‘Not so great,’ she said. ‘I actually missed. I was aiming to hit him in the left leg.’
He looked at her in silence for some seconds, then asked slowly, ‘You were planning to put that great, sharp, iron warhead through his leg?’
She nodded, and he continued.
‘And did you consider how we might get him back to the ship with a huge hole in his leg?’
She shrugged. ‘I thought you could carry him. After all, I’ve done all the work so far.’
The sun had dropped below the level of the treetops in the west when Thorn, Lydia and Rikard emerged from the forest and onto the beach once more. Rikard was unshackled. Thorn had decided there was no need to tie him or restrict him in any way. Before they set out, he had taken the pirate to one side and spoken quietly to him.
‘You saw how good the girl is with that dart thrower of hers,’ he said. ‘If you try to run, she’ll skewer you. And this time, she won’t aim for your legs. Understand?’
Rikard looked nervously at Lydia, licking his dry lips. He nodded several times. They made their way back through the forest, with Lydia in the lead, Rikard following her and Thorn bringing up the rear.
As they left the shadows of the forest behind them, Lydia suddenly let out a glad cry and broke into a run. She had seen a large figure moving slowly towards the camp fire.
‘Ingvar!’ she shouted and, as he turned to face her, she arrived in a rush and threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over.
‘You’re all right!’ she said.
He grinned at her. He had lost a lot of weight and there were dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes, but he was definitely in better shape than when she had last seen him.
‘Edvin cured me,’ he said. ‘He made me drink some foul potion and next thing I was sweating like a pig, and then I was better.’
She continued hugging him. She had developed a deep affection for the big, slow-speaking boy.
‘I thought we were going to lose you,’ she said. ‘I am so glad to see you’ve recovered!’
Stig was watching with some interest. He noticed how Lydia kept her arms wrapped around Ingvar as she spoke. Suddenly, Stig threw up his hands with a loud cry and fell to the ground, moaning.
‘Oh! Now I’ve caught the fever too!’ he said. ‘I’m burning up! Absolutely burning up!’ He rolled on the ground for a few seconds, then stopped and leapt to his feet. ‘Praise be! I’m cured!’
He held out his arms expectantly to Lydia, waiting for a hug in his turn. She raised a sardonic eyebrow at him.
‘Get over yourself,’ she said and he shrugged, grinning.
‘Well, it was worth a try. I see you found our prisoner.’
At the edge of the forest, Rikard watched keenly as Lydia’s attention was distracted by the sight of Ingvar. He looked surreptitiously towards the trees behind him, then realised Thorn’s attention was riveted on him. The old sea wolf smiled. It was not a pretty sight.
‘Not a good idea,’ Thorn told him. ‘Just keep walking.’ He gestured towards the camp site and they made their way across the beach to where the crew were gathered around Lydia, eagerly plying her with questions about her pursuit of Rikard. She replied diffidently, not wanting to appear boastful. But as Thorn arrived, he took over the answering for her.
‘She was amazing!’ he said. ‘Simply amazing. She could tell exactly where Rikard had been. “Look,” she’d say, “that dirty patch of air is where he was breathing yesterday.” Or, “Look at that, the imprint of his little toe on a piece of rock.” And once, she could even tell me what he’d eaten for lunch.’
‘How did she know that?’ Wulf asked. Thorn had known it would be one of the twins who would take the bait. He smiled disingenuously.
‘We found a pile of his droppings and she poked around in it. Told me what he’d had for lunch, his birthday and his mother’s name.’
The crew all looked at Lydia then, unconsciously, withdrew half a pace from her. Her cheeks flamed scarlet with embarrassment and rage.
‘I did NOT!’ she shouted, glaring at Thorn.
He grinned innocently at her. ‘Well, maybe not his mother’s name. I thought you were guessing there.’
She stepped a pace closer to him. Her hand dropped to the atlatl attached to her belt.
‘You keep this up and I’ll put a dart through you, old man,’ she threatened.
His grin widened. ‘Aim for my legs. That way I know you’ll miss.’
She shook her head in defeat. It was impossible to have the last word with Thorn. He was incorrigible. She turned to the rest of the crew.
