Scorpion Mountain (5 page)

chapter
seven

H
al was so startled by Ingvar's words that he actually recoiled a pace. For several seconds, he was speechless. Ingvar—solid, reliable, powerful, loyal Ingvar. The idea of the Heron Brotherband without him was unthinkable. He had always been there when Hal needed him. Immensely strong, with a quiet wisdom and a gentle sense of humor. Above all, Hal realized, it was the fact that he was so utterly dependable—a constant in their dangerous world—that made him so invaluable. Finally, he found his voice.

“Ingvar, what is it? Is it something I've done? Has someone in the crew said something to insult you? I can't believe what you're saying!”

But Ingvar was shaking his head at the suggested reasons for his wanting to leave.

“No, no, Hal. On the contrary, you and the rest of the brotherband have given me a sense of worth and a sense of purpose. Since I've been a Heron, I've realized that I'm not totally useless. I can actually contribute.”

“Of course you can!” Hal said. He gestured for Ingvar to take a seat at the table by the window and joined him there, leaning forward to appeal to him. “After all, ask that girl you carried back to the ship in Socorro. And you're the only one with the sheer strength to load the Mangler. How would we have managed the fight against Zavac without you? Or the escape from the harbor in Socorro?”

Ingvar listened patiently to Hal's list of his achievements. When his skirl finally fell silent, he spoke again, calmly and sadly.

“The problem is, Hal, as I've become more confident, and learned to appreciate my own worth, I've realized how limited that worth is, compared to the rest of you. You're all leaving me behind.”

Hal frowned. He felt a sense of panic. Ingvar seemed determined on his course and Hal could think of nothing to say that might change his mind. And if he couldn't find the right words, the Herons would be left with an unfillable hole in their ranks.

“I don't understand, Ingvar. You're part of the team. Part of the crew. We've been together since the very start. What can I say to change your mind?”

Ingvar smiled sadly and shook his head. “There's nothing to say, Hal. I've loved my time with you and the others. But in Socorro, I realized that I would always be limited.”

“But—” Hal began desperately, only to subside as Ingvar held up a hand.

“All the things you mentioned, Hal, they all boil down to one thing. I'm big and strong. That's it. And that's all I'll ever be. The rest of you are growing and developing your skills and abilities. You're an expert navigator and helmsman, and you can plan a raid like the one on the slave market.

“Stig is becoming a more skilled warrior every day. And he's a perfect first mate for you. Even Ulf and Wulf are becoming better fighters. So is Edvin, and he's the smallest of all of us. And he's becoming a good helmsman too.

“As for Thorn—well, I doubt that there's anything he can't do. He's fast, agile, powerful . . . No wonder he was the Maktig for three years.

“Then there's Lydia! She can track. She can hunt. She's deadly with those darts of hers. And she's totally fearless. She can even shoot the Mangler now as well as Stig can.

“The point is, Hal, all of you are developing and growing. I'm not. I've reached my limit. I'm big and strong. I'm a dumb pack animal and that's all I'll ever be. I feel I'm not pulling my weight as part of the crew and it hurts to feel that way. I'd rather quit.”

Hal shook his head slowly. He'd had no idea that this feeling had been building in Ingvar. He'd realized that the massively built boy had been somewhat out of sorts for the previous few days . . . but this! He felt a deep sense of shame that, as Ingvar's skirl, he'd allowed this situation to develop and hadn't noticed it.

“Of course you're pulling your weight!” he said. “What will we do without you?”

Ingvar smiled that sad little smile again. “You'll manage. Two of the others can learn to load the Mangler. Or you could extend the cocking levers so one person could do it. I was thinking, you could fashion a tube of some kind, make two of them and slip them over the cocking handles. The extra leverage will make it possible for one person to do the job.”

Hal made a helpless gesture. “There you are! You're a thinker! You've just come up with a way to improve the Mangler! How can you possibly say you're not pulling your weight?” He paused, trying to think back over the preceding weeks. “Has something happened to make you feel this way?”

Ingvar nodded. “There are a couple of things. Do you realize that when you shoot the Mangler, I can't even see what's happened? Someone has to tell me.
Oh, Hal hit the helmsman and the ship has swung off course,
or
The bolt hit the guard tower and set it alight.
Can you understand how frustrating that is?”

“Yes, of course. But—”

“But even worse than that: When we were making our way back to the ship in Socorro, with the released prisoners, remember how we came face-to-face with a platoon of Mahmel's guards?”

Hal frowned uncomfortably. He thought he could see where Ingvar was heading with all this, where the problem lay.

“Yes. I remember.”

“Do you remember what you said to me?”

Hal spread his hands dismissively. “Oh, come on, Ingvar. You can't have let that get you to this state—”

But Ingvar gently overrode him. “You said ‘Stay back, Ingvar.' Remember?”

