He turned to peer into the forest to his right, trying to see the source of the shooting. Before he could see more than a flicker of movement among the trees, another four missiles slammed into his men, once more from the left.
“They’re in the trees!” someone shouted, pointing into the forest to their right rear. Crusher of Heads realized they would have to neutralize this unexpected attack or they would all be wiped out. He staggered upright, his left arm hanging uselessly, blood streaming down, and pointed his ax to the trees on their right, where he had seen movement.
“Follow me!” he screamed, and set off at a shambling run. He heard the footsteps of his men running behind him. A new sense of purpose filled him and he increased his pace, ignoring the agony in his arm. This was an enemy they could destroy. These were no pale-skinned demons. These, he could now see, were Mawagansett, huddled round four massive contraptions among the trees. And Crusher of Heads and his men had been defeating and killing Mawagansett since time began.
He blundered into a tree trunk, then staggered back toward the enemy line, having to thread his way through the trees and feeling the concerted attack of his men being scattered and dissipated. To his surprise, he saw that one of the people standing by the giant crossbows was a girl—slim, young and vulnerable. He screamed his hatred and lunged toward her.
He saw her right arm go back, then flick forward. He felt a jolting impact in his chest and staggered, slamming into a tree trunk and losing his balance. He slid down the trunk until he was sitting on the ground beneath the tree. A huge dart seemed to be protruding from his chest. He wondered where that had come from.
• • • • •
Cautiously, Stig raised his head above the palisade, ready to duck back instantly. There had been no double blast of the horns—the prearranged signal for the defenders to take their posts once more—but the barrage of bolts seemed to have stopped. Grimly, he realized that if he was wrong, he would be too late to take cover again. To his left, he saw a group of about ten Ghostfaces plunging into the trees toward the spot where Lydia’s battery was sited. He heard the clash of weapons and the cries of the wounded. Then he glanced to the right and his heart froze.
Another small party of Ghostfaces, about half a dozen in all, had taken advantage of the fact that the defenders had dropped below the palisade while the crossbows were shooting. They were swarming over the western end of the barrier, hacking and thrusting at the Mawags who crouched behind it, taking them by surprise and scattering them in confusion. One of the attackers fell back as a Mawag thrust with a lance at him, but the other five cleared the barrier and struck out around them, felling the surprised defenders and scattering them as they retreated from the sheer savagery of the attack.
Stig saw Mohegas ten meters away, gesturing wildly to him, and pointing to the village. He couldn’t hear what the elder was saying, but, as he turned farther to the right, his heart leapt in horror.
Three of the Ghostfaces had survived the brief fight at the palisade. And now they were dashing in among the neat rows of huts, shoving doors open, checking inside, then continuing on their way when they found the huts unoccupied.
But there was one they were heading for that wouldn’t be empty, Stig knew. That was the large hut in the center of the village.
The hut where the children and women were assembled.
The hut where Tecumsa was helping to guard the children.
With a hoarse cry, Stig set his shield more firmly on his left arm and, with his ax in his right hand, began to run toward the rows of huts. But, even as he did, he realized that the Ghostfaces had too big a lead over him.
This was a race he couldn’t win.
chapter forty
Hal watched as the last of the canoes emerged from the river into the bay. Including the six that had already landed on the far beach, he counted seventeen canoes. There had been eighteen drawn up on the beach by the Limigina village and he waited several seconds to see if a final canoe would emerge.
But there was no sign of another craft and he reasoned that Stig must have smashed one beyond repair. Either that or the fire he had set had caught one of them and destroyed it before the Ghosts could save it from the flames. Whatever the case, there were now eleven canoes strung out in a ragged line, heading for the beach. It was time for them to move.
“Get rid of this mess!” he ordered, hacking at the tangle of creepers and branches that had served to conceal the Heron from view. The other three set to with a will, and the mass of foliage was sent flying over the side into the water.
“Cast off, Edvin,” he ordered.
There was no need to give orders to Ulf and Wulf. They were already hauling the starboard yardarm and sail aloft, the slender yard rising in a series of rapid jerks. As the wind caught the unrestrained sail, it flapped and billowed wildly. Then, as Edvin darted ashore and released the two mooring lines, the twins heaved in on the sheets; the sail filled, then hardened. They were close to the rocks and the starboard side of the ship grated unpleasantly against them as the wind forced it toward the shore. Then Hal heaved on the tiller and the taut sail powered them out and away from the headland, gathering speed as they went. They were on a reach, their best point of sailing, with the wind from abeam on their port side. The bow rose and fell on the small swell within the bay, dashing spray up to either side as the ship cut into the water on the downward thrust.
The last canoe in line was only twenty meters away. There were five warriors on board, Hal could see, all of them armed with clubs and axes. He stooped to peer under the sail as they bore down on the unsuspecting craft, angling the Heron so she’d come in behind them and slightly to their left.
At the last moment, something warned the rear paddler and he turned, a look of horror forming on his face as he saw the seemingly huge craft behind them, its sharp prow slicing through the waves, throwing spray high in the air to either side.