‘I promise you I did not poke through a pile of Rikard’s droppings,’ she said. One or two of them still looked doubtful, so she shouted, ‘I DIDN’T!’ That seemed to convince them. But Wulf still had a puzzled look on his face. She looked at him, challenging him to speak.
‘Could you really see where he had been breathing?’ he asked. She sighed, then decided the best course was to go along with it.
‘Yes,’ she said, and turned away for the main tent. Hal fell into step with her.
‘Good work,’ he said, dropping a hand on her shoulder. ‘And welcome back.’
‘Thanks.’ She allowed him a brief smile, then it faded. ‘How do you put up with Thorn?’ she asked. ‘He can be so annoying! But then, he’s so incredible! Rikard made a run for it and I brought him down with a dart. But he’d barely hit the ground when Thorn was on him. He picked him up off the ground, then knocked him cold with one punch. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast!’
Hal nodded. ‘He can be pretty surprising, all right.’
She shook her head in frustration. ‘But then he can be so annoying! I swear to you, I did NOT poke through Rikard’s droppings. Why does he say things like that?’
‘Because he likes you.’ Hal smiled. ‘He admires you. So he teases you. Haven’t you heard how he talks to me?’
She hadn’t thought of that. Now that she did, she said doubtfully, ‘I suppose so. Still . . .’ She threw her hands in the air, dismissing the subject. ‘Tell me, what did Edvin do to cure Ingvar?’
Briefly, he told her about the willow bark and how Edvin had administered it to Ingvar.
‘So which one did the trick?’ she asked when he’d finished. ‘The poultice or the tea?’
He frowned. ‘I’m not sure. We all assumed it was the tea. But maybe the poultice took a while to have an effect. Or maybe it was the combination of both. Whatever it was, he’s better.’
‘He’s still very weak,’ she said and he agreed with her.
‘I’m giving him another night’s rest on dry land,’ he said. ‘We’ll put to sea tomorrow morning.’
The mouth of the Dan River yawned before them. It was at least one and a half kilometres wide where it emptied into the Stormwhite. The tide was running out and the river brought a steady supply of detritus from the land with it – logs, tree branches, leaves, even the occasional dead animal – and a layer of brown mud scoured from the banks and mud flats further upriver. The brown water stained the surface of the Stormwhite for several hundred metres before it dissipated and blended in with the sea water.
The land on either side of the river was low-lying and thickly forested. There was a steady breeze blowing from the sea that would drive Heron upriver at a good pace. As the ship rocked gently on the water, Hal climbed onto the bulwark by the steering position, steadying himself with one hand on the backstay. He shaded his eyes with the other hand and peered at the surface of the river, looking for telltale swirls and eddies that might indicate sandbanks, shoals or rocks. But the broad surface appeared calm and unruffled.
Thorn stood on the deck below him. ‘It’s a major trade route,’ he said. ‘It’s cleared regularly so that it’s navigable for hundreds of miles through the continent.’
‘So the navigation notes tell me,’ Hal replied. ‘But it never hurts to be sure.’ He dropped lightly to the deck and rubbed his hands in anticipation. ‘Well, let’s
go up the river and see what we can find.’
He took the tiller and called to the twins to sheet home the sail. As he swung the ship into the river, he brought the wind over their port quarter. Ulf and Wulf let the sail out accordingly, then adjusted it so that it formed a smooth, bellying curve. The Heron began to knife through the small ripples, throwing up a bow wave against the force of the outflowing tide. Hal glanced at the shoreline to gauge their progress and nodded to himself. They were making good headway.
‘Be quicker when the tide turns,’ Thorn said.
‘We’re doing all right as we are.’
They sailed on, the river bubbling and chuckling against the hull as they moved further and further from the sea. It was a strange, almost eerie feeling to see the green, low-lying banks on either side, instead of the empty, wave-tossed sea stretching out to the horizon. They were headed towards the western bank and, after fifteen minutes or so, Hal decided they were close enough to it. He uttered a warning to the twins and swung the bow to port. They hauled in on the sail until the ship was sailing on a reach, angling across the broad river, the wind now well on their beam. The river surface was much calmer than the Stormwhite. The ship still rolled, but it was a gentle, pleasant motion and there was none of the violent pitching they had experienced on the open sea.
