The Caldera Page 11

  “Mannoc!” he cried. “It’s good to see you!”

  A delighted smile lit Hal’s face, and he moved to embrace the other man. Mannoc returned the gesture, then stepped back and surveyed the table, where the rest of the Herons had risen to their feet. There followed several minutes of greeting, embraces and handshakes as Mannoc moved around the table to renew old friendships. He looked quizzically at Hal.

  “I notice a couple of faces missing,” he said. “I trust nothing has happened to Lydia, or that giant Ingvar?”

  Hal shook his head and called to a passing waiter to bring another stool. “They’re fine,” he said. “They volunteered to keep an eye on the ship. How are things with you?”

  Mannoc shrugged. “Much the same. The pirates keep trying to dash out of Raguza and capture merchant ships and we keep fighting them off. It’s an endless cycle. Matter of fact, I’m taking a convoy downriver the day after tomorrow and I could use an extra escort. Any chance you’d be interested?”

  Hal hesitated, frowning slightly. “We’re on a tight deadline,” he said. “We’ve got a job in Byzantos.” He indicated Olaf, who was a keen listener to the conversation. “Olaf here commands the palace guard and he needs our help on a mission.”

  He thought it was simpler to say that Olaf was the guard commander still, rather than go into the detail of how he’d been dismissed and handed an ultimatum to rescue the boy emperor.

  Mannoc pursed his lips, considering what Hal had said. “Well, you might make better time in company with us,” he said. “It’s a fast convoy—six traders and two escorts. So we wouldn’t hold you up—and if you join up with us, we should be a big enough force to discourage most of the river rats. They’ve been particularly active this season.”

  “Maybe,” said Hal, not yet convinced.

  Mannoc continued. “On the other hand, if you travel alone, you’re almost sure to be attacked—over and over again. And that could delay you a lot more than if you sailed with us. Heron could be damaged and you might have losses among your crew.”

  Hal glanced at Thorn and Stig to see their reaction.

  Thorn shrugged. “He’s got a point,” he said, and Stig nodded agreement.

  Hal turned to Olaf. “Olaf? What do you think? It’s your mission, after all.”

  The former guard commander was already nodding. “Makes sense to me,” he said. “Eight ships would make a pretty formidable force. Whereas if we’re traveling alone, we could be attacked by every bit of riffraff on the river.”

  Mannoc nodded and added the clincher. “I’ll pay you half again the usual rate.”

  The four Skandians exchanged looks. Hal could see by their expressions that the others were in favor of the idea. And the money would be useful. Escorting convoys paid well.

  “All right. We’re in,” he said, and reached out to shake Mannoc’s hand to clinch the deal.

  Mannoc grinned in pleasure. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “We’re leaving in the morning, at the ninth hour, day after tomorrow. We’ll assemble out in the river. It’s too crowded in the harbor at the moment. Now,” he said, looking round the table, “does Piko have any of that good ale left in his cellar?”

  chaptersixteen

  Two days later, at mid-morning, Heron slipped out of the harbor at Drogha. The convoy preceded her by half an hour—a suggestion made by Mannoc when they had met at the Cut of Beef.

  “Word will have gone downriver that we plan on leaving today,” he said. “And that we only have two escorts. If you hang back a little, you might catch a few of ’em napping if they try to surprise us.”

  Hal agreed. Heron was a fast ship and, if pirates attacked the fleet, she could easily make up the distance and take the raiders by surprise.

  “If we’re attacked,” the escort leader continued, “I’ll shoot a signal arrow in the air. If you see that, come running. And have the giant crossbow ready for action.”

  A signal arrow was one that trailed a ribbon of colored smoke and was fitted with a high-pitched whistle. It gave out a visual and audible signal when shot straight up into the air—both of which would be obvious for at least a kilometer.

