“If they haven’t been sunk by the storm,” Erak said, but Gort made a negative gesture.
“They won’t. Hal’s too good a seaman. And the Herons are a good crew.” He glanced apologetically at the Oberjarl. Erak had commanded that no reference ever be made to the Heron brotherband. “Sorry.”
Erak waved the apology aside.
“Then that’s where I’ll look for them,” Svengal said, studying the chart intently and imprinting its details on his memory.
“If this storm ever stops,” Erak said despondently, leaning back from the table.
Svengal grinned at him. “My dear old aunt Tabitha knows a bit about the weather,” he said. “I’ll see what she thinks.”
Gort frowned at the two of them. “Your dear old aunt Tabitha?” He wasn’t aware of any old lady in Hallasholm by that name. “Who the blazes is she?”
Erak turned a long-suffering look on him. “Don’t ask,” he said. “Just don’t ask.”
chapter six
The Heron brotherband spent the rest of the day making meters of strong rope by twisting young, thin birch saplings and creepers together, then coiling it. At the end of the day, their fingers and wrists ached with the effort of twisting and weaving the tough strands. Hal and Ingvar continued to work in the small tent. The sound of cutting, sawing and hammering reached the others clearly. A few of them wondered what the two boys were up to.
“When Hal’s ready, he’ll tell us,” Stig said. “He never likes to show his work too soon.”
Just before sunset, Thorn called a stop to the rope making and sent them on another run down the beach while Edvin prepared dinner.
That night, after the meal, there was little talk and certainly no bickering. The exhausted boys were glad to crawl into their bedrolls. A few hours after dark, the camp was silent, with only the dark silhouette of Thorn hunched before the remains of the fire. When the coals finally died down, he walked quietly down the beach to the ship, climbed aboard and settled down for the night.
The following morning the routine started again before first light. Thorn’s hickory stick beat a rattling tattoo on the hut frames, and on the backsides of any boys who were tardy in rolling out of their blankets.
He put them through their paces, flapping arms and leaping high into the air until they were thoroughly warmed up, then sent them off down the beach once more, while Edvin prepared a meal.
Wrapping a chunk of bacon in a slice of bread, Thorn busied himself laying the rope out in a grid pattern, some eight meters square. He adjusted the cross pieces so that the sides of the grid squares were about forty-five centimeters long. The crew arrived back, ravenous for breakfast. They grabbed their bread and bacon and hot tea and crowded round to study Thorn’s handiwork.
“It’s a net,” Stig said. “Why do we need a net?”
Thorn said nothing. Boys and their questions, he thought to himself.
“Pretty big mesh,” Stefan commented. “What are we going to catch in that? Bears?”
Thorn studied him for a moment, straight-faced.
“No. We’re after an even more horrible prey,” he said. Then, as Stefan cocked his head in a question, he added, “Teenage boys. They’re not as fierce as bears, but they smell a whole lot worse.”
“You’re a fine one to talk about that,” Hal told him.
Thorn raised his eyebrows. “I smell all right,” he said.
“You smell, all right,” Hal agreed.
Thorn looked at him suspiciously. “I had a bath only five weeks ago,” he said, then decided there was no point bandying words with the young skirl.
“Tidy the camp. Then get back here,” he said gruffly, and the boys, grinning, hurried to their chores.
The previous day, while they’d been cutting creepers and young birch strands, Thorn had collected a supply of tough vines, the thickness of thin cord. He tossed them on the ground when the boys returned.
“Tie the intersections of the net together,” he said. Then he gestured to Ulf and Wulf. “You two, cut a bundle of stakes about half a meter long. Trim them and sharpen the ends.”
“How many do you need?” Ulf asked.
Thorn thought for a few seconds. “Sixteen should be enough.”
They set off into the forest. By the time they returned with the supply of stakes, the others had finished fastening the net together. Thorn inspected it, tugging at a few of the knots. But the boys had all been working with boats and ropes and knots since they were tiny and all of them were tight.
“Very well,” he said. “I want this net suspended thirty centimeters above the ground on those stakes. Put a stake at each corner, then another halfway along each side. Pull the net so it’s good and tight. I don’t want it sagging.”
“What’s it for?” Stefan asked.
“Drop Bears,” Thorn told him. He seemed to be completely serious and Stefan frowned. He seemed to recall he’d heard of Drop Bears somewhere before.
“Drop Bears?” he said doubtfully.
“Small bears with a light membrane between their front and back legs that lets them glide for miles through the air. When they get tired, they fall out of the sky,” Thorn told him. “This way, we’ll be ready to catch one.”
“As long as he’s considerate enough to fall on this particular spot,” Hal said.
Stefan sensed the smile in his voice and turned quickly. He saw the other Herons were all trying to hide grins and realized that he was the butt of a joke.
“Oh,” he said. He considered taking offense, then realized there was no point in it. Thorn’s joke wasn’t malicious. He smiled in his turn, then challenged the others.
“But if you’re all so smart, maybe one of you can tell me what this horizontal net is for?”
