The Hunters

by John Flanagan

  A little before the ninth hour, the longboat that was to be their escort arrived, pulling smoothly round the end of the jetty.

  She was nearly as long as Heron and packed with men. Without the need for rigging or a mast, she could fit six oars down each side. In addition to the twelve men rowing, Hal could count another eight men aboard her, all armed and wearing chain mail and helmets. As she came level with Heron, she pivoted neatly and allowed the wind to drift her in closer, until she was four or five metres away. Her helmsman cupped his hands around his mouth and called to them.

  ‘Aboard the Heron! Are you ready?’

  They had been ready for well over half an hour, with all surplus gear stowed away and just a bow and stern line holding the ship alongside. Stig looked interrogatively at Hal, who was standing by the tiller. The skirl nodded and Stig bellowed in reply:

  ‘Ready!’

  ‘Then follow us! Keep station ten metres astern.’ He spoke in a lower tone, giving an order to his rowers, and the oars went forward, lowered, then began a slow stroke. The longboat moved smoothly away.

  While this was happening, Stig leapt up to the jetty and cast off the bow and stern ropes, jumping lightly down to the deck once he had done so.

  ‘Oars,’ Hal called quietly and the crew ran out their oars. The two for’ard rowers on the port side fended off from the jetty so that Heron’s bow swung to face clear water. Stig scrambled down to his rowing bench and ran his oar out. He and Hal made eye contact and Stig called to the others.

  ‘Give way all! Stroke . . . stroke . . . stroke . . .’

  He set a slow pace for the rowers and Heron glided away from the jetty, down the narrow fairway to the main channel. As ever, Hal felt a thrill of excitement as the tiller came alive and the water began to chuckle down the length of the hull. At the same time, his stomach was balled in a tight knot – as it always was before they went into action.

  He glanced along the twin lines of rowers. Their faces were set and pale and he realised they were feeling the same pre-combat nerves that he was. Only Thorn, standing in his usual position by the keel box, and wearing his massive horned helmet, seemed unconcerned. Hal realised they were overhauling the longboat, moving faster than she was. He waited until they were just over ten metres astern of her and called to Stig.

  ‘Slow it a little.’

  His voice was tight and his throat felt dry. It sounded more high-pitched than he had intended and he hoped the others hadn’t noticed. Stig didn’t seem to. He began to call the stroke again, more slowly this time, and the ship settled into her position astern of the longboat.

  ‘Good,’ Hal said. He didn’t trust his voice for more than one word. He licked his dry lips and swallowed nervously.

  They turned into the main channel leading to the sea. They passed ships on either side, all of them with their crews lining the sides and watching. Interest in the coming duel was high among the people of Raguza. Several men on ships they passed called out greetings and good wishes. He guessed they were men who had wagered on the Heron, taking advantage of the three to one odds offered. Depressingly, they were a minority. Most of the sailors watched them in silence as they passed by. Hal had elected to row out of the harbour, as it was crowded with so many ships at anchor and the channel was relatively narrow. Once they reached the harbour mouth, he’d set the sail and let the crew relax a little.

  They glided on. He heard a bell in a tower ashore chiming the ninth hour. He glanced up at the wind telltale. It was streaming out steadily in the north-easterly breeze. That was to the good, he thought. The wind was brisk enough so that they could use their speed under sail, without being so strong that it would cause them problems. The sky was clear and blue, with a few scattered clouds sliding across it.

  A beautiful day for a duel, he thought. He met Thorn’s eyes and the old sea wolf nodded reassuringly. But something was amiss, Hal thought. He looked more closely and realised with surprise that Thorn was wearing his grasping hook, not the massive club that Hal had made for him. He pointed to it and cocked his head in a question. Thorn glanced down, then walked slowly aft to stand beside him.

  ‘The shaft of the club has a rather nasty crack in it,’ he explained. ‘Only noticed it this morning when I was getting ready. Must have done it the other night in that alley.’

  ‘You should have told me. I could have repaired it,’ Hal said, but Thorn shook his head.

