The Caldera

  And there he had them. The position of Maktig carried great authority and prestige among the Skandians. A Maktig was entitled to speak on behalf of any citizen under questioning in Skandia’s courts, and his opinion invariably carried great weight.

  Gerdt, however, continued to bluster. He had forgotten Thorn’s achievement. Most people had. In more recent years, after losing his right hand, Thorn had become a ragged, drunken wreck—until his association with the Heron brotherband, and Hal’s mother, Karina, caused him to change his ways.

  “This isn’t a court of law,” Gerdt said. “You have no special authority here. This is a closed meeting of the Navigators Guild committee.”

  “Closed?” Thorn said, raising one eyebrow. “Is there something secret and underhand going on here? Why do you need a closed meeting?”

  “Thorn . . . ,” Hal began. He was worried that his friend’s belligerent tone might work against him.

  But Thorn held up his left hand to stop the protest. “No, Hal. I’d be interested to hear Gerdt’s thinking on this. What does he have in mind that needs to be kept so secret? Why can’t a former Maktig—a three-time former Maktig—be present to observe and advise? Unless these men are planning something underhand?”

  His gaze went round the people seated at the table. They avoided it, lowering their eyes. All except Erak, who allowed a faint smile to touch his craggy features and gave Thorn a small nod of approval.

  Before Gerdt could reply, the Oberjarl spoke, in tones that invited no argument. “A Maktig’s opinion is valued and respected by our law courts, and any legal case is a far more serious matter than a mere committee meeting. So I see no reason why this committee shouldn’t give Thorn the same courtesy.”

  “But . . . ,” Gerdt began, his face reddening. It was a brave or foolish man who tried to continue a protest when the Oberjarl had made such a definitive pronouncement. Erak’s massive hand slammed down on the tabletop, the impact setting the solid table shaking and the noise echoing through the room.

  “Thorn stays!” Erak roared. As Gerdt and the others actually recoiled in their chairs, he continued in a voice that was calmer but no less adamant: “Now get on with it.”

  Several seconds of confused silence followed, as the committeemen rearranged themselves in their seats and hurriedly consulted their notes. Finally, Paavo Nilsson cleared his throat.

  “Perhaps I should start the proceedings?” he asked in a more conciliatory tone. He glanced sidelong at Gerdt, who had only just noticed that Erak’s huge battleax was leaning against the wall within easy reach.

  Gerdt nodded and his companion proceeded.

  “Hal Mikkelson, when you became a member, you agreed to abide by the guild’s rules and laws, is that right?”

  “It is.”

  “And one of those laws is that all members should share new navigational information with one another?”

  Hal went to reply in the affirmative once more, but Thorn dropped his wooden hook onto his forearm to stop him. In a pleasant, conversational tone, he said, “That’s actually not a rule or a law. It’s a custom.”

  “It’s how we add to our knowledge of the world and to the overall body of navigational lore,” Gerdt spat, his confidence returning as Erak had fallen silent.

  Thorn looked at him as one might consider an unpleasant bug. “I repeat. It’s not a law of the guild. It’s a custom or a convention.”

  “It’s an unwritten law!”

  Thorn leaned in over the table, resting his weight on the polished wooden hook at the end of his right arm.

  “If it’s unwritten, it’s not a law!” he replied calmly. “Otherwise I’ll invoke an unwritten law that allows me to swat you with my hook when you behave like a boor and a bully.”

  “Now, now, Thorn,” Erak said in a placating voice. “There’s no need to threaten violence.” He waited while Thorn stepped back a pace to resume his position behind Hal. “Nonetheless, Gerdt, he is right. There’s no law that says Hal must share his navigational discoveries with the guild.”

  “But it is customary,” protested Keldt Horgasson. The other three members of the committee shrugged, or indicated that they didn’t see Hal’s omission as a serious one.