The crew, with little to do, sat back on the rowing benches and relaxed. Ulf and Wulf made occasional small corrections to the trim of the sail as the wind veered slightly.
As they neared the end of that long reach to port, they saw the first bend in the river approaching to starboard. There was an air of expectation on the ship as they waited to see what was around the next bend.
That was the difference, Hal thought, between sailing on a river, even a massive one like this, and the open sea. Every bend in the river brought the prospect of something new and exciting – even dangerous.
‘Stand by to wear ship,’ he called. Here on the river he didn’t need to bellow his orders. The crew moved to their stations. Ulf and Wulf stood ready by the sheets. Hal nudged the tiller and, as the ship began to turn, called the order.
‘Wear ship.’
The twins let the sail out as the wind came further aft, then, as the Heron settled on her new course, they hauled the sail in tight. The Heron slipped round the bend and the new stretch of river opened before their expectant eyes.
More trees. More low-lying banks. Nothing out of the ordinary. The tension, the expectation of something new and different, went out of the crew like air escaping a punctured ball. Hal felt his hands relax on the tiller as he studied the long, empty stretch of river that lay before them. In the waist of the ship, Ingvar was resting on the special bed Hal had made for him. Hal had constructed two stout X-shaped frames, and Ingvar’s stretcher was suspended on ropes from them. As the ship rolled, the bed swung gently and remained level.
Not that the Heron was rolling too much on the river, Hal thought. Although he realised that in a strong wind or a storm, this placid stretch of water could be whipped up into short, dangerous waves. Edvin sat close by the bed, looking studiously down at something in his hands. Hal peered more closely. The healer was knitting again.
‘Picture of a bloodthirsty raider, isn’t he?’ Stig said. He had gone forward in case he was needed when the ship turned. Now he had returned to his normal position, close by the steering platform. Hal grinned.
‘It’s a new age, Stig,’ he said. ‘And Edvin is the new age sea wolf. Perhaps you could get him to knit you a nice battleaxe cover.’
The Heron continued to glide down the wide river on a smooth zigzag course, changing tack every ten minutes or so to angle back and forth between the two banks. The water was calm and the wind was moderate, so there was little to occupy the crew, other than the occasional sail raising or lowering. They lolled back on the rowing benches, enjoying the warm sunshine. Some of them even dozed off.
Thorn regarded them with a scowl on his face. He made his way back to the steering platform, where Stig was coaching Edvin in steering technique. Not that there was much to teach on this placid river. Hal was hunkered down in the very stern, his back against the sternpost, watching them. He glanced up as Thorn approached, smiling at the frown on his old friend’s face.
‘You look happy,’ he said.
Thorn snorted angrily. ‘This is getting too much like a boat trip with my old aunt Hortense,’ he said disgustedly.
Hal thought to himself that Thorn had been spending too much time around Svengal. The skirl of Wolfwind was always inventing imaginary aunts to illustrate his point. He looked along the length of the little ship, taking in the recumbent figures sprawled on the benches or on the deck, noticing how the shadow of the mast and sail moved across the deck and back again, in time to the gentle rolling motion.
‘It is rather pleasant, isn’t it?’ he agreed.
Thorn’s scowl grew fiercer. ‘It’s too pleasant! They need work and they need discipline. They’re getting soft again. Edvin is actually knitting, for Gorlog’s sake!’
Hal stood up, studying the crew in more detail. Thorn was right, he thought. One of the problems with a long voyage like this was that the crew had too much time to relax. Before the attack on Limmat, Thorn had drilled them until they were hardened and ready for battle. Now, if the Raven suddenly appeared round the next bend, his wisest course would be to turn tail and run. He chewed his lip thoughtfully.
‘What do you suggest?’
Thorn jerked a thumb at the eastern shore. They were currently on a port tack and angling towards the low, wooded bank.