  ‘There wasn’t time. It’s no problem. I’ll use a sword and fight left-handed. I can hold a shield in this hook of yours.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Hal said doubtfully. He hoped this wasn’t some kind of omen. Thorn seemed to read his thoughts and smiled grimly.

  ‘I do. I have done this before, you know,’ he said, with a faint smile.

  Hal forced a smile in reply. ‘So I’ve heard.’

  Thorn nodded, the horns on his helmet bobbing as he did, then returned to his station by the keel box. The fin was still raised. They’d lower it when they hauled the sail up.

  ‘Hullo,’ called Stig. ‘Look who’s joined us.’

  Hal turned and looked astern. Two hundred metres behind them, following its own escort, was the sinister black shape of the Raven. Looking carefully, he could see the disturbance of white water at her bow where her ram protruded, just below the surface.

  The knot in his stomach wound itself a little tighter. He faced forward. Jesper, intent on getting a look at their enemy, miscued his stroke, the oar blade splashing awkwardly. The ship faltered and Hal had to make a small adjustment to the tiller to compensate for the error. He glared at Jesper but, before he could say anything, Stig was on the job.

  ‘Pay attention to what you’re doing!’ he rasped. Jesper flushed, muttered an apology, and bent over his oar, avoiding the gaze of his skirl and the first mate. Hal felt a small glow of warmth towards his best friend. Stig was the ideal first mate, he thought. He was always ready to catch any small lapse of discipline or seamanship, freeing Hal up for the larger decisions that needed to be made. And he could step in and take over the tiller at any time. Hal looked down at Stig to signal his thanks, but Stig wasn’t looking at him. Then he realised there was no need for thanks. Stig was simply doing his job. He’d expect no thanks for that.

  They were coming up to the harbour mouth now, a twenty-metre opening between two stone moles. On the left-hand side, a wooden watch tower stood. He noticed that it was currently flying a huge blue and red flag. He’d never noticed that before.

  He glanced at it with idle curiosity, then turned his attention to negotiating the entrance. There was plenty of room but he had a sudden horrifying vision of misjudging it and scraping the Heron’s sleek flanks along the rough stone of the harbour walls.

  They slid smoothly out into open water and he felt the breeze pick up as they did. The telltale now streamed out in a straight line as Hal surveyed what lay ahead of them.

  Raguza was situated at the very end of the Dan River, on a huge gulf that opened out, in turn, to the Constant Sea. There was a slight swell running and he felt Heron lift to it, momentarily pressing more firmly against the soles of his feet, then sinking away into the low trough. He loved feeling her move beneath him. For perhaps the thousandth time, he thought it made her feel like a living being.

  The longboat was swinging out in an arc to head back towards them.

  ‘Easy all,’ he said. Stig repeated the order so the crew could hear it clearly, and they rested on their oars, the shafts parallel to the surface, the blades clear of the water. The longboat came alongside, facing back towards the harbour. The two craft were separated by the length of their respective oars. The helmsman cupped his hands once more.

  ‘Aboard the Heron! D’you see the longboat to the east, flying the blue flag?’

  He pointed and Hal stepped lightly up onto the bulwark to follow the line he was indicating. About two kilometres offshore, he could make out a dark, low-lying shape, and see a flicker of blue above her.

  ‘I see it,’
he replied.

  ‘That’s your start position. Raven will start here, by the boat with the red flag.’

  He indicated another longboat, a hundred metres away. Hal nodded. There was no need to reply. The helmsman of the longboat continued.

  ‘The signal to start is when the red and blue flag on the watch tower comes down. Understood?’

  ‘Understood!’ Hal shouted. Once again, he was annoyed at the high-pitched tone of his own voice. Get over it, he told himself. Now he realised the significance of that red and blue flag on the tower. The helmsman pointed to the distant longboat under the blue flag.

  ‘The duel starts in half an hour,’ he called. ‘You’d best get to your starting position.’

  He spoke to his oarsmen and their oars dipped and pulled. The longboat slipped smoothly away from them, heading back to the harbour. Hal reached over to the thirty-minute sandglass mounted near the tiller and tipped it. The grains began to trickle through from top to bottom.

  ‘Nice of him to wish us good luck,’ Hal said.