  The wind was light and steady, and Hal turned the ship upstream. They were yet to reach the elbow bend where the river split, with the South Dan flowing south-southwest toward the Constant Sea and the North Dan—the arm they were currently on—flowing north to the Stormwhite. Once they made that turn, they would be traveling downstream, with the current. The river went downhill at that point, running down from the ridge where it had been traveling for a height of forty-five meters. A series of six barrages, or weirs, had been built to create a set of level pools as the river ran toward the Constant Sea. At the edge of each barrage, an open space, or sluice, had been left to allow the water to run downhill in a smooth and navigable slope. For ships traveling back upstream, there were wide paths alongside the bank, equipped with rollers and heaving tackles so that ships could be hauled bodily up the slope to the next pool.

  On their first trip down the Dan, they had been denied the use of the sluices and had navigated the Wildwater Rift, a side stream that turned into a wild chute—making the downward passage on one wild swoop instead of a series of controlled descents.

  “There’s the turn,” Thorn said quietly.

  Hal put the ship about, swinging through the elbow bend onto the new arm of the river. At once, they felt the ship speed up, and the bank began to slip past them much faster, and the current now worked with them. They swung onto the first of the lakes created by the barrage. The open sluice was on the western bank, and Hal swung the ship toward it.

  “Stig, Ingvar,” he ordered. “Ready on the oars in case I need steerageway.”

  With the current behind them, there was always the chance that the water would move faster than the ship itself, rendering the rudder useless and making her unmanageable. As the gap in the barrage was no more than five meters across, Hal wanted to make sure she would respond instantly to the helm. The two oarsmen would provide extra thrust and, if necessary, they could haul the ship bodily onto a new course.

  At first, there was no need for Stig and Ingvar to lend a hand. The ship continued to move faster than the river flowing around it and the rudder maintained its bite on the water. Hal lined up the gap in the barrage—a low wall of rocks and bare tree trunks—and gave the ship her head.

  There was a sudden plunging motion as the bow dipped downward, and Heron accelerated into the gap. As the water course narrowed and the current moved faster, the rudder became ineffectual, and Hal had to shout orders to the two crewmen manning the oars, as they heaved on the shafts to keep the hull heading straight down.

  The rest of the crew reached for handholds as the ship suddenly accelerated downhill. Then she was in the level water at the bottom of the chute. She hesitated for a moment in the eddy that formed there. Without needing orders, Stig and Ingvar heaved on the oars to pull her clear into the main river once more. The sail, which had been flapping uncertainly during the fast plunge, filled again with a dull boom, and the little ship accelerated away from the roiling water at the bottom of the chute.

  Hal realized that his grip on the tiller had tightened during those few moments of wild, downhill plunging. He made a conscious effort to release the tension in his hands as Heron resumed her smooth, fast passage across the calm water.

  They rounded a bend, switching to a new tack as they did so.

  “There’s the Southwind,” called Jesper from the bow lookout position. The Southwind, the last in line of the six trading ships, was two kilometers away. She had four oars out on each side and was maneuvering to run down the next chute.

  “Ease the sheets,” Hal called. “We don’t want to get too close.”

  With the sail eased, their speed dropped a little, and he angled the ship across the river, steering a long zigzag course to let the convoy stay well
ahead of them.

  Olaf was standing close to the steering platform. He studied the heavily wooded banks of the river keenly.

  “No sign of trouble so far,” he remarked.

  Hal shook his head. “They’re unlikely to attack here in the lakes,” he said. “The space is too restricted, with only the narrow chute if they need to make an escape. If they do attack, they’ll do it farther downriver, where they have room to get away—and to take any prizes with them.”

  Olaf nodded and grunted agreement. Hal added, with a smile, “Mind you, it never hurts to expect the unexpected. Keep a good lookout.”

  “I’ll do that,” Olaf told him. Unconsciously, his hand touched the hilt of the curved sword at his waist.

  Hal watched as Southwind negotiated the chute. He saw the hull dip, then accelerate forward. For a few seconds, he could see her tall mast above the barrage wall. Then that was gone as well. Judging that she had made it safely, he nudged the tiller and headed Heron for the gap. As they got closer, he felt the current quicken and the ship began to move faster.

