02 The Invaders Page 7

  That drew a small ripple of amusement from them and he continued.

  “Stig is probably the best of all of you with an ax,” he said. He looked for any sign of disagreement, but all he saw were slight nods, confirming his statement. “But his training has been sadly lacking.”

  “His brotherband training, you mean?” Edvin asked.

  Thorn nodded. “Your instructors taught you the very basic strokes. And they encouraged you to whack and bash at the practice pads, and at each other, as hard as you could go. Am I right?”

  Again he paused and again he was greeted by nods.

  “The point is, most Skandian warriors are capable axmen. Competent, let’s say. But only a few are better than that. And only a very small number are experts. Your instructors were all pretty average warriors.”

  He paused, seeing a few frowns. “I’m not saying that with any disrespect. It’s a fact. They’re only supposed to teach you the basics. And they only have a few months to work with you, in which time they have to teach you a whole lot of other basic skills. Brotherband training is just the beginning. It doesn’t teach you everything. It can’t. The instructors simply have no time for showing you the finer points. When you were practicing weapon skills, the command I heard most often was, Hit harder! Give it all you’ve got! Call that hitting? That sort of thing. Am I right?”

  A few murmured yeses answered him.

  “Now that’s fine if you’re looking to build up muscles and tire yourself out so you sleep nights. But it’s not good enough in a fight.

  “Think of it this way. You’re in a battle. You swing your ax at someone as hard as you can. If you hit him, you split him open maybe down to here.” He indicated a point in the middle of his chest. “Now, if you don’t hit him quite so hard, you might only go this far.”

  He pointed to a spot between his eyebrows. Again, nods greeted the demonstration. Slightly puzzled nods, but nods nonetheless.

  “Is he any less dead?” he asked them, and saw a few faces showing understanding. “You’ve got to learn to control your power,” he continued. “Keep in balance when you strike. Don’t overswing. You just saw how easy it was for me to deflect Stig’s stroke and send him off balance. And that opened him up to a counterstroke.

  “Tomorrow, we’re going to start a new exercise that’ll help you learn to hit so you stay in balance.”

  The boys exchanged glances and he could see he’d caught their imagination. They were wondering what this new form of training was going to be.

  Good, he thought. If they’re wondering, that means they’re interested.

  “That’s it for today. You can head back to your tent and take it easy. Tomorrow is going to be a tough day.”

  It was Jesper who asked the question. Hal could have guessed it would be him.

  The boys were relaxing on their bedrolls, mending clothes or equipment, sharpening weapons or talking quietly among themselves, when the former thief voiced the thought that had been in many of their minds.

  “How come Thorn knows so much about fighting?” he said. “After all, for as long as I can remember, he was the town drunk.” A few of the others nodded and he continued, his gaze seeking out Hal.

  “I mean, we all saw him today, when he took on Stig. He made it look so easy.” Stig glanced up quickly at that, and Jesper hastily made an apologetic gesture. “No offense, Stig. We know you’re not an easy opponent to beat. So how did Thorn manage it? And you’ve got to admit, he did make it look easy, even if it wasn’t.”

  Hal and Stig exchanged a meaningful look, with Stig asking an unspoken question. Hal finally nodded.

  “It’s time they were told,” he said. “Go and ask Thorn to come in here, will you?”

  Stig nodded and rose to his feet. As he left the tent, he heard a storm of questions break out from his shipmates. He smiled to himself. They were in for a surprise.

  Thorn pulled back the canvas flap that covered the tent doorway and stepped inside into the light. As he did so, the babble of voices that had been coming from the tent cut off abruptly, and every eye turned on him. Stig slipped through the opening behind him and took his place on his own bedroll, grinning expectantly.

  Thorn scanned the ring of incredulous faces and settled on Hal.

  “I take it you told them?”

  Hal nodded. “It’s time they knew,” he replied.

  Thorn chewed the ends of his mustache for several seconds, not sure what to say next. Finally, he began to turn away toward the door.