“Yes, but that was just because . . .” Hal stopped, not wanting to proceed. But Ingvar finished the thought for him.

“Because I can't see. Everything beyond a few meters is a blur for me.”

“That's not your fault!” Hal protested and Ingvar placed a hand on his arm to calm him.

“No, it's not. And it's not your fault either. It's just the way things are. I know why you said that and you were right. With my eyesight, I'd be a danger to the rest of you. I might accidentally hit one of you without realizing. Worse, I might put you in danger because someone would have to watch out for me, and they might be hurt while they were doing it.”

Hal opened his mouth to protest, then shut it without saying a word. Ingvar was right. And he knew he was right. If Hal argued against the fact, Ingvar would know he was lying.

Ingvar noted his skirl's silence and nodded. “Thanks for not trying to tell me I'm wrong. And the problem is, Hal, I'll always be a burden to the rest of you when it comes to a fight. You simply can't depend on me.”

“But we don't care!” Hal said.

“I do,” Ingvar replied. And there was no answer to that, Hal knew. “There are only a few of us in the crew,” Ingvar continued. “We're not a big wolfship with a crew of twenty to thirty warriors. There are nine of us. We can't afford passengers when it comes to a fight. Worse, you can't afford to have someone who'll distract another crew member and may leave him vulnerable in a battle.”

Hal dropped his gaze. Ingvar was right, he realized. But he was also wrong—so wrong.

“Ingvar, you're part of our brotherband. We accepted you for what you are—and as you are. If you pull out, you'll be destroying something very valuable.”

“You can always find someone to replace me, Hal. There are plenty of big, strong boys out there. And, as I said, strength is the only thing I bring to the
Heron.
But I couldn't live with myself if someone was injured, or even killed, trying to look out for me. To tell the truth, I'm weary of being told to stand back whenever there's a fight brewing. And there are going to be more and more occasions when we're called upon to fight. Best if I make a clean break now.”

“Oh, Ingvar.” Hal felt a prickle of tears on his eyes. “You are so, so wrong. You bring so much more than just brute strength to the brotherband. You bring a sense of loyalty and humor and wisdom. In a way, you personify the very spirit of the brotherband. Can't you see that?”

The minute the last four words left his mouth, he regretted them. Ingvar smiled that slow, sad smile again and shook his head.

“No, Hal. I can't. I can't see and that's the whole point. This is hard for me. Please don't make it harder by arguing.”

Hal slumped back in his chair and covered his face with his hands for a moment or two, his brain racing. Then he lowered his hands and sat up straighter once more.

“All right. I've heard what you've said. I can see your point. But I think you are underestimating yourself and your value to me and the crew. Please don't do anything about this for a day or so. Let me think. There must be something I can do.”

“You can't make me see any better, Hal.”

Hal set his jaw in a determined line. He stood and gestured for Ingvar to do the same, then led him to the window.

“Look out there and tell me what you see,” Hal said. He watched Ingvar closely as the big boy shrugged, then leaned forward to peer out the window.

“I can see a green sort of blur in the foreground. I imagine that's the park you've all talked about. Farther out, the green becomes darker.” Ingvar looked at Hal, a question on his face.

“That's the forest. It's a darker green.” Hal gestured out the window again. “Can you see anything else? Can you see any people?”

He watched closely as Ingvar leaned forward and squinted his eyes almost shut.

“I can see water,” he said, looking at the moat, “and is that a bridge just there?”

He was pointing to the drawbridge below them and to their left. Hal nodded eagerly.

“Yes! That's the drawbridge and the castle moat!” he told his friend. “Can you make out the sentry at the far end of the bridge?”

Ingvar sighed and squinted even harder. “I can see something,” he said doubtfully. “Might be a sentry. But it's just a shape . . . Wait! He's moving! Yes, it's a sentry.”

He stepped back from the window and spread his hands in a defeated gesture.

“See? It's hopeless. Even with your prompting me, I couldn't tell that was a sentry until he moved.”

“But you did see him?” Hal asked.

“I did. But I didn't know what he was.”

Hal rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “When I asked if you saw him, you were squinting. Why do you do that?”

Ingvar thought about it and shrugged. “I don't really know. I guess when I narrow my eyelids like that, things become a little clearer. But I can't walk around squinting all the time.”

Hal's mind was racing, vague possibilities forming in his brain. He felt the old familiar rush of excitement as an idea hovered, not fully formed yet just out of reach.

“I suppose not,” Hal said distractedly. He thought for several seconds, then spoke again. “Ingvar, give me a day or two before you decide, all right?”

“I've already decided, Hal. But I'll give you a day or two before I tell the others.”