  “Ready oars,” he said, and Stig and Ingvar prepared to row as he directed. They were a little off line for the chute, and Hal called his orders in a calm, but carrying, voice.

  “Ingvar—three strokes. Stig, back water. Enough! Now, both together. Pull!”

  As the ship straightened and she aligned with the gap, the two oarsmen heaved on their oars and she accelerated into the chute. Again, there was that momentary surge downward, and for a few seconds they all felt as if they had left their stomachs behind them. Then she flew down the chute, the water surface smooth and sleek with the speed of its passage. Again, there was a moment of hesitation at the foot of the chute.

  “Both together!” Hal called, and the oars dragged her out of the uncertain current and back into the main river.

  “This could get to be quite enjoyable,” Olaf commented.

  Thorn glanced at him. The guard commander didn’t realize that Hal was making the passage of the chutes look a lot easier than it was. He had a deft touch on the tiller and a sure eye for angles and speed. A lesser helmsman could have let the ship’s head fall off momentarily, in which case she would be swept broadside down the chute, with water pouring in over her downhill gunwales and the crew having to bail frantically.

  “I’ll be glad when we’ve cleared them,” Hal replied. “Ulf! Wulf!” he called in a warning tone as the sail flapped briefly in an uncertain gust of wind. Instantly, the twins sprang to the sheets and hauled in, keeping the sail taut once more.

  They saw Southwind again for a brief moment. Then she was lost to sight as a bend in the river intervened. When they reached the bend, there was no sign of the ships ahead of them. Hal scanned the river and pointed to the gap in the barrage wall. This time the chute was on the eastern side of the river, to accommodate a slight bend to the west.

  “A couple more after this,” he told Olaf. “Then it might get interesting.”

  They negotiated the next chute, and the next, then the final one that lay two kilometers downstream, without any trouble. As they emerged onto the calm waters of the river below the last chute, Jesper called from the lookout.

  “The fleet’s ahead. About a kilometer.”

  “Ease off!” Hal called to the twins. “We don’t want to get too close.”

  Olaf was aware of a new tension in the ship, a new sense of expectancy among the crew. They had made this voyage several times in the past and they knew that this was the area of greatest potential danger. Several of them unconsciously touched their weapons, and all of them were alert, scanning the banks on either side of the river for the first sign of an attack.

  As Heron slowed, the other ships gradually pulled away. The traders were formed up in two columns. Seahawk, Mannoc’s ship, was ahead of them, leading them downriver. Foxhound, the other escort vessel, was stationed on the right side of the right-hand column, and just astern of the last ship.

  “Ingvar,” Hal ordered, “get the Mangler ready. Lydia, stand by in the bow, please.”

  Lydia gathered up her quiver full of darts and clipped it to her belt, checking to make sure that the atlatl handle was in place on the opposite side. Then she went forward, slipping past the twins at their sail-handling station and taking up a position in the bow. Jesper, still perched on the bow-post lookout, glanced down as he heard her soft footsteps and nodded a greeting.

  “Nothing in sight,” he said.

  “Doesn’t mean there’s nothing there,” she replied.

  He nodded, resuming his scanning of the river ahead.

  Ingvar had also made his way for’ard. He unlashed the thongs that held the canvas cover for the Mangler in place, folded the cover carefully and set it aside. Then he opened the ammunition locker beside the giant weapon and selected a heavy bolt. He set it down, leaned forward over the Mangler and took hold of the twin cocking levers. With a slight grunt of exertion, he heaved them back until the heavy cord clicked into place over the trigger latch.

  Olaf was watching with interest. He had heard about the Mangler and had asked Hal about the large canvas-shrouded shape on the foredeck when they were crossing the Stormwhite. But this was the first time he had actually seen the weapon uncovered.