  “All right,” he said. “So now you know.”

  There was a storm of protest as the boys realized he was about to leave.

  “Just a moment!” That was Jesper, of course. “You can’t go now! Tell us about it!”

  “About what?” Thorn replied.

  This time, it was Stefan who answered. “About being the Maktig,” he said.

  And Edvin added, “Three times!”

  “Well, it was a lot of hard work,” Thorn said uncertainly. Talking about himself was never his strong point.

  “What events did you compete in?” Hal prompted him. He could see Thorn needed a little help to get going. The old warrior looked away, thinking back to the days of the Maktig contests.

  “Oh… wrestling matches. Mock combats with sword and ax. Spear throwing. Footraces. Endurance tests…”

  “Like what?” Ingvar asked, and a thoughtful look touched Thorn’s leathery features.

  “Like spending the night out in the mountains in winter wearing nothing but my drawers.”

  “What was that like?” Ulf asked.

  Thorn allowed himself a faint smile as he answered.

  “Cold,” he said sincerely. “Very cold. Nearly froze my backside off, as a matter of fact.” A ripple of laughter ran round the boys. They were sitting watching him, hanging on his every word. He looked sidelong at Hal.

  “I’m not getting out of here any time soon, am I?” he said, and Hal shook his head slowly.

  Thorn sighed and lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor of the tent. Strangely, after all these years of trying to bury his past, he found it was vaguely pleasant to talk about it with these wide-eyed boys, and to see the nonjudgmental admiration on their faces.

  “Might as well make myself comfortable then,” he said, then he made an encouraging gesture. “All right, let’s have it.”

  “Were people surprised when you won the second and third times?” Stefan asked.

  Thorn looked at him with a grin. “Well, I certainly was.”

  Again, the boys laughed and he settled himself, feeling more at home, more at ease.

  “Who was your toughest opponent?” Stig asked.

  Thorn didn’t even have to think about that one.

  “Hal’s father,” he said, and every eye turned on Hal, who flushed with pleasure. Then Thorn added, “Your dad was good too, Stig. He made it to the semifinals in my second year.”

  “My dad?” Stig said, surprised.

  “He was a pretty handy warrior. Very good with an ax. You’ve got a lot of his talent.”

  Stig looked down, trying to hide the sudden tears that sprang to his eyes. In all his young life, he couldn’t remember anyone saying anything positive about his father, who had disappeared after stealing from his shipmates. He was glad when Jesper claimed the attention of the others.

  “How many mock combats did you have to fight?”

  Thorn drew a deep breath as he calculated the answer to that question.

  And so it went on for another forty minutes, with the boys eagerly asking questions and Thorn answering them—hesitantly at first, but gradually gaining in fluency as he realized that none of his young shipmates were looking to criticize him or belittle him. Quite the opposite, in fact. They were glad to have him as a member of their crew, glad to have him training them. Proud to be his shipmates and students. Hal had been right, he thought; knowing of his achievements might make them more inclined to pay attention and work on their skills.
>
  Best of all, he realized, they weren’t comparing him as he was now with how he had been when he was the Maktig. That was before their memory. They were comparing him with the way he had been when he was a shambling, forlorn drunkard, and the admiration in their eyes as they looked at him now was all too obvious.

  When Hal finally called a halt to the discussion, pointing out that the Herons’ personal Maktig had a big day planned for them the following morning, Thorn felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders—a weight that had been balanced there for too many years. He was aware that these boys respected and admired him, and aware that for the first time in too long a time, he had reason to feel proud of himself.

  He nodded good night and rose to go. As he stepped to the doorway, there was a momentary silence, then Jesper broke it.

  “Thanks, Thorn,” he said simply, and the others immediately chorused their thanks as well.

  He stepped out into the night and looked up at the stars in the frosty sky above. He took a deep breath. He felt better than he had done for a long, long time.