  Thorn was beginning to size up the meeting now. Gerdt and Keldt were both pompous men, full of their own importance. Their attempt to pillory Hal came more from a desire to humiliate him than a genuine desire for navigational information. Hal was a rising star among the Skandians, one of the leaders of the younger set of skirls and navigators. And Hal was known to be favored by Erak. He and his ship were often chosen by the Oberjarl for special assignments. Not just because Erak liked the Herons and admired their young skirl, but because he recognized that Hal had a special ability as a ship’s skirl and navigator. If there was a difficult job to be done, Erak knew he could rely on Hal and his crew to do it.

  This rankled men like Gerdt, who felt threatened by Hal’s rising fame. It was some years since Gerdt had been chosen by the Oberjarl for any special mission. He resumed his attack now, with a sneering edge in his voice.

  “As Keldt says, it is customary for a navigator to share new information. But perhaps we can’t expect a foreigner to be aware of the importance of Skandian customs.”

  Hal shoved his chair back from the table and came to his feet. His face was flushed with anger.

  “A foreigner?” he demanded. “You call me a foreigner.” He felt the old, sickening rage—a sensation he had known as a boy growing up in Hallasholm—the pain and rejection that came with being regarded as an outsider. He hadn’t encountered this attitude for years now, but it was obviously still there, just below the surface with some people.

  Knowing how it would infuriate the young man if he didn’t answer directly, Gerdt spoke to the table at large. “He’s a foreigner. He can’t help it. His mother was an Araluen slave, after all, so I suppose we can’t blame him for th—”

  He got no further. Thorn had elbowed Hal aside and leaned across the table. He twisted his wooden hook, which fortunately was blunt ended, into Gerdt’s shirt and hauled him bodily out of his seat.

  “Shut your mouth,” Thorn said in an icy voice. “Don’t you dare speak of Karina that way. Yes, she was an Araluen slave, but she was freed by my best friend, Mikkel Fastblade, one of our finest warriors. She has become a popular and valuable member of our community and is completely loyal to Skandia. She’s always ready to lend a hand to anyone in need.

  “And perhaps you’ve forgotten how, during the Temujai invasion, she organized the Araluen women among the slaves to make arrows for the archers who stopped the invaders? And how she took it upon herself to deliver supplies of arrows to the fighters, and exposed herself to the Temujai arrows?”

  He suddenly untwisted his hook from Gerdt’s shirtfront and shoved him violently back into his chair. The chair skidded half a meter on the pine boards of the floor. Gerdt opened his mouth to reply but, seeing the fire in Thorn’s eyes, wisely shut it again.

  “I’ll also tell you this. On a personal level, I respect and care for Karina. And if you persist in slandering her like this and claim that she has no regard for our traditions or values, I will demand satisfaction—in the most traditional way possible.”

  Gerdt felt all eyes at the table on him, and his face turned scarlet with embarrassment. There was no way he would respond to Thorn’s threat of challenging him to combat. Even with one hand, Thorn was still one of the deadliest warriors in Hallasholm—and they all knew it.

  “I meant no disrespect to the lady,” he finally managed to mumble.

  Thorn’s mouth curled in a sneer. “In a pig’s ear you didn’t,” he declared.

  One of the other Guild members, Seb Peckson, sought to bring the conversation back to less dangerous ground.

  “The fact remains,” he said tentatively, “Hal here has not shared knowledge of his recent vo
yage with the guild—as we might reasonably expect him to do.”

  Hal decided it was time he spoke for himself. “That’s because there is no knowledge to share,” he said. “We were caught in a massive storm off the north coast of Hibernia and driven to the southwest for weeks on end. When we finally sighted land, I had no way of knowing where we were. We were fighting for our lives in the storm and I didn’t have time, or the opportunity, to take bearings or sightings. We saw no reference points—such as islands or reefs or shallows. I literally have no idea where we ended up.”

  “But you sailed back,” said Holger Brayson. “Surely you kept a record of your course then?”

  Hal shrugged. “We sailed back by using the prevailing winds, which were out of the southwest, keeping them on our starboard side and sailing on a reach. But I don’t know where we started from, or how much leeway we made in the weeks before we reached Hibernia again. So our return heading has little value by itself.”