He yelled a warning to his companions, but the warning came too late. Heron rose on a small wave, then her forefoot came plunging down, slamming into the frail timbers of the canoe and smashing them, opening a gaping hole close to the stern, then riding over the canoe and driving it under, spilling its crew out into the bay.
There were cries of alarm and fear as the Heron rode up and over the canoe, rolling it over and leaving it upside down in her wake, surrounded by the bobbing heads of her surviving crew members. Hal counted three survivors in the water. The others must have gone under when Heron smashed the canoe.
“No need for the Mangler,” he said to Edvin with a savage grin, then he heaved on the tiller to set course after the next canoe in line.
This crew, alerted by the shouts of fear, had seen what had just happened to their comrades and tried to avoid the onrushing ship. Hal brought the bow around to follow their course, once again aiming for a strike on the canoe’s stern quarter. At the last minute, the paddlers heaved their craft to one side, avoiding the axlike bow that bore down on them by a matter of a few meters, and sliding down the starboard side. Cursing, Hal put all his weight on the tiller and dragged the Heron’s bow violently to port, causing the stern to slew wildly to starboard as a result. The hull caught the canoe side on, slamming into it, collapsing it and capsizing it. Again, he heard cries of defiance and screams of terror. He glanced quickly astern and could see only two heads bobbing in the water beside the swamped canoe. Obviously, there were many among the Ghostfaces who couldn’t swim.
He looked for the remaining nine canoes and saw that they were still heading for the beach—and now they were more than halfway there. Stern attacks were too difficult, he thought. They gave the canoes too much opportunity to twist away from the Heron in the last few meters. He’d have to get ahead of the other canoes, then begin a series of broadside attacks, leaving them less chance to evade him.
“Sheet home!” he yelled to the twins, and headed the ship to the southwest, on a s
lightly divergent course to the remaining canoes, which were heading west. Heron, with her sail sheeted home tightly, fairly flew across the surface of the bay, sending spray fanning high to either side as she cut through the waves. She rapidly overhauled the desperately paddling canoes, the crews of which were now all too aware of her presence. Hal, eyes narrowed in concentration, judged distances and angles as the little ship overtook the canoes. Then, when he judged the moment to be right, he swung her about to go downwind, calling to Ulf and Wulf to let the sail out to starboard as far as it would go.
Driven by a stern wind, Heron swooped down on the leading three canoes, which were in a staggered line-abreast formation.
“Couldn’t be better,” Hal muttered grimly. With any luck, he’d be able to smash his ship into all three on the one pass. He saw that the nearest canoe, which was slightly in the lead of the others, was gaining on him, moving right to left across his bow. He waited, letting the crew think they had escaped, then brought the Heron to port, angling his course in front of the fleeing canoe.
He judged it perfectly. The canoe, initially to starboard, continued to move from right to left, placing itself directly under the Heron’s bow. There was a splintering crash as the ship slammed into the canoe’s hull at right angles. More screams of fear and anger, and he felt the ship shudder slightly as it drove the canoe under the surface.
They swept past the wrecked craft and he aimed for the next in line. They tried to evade him, but he was too close and moving too quickly. With another splintering crash, Heron sliced off the forward section of the canoe, from a point about a meter short of her bow. Water rushed in and the canoe sank immediately. The canoes were fast and maneuverable, he thought, but their light frames and birch-bark cladding gave them little chance against the solid oak of the Heron’s bow.
He looked for the third canoe in that leading bunch and muttered a curse. He’d hoped to take all three in one pass, but that had been wishful thinking. The crew of the third canoe, seeing their two companions smashed and driven under, had swung away to the east, back toward the river mouth. If he went after them now, he’d be leaving the way open for the rest of the fleet. His best course now was to swing left in a wide arc, staying ahead of the canoes, and repeat the attack he had just carried out.
He swung to the east, then, yelling orders to Ulf and Wulf, brought the Heron round, tacking upwind as close as she would lie. Knowing that he would need all the speed he could muster for his next maneuver, he let the bow fall off a little, and sensed the ship accelerating. He held that course for a few minutes, glancing back over his shoulder to keep track of the Ghostface canoes, then heaved the tiller over to swing to port.
“Let fly!” he shouted at the same moment, and Ulf and Wulf released the sail, spilling the wind out of it and presenting no resistance to the headwind as the bow of the ship swung to port.
With only a limited crew, he didn’t have time for fancy sail handling. Normally, as the ship came across the wind, he would have lowered the starboard sail and raised the port one. But he didn’t have enough men and all he could do was hope that his speed and momentum would carry the ship through a 180-degree turn, allowing the starboard sail—now unrestrained and flapping and whip cracking in protest—to fill so that he could run down on the canoes once again.
The bow was swinging. It moved quickly at first, but it was beginning to slow as it crossed the wind’s eye and began to fall off downwind. Now it was barely moving at all, and he thought, for one horrible moment, that the momentum hadn’t been enough to carry her through the complete turn. If that was the case, they would be caught, heading into the wind with the sail flapping uselessly and with no way for it to power them back downwind.
Then the bow came all the way around and the sail began to fill as the wind came from behind it.