‘Put ashore an hour early. They need some drilling and some hard work. I need to whip them back into shape – both physically and mentally. They have to be ready for a battle at any time. At the moment, they’re not.’
Hal nodded. At the end of each day’s sailing, they would put ashore and camp on the river bank. It was more comfortable than sleeping on board, and Edvin could have a proper cook fire to prepare hot meals and drinks for them. He scanned the eastern bank, looking for a good camp site. Half a kilometre ahead of them, he could see a spot where the bank ran down to the water’s edge in a grassy slope. There was a section of open ground between the ever-present trees. He indicated the location to Thorn.
‘How’s that?’
The old sea wolf shaded his eyes, studied the spot and nodded. ‘Looks perfect.’
The crew were a little surprised when Hal gave the order to put ashore. They were expecting to continue upriver for at least another hour. The sun hadn’t sunk to the level of the treetops on the western bank, which was usually the signal for them to put ashore.
As usual, Hal judged the beaching perfectly. The sail came sliding down with a rush of canvas and rope, and Stefan and Jesper gathered it into tidy bundles as the bow ran gently onto the sand and grass of the shore with a soft, grinding sound, the upward curve of the keel and bowpost letting it ride up onto the land for several metres.
There was the usual clatter and rattle of gear being stowed. Hal tied off the tiller and gestured for Stefan to take the beach anchor ashore and moor the ship securely. The others looked at him curiously.
‘Get the camp ready,’ he said.
Within ten minutes, the big sleeping tent had been pitched, with a screened-off area to provide Lydia with some privacy. A fireplace had been prepared and a supply of firewood gathered from the deadfalls that littered the forest floor. Edvin’s cooking supplies had been stacked neatly by the fireplace. Rikard, bound now by the chain padlocked around his waist, was unshackled from the mast and secured to a tree once more.
Jesper had found a freshwater spring, where he filled two buckets. He placed them down beside the fireplace and looked around curiously. There was still plenty of daylight and he wondered why they had stopped so early.
‘What now?’ he asked, of no one in particular. His heart sank when it was Thorn who answered.
‘Now,’ he said, savouring the words, ‘you’re mine. All mine.’
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Several of the others felt that same sinking feeling as they realised that he had his old hickory baton in his hand. They wondered where that had come from. They hadn’t seen it since their time at Shelter Bay. He swished it idly through the air, then drew a line on the ground in front of him.
‘All right. One line. Along here. MOVE IT!’
They jostled each other as they hurried to form up, galvanised by the last two words, delivered in Thorn’s best drill master bellow. Ingvar limped into place at the end of the line but Thorn shook his head.
‘Not you, Ingvar. Not yet,’ he said gently.
Ingvar peered at him, leaning slightly forward to see the shabby figure more clearly.
‘I’m fine, Thorn,’ he said. ‘I can handle it.’
Thorn stepped closer to him. ‘Let me see that wound,’ he said and Ingvar hitched his shirt up, exposing the arrow wound in his side. Thorn gestured with the baton for him to turn round.
‘And the other side,’ he said. He studied the entry and exit wounds. The flesh around them was still reddened and the lips of the wounds hadn’t closed properly yet. Nor had they scabbed over completely. There was a hint of moist flesh visible in each.
‘You’re not ready,’ Thorn told him. ‘You could tear those wounds open again. And I doubt you’ve got your full strength back. You’re skin and bone.’
Ingvar shook his head stubbornly. ‘I don’t want people thinking I’m a shirker.’
Thorn couldn’t help smiling at him. ‘You? A shirker? Never. But don’t try to overdo things. You can start laying a fire for Edvin if you want to do something.’
Reluctantly, Ingvar moved out of the line and limped towards the fireplace. Jesper watched him go, then held up a hand.
‘Thorn? I don’t feel I’ve got my full strength back either.’
Thorn smiled at him. It was a terrible sight. ‘Then what you need is exercise, my boy. Lots of it. That’ll build you up. Now let’s see how high you can jump. All of you!’
It was an old and familiar routine. They leapt high in the air, clapping their hands over their head as they did so. Thorn moved behind them, pacing down the line, the hickory baton swishing threateningly. The urge to look for him was irresistible.