  There was a moment of silence as the committee digested this information. What Hal was saying made sense. But Paavo was reluctant to let the matter drop.

  “Still, it’s a shame you didn’t bother to keep proper records,” he said. “You made an important discovery—one that could benefit all of Skandia. You should have at least tried to ascertain where you ended up.”

  “Why?” Hal asked. “What value would there be to Skandia? The country had no deposits of precious metals that we saw. No gold or silver mines. It was simple farm country.”

  Paavo shrugged. “Land has its own value. Others could have sailed there and cultivated it. They could have grown crops there.”

  “There are already people growing crops there,” Hal pointed out. “They might not want a bunch of Skandians wading ashore and taking their land from them. What right do we have to do that?”

  In truth, Hal had not made any effort to chart the location of the land belonging to the Mawagansett. He had foreseen that people like Gerdt might one day choose to try to take the land. His friends among the Mawagansett tribe had agreed with him.

  “What right did we ever have to go raiding in Gallica or Iberion?” snapped Gerdt.

  Hal turned to face him. “Exactly. We had no right to do those things. Which is why we don’t do them anymore.”

  “And that’s the pity of it!” Gerdt spat, before he could think about what he was saying in front of the Oberjarl, who had banned raiding some years ago.

  “You’re getting onto dangerous ground there, Gerdt,” Erak growled. “I suggest you drop the subject.” He let his gaze scan the others, finishing on Paavo.

  “Paavo,” he said, “it seems to me that Hal doesn’t have any knowledge that he needs to share with the guild. His voyage to . . . whatever he calls that country . . . was a complete accident. Nor is there any real value to us in knowing how to retrace his steps.”

  “Yes, but really, Oberjarl—”

  Erak raised his voice and cut Paavo off. “If you disagree with my assessment of the matter, here’s what you can do. Take your wolfship and go cruising off the north coast of Hibernia. Then wait for the mother of all storms to come out of the northeast and blow you thousands of leagues across the Endless Ocean. With any luck, you’ll fetch up at the place Hal discovered. Alternatively, you might be blown clear off the edge of the world.”

  He paused and cast a baleful eye on Gerdt. “And if you choose to do that, may I suggest you take Gerdt with you. And good riddance.”

  Gerdt elected not to reply. Erak gave him a few moments, then rapped his knuckles on the table.

  “As for now, this matter is closed. The meeting is adjourned.”

  chapterfour

  We’ll need to tread carefully for the next few weeks,” Thorn said as they strolled through the streets of Hallasholm toward Karina’s popular eating hall, set on the outskirts of the town. The weather was still warm, even though autumn was nearly upon them, and young children played in the half-light in the streets and fields surrounding them. Their high-pitched shrieks of laughter brought a smile to Hal’s face and, once, he had to catch and steady a young boy who came careering round the corner of a house, three of his companions in hot pursuit.

  “Watch out there, Gordy,” Hal said in a friendly tone.

  “Sorry, Hal,” the boy said breathlessly, looking up at him, eyes wide with hero worship. Hal was something of an idol to the young people of Hallasholm—which only served to increase Gerdt’s animosity toward him. Gordy’s comrades rounded the corner, shrieking, then fell silent as they saw the skirl and his legendary friend. There had been a time when little boys would tease Thorn as he shambled around the town in a drunken haze. That time was now long past. His exploits over the past several years, as battle master for the Heron, had made him a respected and admired figure—a real homegrown hero. Most of the boys hoped to emulate his example as they grew older.

  Thorn was aware of this, and the knowledge warmed his heart. But it wouldn’t do to show that to these boys. He scowled at them and brandished his hook.

  “Cut out that infernal racket!” he yelled. “And stop racing about like mad things!”

  “Yes, Thorn,” the boys all chorused. They backed away a pace or two. They were reasonably sure that his anger was a pretense, but not sure enough to ignore it. As Hal and Thorn continued on their way, the boys waited till they had gone a dozen paces, then began to giggle and whisper among themselves.

