02 The Invaders (38 page)

The Mangler bucked wildly and the bolt shot away. Instantly, Ingvar leapt forward and recocked the crossbow, dropping a bolt into place. Then he was back at the training lever as Hal directed him to bring the Mangler back on line.

As he did, Hal was winding the elevating cog, so that the target point was now a little below the two-hundred-meter mark on his
rear sight. As before, he waited till the ship steadied momentarily, then shot.

SLAM!

As the second bolt streaked away, he saw the first shot hit in an explosion of splinters on the balustrade, just below the top of the railing and to the right of center. The defenders scattered from the spot in panic.

Then Ingvar reloaded and was training the weapon once more as Hal wound on the elevating wheel to bring the sights down.

The bolt he had just fired hit the target at that moment and he saw another shattering strike on the balustrade. This time, a large section of the top rail tore away and went spinning.

“Right… left a little. Steady…”

SLAM!

Another shot. He checked the range and saw they’d have no time for a fourth. But the salvo of three rapid shots had done their work, causing panic and confusion on the tower. He could even see several figures hurrying down the ladder underneath the platform.

“Light those fire bolts, Edvin,” he called. He hadn’t seen the third bolt strike but he thought it had been a good shot. He was sure it had hit somewhere. Now the defenders were creeping back to their positions. An arrow struck the bow post, quivering. Then two more rattled against the hull. Ingvar was recocking the Mangler and an arrow only just missed him.

“Thorn!” Hal yelled. Instantly, the ragged old sea wolf leapt to his feet behind the bow post. He had the two shields ready, and as Hal watched, Thorn performed one of the most amazing feats of skill and coordination the young skirl would ever see. Years later,
surrounded by his grandchildren, he would speak of it in a voice hushed with wonder.

Thorn began to use the two metal shields to block or deflect arrows as they hissed toward the boat. He ignored the shots that were going wide, concentrating on those that were on line.

Left hand. Right hand. Left. Left. Right.

The two shields moved in a blur as he caught or punched or deflected arrows in rapid succession. It was obvious now why he had elected to use the smaller shields. He could never have moved a large, heavy shield with such dexterity and precision. His hand-eye coordination was simply amazing. His vision was superb. And his reactions were like lightning. The air was filled with the clang and rattle and whir of deflected or blocked arrows. Now, seeing this, Hal began to understand how this man had won the Maktig title for three years in succession—and why nobody else had done it, before or since.

“He’s incredible,” Lydia said quietly, from close beside him. Occupied as he was, Thorn heard her and had time to respond.

“That green-shirted nuisance is back again. Stop gawking, girl, and take care of him.”

Clang, whirr, clack, rattle
. Four more arrows were deflected. Lydia, galvanized by Thorn’s jibe, drew a dart from her quiver and hooked it to her atlatl. Sheltered by the mast, she watched for the green-shirted archer, seeing him appear at his old position, on the far left of the platform. He drew, aimed, shot, then stepped back around the guardhouse into cover.

Lydia began counting aloud.

“One, two, three, four.”

A fraction after “four,” the archer stepped back out again, raised the bow, shot again, then stepped back into cover.

“One, two,” counted Lydia and on the count of “two,” she stepped clear of the mast, her right arm going back, her left foot forward. As Thorn flicked the arrow into the sea with his left shield, she hurled the dart at the spot where the archer had been, in one fluid, powerful action.

“. . . three, four…” She continued the count without missing a beat.

As she said “four,” the green-shirted man reappeared, arrow nocked, bow half drawn—

And stepped straight into the plummeting dart she had just thrown.

He threw up his hands, the bow went spinning away and he reeled, then toppled over the railing, hitting the support framework several times as he fell.

“That’s sensational!” Hal screamed, his voice cracking with excitement. The rest of the crew cheered. Thorn continued to deflect arrows in the bow, but he called without taking his eyes off the incoming missiles.

“Not bad. Told you she was a keeper, didn’t I?”

“Just keep your mind on your own job, old man!” Lydia replied brusquely.

Thorn cackled with laughter.

Hal could hear Edvin hastily filling Ingvar in on what had happened, his words tumbling over themselves in his excitement. Ingvar finally put a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me later. I take it she did well.”

It was time. Hal turned and held up a hand to Ulf and Wulf.

“Let go the sheets!”

They cast the sheets loose, letting the sail fly free. As the wind spilled from the sail,
Heron
began to slow. Ingvar and Edvin didn’t need orders. Edvin had the first of the fire bolts burning and ready. He laid it in the trough on top of the Mangler, setting the notch onto the bowstring. Ingvar took control of the training lever once more.

“Get down, Thorn,” Hal called. He lined the sight up, setting his aiming point between the one-hundred and the one-hundred-and-fifty marks.

“Come left. Come left. Left a little more. Steady…”

He could see the junction of the three beams in his sights now.
Heron
rose on a wave and he wound the elevating wheel down, keeping the foresight steady on the point where the three beams met. An arrow thudded into the deck near his foot. He made a mental note that the rate of return shots, and their accuracy, seemed to have decreased since Lydia had picked off the green-shirted archer. He guessed none of the fallen man’s comrades were willing to show themselves above the railing for too long.

“Right a little,” he said. Ingvar eased him to the right. The sights were on. He pulled the lanyard.

SLAM!

The moment the bolt streaked away, he knew he’d missed his target. He hadn’t allowed enough for the slight delay between pulling the lanyard and the crossbow releasing. The thin gray trail of smoke sizzled through the air, passing just under the intersection of the three beams.

There was a groan of disappointment from the crew. Already,
Ingvar had leapt forward and heaved the cocking levers back, resetting the bow for another shot. Edvin, on his knees beside the bow, reached up and placed the second fire bolt in the trough. Wisps of smoke rose from it, and steam sizzled from the wet wood of the bow.

