed his lips thoughtfully, then shook his head.

  ‘I wouldn’t bother,’ he said. ‘They look harmless enough and if they do try to start something, Lydia can teach them a lesson with the atlatl.’

  ‘I might take a hand in that as well,’ said Gilan. The Ranger had unslung the massive longbow he carried over one shoulder and was standing close to the port bulwark, an arrow nocked, ready to draw and shoot at a moment’s notice.

  ‘As you say,’ Thorn said. ‘Between you two, they should get a very nasty surprise.’

  Then any doubts they might have had as to the strange ship’s intentions were dispelled.

  ‘She’s letting her sheets fly!’ Edvin called. Instantly, the regular white rectangle that was the vessel’s sail was transformed into a fluttering shapeless mass as her crew cast loose the ends of the ropes that held it in place against the wind. It was a sign of surrender, or of peaceful intentions. The boat was no longer under way and couldn’t manoeuvre to attack them – or to avoid any attack they might make. A figure in the stern stood on the railing and waved a greeting.

  ‘Looks like they want to talk. I’ll come up alongside her,’ Hal said. ‘Stefan, get ready to throw a line across to her.’

  Stefan waved a hand in acknowledgement and moved to the rail as the Heron slid smoothly towards the other craft, aiming to come close alongside. Ulf and Wulf were poised, ready to de-power their own sail when the moment came.

  As Hal judged the moment to be right, he called a rapid series of orders.

  ‘Let go the sheets! Down sail! Send a line across, Stefan!’

  The sail lost its shape and the yardarm came sliding down as Jesper, assisted now by Edvin, cast off the halyards and let it fall. Ulf and Wulf helped them gather in the billowing, flapping canvas as Stefan stood poised by the rail, the weighted end of a line in his hand, letting it swing idly back and forth, gath
ering momentum.

  ‘Now, Stefan!’ Hal called and the line snaked across the gap between the two craft, curving down in a smooth arc to land on the other boat’s foredeck. Two of her crew, which Hal could now see comprised only five men, hauled it in and made it fast.

  The way came off Heron as she slid alongside, then Ulf, Wulf, Edvin and Stefan bent their backs to the line and hauled the two ships together, until their wicker fenders were grating and creaking as the two hulls alternatively crushed then released them.

  Hal tied off the tiller to stop it slapping back and forth with the sea’s motion, and strode a few paces forward.

  ‘What boat is that?’ he called. His counterpart, at the tiller of the other ship, cupped his hands round his mouth to reply.

  ‘We’re the Gerbil,’ he called. ‘We have a message for the Araluan Ranger Gilan, from Wakir Seley el’then.’

  Hal glanced curiously at Gilan.

  ‘That’s Selethen’s full name,’ Gilan informed him.

  Hal nodded and called back to the Gerbil. ‘Come aboard and pass your message.’ Out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered to Lydia, ‘Stay alert, Lydia, in case this is a trick. If I give you the word, skewer him.’

  He liked the sound of that word – Lydia had used it when she challenged Thorn a few days earlier. It seemed an appropriate description of what happened when one of her darts found its mark. Unobtrusively, she clipped a dart into the atlatl.

  The Gerbil’s skipper made his way forward on his own craft to the point where the two hulls met. The Arridan boat was much smaller than Heron. He stepped aboard and nodded to Stig, who was in the bow. Stig indicated Gilan and Hal. The other skipper strode easily aft to the stern to meet them. The uneven pitching and surging of the two hulls tied together caused him no problems. He was an experienced sailor, Hal noted.

  He stopped as he came to Hal, glancing quickly to either side and taking in Thorn, Lydia and Gilan – a somewhat disparate group that left him slightly confused. Being a captain himself, his natural instinct was to address the ship’s skipper first.

  ‘I am Kav al Bedin,’ he said, ‘master of the craft Gerbil.’ He touched the fingers of his right hand to his lips, forehead then lips again in the traditional Arridi greeting. Hal declined to try to mirror the greeting, choosing instead to incline his head slightly, as befitted the captain of a larger vessel.

  ‘I am Hal Mikkelson,’ he said, ‘skirl of the vessel Heron. And this –’ he indicated Gilan, who was standing half a pace behind him ‘– is the Araluan Ranger Gilan, the man you are seeking.’

  Kav turned to Gilan and repeated the ritual greeting. ‘My lord Seley el’then sends you his greetings, Ranger.’ Gilan, like Hal, responded with a slight inclination of his head. Kav continued. ‘He has important news for you about the brigand Iqbal and wishes you to meet with him in the township of Al Shabah.’

  Gilan turned to Hal. ‘Al Shabah is a small town about thirty kilometres along the coast. It’s where Erak was taken prisoner by the Arridi.’

  Hal raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you think there’s anything significant in that fact?’ he asked suspiciously.

  But Gilan shook his head. ‘No. It’s a convenient place to meet with him. It’s the nearest town of any size in this part of the coast. I doubt he’s planning any treachery. He’s a trusted ally these days.’

  Hal nodded. ‘Then we’d best get under way and see what this important news is.’

  PART TWO

  TABORK

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE ENTRANCE TO Al Shabah’s harbour was narrow and there was a tricky cross current running along the coast, so Hal chose to enter harbour under oars.

  Heron slipped smoothly between the moles on either side of the harbour entrance. Gerbil, whose captain was familiar with the conditions, was under sail some forty metres in her wake. As they came to the wider, calmer waters within the breakwater, Gerbil’s skipper signalled for his sail handlers to sheet home more firmly and accelerated to come alongside the Heron.