“Sheet home!” he yelled, although there was no need. Ulf and Wulf knew their job by now and they gradually hauled the sail in, trapping the wind and harnessing its power. As they did, Heron began to surge, her bow rising and falling once more.
And ahead of them were four more canoes, paddling desperately to reach the shore before this terrible nemesis swept down on them.
Heron smashed into the nearest, with the now-familiar pandemonium of shouts and screams and rending wood. Hal felt the impact through the soles of his feet, transmitted through the planks of the ship. The second canoe had accelerated and was now to port. He adjusted the tiller and drove the bow into it from dead abeam. The canoe actually split in two, with the two halves rising out of the water momentarily, to be visible on either side of the bow. He searched the bay for another target, then heard a cry of warning from Wulf.
He looked for’ard. Two Ghostface warriors were clambering over the bow, dropping onto the deck as he watched. They must have leapt for the bow at the last moment, he realized. They hesitated, getting their bearings in these unfamiliar surroundings, then their eyes settled on the twins tending the sail amidships. The Ghostfaces had lost their principal weapons in the crash, but they both had long flint knives in their belts and they drew them now, moving purposefully toward the sail handlers.
Wulf was caught up with the mainsheet, trying to keep the Heron powering through the waves. Ulf stood and drew his saxe as the two Ghosts approached. His ax was too far away to reach in time. They saw the gleam of metal in his hand and hesitated. Then they separated to take him from two angles.
“Take the helm!” Hal yelled at Edvin. He let the tiller go and dashed forward, drawing his sword.
As he released the tiller, the ship yawed wildly, trying to fly head to wind. It was as well it did. The unintentional action caused the deck to lurch violently, and one of the Ghostfaces stumbled, falling into the rowing benches on the opposite side of the ship to where Ulf was waiting.
The other Ghostface struck underhand at Ulf with his knife. Ulf parried with his saxe, and a startling shower of sparks flew from the contact as steel and flint blades met. The Ghostface warrior had never seen that happen before and he flinched, dropping his eyes from Ulf to his blade.
It was a mistake. As the Ghostface lost focus, Ulf’s saxe slipped forward and took him in the side. The man grunted in surprise and pain, then looked down at the blood welling from the long slash in his side and fell to the deck.
But now his comrade had regained his feet and dashed under the sail to attack Ulf. Hal was still several meters away and he yelled a warning to his shipmate. Ulf turned, caught his foot on a trailing length of rope and stumbled backward. The Ghostface’s eyes gleamed with triumph and he stepped toward him.
To be met by a hurtling mass of black, brown and white fur as Kloof launched herself at him. Fifty-five kilograms of snarling, ravening dog slammed into the Ghostface and drove him back, sending him crashing to the deck planking. His knife flew from his hand and was lost somewhere below the rowing benches. Desperate with fear, he scrambled backward, away from the huge dog. Kloof crouched, ready to attack again. Her massive jaws opened, revealing huge, lethal teeth.
With a cry of utter terror, the warrior rolled to his feet and hurled himself over the railing, into the bay.
Hal put a hand down and helped Ulf to his feet. He re-sheathed his sword and smiled at the twins.
“That was exciting, wasn’t it?” he said. Kloof padded over to him, rumbling and growling contentedly. She liked nothing more than scaring the daylights out of an enemy, he thought. But she would have liked to get a bite or two in before the man fled.
Ulf reached down to her and fondled her head, ruffling the fur about her ears.
“Good dog, Kloof,” he said. “He certainly wasn’t expecting that.”
Wulf glanced up at them from where he was still tending the mainsheet that controlled the sail.
“If you’re through playing with the dog, would you mind giving me a hand with the sail?” he said sarcastically.
Ulf grinned at Hal. “I’d
better give him a hand. He’s something of a weakling and the wind might blow him away.”
Wulf opened his mouth to reply. But he was forestalled by a shout from Edvin, at the steering platform.
While the tiller had been momentarily untended, the ship had weathervaned into the wind and lost way. As she lay, rolling with the swell, two more canoes had pulled alongside, and now their crews were clambering over the bulwarks and onto the Heron’s stern.
chapter forty-one
Thorn paused to take stock of the situation. The village had been attacked by just over thirty men. Of those, eight had been killed or wounded by the barrage of bolts from the two crossbow batteries.
Another ten had turned to attack the crossbows Lydia was commanding, and he could see flashes of movement from the trees to his right as Lydia, Stefan and Jesper led the eight Mawags assigned to the crossbows in a spirited defense.
A further small group had breached the perimeter to the left, and he had seen Stig start off after them.
That left a small group of eight to ten Ghostface warriors in an uncertain group in front of the barricade. For once, he realized, the Mawags had their long-time enemy outnumbered. But that situation might not last for long. If Hal didn’t succeed in stopping the rest of the canoes, reinforcements could arrive anytime. In every battle, he knew, a time came when one side or the other could make a decisive move. That time was now.
“Ingvar!” Thorn bellowed, and Ingvar’s huge form rose above the barricade. His voulge blade was stained an ominous red, Thorn noticed. He’d seen how the big lad had dealt with the Ghostface leader, dispatching him with almost contemptuous ease.