Brotherband 4: Slaves of Socorro (22 page)

‘Then why continue?’

Hal’s eyes flashed in anger now. ‘Because I’m not ready to give up just yet,’ he snapped.

Gilan made a placating gesture with both hands. That was the problem sailors faced, he thought. If you were a sailor, you grew to depend on the wind, and just when you needed it most, it could desert you.

‘I’ll take an oar when anyone needs a spell,’ he said.

Hal looked at him, sensing the peace offer behind the words.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘They can carry on for a while yet.’ Edvin could steer if necessary, he thought. Gilan could take over his oar and Hal himself could relieve Jesper. That way, every so often, he could rest two rowers and put in two replacements. Two fresh rowers from time to time could make a difference.

But not enough.

They dragged the
Heron
due south for the next hour, heaving on the oars in a constant rhythm, their minds numbed by the repetitive, mesmeric action of rowing. They were all fit and their muscles were hardened and they kept
Heron
moving through the water at a brisk speed. Even so, Hal knew that
Nightwolf
, with her superior number of oarsmen, would be moving faster than they could hope to.

After another hour, he and Gilan took their places at the oars and Edvin and Jesper rested. It wasn’t until they stopped rowing that the two crew members realised how exhausted they were, and how much their muscles were aching. A third hour passed and Edvin and Jesper replaced the twins, with Ulf tending to the tiller. For once, his brother had no derogatory comment to make. All of them were intent on one purpose – to catch the renegade wolfship and recapture the villagers who had been taken prisoner.

And to teach Tursgud a lesson, once and for all.

None of them voiced the thought that their task was a futile one and that, no matter how hard they heaved on their oars, somewhere over the horizon,
Nightwolf
would be moving farther and farther away.

A fourth hour passed. Stefan and Stig were replaced by the twins, with Stig moving to the tiller. Ingvar was offered a rest but doggedly refused, heaving with all his massive strength on his oar.

‘Don’t break it, Ingvar,’ Hal cautioned, grinning in spite of the situation. Ingvar didn’t reply, continuing to row.

It was Kloof who sensed the change coming. She had been lying asleep in the bow when, suddenly, she sat up and let out a short, sharp bark, raising her muzzle to sniff the air.

Thorn turned on his rowing bench to look at her, then his eyes flew to the secondary telltale, fastened to the ship’s sternpost. The long ribbon fluttered, faltered, then streamed out astern.

‘The wind!’ he shouted. ‘It’s veered!’

Even as he said the words, he maintained the steady rhythm of rowing. Hal looked up in his turn and saw the telltale standing parallel to the water’s surface.

‘It hasn’t just veered, it’s backed!’ Hal shouted exultantly. ‘It’s gone round almost one hundred and eighty degrees!’

The others all saw that he was right. The rapidly strengthening wind, which had earlier been blowing from north of north-west, was now coming from the south. A ragged cheer went up.

‘In oars!’ Hal called crisply, and the long-shafted oars rattled inboard and were hastily stowed. ‘Make sail!’ He glanced quickly at their heading, came to a decision. ‘Up starboard sail!’

The ship was suddenly like a disturbed ants’ nest as the crew rushed to their positions for making sail. Stefan and Jesper cast off the bindings on the starboard sail and began to haul on the halyard, sending the yard and sail soaring up the mast in a series of rapid jerks. Edvin and Ingvar joined them, and with the addition of Ingvar’s massive strength, the sail positively flew up the mast. Ulf and Wulf were ready as the wind filled it, hauling in on the sheets so that the bow swung to starboard as the sail filled and hardened.

Hal had dashed to the tiller, stumbling in his haste and leaving Stig to stow the oar he had been pulling.
Heron
swung across the eye of the wind, faltered for a second, then surged forward on the port tack.

Gilan could see the exultation on the faces of the Herons. Somehow, this shift of wind had them all excited. The despair of the last four hours was dispelled like morning mist in a rising sun. He made an interrogative gesture to Thorn. The old sea wolf grinned fiercely at him.

‘
Nightwolf
can’t sail into the wind the way we can,’ Thorn explained. ‘They’ll have to keep rowing, while we can sail. We’ll go in a series of zigzags but we’ll be moving much faster than they can manage. And we can sustain our speed. Whereas the longer they row, the more exhausted they’ll become and the more their speed will drop.’

Gilan felt the blustering south wind on his face, flattening his clothes against his body. The crew’s previously forlorn hope was replaced by a firm certainty. The advantage had swung back in their favour – even stronger than it had been before.

They were hot on
Nightwolf
’s trail once more.

‘T
here she is!’

It was Stefan who called, perched on the lookout post in the bows. Lydia, who was standing close by, leapt nimbly onto the starboard bulwark, steadying herself with one hand on a forestay, and shading her eyes with the other as she peered south.

‘It’s
Nightwolf
all right!’ The excitement was obvious in her voice. ‘I can see the blue hull and she’s rowing for all she’s worth.’

‘What’s their course and position?’ Hal shouted. He felt a solid thrill of satisfaction. After all the setbacks of the day, they had finally caught up with their quarry.

‘She’s off our port bow . . .’ Stefan called. Then he hesitated, as if he was confused.

‘What’s her course?’ Hal asked again. He assumed she’d be heading due south. Any other course would allow
Heron
to catch her all the sooner.

‘She’s . . . she’s going . . . west?’ Stefan replied. The uncertainty was obvious in his voice. It made no sense for the wolfship to be heading west. That way lay the coast of Araluen. Socorro and the open sea lay to the south.