Hal patted the boy's massive hand. “That's fine,” he said. “I can't ask for more than that.”

“Are you hoping to change my mind? It won't happen.”

“We'll see,” Hal said.

Ingvar snorted softly. “I doubt it,” he said. “That's the problem, after all.”

chapter
eight

T
he following day, Hal remained in his room, speaking to nobody, having his meals brought to him. The crew wondered what he was up to and several asked Stig, assuming that he'd know.

The young warrior simply shrugged. “I have no idea what he's doing,” he told them. “He gets like this when he's planning something.”

There was one exception to this isolation. Stig, Thorn and Hal had a further meeting with the King and the two Rangers. As Crowley and Gilan had predicted, Duncan reluctantly agreed to Gilan's plan of action.

“I suppose you know best how to handle a situation like this,” he told the tall young Ranger. “But if you need any extra force, ask Selethen to provide it.”

“I will, my lord,” Gilan replied, smiling. “But I'm sure that between us, the
Heron
's crew and I can handle things. We did pretty well in Socorro, after all. Isn't that right, Hal?” He smiled at the young skirl sitting beside him.

Hal seemed to start awake. His mind was miles away. “Eh? Yes. Fine, I'm sure.”

Thorn frowned, wondering what was distracting his friend.

“So, when do you plan to get under way?” Duncan addressed the question to Hal. Once again, the skirl needed a moment to gather his thoughts.

“What? Oh, sorry. I've got something on my mind. Let's see, we'll need to provision the ship. It's a long voyage, after all. That'll take a day or so.”

They had restocked the ship in Cresthaven, but it was always wise to top up their store of perishables like fresh vegetables, bread and water at every opportunity. He continued, his mind now on the question of getting
Heron
back to sea. The river that ran past Castle Araluen was tidal and that would influence his decision. He didn't want to have the crew rowing against the tide. Or to leave in the dark.

“I'd like to go out in daylight, and with the ebbing tide. That means . . .” He thought about it. A good skirl was always aware of tide timetables. You never knew when you might want to leave in a hurry, after all. “The day after tomorrow at the earliest.”

Stig smiled. “That's ideal.”

Thorn turned an inquisitive eye on him. “What are you so happy about?”

“Princess Cassandra has invited us on a hunt tomorrow,” Stig said. “I think she wants to see Lydia in action with the atlatl.”

Duncan inclined his head thoughtfully. “Wouldn't mind seeing that myself,” he said. “I might join you.”

“What do you say, Hal?” Stig urged his friend. “Would you like to get a little hunting in?”

But again Hal's mind was miles away. Stig prompted him sharply. “Hal? What do you say?”

Hal looked at his first mate, frowning. “About what?” he asked and Stig explained, speaking slowly and carefully, making sure he had Hal's attention.

“A hunt. We're . . . going . . . on . . . a . . . hunt . . . tomorrow. You could use your crossbow.”

“Oh. No. Not me. I've got something I have to work on,” Hal replied.

Stig spread his hands in a helpless gesture and smiled at the King. “He's not always as vague as this. Sometimes, you'd swear he was almost intelligent.”

Duncan nodded knowingly. “I suppose a skipper has a lot on his mind before a long voyage.”

Stig nodded, unconvinced. “Yes. I suppose that's it.”

• • • • •

So, while the others prepared for the hunt, Hal remained in his room. Stig made one further attempt to persuade him to join them. He knocked on the door to Hal's room, heard no reply and went in anyway.

Hal was standing by the window, holding a sheet of parchment close to his face. There was a long, narrow slit in the parchment. He was totally unaware that Stig had entered. For a few seconds, he peered at the slit parchment, then threw it down in disgust.

“No. That won't do. Too floppy.”

“Too floppy for what?” Stig asked cheerfully.

Hal looked round, startled to see him. “Oh . . . just something I'm working on. But it's got to be more rigid.”

“I'm sure it has,” Stig agreed. “Rigid is always better.”

Hal didn't seem to notice the irony in his friend's tone. “Yes. I need something else. Something thin like parchment but not as floppy.”

“Floppy is definitely not what you want,” Stig agreed. But again, Hal appeared to take no notice. Finally, his patience exhausted, Stig said forcefully, “Hal! Snap out of it!”

“Eh? What's wrong, Stig? What do you want?” Hal was obviously irritable—irritable and distracted. Stig had seen it before.

“Are you coming on Princess Cassandra's hunt? We're leaving in an hour.”

Hal shook his head. “No. I'm busy. But you go, by all means.”

“I planned to,” Stig said, rolling his eyes. And Hal nodded several times, reaching down to finger the slit sheet of parchment, holding it up, then putting it down again.

“Yes. Fine. Have fun. Catch a fish for me.”