  “Usually it takes two of us to cock it,” Hal said, noticing his interest. “Ingvar is the only one who can do it by himself.”

  Olaf could see from the thickness of the two bow limbs that it would take a lot of strength to draw the cord back and put it in position over the latch.

  “Thorn can’t do it?” he asked, a little surprised. He knew Thorn’s arms and shoulders were incredibly strong.

  Hal shook his head. “He might just manage,” he said, reluctant to sound as if he were criticizing his friend. “But without his right hand, he doesn’t have the same leverage to work with. He has to crook his elbow round the right cocking handle.”

  Olaf nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “I don’t like leaving it under tension for long periods,” Hal continued. “But if we need it, we’re going to need it in a hurry.”

  “That’s usually the way it goes in a fight,” Olaf said. “Better to be prepared in advance.” He watched as Ingvar slid the heavy, iron-headed bolt into the loading groove on top of the crossbow.

  “That’ll make a mess of any pirate longboat that gets in the way,” he opined, and it was Hal’s turn to nod.

  “That’s what we’ve found in the past,” he said. “One well-placed shot can sink a boat.”

  He glanced around and saw Edvin was standing close by. “You ready to take over if I have to do any shooting?” he asked.

  His crewman waved a hand in confirmation. “Anytime you say.”

  Olaf regarded the skirl with interest. “You don’t take the tiller in a fight?”

  Hal shrugged. “I do when we get to close quarters,” he said. “But I usually take the first shot myself. I’m the best shot on board,” he added, without any sense of boastfulness. “And we find if we can make that first shot really count it gives us a big advantage. Stig and Thorn are our boarding party, and Lydia stays for’ard and reduces the odds for us.”

  “Can she hit anything with those big darts?” Olaf said doubtfully.

  Hal replied with a mirthless grin. “Don’t let her hear you saying that. You might find out the hard way.”

  They were interrupted by Jesper. “Hal!” he cried, pointing. “Signal arrow!”

  They were coming up to a wooded headland that jutted out from the eastern bank and obscured their sight of the river beyond. But, rising from behind the trees, they could see a thin trail of red smoke. And they became aware of a shrill, distant whistling sound.

  “Looks like the guests have arrived,” Hal said. “Time we joined the party.”

  chapterseventeen

  As they rounded the bend and came into the n
ext reach of the river, they could see that a major battle was taking place.

  No fewer than six pirate longboats were attacking the fleet. Seahawk was engaged with two, one on either quarter, held fast like leeches with grappling hooks and lines.

  Hal studied her closely. Her decks were swarming with a struggling mass of fighting men, but as he looked, he could see that the pirates were slowly being driven back toward their boats. He could make out Mannoc’s tall figure amidships, his sword flashing in the light as it cut through the boarders like a scythe through wheat.

  There was no need to go to her aid, he decided. Foxhound was farther downriver, with a single pirate boat grappled alongside. She too seemed to be holding her own. Five of the six traders were in a tight bunch farther south again. Two of them had sandwiched a longboat between their hulls. Their crews were pouring rocks, spears and any other missile that came to hand down onto the raiders. The pirate longboat, crushed between the two hulls, was in a bad way. She had only a few centimeters of freeboard left. When they pulled apart, she would undoubtedly sink.

  It was the sixth trader, Southwind, who was in trouble.

  The pirate band had obviously planned to single out one ship and take it while they kept the escorts engaged elsewhere. Southwind had been last in line—a straggler—and she had been the chosen victim.

  There was a large longboat grappled to her stern, and another rowing frantically behind her, racing to catch up. Hal’s eyes narrowed as he measured the angle to the second boat, checking the telltale on the Heron’s masthead. They’d reach her in two tacks, he realized, well before she caught up with Southwind and her attacker.

  Men were struggling on Southwind’s decks, but the crew was badly outnumbered. If the other boat were allowed to join in, her fate would be sealed.

  “They’re crazy,” Olaf said. “They must know we’ll reach her before they can get her ashore.”