Authors: John Flanagan
Tags: #Fantasy, #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Action & Adventure, #General
The Outcasts (27 page)
Eventually, weary, bruised, scratched, with wrenched muscles and turned ankles, they blundered out onto level ground again, and saw the training area several hundred meters away. Although he had expected it, Hal’s heart sank as he made out the figures of Tursgud and Rollond by the finish line. He had hoped that they might have somehow beaten one of them.
“Couldn’t one of them have fallen and broken a leg?” he muttered savagely as he led the Herons at a weary jog toward the finish line.
“What?” said Stig, jogging beside him.
Hal shook his head irritably. There was an ironic cheer from the other two groups, and a few catcalls as the Herons staggered wearily to the line. Hal glanced at the scoreboard where the times had been scrawled in charcoal.
Rollond: 42 minutes.
Tursgud: 47 minutes.
Jarst, who was attending the water clocks, pushed in the stopper as the last of the Herons—Ingvar, naturally—crossed the line. Hal noticed angrily that the timekeeper had exhausted one water clock and had begun to use a second. Jarst studied the level expended on the second bowl and called out.
“Herons, one hour twelve minutes.”
The Wolves and the Sharks laughed—the Wolves loudest of all because they had the winning time.
Sigurd, his face neutral, stepped forward to confirm the performances.
“Fastest time was Rollond. Second was Tursgud. Slowest were the Heron team.”
The Wolves began whooping and pounding one another on the back in celebration of their win. Two of them hoisted the grinning Rollond on their shoulders and began to parade him round the training area. The Sharks were more subdued. But still, Hal thought, he would have been glad of the twenty points for second place. He glanced at Edvin, who shrugged wearily and hung his head.
“Sorry,” Edvin muttered. “My fault.”
Hal was tempted to agree, but he knew that wouldn’t be fair. The decision had been his. Edvin had only done his best to advise him.
He opened his mouth to say so when Sigurd’s bellow interrupted him.
“SHUT UP! SHUT UP AND PUT THAT MAN DOWN!”
He was pointing to the boys chairing Rollond on their shoulders. His face was red with anger. Gradually, the cheering and yelling died away. The boys he was pointing to, embarrassed and confused, set Rollond back down on the grass. He started toward Sigurd, a puzzled frown on his face.
“I’m sorry, sir, is there something wrong?”
“Yes, there’s something wrong,” Sigurd replied. He slapped the sheet of assessments with the back of his hand.
“This assessment was a group exercise. Rollond and Tursgud are disqualified. The Herons win. One hundred points. There’s no second place getter since both other teams were disqualified.”
He nodded to Hal and his team, turned on his heel and strode away. Hal heard a howl of triumph from his crew, felt an enormous impact on his shoulder as a massive hand sent him staggering several paces.
“Thank you, Ingvar,” he said. He didn’t even have to look.
chapter
twenty-three
twenty-three
F
rom then on, the assessments came when the teams least expected them. Four days after the mountain run, they had only just begun their physical conditioning session when Sigurd strode onto the training ground, sounded a horn and summoned them.
rom then on, the assessments came when the teams least expected them. Four days after the mountain run, they had only just begun their physical conditioning session when Sigurd strode onto the training ground, sounded a horn and summoned them.
“Assessment! ” he announced. “Footrace! Ten minutes!”
The racetrack had been laid out the night before, while they slept. It was marked by flags on slender willow poles and led from the training ground down the hill, through the town of Hallasholm, around the harbor and back uphill to the training ground.
“Select your runners,” Sigurd ordered. He looked meaningfully at Rollond and Tursgud. “This one’s an individual test.”
Tursgud scowled at the Herons.
“I’ll run for my team,” he said briefly.
Hal had known he would. He guessed that Tursgud’s ego wouldn’t allow him to nominate anyone else for any of the individual tests. He had to excel at everything. Hal looked at Rollond, saw the tall boy hesitate and knew he wanted to confront Tursgud directly. But he shook his head, as if dispelling the thought, and pointed to one of his team, a lean, long-legged boy who had shown a remarkable turn of speed during the daily training exercises.