Thorn chuckled then. “Good point, Stefan.” He looked at the others. “Well, do any of you superior geniuses have any idea what this is for?” They all looked suitably chastened. “Then let’s find out. Weapons and shields and report back here. On the double!”
As they raced away to the tent to collect their weapons, Thorn smiled to himself. The little interplay between Stefan and the others was a good sign. A day ago, the exchange would have tended to be sarcastic and a fight may well have started. Today, after a day of physical exercise and hard work, followed by a good night’s sleep and more exercise on top of it all, the atmosphere in the camp was already improving. The boredom had been relieved and the boys were eager to see what the net was for. There was a sense of purpose about the group once more. Thorn felt a small flush of pleasure to know that he’d helped create it.
The boys lined up expectantly with their weapons. Thorn studied them thoughtfully. Stig would be the best to start with, he thought. He was athletic and well coordinated and balanced. He gestured to the tall boy.
“Stig. Over here. Put your two feet into the net. Leave one square gap between them.”
Puzzled, Stig did as he was told, stepping into two of the gaps along the side of the net. He looked at Thorn.
“Now,” said the old warrior, “I’m going to call directions and you follow them. You go forward, back, left or right as I tell you. I’ll tell you how many steps to take each time. Do you follow?”
Stig nodded, frowning in concentration. He was beginning to see what this was about.
“All right. Shield up. Ax ready. Eyes up—there’s a savage Magyaran facing you. Now start to move. Forward three… right two… back one… left two…”
As he called the moves, Stig performed the actions, lifting his feet high to clear the net and stepping lightly. At first, the instructions were slow and steady, but as Stig gained confidence, Thorn increased the pace, adding in half left and half right so the boy moved diagonally. As Stig moved, his face a study in concentration, Thorn would issue other commands, reminding Stig to keep his shield high or his eyes up.
After a minute or so, the inevitable happened. Stig caught his right foot in the net as he attempted to follow a command to move to the left and was se
nt sprawling. The others laughed, but each of them knew their shipmate had performed very well. Most of them doubted they could match his sure-footed movements for so long.
Crestfallen, Stig climbed to his feet. But he was rewarded by a nod of approval from Thorn, who then turned to survey the rest of the group.
“Nothing to laugh at. I doubt anyone else will do better.”
The group nodded good-naturedly. But Jesper—why was it always Jesper, Hal thought—had to query Thorn.
“How about you, Thorn? Can you do it that well?”
Thorn considered the question, and the boy who had asked it, for several seconds.
“Hmmm. Good point. Can I do it? It’s been a long time. I may have forgotten. But let’s see.” He held his wooden hook out to Stig. “Shield,” he said, and Stig helped him slip the strap over his right arm, watching with interest as Thorn fastened the ingenious clamp onto the shield handle and tightened it.
“Ax,” he said, when the shield was secure. He took it in his left hand and hefted it onto his shoulder.
He walked toward the net, pausing to look at the boys uncertainly.
“I wonder if this is such a good idea?” he said. Then he shrugged and sighed deeply as he stepped into the net. “Hal, you call the steps.”
Hal hesitated a second, then began to call instructions, setting the same pace Thorn had begun with for Stig.
“Forward two… left three… right one…”
“Faster!” Thorn snapped, and Hal upped the pace.
“Left four, forward three, back two…”
“Faster!” Thorn called. “What’s all the delay?”
“Right three forward one left two…”
“Faster! Come on! Faster!”
“Back-one-left-two-right-three-half-left-forward-one…”
And as Hal began to issue the orders in a seemingly nonstop volley, Thorn matched them easily, stepping high and confidently with each one, never missing a beat until he seemed to be dancing in the net, moving lightly on the balls of his feet, always in balance, always in motion. Then he began adding extra movements, lunging to the side with his ax as he stepped left, or raising the shield high over his head as he moved back. Once, he performed a complete turn, high stepping around through a full circle, as Hal hesitated in the call. A murmur of admiration and surprise was torn from the boys as they watched, their eyes riveted on the cavorting figure.
Then, ignoring the next set of orders, Thorn spun so he was facing them and they could see he had his eyes shut tight. Hal’s voice fell silent as Thorn carried out an intricate pattern of steps, his feet never touching the ropes as he moved. Then, his eyes snapped open and he charged forward at the watching group of boys, moving at a full run and finally leaping off the ground with both feet to clear the net and land crouching before them, the shield up and the ax drawn back behind his head.
“YAAAAH!” he yelled at them, and startled, they drew back involuntarily.
Thorn straightened from his crouch, lowered the ax to the ground and smiled at Jesper.
“Well, what do you know?” he said. “I’ve still got it.”
Jesper nodded several times. He was impressed—very impressed. And he made a mental note not to challenge Thorn quite so often in the future.
“Yes,” he said. “I’d say you’ve still got it, all right.”
“Thorn,” Hal said, “can you tell us the point of this exercise?”
Thorn looked at him and nodded. Hal had a good grasp of the principles of commanding a crew, he thought. Sometimes, when you were first imposing discipline, it could be necessary to demand blind obedience. But there were other occasions when there was real value in an explanation. Men—and he thought of the crew now as men—performed better when they understood why they were being asked to carry out a task. With this exercise, he wanted more than blind obedience. He wanted that understanding, knowing it would lead to greater commitment and, in the long run, abilities that might save their lives.