  He pointed to the long wharf directly opposite the harbour mouth. A green flag stirred lazily in the breeze on a tall flagpole set back from the wharf.

  ‘Go alongside the wharf, captain,’ he called. ‘Seley el’then’s men will meet you there.’

  Then he waved farewell, leaned on his tiller and sheered off, heading for a side channel in the harbour.

  Gilan looked around the busy little port. There were trading ships of all shapes and sizes crammed inside the protective breakwaters. The long government wharf, however, had been left free for the Heron.

  ‘Look familiar?’ Thorn asked him, noticing the Ranger’s gaze wandering round the harbour. Gilan, of course, had visited Al Shabah before, as part of the delegation that had come to ransom Oberjarl Erak from the Arridi.

  ‘Pretty much,’ Gilan replied. Then he frowned slightly. ‘There’s a good many more ships here than last time.’

  Thorn shrugged. ‘Maybe trade is good at the moment.’

  Hal brought the ship neatly alongside. The mooring lines were passed to men on the stone wharf and fenders tossed over the side of the ship to protect the timbers and paintwork from the rough stone. The Heron’s deck lay well below the level of the wharf. A ladder was passed down and lashed into place.

  Hal turned to Gilan and gestured to the ladder. ‘This is your show,’ he said. ‘Who do you want with you?’

  Gilan considered for a second or two. ‘For the moment, I think you and Thorn will be enough,’ he said. Hal glanced round to see if Thorn had heard.

  The one-armed sea wolf nodded. ‘Wouldn’t want to overwhelm them.’

  Hal turned to Stig, who was supervising the crew as they stowed oars, yardarm and sail.

  ‘Take charge here, Stig,’ he said. ‘We’re going ashore.’

  Stig nodded briefly, then turned back to the task of furling the sail tightly. When they had lowered it before entering harbour, the sail handlers had simply bundled it up and thrown a line around it to secure it.

  The crew paused briefly in their various tasks as Gilan mounted the ladder, followed by Hal and Thorn. Then a curt command from Stig brought them back to their duties. As first mate, he was the jealous guardian of Heron’s appearance. It wouldn’t do to have her looking untidy or slipshod in front of a bunch of foreigners. He demanded that everything be neat and shipshape when they moored in a new port.

  Gilan stepped onto the crushed stone that covered the surface of the wharf and moved to one side, waiting for Thorn and Hal to join him. He raised his eyebrows as he saw a tall, thin figure striding across the wharf to greet them. A file of ten soldiers stood at ease behind him, their armour and accoutrements highly polished and gleaming in the bright sun.

  ‘Here’s an honour for you, Thorn,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re about to be greeted by Seley el’then himself.’

  The tall Arridi nobleman reached them and bowed slightly at the waist, touching his hand to lips, brow and lips in the traditional manner. Then he straightened and his narrow, swarthy face and dark beard were split by a wide smile of genuine pleasure.

  ‘Friend Gilan,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

  ‘And you, Selethen,’ Gilan replied and, stepping forward, he embraced the Arridan. Although Gilan was relatively tall for a Ranger, Selethen towered over him. They released each other and stepped back.

  ‘Selethen, let me introduce Hal Mikkelson, the captain of our ship, and his battle leader, Thorn.’

  Selethen bowed gravely to them, appraising them keenly.

  ‘Welcome to Al Shabah, gentlemen,’ he said.

  ‘Good day, Wakir Selethen,’ Hal replied. Gilan had coached them in the correct greeting for Selethen, which, in recognition of Skandian custom, consisted of his title and name. Skandians were not big on addressing people as ‘your honour’ or ‘your lordship’.

  ‘Morning, Wakir,’ Thorn said cheerfully.

  Selethen eyed him closely. One hand missing, but a hearty and confident manner.
There was no sense of self-pity about the man. He obviously wasn’t one to sit around bemoaning his loss. And the polished wood gripping hook that replaced his right hand was a fascinating object, obviously fashioned by a master craftsman.

  ‘Thorn,’ Selethen mused. ‘Is it just Thorn, northman? Or do you have a second name?’

  Thorn’s grin widened. ‘Some call me Hookyhand, your Wakirship.’

  Selethen found his own severe features creasing into a grin in response. There was something essentially likeable about this shabby, shaggy warrior.

  ‘Behave yourself, Thorn,’ the young captain said and, instantly, the older man nodded deferentially.

  ‘Whatever you say, Hal,’ Thorn replied.

  Selethen nodded. That was interesting. The younger man was barely more than a boy, yet he obviously had the respect and loyalty of the one-handed Thorn. He looked at Gilan again.

  ‘As ever, friend Gilan, you are surrounded by interesting people,’ he said.

  Gilan smiled in return. ‘You have no idea how interesting, Selethen.’

  ‘I’ve arranged for you to be quartered in the guesthouse you used last time you were here.’

  Gilan nodded his thanks. ‘That will be most suitable. Is there room for the entire crew?’ On his previous visit, the crew of Wolfwind were kept confined on board ship. But times had changed and the Arridans no longer viewed Skandians as enemies.

  ‘That will pose no problem,’ Selethen said. ‘I’ll have one of my officers escort you there. You can bathe and change and I’ll have food brought to the house. Then we’ll meet to discuss matters. There’s been a development that I think you’ll find significant. Iqbal is quite close to hand.’

  He clicked his fingers and a young officer stepped forward from the squad behind him, his boots grating on the crushed stone.

  ‘Lieutenant Samur, please see our friends and their crew to the guesthouse and make sure they have everything they need.’

  The young officer slapped his right palm across the silver breastplate he wore with a resounding smack. ‘Yes, my lord.’