  “Who would have thought it?” he said softly to himself. “Who would have thought it?”

  chapter nine

  Strike! Parry! Strike! Deflect! Pick yourself up, Ulf!”

  “I’m Wulf,” said the red-faced twin.

  “Whatever,” Thorn told him. “Just don’t swing so hard. Control it! Stay in balance! You too, Wulf!” he added as the other twin went crashing to the ground as well.

  “I’m Ulf!” the second twin protested as he scrambled to his feet, rubbing his bruised backside.

  “Tell someone who cares,” Thorn said, looking away at the sound of another yelp and seeing Stefan fall flat on his back as his feet shot out from under him. “I’ve told you!” he bellowed to the group in general. “Don’t swing so hard that you lose balance. Start small and gradually extend your swing. Take it slowly!”

  The eight Herons were attempting to master Thorn’s new practice technique. While they had been on their morning run down the beach, he had set up eight low hurdles. On each, a sturdy round branch was supported about twenty centimeters from the ground by a forked stick at either end. The forks were greased so that the branch would roll and turn easily in them. The result was a highly unstable platform on which to practice basic combat moves. Each of the boys took a stance on one of the hurdles and tried to maintain his balance while practicing ax strokes and shield parries.

  As Ulf, Wulf and now Stefan had already discovered, if they swung so hard that they went out of balance, the round branch would roll under their feet and they would fall to the ground.

  In Ingvar’s case, Thorn had decided to let the big boy simply practice balancing on the branch, without attempting any mock blows with his club.

  “It’s so heavy you’d never manage to keep your footing if you swung it,” he told Ingvar. Now Ingvar, the tip of his tongue showing through his teeth, stood swaying precariously on his perch, arms spread as he beat at the air to keep his balance.

  “Relax,” Thorn said as he walked past. “If you tense up, you’ll never recover your balance. Loosen your muscles and keep your movements small.”

  As he spoke, Ingvar teetered backward, the branch turned and he fell, just managing not to measure his length upon the ground.

  “Smaller than that,” Thorn told him. Ingvar shook his head and gingerly climbed back onto the hurdle, swaying and waving arms to get himself set. He forced his tense muscles to relax and beamed at Thorn as he felt his footing steady.

  “That’s a lot better,” he said, and promptly fell forward, hitting the ground with a thud that made Thorn wince. The old warrior moved on as Ingvar picked himself up again.

  The boys were having varying degrees of success with this drill. Hal and Stig had mastered the technique relatively quickly. Even if they did fall, they could control the movement so they landed on their feet. Jesper had the knack as well. Thorn frowned slightly as he watched him. Jesper was a smart aleck and tended to be lazy—which was a pity when he had so much natural athletic talent.

  Ulf and Wulf were letting their customary ill temper cause them problems. With each fall, they would scramble angrily back onto the crossbars and begin again. But their frustration was making them move too fast, and within a few seconds they would lose their footing and fall to the ground again. It was almost as if they felt that, by moving quickly back onto the perch, they would erase the fact they had fallen off in the first place. They’d be better to wait a few seconds, settle themselves, then step up carefully.

  At least they had learned not to try to regain their balance at all costs. That merely led to a more severe fall as the crosspiece would spin suddenly and throw its occupant off. Now, once the twins felt their balance going, they would accept the inevitable and step down. Then, they would snort and begin again—usually hurling an insult at each other as they did.

  “Take it slowly,” Thorn exhorted them yet again. But he had little hope that they’d pay attention to him. He shrugged. Eventually they would learn the hard way to be more circumspect in their movements.

  He let the practice session continue for a few more minutes, then called a halt. Wearily, the Herons stepped down or, in some cases, stumbled down from their perches and sat on the grass. Some of them rubbed cramped calf muscles and sore ankles and heel tendons. Trying to stay balanced on such an uncertain perch put great strain on those muscles and joints, Thorn knew.

  He grinned at them. “Hard, isn’t it?” There were nods all around. “You’ll get the hang of it before too long.”