“Henjak,” he said. The boy grinned and started shaking his arms and legs to loosen up the muscles.
“I’ll run,” said a voice close to Hal. It was Stig. But Hal held up his hand in a negative gesture. He had decided he wasn’t going to be caught unprepared again. He knew there was a footrace in the list of assessments and he’d been studying the relative speeds of his team members during the daily sprints and distance runs. Stig was fast. But Jesper was faster.
Possibly it was his background as an incorrigible thief that had helped him develop such speed, Hal thought, with a wry smile.
“I’m choosing Jesper,” he said to his friend, in a quiet tone. He didn’t want to embarrass Stig in front of the others. He saw his friend’s face flush with sudden anger.
“I can beat Tursgud,” he said.
“You might be able to. But the question is, can you beat Henjak?”
As well as assessing his own team’s performance, Hal had tried, as far as possible, to keep tabs on the two opposing brotherbands to see who their fastest runners were. He knew little about Henjak, admittedly. But he’d seen how fast Rollond was. If he thought Henjak was the better choice to represent the Wolves, Henjak must be very fast indeed.
For a few seconds, Stig glared at him. There’s that temper of his, Hal thought. Then his friend abruptly turned on his heel and walked away, throwing an angry, “Fine then,” over his shoulder.
“Come on, skirl! We don’t have all day!” Sigurd was waiting impatiently for his decision.
Hal looked up and said, “Jesper will run for the Herons.”
He saw the look of surprise on Jesper’s face, instantly replaced by wariness. Jesper had seen Stig talking to Hal and had assumed that Stig would be the runner. Now the reason for the angry reaction was clear. Jesper hoped that his selection wouldn’t put him in Stig’s bad books. The big boy would be a dangerous enemy to make.
Hal nodded reassuringly to him and Jesper shrugged his shoulders, then made his way to the start line. Tursgud and Henjak were already waiting for him. Henjak smiled and leaned over to shake hands. Tursgud ignored both his opponents. Henjak, still smiling, rolled his eyes at Jesper, jerking his head toward the Sharks’ leader.
He looks confident, Jesper thought. He’s not scared of Tursgud. He thinks he’ll beat him easily. He’s the big threat.
He squared his shoulders. Hal had shown faith in him, he thought. He determined to repay his leader by beating this gangly, friendly, confident boy. And beating him thoroughly.
“All right, runners,” Sigurd said. “On the start line … GO!”
There was no preparation. No countdown. Just the sudden, explosive order.
Jesper was a thief. He was used to taking off on a fraction of a second’s notice and he shot away like a startled hare, gaining a five-meter advantage over the other two, who wasted time looking to Sigurd for confirmation that the race had actually started. Then they both bolted in pursuit of Jesper’s fast-disappearing form.
The remaining boys all started yelling encouragement as the three runners, with Jesper still in the lead and Tursgud and Henjak in hot pursuit, left the training area and started on the downhill path to the town. The three brotherbands streamed across the field to keep the runners in sight.
Hal went to move with the rest of the group but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. It was Stig, and he could tell his friend was still angry.
“Some friend you are,” Stig said bitterly.
Hal shook his head in frustration. “Stig, just because I didn’t select you doesn’t mean we’re not friends. I tried to choose the best person for the task.”
“Jesper?” Stig said, disbelief evident in his voice.
“Yes. Jesper.”
“I beat him when we ran yesterday,” Stig said.
Hal nodded acknowledgment of the fact. “Yes. I saw that. But I don’t believe he was running full out yesterday. And he’s beaten you every other time.”
Stig paused uncertainly. He obviously hadn’t considered that fact.
“Well, he’d better win this time,” he said.