‘West?’ Hal muttered. He gestured to Edvin to take the tiller, then climbed onto the starboard rail. Leaning out to peer ahead and past the swelling sail, he could make out the dark shape in the distance, rapidly growing in size as they ran down on her. ‘What is he doing, going west?’ A thought struck him and he called to Stefan. ‘Maybe they haven’t seen us?’

Stefan turned back to face him, shaking his head to dispel that theory. ‘They’ve seen us. You can see the spray they’re kicking up with their oars. They’re rowing as hard as they can!’

‘He’s right!’ Lydia called. ‘They’re really churning up the water.’

Hal could see the other ship, and he could see the rhythmic movement of the oars. But he couldn’t make out the spray they were throwing up as they beat at the water. It was too far for him to make out that kind of detail, but he had no doubt that Stefan and Lydia were right. The two of them had eyes like hawks.

Nightwolf
, which had initially been off their port bow, was moving slowly across them, crossing their path so that now she was on their starboard bow, moving further and further to their right. Hal had an unobscured view of her now, without the need to crane and peer around the sail. He glanced to the west
,
where the dark bulk of the Araluan coastline reared up out of the sea.

He stepped down from the rail and took the tiller from Edvin, frowning as he considered the situation. There was nothing for Tursgud to gain by going west as he was. If he had continued to head south, he would have prolonged the chase, and maybe managed to escape them when night fell.

At that thought, Hal glanced quickly to the west again, where the sun was a giant ball of orange, balanced above the rim of the world. They had perhaps an hour of daylight left. He checked the angle between the two ships, measuring with an expert eye. They were currently on the starboard tack. He would hold this direction for another ten minutes, swooping out to the left of their quarry. Then he’d be placed to go about onto the port tack and speed down to intercept her.

Thorn joined him at the steering platform, Gilan a few paces behind him. Even a landsman like Gilan could see the flaw in Tursgud’s tactics.

‘Maybe he’s planning to beach her and escape over land?’ Thorn said.

Hal pursed his lips and considered that alternative. Then he shook his head.

‘He won’t make it. We’re overhauling him too fast. He’ll be nowhere near the beach when we come up to him.’

‘Tursgud was never a good judge of speed and distance,’ Thorn said disparagingly.

Still Hal demurred. ‘He isn’t that bad,’ he said. He called in a louder voice. ‘We’ll go about in ten minutes.’

Gilan coughed politely. He knew that the crew, and Hal in particular, were busy concentrating on keeping the ship in the best possible position to intercept the slaver. But there was a question he had to ask.

‘Have you considered what we should do when we catch up with her?’ he asked quietly. ‘After all, they outnumber us by about three to one.’

Thorn snorted explosively. ‘Numbers aren’t everything,’ he said. He had strapped on his club-hand and he swished it experimentally in the air. Gilan just managed not to rear back as the massive, metal-studded club whizzed by, only centimetres from his face. ‘We’ll soon bring them down to an even fight.’

But Hal realised Gilan was right. It was time to prepare their most important weapon.

‘Stig! Ingvar!’ he called. They were well forward and they turned to look back at him. He gestured to the Mangler, shrouded in its canvas cover. ‘Get the Mangler ready!’

They began unlacing the covers, folding the canvas and laying it aside to reveal the massive crossbow crouched menacingly on its carriage in the bows.

Gilan let out a low whistle of surprise. ‘What is that thing?’

Hal grinned at him. ‘It’s just our little way of equalising the odds.’

Ingvar had opened the locker where the bolts were stowed and he selected one of the massive, metre-long shafts now, laying it ready in the slot along the top of the crossbow. He hadn’t cocked the mighty weapon yet. There would be time enough to do that later, and the longer the crossbow was under the enormous tension of the cocked arms, the more chance there was that something might give way. Gilan took in the size of the bolt, and the iron strips that reinforced its point.

‘Remind me never to go up against you people in a fight,’ he said.

Thorn nodded towards the longbow slung over the Ranger’s shoulder.

‘Maybe you should string up that peashooter of yours,’ he said. ‘We might leave something for you to shoot at.’

‘Five minutes, Hal,’ Edvin said quietly. When Hal had announced his intention to tack, Edvin had turned one of the sandglasses by the steering platform. Now he crouched beside it, peering intently at it and estimating the amount of sand that had trickled through from top to bottom. It was part of his job on board to keep Hal informed of such matters. Hal nodded his thanks, then cupped his hands and called forward, to where Lydia was still perched on the port bulwark.

‘Lydia! We’ll be tacking soon. Climb down and come aft!’

She waved her understanding. When the ship tacked, she would be in the way of the port sail as it came in. Stefan, perched high up on the bowpost, would be well clear of the lines and canvas as one sail came down and the other went up.

She ran lightly aft and dropped down into her berth, emerging with the quiver of atlatl darts slung over her shoulder. The atlatl itself hung from the heavy leather belt around her waist. She made her way to the small group beside the steering platform and cast a disparaging glance at Gilan’s longbow.

‘We’ll soon see if you can hit anything with that,’ she said.

Gilan smiled. He had no wish, or need, to engage in a slanging match with her. He knew how good he was with the bow. She obviously didn’t.

Hal frowned at Lydia. Such behaviour was frivolous, he thought. He beckoned Gilan closer.

‘You’ve seen this sort of thing before. Where will they have the prisoners?’

Gilan paused, then answered. ‘Usually, they’ll build a cage of some sort in the middle of the deck – just behind the mast.’