  “What happens when we do?” Edvin asked. He and Stefan had performed reasonably on the hurdles. They weren’t outstandingly good, nor were they outstandingly bad. That pretty much summed up the two of them in physical workouts. They were average performers. Still, Thorn thought to himself, he’d work to make them above average.

  He looked now at Edvin as he answered. “When you can stand on the crossbars without falling off for a couple of minutes, we’ll match you up in practice fights.”

  “On those glorified bird perches?” Edvin said incredulously. And when Thorn nodded, he shook his head. “We’ll never manage it.”

  “You might surprise yourself,” Thorn told him. “Now, when you’ve had a few minutes’ rest, how about getting the lunch started?”

  “Ulf and Wulf,” Hal said, “you can help Edvin. Get the fire started for him, Ulf. Wulf, you can fetch fresh water and peel some vegetables. Anything else you need done, Edvin?”

  Edvin shook his head. “That should see to it. We’ve got some cold venison left, and I baked a loaf of bread last night.”

  Thorn listened to the exchange. It was interesting, he thought, how Hal quickly reassumed authority when the practice sessions were over. While they were working on their combat skills, Thorn was in undisputed charge. And he’d noticed that, since their conversation the previous evening, the boys seemed to pay closer attention to his instructions than they had before. But the moment they reverted to normal camp discipline and chores, Hal took over again without seeming to think about it. Not for the first time, Thorn reflected that the boy was a natural leader.

  Hal rose now from where he had sprawled on the grass, rubbing sore calf muscles, and walked across to Thorn. He was limping slightly as the muscles cramped and knotted.

  “What have you got in mind for this afternoon?” he asked. Thorn nodded toward the net, where it was suspended above the ground nearby.

  “I’ll give them another session in the net,” he said. “They’ll find it a lot easier after those greased rollers.”

  “Can you spare Ingvar and me?” Hal asked.

  Thorn nodded. “Why not? If you feel you’re falling behind, you can always join him on one of his midnight practice sessions.”

  Hal raised his eyebrows at that. “Oh, you’ve seen him too, have you?”

  Thorn glanced across at Ingvar, who was smiling and talking to Stig and Stefan. “He wants so much to be
a valuable crew member.”

  Hal followed his gaze. “He will be,” he said. “When you see what we’ve been working on, you’ll see what I mean. He’ll be doing a job none of the others could manage.”

  “Good. Everybody needs to feel he’s contributing in a crew and it’s easy for someone like Ingvar to become the target of jokes. So when do we get to see this wonderful new contraption of yours?” Thorn asked.

  Hal considered the question. “If all goes well, later this afternoon. We have some final adjustments to make.”

  “No small details overlooked?” Thorn said, just managing to stop the grin that wanted to break out across his face.

  Hal sighed. “I wish you and Stig would get over that.”

  Thorn assumed a look of concern. “You’d like us to stop saying that?”

  Hal gave him a hard look. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I would.”

  Thorn finally let the grin off the leash.

  “Isn’t going to happen,” he said happily.

  “Didn’t think so.”

  After forty minutes’ hard work in the net, Thorn called a rest break and the boys ambled back to their tent to sprawl on their bedrolls and relax. Thorn took a seat on a tree stump close to the fireplace and made himself a mug of coffee. Their supply of coffee beans was limited and he decided to wait until the boys weren’t around before making himself another pot.

  “No sense in wasting it on them,” he told himself, replacing the sack of beans in the hiding place that Edvin had no idea he knew about.

  He was satisfied with the boys’ progress in the agility exercises he’d devised for them. In a few days, he’d start working on the finer points of combat techniques. He was also pleased with the change of atmosphere in the camp. There was nothing like hard work and sore muscles at the end of the day to keep boys occupied, he thought. But even as he had that thought, he realized that he and Hal would have to keep ringing the changes and creating new ways to stretch the crew’s abilities.