“We're hunting. Not fishing,” Stig said.

“Oh, well, good. Then best if you don't catch a fish,” Hal said.

Stig raised his eyes to heaven. “Maybe we'll catch a dragon in a tadpole net.”

“If you say so,” Hal replied.

Stig sighed heavily, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Have a good time,” Hal said. Then he looked up and realized Stig had gone. “Oh . . . where did you go? Well, never mind.”

He tapped the sheet of parchment once more, then angrily shoved it aside. It fluttered off the table, caught the breeze from the window and settled gently to the floor, sideslipping back and forth as it descended.

He propped his feet up on the table and sat for several minutes, his fingers steepled under his chin, lost in his thoughts. Then a tap at the door distracted him. He looked at the door irritably.

“What is it?” he called. Then he added, “Come in.”

The door opened to admit one of the serving girls, bearing a tray with a pot of coffee and a cup on it. There were also several of the sweet cakes he had grown to enjoy. She stood just inside the door, hesitating at his tone. Hal realized it wasn't fair snapping at a servant.

“Come in,” he said in a more friendly voice. “That looks terrific. Set it over here on the table.”

The girl moved quickly across the room, glancing at him surreptitiously. She'd always heard that Skandians were big and loud and hairy—and a little frightening. But this young man was slim and well built. Generally, he spoke quietly . . . and he was very handsome, she thought.

She set the tray down and indicated the coffeepot.

“Shall I pour you a cup?” she asked. He smiled at her. Very handsome indeed, she thought. And he was a ship's captain, and so young.

“You'd better watch the cup,” he said, smiling.

She realized she'd been about to pour the coffee on the table, as she was looking at him. She flushed and lowered her eyes to the task in hand. He took his feet off the table to give her room, then frowned as he noticed the amulet she was wearing. He waited till she set the pot down, then pointed to it.

“What's that?”

She was puzzled for a moment. She donned the amulet every morning as a matter of habit. As a result, she was unaware that she was wearing it now and it took a few seconds for her to realize what he was talking about. She looked down, then held it out so he could inspect it more closely.

“It's just an amulet,” she said. “It's not very costly but my dad gave it to me and he's dead now, so it's precious to me.”

“May I see it?” Hal asked. He held out his hand.

She hesitated, reluctant to give him the piece of jewelry. He might be young and handsome, but he
was
a Skandian, after all. And Skandians had a reputation for
liberating
jewelry. She'd heard the other servants talking about another one of the
Heron
crew, who delighted in removing their bangles, necklaces and even earrings without their noticing. Then, he would return the purloined article with a beaming smile. But this young man had an honest face, she thought. So she shrugged the suspicion aside and handed it to him, passing the leather thong over her neck.

Hal frowned as he studied the pendant itself. It was a thin, light material. Some kind of shell. It was exactly what he was looking for.

“What is this?”

“It's just tortoiseshell. It's not worth much. It's not precious or anything.”

“It's perfect,” he said. “Where would I get something like this?”

She shrugged. “There's a jeweler in the village across the river. He'd have supplies of it. He makes a lot of cheap jewelry for the villagers.”

Hal handed her back the amulet and a smile lit up his face. Her heart missed a beat or two and she curtsied, feeling the warmth rise up in her cheeks.

“How do I find him?” he asked and she made a deprecating gesture.

“He's right on the main street. His name is Geoffrey. Geoffrey the goldsmith.”

“I suppose that sounds better than Geoffrey the tortoiseshell smith,” Hal said and she smiled and giggled. She was glad she had been assigned to look after the ship's captain.

Hal rose from his chair. It was apparent that he was planning to go out and she gestured to the coffee tray.

“Did you want more coffee?” she said, although in truth he hadn't drunk any. He'd become engrossed with her amulet before he could do so. He looked at the tray in surprise, as if seeing it for the first time.

“Eh? Oh, no thanks. Sorry you bothered with it. You may as well take it away.” He paused, then held up a hand to stop her and scooped three of the cakes off the plate. “I'll take these, however. Geoffrey, you said his name was?”

“That's right, sir. Although I'm not sure he'll want any cakes.”

“I'm not sure he'll be getting any,” Hal told her, and crammed one of them into his mouth, smiling blissfully at the sweet honey taste as it spread across his taste buds. “Thank you . . .” He hesitated, realizing he didn't know her name.

She supplied it, and curtsied quickly again. “Milly, sir.”

“Well, thank you, Milly. And never mind the ‘sir.' My name is Hal.”

She smiled at him. She was pretty, he realized, and the smile really lit up her features.

“I'll remember that, sir. I mean . . . Hal,” she said. Then, blushing again, she preceded him to the door, balancing the tray with the ease of long practice.