  Stig grinned at him. ‘He’s probably got his money on Raven, too.’

  ‘Then he’ll lose!’ Lydia’s voice called from the bow. Ingvar rumbled agreement.

  Hal took a deep breath. The wind was coming from the starboard side.

  ‘In oars,’ he called. There was the usual sliding rattle of wood on wood as the oars came in and were stowed. Then the crew moved to their positions for sailing.

  ‘Jesper, Stefan, raise the port sail!’

  There followed the squeak and rattle of halyards through the blocks and the port yardarm and sail slid quickly to the top of the mast, clunking into place in the cradle that held it steady. There was no need to order Ulf and Wulf to the sheets. They were already in place.

  The ship seemed to hesitate for a second or two, then the twins hauled in on the trimming sheets and the sail flapped momentarily, then filled with a dull whoomp sound. The Heron accelerated as smoothly as her namesake, swooping smoothly across the low swell towards their starting position.

  ‘Keel please, Thorn,’ Hal called and Thorn shoved the fin down through the keel box. Instantly, Hal felt the steadying pressure as the ship’s downwind drift was reduced to almost nothing. He glanced astern. They were carving a pure white wake through the brilliant blue of the sea. As he looked, he saw Raven’s black prow emerging through the breakwater.

  ‘Ease the sheets a little, boys!’ he called. ‘No sense in showing him how fast we can travel.’

  Ulf and Wulf eased the sail out and the Heron’s speed fell away. But even at this reduced speed, they reached the blue-flagged longboat in a matter of minutes. Hal glanced at the timer. Less than half the sand had run through. He passed the longboat, then tacked and came round level with her, facing back towards Raguza.

  Then he ordered the sail down and they drifted.

  Waiting was the worst part of it, he thought. The ball in his stomach was tighter than ever. He studied his crew’s faces. They were grim and tight-set for the most part. Stig tried to appear unconcerned, but Hal could see his fingers drumming on the handle of his battleaxe, where it lay ready beside him. He wanted to say something that would raise their spirits and ease their nerves. That’s what a good skirl would do, he thought. But he couldn’t think of anything to say and besides, he knew that if he tried to speak, his dry mouth and tight throat would betray him and his voice would break into a squeak.

  Not an inspiring sound, he thought.

  The silence dragged on. He looked at the sandglass again. The grains seemed to be falling one at a time. He peered at the red and blue flag. Had it moved? He thought it had, then realised it had simply flapped in a momentary lull in the breeze and now was standing out from the staff once more. The two harbour breakwaters were black with small figures. Spectators, he realised – most of them betting against him and the Heron.

  Come on, he thought, his fingers clasping and unclasping on the smooth oak of the tiller. Let’s get it over with.

  ‘See this helmet?’

  Thorn’s booming question took him by surprise. The old sea wolf had moved away from the keel box to a position in the very centre of the ship. He was pointing at the massive horned helmet he wore – the treasured headgear of all Skandian warriors.

  ‘I’ve had this helmet for nigh on thirty years. I’ve worn it on raids. I’ve worn it in battles. It’s seen more action in its time than most warriors you’ll ever meet. It’s saved my life on a dozen occasions. And I’ve been proud to wear it. It’s the symbol of a Skandian warrior.’

  He had the attention of everyone on board now. Then he stepped to the port rail and removed the helmet.

  ‘But I don’t want it any more.’

  There was an audible intake of breath from the entire crew as he drew back his left arm and tossed the helmet high into the air, so that it arced, then tumbled, spinning slowly, end over end, into the sea. All eyes followed its trajectory and someone let out a low cry of amazement as the helmet threw up a white splash, surprisingly smaller than they expected, then disappeared. When they looked back to Thorn, he was wearing a new piece of headgear. He had pulled on his black watch cap, with the white outline of a heron on it.

  ‘This is the symbol I choose to wear now. The Heron brotherband symbol. No beat-up old helmet could make me as proud as this.’

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the entire crew began cheering as he grinned at them, nodding his head and pointing proudly to the black watch cap, identical to the ones they all wore. He strode up and down the centre of the deck as they continued to cheer. And Hal cheered with the rest of them. The tight ball in his stomach had gone. He felt relaxed, confident and ready to face whatever was to come. He looked at the cheering, laughing faces of his friends and knew they all felt the same way.

