02 The Invaders (42 page)

Thorn stepped lightly forward and pointed to the small gap between the gates, at a point about a meter and a half from the ground.

“Hit it about there,” he said. Ulf and Wulf nodded, their brows furrowed with concentration. They gave one last backswing, then smashed the ram forward into the gate.

CRASH!
The gate shuddered under the impact. But it held.

“Again,” Thorn ordered calmly.

Once more, the twins swung the log back on the rope loops. This time they took three preparatory swings, then they smashed it forward, throwing all their weight behind it.

CRASH!

This time, the gap between the two gates widened visibly, and they heard a splintering sound from the far side.

“Again,” Thorn said. The twins began their back-and-forth preparation. A surge of anticipation ran through the Herons and they involuntarily moved forward a pace.

“Steady,” Thorn growled. “Hold your positions.”

Hal, standing to his left and a little behind him, glanced up at him. The old warrior’s face was calm and unexcited. He sensed
Hal’s gaze on him, turned to meet the boy’s eye, then winked slowly.

“Let ’em have it, boys,” he ordered.

Ulf and Wulf hurled the ram forward in one last, lunging strike. There was a splintering, splitting sound from the other side, then the left-hand gate spun off its hinges, breaking free where the fire had charred it and weakened the wood. The ram smashed through the gate’s locking at its midpoint. The two halves spun away. The right-hand gate gave as well, sagging on its hinges.

The twins, who had stumbled with the force of that final thrust, recovered and stepped to either side as Thorn advanced.

“Let’s get ’em!” the grizzled sea wolf bellowed. The Herons cheered and followed him, stepping up onto the shattered pieces of timber and into the breach.

The Magyarans surged forward to stop them. Petrac was in the lead, sword drawn back, shield raised. He found himself facing a massively built Skandian, gray bearded and with shaggy hair caught up under a horned helmet. He had time to notice that the other attackers all seemed remarkably young, then noticed the massive studded club that had replaced the Skandian’s right forearm and hand.

Thorn smashed the huge club down onto the Magyaran leader’s shield, splintering it and splitting several of the pieces of wood that comprised it. The pirate staggered, then Thorn slammed the small metal shield into his unprotected midriff and he gasped and doubled over. A rib-cracking jab from the club finished him, sending him sprawling.

At Thorn’s side, Hal caught a defender’s spear thrust on his
shield, slanting it so that the spear glanced off and the spearman, expecting to meet firmer resistance, stumbled forward, momentarily off balance.

Remembering Thorn’s admonition—
a few inches of point can be just as deadly as the entire edge—
Hal jabbed quickly forward and saw the shock on the man’s face as the sword penetrated his defense and slid between his ribs. Then Hal withdrew his sword and shoved the badly wounded man aside with his shield, stepping over him and forcing his way farther into the gap.

Behind him, Ulf shoved forward too, now armed with his ax and ready for battle. He was grim faced and determined, searching for a Magyaran defender. One of the pirates caught his eye and leapt forward, sword back for a violent slash. Ulf caught the blade on his shield, then swung his ax sideways. The hours of practice and instruction under Thorn’s eagle eye stood him in good stead. The ax took the man in the ribs. He fell, with a strange, sobbing cry. Ulf, still in balance, withdrew his weapon and used it instantly to parry another Magyaran’s sword. The pirate, hoping for an easy victory, blanched at the cold fury in the young Skandian’s eyes. He stepped back, impeding one of his companions, who shoved him forward again. Off balance, he never saw Hal’s lightning thrust coming at him from the side until it was too late.

On Thorn’s right, Stig was a terrifying sight. The speed and power of his ax strokes sent the defenders reeling—much to Thorn’s chagrin, as he’d marked down several of those who retreated as potential opponents. Stig’s ax was a blinding circle of light as he wielded it. Thorn actually stopped for a moment to admire his young student’s strength and dexterity. Stig hammered
down one man’s shield, then dispatched him with a whirling backhanded cut. Then he jabbed forward with the head of the ax, sending another lurching back.

“Not bad. Not bad at all,” Thorn muttered, admiring the improvisation. Then he snarled as he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, casually deflected a Magyaran’s cutlass with his small shield, then slammed the studded club-hand into the man’s helmet.

Behind the advancing wedge, Lydia scrambled onto a pile of masonry that had torn loose with the gate. Her eyes scanned the struggling knot of men before her. At the rear of the pirates, she saw one man screaming orders and shoving others forward into the battle.

“No, you don’t,” she said quietly. She fitted a dart, drew back and cast. The would-be commander was on the point of shoving another pirate forward to face the whirling axes and jabbing swords of the attackers. The heavy dart hit him in the chest, slicing easily through his hardened leather breastplate, the force of its impact driving him backward before he fell.

Those around him saw him fall. Suddenly, they felt exposed. Then another dart took one of them in the upper arm and he whirled away, falling to his knees with the unexpected pain. His closest companion turned panicked eyes to where the slim girl stood at the rear of the attackers. They made eye contact and he saw her drawing another of those cruel darts from her quiver. And all the time she did so, her eyes were fixed intently on him.

It was more than he could bear. He turned and ran for the shelter of a nearby alley. Another man, seeing him run, went after him. Then a third and a fourth did likewise.

Hal, cutting and stabbing at a particularly persistent opponent, saw them going.

“They’re running! They’re breaking!” he shouted.

The man he was engaged with couldn’t help his automatic reaction. Fearing that he was being left to face these grim attackers by himself, he glanced quickly over his shoulder. He saw that his comrades were breaking away, just as Hal’s sword sank into his thigh and his leg gave out under him, sending him sprawling helplessly onto the broken timber and rocks underfoot.

