Brotherband 3: The Hunters (25 page)

The speed they were moving at was terrifying. He had never before felt a ship moving so fast. And he sensed now that the downhill course of the river was steepening, and the speed was increasing with each metre. Ulf and Wulf kept stroking desperately. Hal heaved and shoved on the steering oar. He had a sudden, terrifying thought that he mustn’t work it too hard in case he snapped it. If that happened, they would spin out of control and be tossed downriver at the whim of the rapids. But he had no choice as the river fought him, trying to wrest control of his beloved
Heron
out of his hands. He began screaming insults at the river, defying it, challenging it. His words were lost in the roaring, thundering sound of the water rushing between the rocks.

He could hear Thorn yelling and looked to see him pointing downstream. Amazing, he thought, that the old sea wolf’s voice could conquer the thundering river around them.

He stopped to peer ahead. There was the final turn, and the huge, black rock that barred their way. From above it had seemed normal enough. From here, it looked like a cliff in their path – a solid wall.

The angle of their descent steepened suddenly and the ship accelerated down the smooth slope of water. He heaved on the steering oar as the rock grew closer, trying to drag the bow away from it. But the current had them and it was rushing them straight at the rock.

For’ard, he could see Stig was yelling, shouting instructions to Lydia and Ingvar, but his words were lost in the thundering roar of the river.
Heron
plunged on.

‘Edvin!’ Hal yelled. ‘Help me!’

Edvin scrambled across the heaving, plunging deck and threw his weight on the steering oar with Hal. Slowly, she began to crab across the current, so that her bow was no longer pointing at the black mass rising from the river. But they were still being swept towards it. Then Stig leaned far over the port bow and set his oar against the rock. Lydia was half a second behind him, yelling at Ingvar as the three of them threw their weight and their strength against the inexorable force of the river. Again, Hal felt Ingvar’s power make the difference as the bow shifted away from the rock. But he could tell it wasn’t going to be enough. They were going to be smashed against that black, evil piece of granite. He felt, more than heard, an ugly grating sound as
Heron
’s planks contacted the rock and despair swept over him.

Then the backwash that he’d predicted hit them and shoved the ship clear.

‘Reverse it! Reverse it!’ he yelled to Edvin and together they pushed against the oar to shove the swinging stern clear of the rock as
Heron
tried to pivot.

The black mass hung there for an instant in his vision, seeming to be close enough to touch. Then it whirled away in their wake as
Heron
plunged down one more smooth slope of water, splitting it high into spray on either side. In the bow, Ingvar stumbled and Lydia tried to help him. The two of them fell to the deck. Stig looked down at them, laughing.

Then the banks seemed to fall away on either side as the river suddenly widened and the
Heron
shot clear of the rift into calm water.

G
radually, the stream widened and the current slowed. They drifted with the flow, Ulf and Wulf taking an occasional stroke with the oars to give Hal steerage way. But he could see that his crew was exhausted, mentally as well as physically. And he felt the same way himself – wrung out by the terrifying experience of running the Wildwater Rift. He waited until he saw a piece of open land on the bank and steered towards it, letting the prow ground with its customary gentle grating sound.

Stefan dropped over the side with a rope, fastening it round a tree, then returning it to the ship, where Jesper tied it off around a bollard. But they both moved without the usual spring in their step.

The rest of the crew were watching him, dull eyed. They felt strangely let down. The excitement and fear that had built up during that wild ride down the rift was suddenly gone, leaving a sense of deep fatigue as the adrenaline that had been racing through their bloodstreams slowly dispersed.

‘We’ll rest here for an hour,’ Hal announced. He looked at Edvin. ‘Edvin, can you get a meal together, please?’

They hadn’t eaten since they’d left Bayrath. Slowly, the crew climbed over the railing and dropped ashore. Moving like sleepwalkers, they began to collect firewood under Edvin’s direction, then got a fire going. Thorn filled a kettle from the stream. As he placed it over the fire, he announced:

‘None of that wishy-washy herbal tea today. Let’s have coffee.’

Edvin checked in his supplies. ‘We’re almost out,’ he warned but Thorn shook his head dismissively.

‘Then let’s use what’s left. No sense in hoarding it. We need a good, strong drink and we need it now.’

Stig and the twins chorused their agreement and Edvin nodded. After all, he thought, sooner or later they would have to have that one final pot. And the strong, bracing taste of coffee was far more restorative than the thin, earthy-tasting herbal teas he had in his supplies.

Hal, meanwhile, was inspecting the bow of the
Heron
. He remembered the grating sensation he had felt through the timbers of the ship as they brushed against the final rock in the Wildwater Rift and he wanted to make sure there had been no major damage done.

He was reassured by the sight that met his eyes. One plank had been gouged and splintered. Obviously, they had struck a glancing blow against the rock. There was a scar of fresh wood some thirty centimetres long, and they’d lost some of the caulking material that sealed the plank against its neighbour. A nail had been torn loose where the plank was attached to a frame. But the timber hadn’t fractured and the damage could be easily repaired.

Although right now, Hal wasn’t inclined to leap to the task. ‘I’ll do it tonight,’ he said to himself.

The aroma of sizzling beef raised all their spirits, and their appetites. They crowded eagerly around the fire as Edvin doled out generous helpings of hot beef and toasted flat bread. Best of all, Hal thought, they began to talk as the food loosened their tongues, chattering excitedly as they recalled the more hair-raising moments of their ride down the rapids.