  Hal raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Boys!” he said. “Do they ever change?”

  Thorn regarded him seriously. “Spoken with all the authority of a cranky old man. How old are you again? Sixty? Seventy? I suppose you can’t remember when you were just like them?”

  “Matter of fact, I can’t,” Hal agreed.

  Thorn snorted derisively. “Well, I can. And it wasn’t all that long ago.”

  Hal grinned at him. “Getting back to what we were talking about, what do you think Gerdt is likely to do?”

  Thorn ran the fingers of his left hand through his tangled, untidy thatch of hair. That was as close as he usually came to combing it.

  “Probably nothing, so long as we keep our noses clean,” he said. “But he’s not a man who likes to be contradicted. He’ll be looking for any excuse to come down on us or—more particularly—on you. We just have to make sure we don’t give him one.”

  Hal pursed his lips. Then his attention was taken by two familiar figures on the far side of the market square.

  “There are Ulf and Wulf,” he said, quickening his pace. “Let’s see how they made out in their mock combat.”

  Thorn grinned. “I’m betting it was a draw.”

  Hal let out a piercing whistle, and the twins stopped and turned, looking for the source of the sound. They saw their two shipmates hurrying across the market square toward them and waved a greeting.

  “How did the match go?” Thorn asked as they came within easy speaking distance.

  “It was a draw,” Ulf told them, then added, “although I was winning when they stopped the match.”

  “How could you be winning if it was a draw?” his brother asked scornfully.

  Ulf assumed a haughty expression. “I couldn’t expect you to understand the nuances of combat,” he said. “But I was definitely winning.”

  Hal thought it might be best to head off this line of discussion. Ulf and Wulf, once engaged, could argue the most facetious nonsense for hours.

  “So have they scheduled another match?” he asked.

  Wulf shook his head. “They’ve come up with another way of deciding the winner.” He paused for dramatic effect and then added: “Berg-blad-trasa.”

  Both Hal and Thorn burst out laughing, which somehow spoiled Wulf’s intended dramatic effect.

  “Berg-blad-trasa!” Thorn said. “They’re going to decide a Maktig event using a children’s game?”

  Ulf drew hims
elf up and said, with great dignity, “Berg-blad-trasa is an ancient ritual among our people.”

  “It’s part of our culture,” Wulf added, with equal dignity.

  “It’s a children’s game,” Thorn repeated. “Do the judges seriously expect you to play berg-blad-trasa in order to determine a winning qualifier?”

  “Yes, they do. And I think it’s a great idea,” said Wulf. “After all, I’ve never lost at berg-blad-trasa.”

  “Neither have I,” Ulf added hurriedly.

  Thorn and Hal exchanged an incredulous glance.

  “Well, I have to say, I can’t wait to see it,” said Hal, a grin spreading across his face. “When and where is this momentous event taking place?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon at the obstacle course,” Ulf said. Then, looking a little guilty, he added, “But we weren’t supposed to tell anyone.”

  “I can understand why,” Hal said, his grin becoming even wider.

  “You’re not planning on coming to watch, are you?” Wulf asked anxiously. Again, Thorn and Hal exchanged an amused look.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Thorn said.

  “It’s just . . . we weren’t supposed to tell anyone,” Wulf said as both twins remembered the senior judge’s injunction for secrecy a few minutes too late.

  Hal looked suitably concerned. “Oh, I see,” he said. “Well, in that case . . . bad luck!”

  He lost the concerned look and the grin reappeared. Ulf and Wulf looked downcast.

  “We might get into trouble,” said Ulf.

  Thorn leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Don’t worry. If the judges turn nasty, we’ll threaten to let the whole town know that they planned to choose a Maktig qualifier with a game of berg-blad-trasa. That should calm them down.”

  Which the twins had to admit was true. The judges would be a laughingstock if word about this particular contest got out.