  Thorn, you’re a genius, he thought. Then the old sea wolf drew his attention to the harbour mouth.

  ‘I think the party’s starting,’ he said cheerfully.

  The red and blue flag was sliding down the flagstaff as Hal looked. The duel had begun.

  A stir of excitement ran through the crew. Jesper and Stefan moved towards the halyards, ready to raise the sail. Hal held up a hand.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. He wanted to see what Zavac’s tactics were going to be.

  Heron rocked gently on the swell and he saw the rectangle of Raven’s sail suddenly appear as her crew unfurled it and let it drop. Then the shape narrowed as they braced it round to port and the black ship began to surge forward, heading straight for them.

  Hal nodded to himself. As he expected, Zavac wasn’t wasting time with subtleties or fancy manoeuvring. He was charging headlong at them, intent on getting to close quarters as soon as possible, then ramming and boarding them. He was conscious that his own crew had their attention fixed on him. He realised, with a remote part of his mind, that now the waiting was over, he was calm and steady. He cleared his throat, making sure that he didn’t squeak his first order.

  ‘Starboard sail,’ he called. He was pleased to find that his voice was normal.

  The yardarm went up smoothly. The sail filled and Heron came alive again, accelerating smoothly away, leaving the longboat behind in her wake. As she gathered speed, the initial thump-thump-thump of small waves against her hull blended into one constant – a hissing, sluicing sound as she sliced through the water before her.

  Hal crouched to look below the sail so he could see Raven. She had her bow pointed at the Heron but, with her shallow keel, she was drifting downwind. Her real course would take her well to their right. Zavac should have pointed her higher if he wanted to intercept them. But, as Hal had suspected since he saw Zavac run his ship aground during his escape from Limmat harbour, the Magyaran wasn’t a very accomplished helmsman. He didn’t have Hal’s instinctive feel for speeds and angles.

  Heron, with the additional steadying effect of her fin, was going downwind at a much slower rate. That didn’t suit Hal’s purpose. He twitched the tiller and bro
ught the bow around to starboard, so that she was heading closer to the black ship, aiming to pass down her starboard side, on a parallel course.

  ‘Ingvar! Load the Mangler!’ he called. He didn’t like to leave the massive weapon under strain for too long, but now was the time to get it ready. Ingvar waved and stepped forward to the giant crossbow, seizing the twin levers and hauling them back to set the cord. Then he placed one of the massive bolts in the loading trough and signalled that he was ready.

  ‘Stig!’ Hal called, and the tall young warrior moved from the rowing bench to stand beside him, ready to take the tiller.

  ‘We’ll head down his starboard side. He’ll try to turn into us to ram. I’ll swing away at the last minute, then we’ll circle back in at him from astern. Point me at his starboard side,’ Hal said. The Mangler was restricted to shooting in a forty-five-degree arc on either side of the bow. To engage the Raven, they’d have to be pointing towards her.

  Stig nodded, frowning in concentration. He’d leave it to Hal to judge that initial turn away from their enemy. It had to be timed perfectly and Hal’s judgement was better than his.

  The crew were tensed at their positions. Hal noticed that Thorn had equipped himself with a large circular shield from the racks on either side of the ship. The old warrior was standing ready, just astern of the mast. Lydia was crouched in the bow, her atlatl in her hand, a dart already fitted to it. He became aware of a new sound, realised it was the crew of the fast-approaching Raven, shouting threats and curses at them. He studied them closely. He could see that two of them had short bows. The others were armed with an assortment of spears, swords and clubs.

  ‘Lydia!’ he called. ‘There are two bowmen.’

  He saw her nod, although she didn’t look back at him. Her gaze was fixed on the onrushing Raven.

  ‘They’ll be first to go,’ she said. Thorn chuckled. This time she did take her eyes off the enemy. She glared at the bearded old sea wolf. Then she returned her attention to the Raven.

  ‘Wait!’ Hal called. ‘We’re going to swing away, then back in.’