He stood back, watching them, gauging their mood and pleased by what he saw. Of course, it was Ingvar who brought him a plate of bread and beef and a cup of hot coffee.

‘Thanks, Ingvar,’ he said. ‘You did well today. I could feel the difference you made.’

Ingvar nodded solemnly. ‘Thank Lydia,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t have done it without her. She’s quite a girl, Hal.’

Hal sensed an underlying message in Ingvar’s words. The big boy was regarding him steadily, and nodding meaningfully, as if to underscore his statement. Matchmaking, Ingvar? Hal thought. But he nodded in return.

‘I know, Ingvar.’ Then something caught his eye and he pointed to Ingvar’s shirt, just below his belt. ‘What’s that?’

There was a dull red stain on the shirt, and on the trousers beneath it, near Ingvar’s hip. Ingvar glanced down and touched it delicately, wincing as he did so.

‘Oh, I think I might have reopened my wound when we pushed off that last rock,’ he said. ‘It’s all right. I re-bandaged it as soon as I noticed.’ Hal regarded him with some concern.

‘Have Edvin check it out as soon as you can,’ he ordered. ‘We can’t take chances, Ingvar. I’m going to need you when we catch up with the
Raven
.’

‘I’ll be fine, Hal. I just did a little too much, a little too early, that’s all.’

‘Have it checked,’ Hal repeated, in a tone that brooked no argument. Ingvar spread his hands in submission.

‘I will,’ he promised. Hal tossed the dregs of his coffee onto the grass and walked to the fire, washing his plate and cup in a basin of hot water that Edvin kept ready. He dried them both and stacked them away into the canvas pack where Edvin kept the utensils. He glanced around the faces of his friends. They were relaxed now and that gaunt, haunted look that had followed the sudden letdown after the terror of the rift was gone.

‘We’d better get under way,’ he said crisply. ‘Every moment we sit here, Zavac is moving closer to Raguza.’ He glanced at his first mate.

‘Get them ready to move, Stig,’ he said. Sometimes, he thought, as he listened with half a mind to Stig bellowing commands for the fire to be put out and the cooking and eating utensils to be stowed back aboard, it was good to be the skirl.

While the stream had widened considerably since they left the rift behind, it was still much narrower than the main river, so they continued under oars. But the water was calm and the current was with them, so the effort was minimal. After a further hour, they emerged onto the broad surface of the South Dan and Hal ordered the oars to be stowed and the sail to be run up. The wind was slightly off their port bow and he held the ship on a long, smooth tack, enjoying, as he always did, the sense that he was guiding a living object as the ship sent its subtle messages through its timbers and into the soles of his feet.

Lydia and Stig joined him at the steering platform. Nobody spoke, but all three of them enjoyed the feeling of companionship. Thorn placed his back to the keel box and went to sleep, his new watch cap pulled down over his eyes. The rest of the crew relaxed on the rowing benches. Edvin checked Ingvar’s wound, as Hal had ordered. There was a small amount of blood seeping from it.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ he reassured the young giant as he re-bandaged it. ‘Just don’t do anything strenuous for a few days.’

‘Like what?’ Ingvar asked.

Edvin considered for a few seconds, then said, straight-faced, ‘Well, for example, I wouldn’t go throwing Ulf and Wulf overboard for a day or so.’

Ulf brightened at the words. ‘That’s encouraging,’ he said.

Instantly, Wulf pricked up his ears. ‘That’s a poor way to describe it.’

Ulf sat up a little straighter. ‘Oh, do you think so . . .’

But Edvin cut off any further comment. ‘On second thoughts, a bit of light throwing exercise might be good for it. Just don’t extend too far on the follow-through,’ he said to Ingvar, while ostensibly ignoring the twins.

Ingvar nodded solemnly. ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said. He looked meaningfully at Ulf and Wulf, who had fallen into a wary silence. Satisfied, Edvin sat back on the rowing benches and began to knit once more.

‘Who’s that for?’ Wulf asked, eyeing the half-finished watch cap.

‘You . . . if you don’t annoy me,’ Edvin said, without looking up. His fingers flew and the needles set up a staccato rhythm as the cap grew, row by row. Wulf said nothing. He really wanted one of the new caps and he felt silence was the safest course.

Further conversation was curtailed as Hal called them to their sail changing stations. They had come to the end of their current leg. He judged that they had enough room to clear the next headland if they went to the opposite tack now. For a few minutes, the ship was the scene of the usual well-ordered turmoil as one sail came flapping down and another soared up in its place and was sheeted home. Then she settled on her new course, her bow butting rhythmically into the small waves that rippled the river’s surface.

As they rounded the bend, the next stretch of river was laid out before them.

‘Hullo,’ Stig said. ‘Who can they be?’

He was the first to speak, but everybody had seen the ships at the same time – except, of course, for Ingvar.

There were five of them, four maintaining a ragged formation on this long, broad stretch of the river. They were wide-hipped, deep-hulled ships. They sat low in the water, bustling valiantly downriver under relatively small sails. To Hal, they resembled a group of elderly ladies, huffing and puffing on their way to market, eager to get the best bargains before their neighbours did, but not managing to move very quickly.

The fifth was a different matter altogether. She was lean and fast, with a tall mast and a large square sail that was currently filled in a tight curve as she chivvied the slower ships like a sheepdog herding a group of fat, lazy sheep, keeping them moving as quickly as possible. There were ten shields mounted on either side and the hull was pierced for eight oars a side as well. She was obviously a fighting ship.