“Missed,” Hal said, for Ingvar’s benefit.

The big boy grunted. “Hit it this time.”

Hal leaned to the sights. He frowned. The bow was dropping off to starboard as the ship tried to turn up into the wind.

“Stig!” Hal called. “Keep her straight, for pity’s sake!”

He heard Stefan repeat the order, heard Stig call an order to Wulf. There was a rattle of wood on wood as Wulf placed an oar in the rowlocks, ran it out and backed water several times. The bow swung back, away from the wind.

Hal wound the elevation wheel again, watching the sight rising past the target. He was a little off line.

“Right… right… stop!”

He took a deep breath. He reasoned that the three rapid-fire shots, aimed at a much larger target, had affected his timing. He hadn’t needed the same precision. He forced himself to concentrate fiercely. The bow sank, then started to rise again.

Behind him, he heard a sharp cry of pain. Ingvar, he realized, with a sense of shock. Then the deck planks vibrated under his feet as the big boy staggered and fell.

He spun round, saw Ingvar writhing on the deck, clutching at an arrow that was protruding from his left side, close to the hip.

“Ingvar’s been hit!” Hal heard Edvin’s anguished cry and started to rise, then stopped as he heard Stig order Stefan to tend to the fallen giant. Hal was torn between his concern for Ingvar
and the need to get the last shot away while the Mangler was still roughly on line. Without Ingvar, he wouldn’t have a chance to reload for a second shot. Deliberately, he forced the image of the wounded boy from his mind, hating himself as he did so. He yelled to Thorn.

“Thorn! Take the training lever!”

The old sea wolf nodded and leapt down from his position in the bow, moving quickly to take control of the training lever. Again the image of Ingvar’s writhing body came to Hal’s mind and again he pushed it away. He could hear Stefan speaking to him, and he reasoned that Ingvar must still be conscious. And that meant he was still alive—for the moment.

Thorn seemed to sense the torment in Hal’s mind.

“Stefan’s got him. Get on with your own job,” he said harshly.

Hal nodded, realizing that his old friend was right. He bent over the sights again.

“Right… right… a little more… steady.”

The Mangler was back on line. He watched the sights fall below the target, felt the gentle thump through the hull as the ship reached the trough between the waves.

Take your time, he thought. Don’t rush. Make it count. Get it right for Ingvar’s sake.

Then the bow was rising, and the sight was coming up to the target. He wound the elevator wheel down until the bead sight was a fraction below the junction of beams, then pulled the lanyard.

A brief pause, then…
SLAM!

As the huge crossbow released and the fire bolt leapt away, he saw that the sight was dead on target.

He watched the thin trail of gray smoke curving across the intervening space, saw the bolt strike home into the diagonal beam, a little to the right of the junction point, and lodge there. A second later, he saw a bright flare of flame.

“Sheet home!” he yelled. “Get us out of here!”

Ulf and Wulf hauled the sail in again and the wind began to power the ship once more. Stig heaved on the tiller and the bow swung away from the tower, across the harbor mouth, and finally headed back out to sea.

A final volley of three arrows rattled off the shields along the bulwark. Then they were out of range.

On the tower platform, the commander watched the last two projectiles fly low. For a moment, he thought they’d both missed, then he felt the thud of the second striking home somewhere down on the framework.

Still, it couldn’t hurt them down there, he thought. The three rapid shots that preceded them had been a different matter altogether. They’d wreaked havoc on the platform, smashing and splintering the railing and cutting down five of his men.

“Save your arrows,” he called. The neat little ship had filled her sail once more, turned on her heel and headed back out to sea.

He studied the balustrade, taking in the jagged holes and long rents that had been torn in the soft wood. It had never been built to take such a pounding. When the ship turned back again, as he knew it would, he’d move his men inside the guardroom, and have most of them lie down. He’d leave a few bowmen out on the…

He stopped, sniffing the air. He could smell wood smoke.

With a feeling of growing concern, he leaned over the shattered balustrade, peering down at the supporting framework of timber. Ten meters below the platform, flames were beginning to lick at the timber. As the heat caused the resin to ooze out of the grain, it flared and fed the flames, so that they burned more fiercely.

He’d seen the fate of the other watchtower. They all had. The dry pine burned fiercely and they had no way to extinguish it. Now the supporting timbers below him were on fire and he knew it was only a matter of time before the guardhouse and platform would go crashing to the ground below. He turned to his men and shouted a warning.

“The tower’s on fire!”

He looked around desperately, and saw movement on the opposite harbor mole. There was a large party of Skandians massing there, at the far end of the boom. As he watched, one of them lowered himself down onto the massive log and began to edge his way across, moving faster as he gained confidence.

Another followed him. Then another.

“Get out of here!” the commander yelled. “Get down before the whole thing collapses.”

And, having sounded the alarm, he led the rush to the ladder.

chapter
thirty - six

A
s soon as they were out of range, Hal gave the order to heave to. Ulf and Wulf let the sheets fly while Stig brought the ship up into the wind.

Hal leapt from the Mangler’s seat. A concerned group was clustered round the prone figure of Ingvar.

“Edvin!” Hal shouted. “Get the healer’s kit.”

“Already here,” Edvin’s quiet voice replied, right behind him. During brotherband training, one member from each team had been nominated to train as an emergency healer, learning about the various herbs and potions that eased pain, fought infection and facilitated healing. Edvin had been the Herons’ nominee for this task.

“Give me some room,” Edvin ordered, pushing through to kneel beside Ingvar. The group surrounding them shuffled back a few paces.