The fear of those at the rear of the defending force was contagious. Petrac, their leader, was dead. So was Agrav, the man who had briefly attempted to take his place. The diminishing number of men facing the Skandian attack were now stricken by the fear that they would be left unsupported.

They, too, broke and ran.

The cheering, triumphant Herons started after them, but Thorn’s huge voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Stop!” he roared. “Stop now!”

If they went streaming off into the narrow streets now, without formation or any real thought of where they were going or what they were doing, he could lose half of them. Better to let the Magyarans escape and run, and keep his young fighters in a tight-knit group.

But not all the Magyarans escaped. Before they reached the haven of a narrow alleyway behind them, another of Lydia’s darts found its target and sent a pirate sprawling facedown on the cobbles.

Gradually, the battle madness went out of the Herons’ eyes as
they took stock. A few of them were slightly wounded. At their feet, half a dozen Magyarans were sprawled, some dead, all of them out of action.

All in all, Thorn thought, they’d handled themselves pretty well. He smiled at Hal.

“You did well,” he said. “You and Stig and all of them. Very well indeed.”

Hal nodded wearily. Now that it was all over, a shudder of fear ran through him. In his mind’s eye, he could see that first spear thrust again. Only this time, it slipped past his shield and into his body. He closed his eyes for a second or two, dispelling the image. Then he opened them and looked at Thorn, hefting his Gallican shield higher on his left arm as he did so.

“Let’s find Zavac,” he said.

chapter
thirty - nine

T
horn assessed his troops. They’d done well so far but he was conscious of the fact that they were a small group and any Magyaran band they met would probably outnumber them. There was no way of knowing what lay ahead, he thought warily, or what weapons the Magyarans might have waiting for them. It would be necessary to keep discipline tight. They’d have to move as a cohesive unit, not straggle through the town.

He beckoned to one of the Limmatans. “Which is the quickest way to the waterfront?”

The battle was obviously going against the invaders. The small number of men at the beach gate, and the lack of reinforcements, tended to point that way. If Zavac was like most seamen, he’d be heading back to his ship. That was where he’d feel most secure as things turned against him. Thorn, a veteran of countless raids, knew that feeling all too well.

The townsman paused, gathered his thoughts, then pointed to an alley on the left.

“That’ll take us to the town square,” he said. “The main street to the harbor runs off the square.”

Thorn gestured toward the alley with his club-hand.

“Then lead on. Stig, go with him. Stay ten meters ahead of us but don’t get out of sight. Stop at every corner or twist in the road until we’re up with you. The rest of you, two files, either side of the street. Three meters between each man. Don’t bunch up and make an easy target.”

As it turned out, their progress to the town square was anticlimactic. Whatever Magyaran forces were left in Limmat were fully occupied by the Skandians and Barat’s men, advancing on them in a pincer movement. The Herons encountered only a few scattered groups of two or three pirates, who, seeing the disciplined formation of armed men approaching, took to their heels.

The more immediate problem became the townspeople of Limmat themselves. As they realized the invaders were fleeing, they began to pour out onto the streets to welcome and embrace their liberators. Thorn, in the lead, shoved his way through the well-wishers, the Herons following in his wake.

The first large party of armed men they encountered was in the town square itself. Stig and the Limmatan guide reached the end of a narrow cross street that led to the square and stepped out into the open ground. Stig stopped, shield coming up, ax going back. Behind him, seeing the warning posture, Thorn urged the rest of the small force to close up.

There were more than thirty armed men on the opposite side of the square, emerging from a similar side street. Seeing Stig, the first of them also fell into a combat-ready pose. Then both sides relaxed.

“They’re Barat’s men,” the townsman with Stig said. He advanced across the square, laughing and calling greetings to his countrymen. At the sight of him, they lowered their weapons and moved forward, embracing him and laughing in their turn. Stig waited till the rest of the party had joined him, then they moved out into the square together, meeting their allies halfway across.

The two groups mingled together for a few minutes, exchanging jokes and accounts of the battle so far.

Jonas, the Limmatan second in command, moved to where Hal stood and shook his hand gratefully.

“That was great work!” he said enthusiastically. “You drew their forces completely away from the east wall. We simply climbed over with nobody to stop us. Any Magyarans we’ve seen since then ran like rabbits.”

Inside the counting house, Rikard and his small band peered fearfully out at the sight of their enemies laughing and joking together. Rikard cursed his luck. He had waited too long to escape to the ship, unsure where Zavac and his men had gone and suspecting that they might return at any minute. Now, it was too late. The enemy were outside.

“Must be forty or fifty of them,” Rikard muttered.

One of his crew, who was not renowned for fast thinking—or, indeed, any sort of thinking—fingered the edge of his heavy cutlass.

“Will we attack, chief?” the man said. He was used to attacking unarmed and helpless civilians and, as a result, expected any enemy he faced to turn and run.

Rikard looked at him with disdain.

“Attack? Are you insane, or just stupid? They’re all armed men out there. They outnumber us four to one and they’re looking for revenge. We need to find a back way out of here. We’re getting away to the ship. And keep the noise down!” he added, in a savage whisper.

Quietly, the remaining men of
Stingray
’s crew made their way to the rear of the counting house. By chance, they used the same back exit Zavac had chosen. Then, stealthily, they headed down the alley toward the quay, continually glancing back over their shoulders to where they could catch brief glimpses of the townspeople and Herons mingling together.

In the square, Barat pushed his way through the laughing jam of warriors. He could see Stig’s tall form, standing head and shoulders above those around him as he talked with Jonas. The Limmatan commander shoved through to them, coming to a halt with his chest thrust out, a few centimeters from Stig’s.