Hal spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Stig, I didn’t do this to annoy you. I’m the team leader. I have to do what I think is best. I told you, you have to go along with all my orders, not just the ones you agree with.”
He saw the anger slowly draining from Stig’s face as his friend thought about what he had said. Eventually, and a little grudgingly, he replied. “I guess so. Let’s hope you’re right.”
“Come on,” Hal said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s go watch them race.”
They joined the others. The training area was a large meadow set on high ground, overlooking the town of Hallasholm. The racecourse curved down the hill, hidden in places by the trees, then entered the town itself. It followed a loop through the town, obscured from their view for the most part, then reappeared at a point where it wound back up the hill.
The yelling and cheering that had followed the runners down the hill died away as the observers lost sight of them.
“Where are they?” Hal asked the nearest person to him. Then, realizing it was Ingvar, who was looking in entirely the wrong direction, he muttered, “Never mind.” He jogged Edvin with his elbow instead and repeated the question.
“Behind the trees,” Edvin told him, pointing to a large stand of trees just above the town. Almost as soon as he spoke, the yelling began again as the runners emerged into view. The three boys were bunched in a tight group. It was impossible to tell who was in the lead, if anyone was. They sprinted, as if joined together, into the outskirts of the town. Then they were lost to sight again. Faintly, the sound of cheering could be heard from the town. The people of Hallasholm must have been aware that the race would be run today, Hal thought. They had probably seen the course being marked out the previous day.
Anxiously, the members of the three brotherbands scanned the town, looking for some sight of the racers. Occasionally, there would be a brief flash of movement between buildings, but they could never be sure who was winning. One thing they could see was that one of the runners had opened a gap between himself and the other two. Someone from the Sharks started to yell in triumph, then abruptly fell silent as he realized he wasn’t sure that it had been Tursgud he’d seen in the lead.
Then Henjak emerged from the town, running hard toward the track that led uphill to the training area. The Wolves went wild with delight, screaming encouragement to their man. The Sharks and the Herons remained silent, anxiously straining to see the first sight of the next runner. Then Jesper and Tursgud emerged from the town, running neck and neck. First one would surge away a few paces, then the other would reel him in and go past. Then the first would make up the gap between them and they’d be neck and neck once more.
“Come on, Jesper!” a voice bellowed close to Hal’s ear. He jumped in surprise, then realized it was Stig urging their runner on. He grinned at him. Typical Stig, he thought. A few moments of flaring bad temper, then everything was back to normal again.
The other Herons followed his example, yelling encouragement to Jesper. The Wolves and Sharks were shouting as well, the Wolves loudest of all, as Henjak increased his lead over the other two, then went out of sight in a large dip in the ground that hid him from those watching above.
“I think Henjak is gaining,” Stefan said.
Stig glanced sidelong at him. “It’s not over yet,” he said. “Jesper can still catch him.”
“Even second would be good,” Ulf said, earning himself a glare from Stig.
“Blast second! He can still win! Come on, Jesper!”
Ingvar plucked at Hal’s sleeve. “What’s happening, Hal? Are we winning?” he asked anxiously.
Quickly, Hal brought him up to date on the progress of the race. Ingvar nodded as he took it in, then, without warning, roared, “COME ON, JESPER!”
Hal jumped in fright at the sudden, deafening noise. That large frame and huge chest could produce a prodigious volume of noise.
“Warn me if you’re going to do that again, will you?” he demanded.
Ingvar shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, Hal.” Then he added, “I’m going to do it again now.”
“Be my guest,” Hal said, just before Ingvar let rip with another thundering roar.
“COME ON, JESPER! RUN! RUN!”
Surreptitiously, Hal moved a pace or two away from him.
Without warning, Henjak seemed to float into sight over the top of the rise just below them, a hundred and fifty meters from the finish line. The cheers from the Wolves grew even louder, while the other two bands fell silent. Jesper and Tursgud were now hidden from sight below the rise Henjak had just topped.
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