“It’s all about speed and agility,” he said. “They’ll be your biggest assets when we fight the Raven’s crew. They have experience on their side of the ledger. They’ve been raiding and fighting for years. You don’t have that. But you’re young. Your main assets will be your speed and agility when you fight. That’s what we’re going to be working on while we’re here. Speed and agility. We’ll work on them until we get them to the highest possible pitch for each of you. And if we do work on them, they may well save your lives.”
He paused and looked around their faces, suddenly grim as they thought about what he had said. They could see beyond a bizarre exercise with a net between their feet. They were looking forward to a time when the sort of agility and speed of movement that Thorn had just displayed might well be the difference between winning and losing. Living and dying.
“Now,” he said, nodding toward the net, “who’s next?”
chapter seven
The morning wore on, and the rest of the crew took their turns in the net, with varying degrees of success.
As Thorn had expected, Stig was the best at this drill, and he improved each time he stepped into the mesh and took a turn. But the old warrior was pleasantly surprised to see that Hal was not far behind him, and Jesper was pretty much equal to Hal. Of course, Jesper was a thief and thieves tend to be nimble and light-footed—as well as light-fingered. And Hal had always had a fine sense of spatial awareness. It was one of the qualities that made him such an outstanding helmsman.
Ulf and Wulf were both good, although each tended to sneer at the other’s performance—ridiculous when you saw that one was the equal of the other. Stefan was capable but Edvin had problems with the drill, often snagging his foot and falling before he had gone three or four paces. He would set his face in a frown and try again—invariably trying to move too quickly and coming to grief again.
“Slow down,” Thorn told him. “You have to work at it to let it become instinctive. Walk before you can run.” Edvin glared at him, red faced and angry at what he saw as his own failure.
“Any other clichés you’d like to share with me?” he said.
Thorn took a deep breath before replying. His first instinct was to wallop Edvin over the back of the head for being so insolent. But he realized that the boy was trying. In fact, he was trying too hard. He could see the others performing the movements with comparative ease and he wanted desperately to match them. He didn’t have the same coordination as the others and he was trying to compensate for the fact by going too fast.
“Listen to my count and slow down,” Thorn told him. “I promise you, you will get it. But it’s something you have to build up to. You can’t just step into the net and do it perfectly each time.”
“Stig did,” Edvin replied.
Thorn shook his head. “Stig didn’t,” he said. “He did it better than you because he’s a little bit better coordinated and balanced than you are. But you can make up for that. You simply have to practice. And build up your speed. Don’t try to match him each time. Work at your own pace and let it build. All right?”
“All right,” Edvin agreed reluctantly, and Thorn waved him forward into the net once more.
“Now, listen to my count. Don’t try to get ahead of me. As I see you’re improving, I’ll speed it up. Understood?”
Edvin’s face was set in determined lines. He nodded, his lips moving wordlessly as he waited for Thorn’s command.
This time, Edvin stayed with the count. Thorn called the steps more slowly than he had before and the other boys lounged on the grass and watched Edvin as he moved, stepping high and with exaggerated care in time with the rhythm Thorn was setting. As he saw the boy was managing the slower pace, Thorn imperceptibly increased the rate of his call.
“Keep your eyes up!” he shouted suddenly. Edvin was letting his gaze drop to the net at his feet and that was an almost certain precursor to a fall. The boy had to sense the rhythm and the proximity of the cords around his feet. If he tried to look at
them, he would never keep up with the call, even at the slow speed Thorn was currently setting.
Thorn increased the pace a little further and still Edvin kept his feet. Finally, Thorn called a halt, and Edvin stood, resting his sword on his shoulder, letting his shield arm fall. Thorn patted him on the shoulder.
“Much better,” he said.
Edvin shook his head. “Stig went a lot faster than that,” he said. “So did Hal and Jesper.”
“And so will you,” Thorn told him. “The more you work at it, the faster you’ll get. Trust me.”
“As fast as Stig?” Edvin asked. Thorn opened his mouth to reply, then decided honesty would be the best course.
“Probably not,” he said, and saw an angry light begin to smolder in Edvin’s eyes. “But you will get fast enough to save your life in battle, and that’s not too bad. Face it, Edvin, we all have differing levels of ability. What we must do is make the most of what we’ve got.”
“I suppose so,” Edvin said. But his voice lacked conviction.
Thorn eyed him carefully for a few seconds, then said, “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that if you practice long and hard enough, you’ll show me that I’m wrong—that you can be as fast as Stig. Correct?”
Edvin’s chin went up and he colored slightly. Then he answered, defiantly, “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
“Then good for you!” Thorn said, and slapped him heartily on the back. The impact was such that Edvin nearly went tumbling over in the net. He staggered, and as he did so, he took several high steps to recover.
“Nice save,” Thorn said. “Now take a break. You can practice again later.”
He watched as the boy walked a few paces away from the net, let the heavy shield slip from his arm and slumped to the grass. Edvin would take up the challenge, he knew. The boy had something to prove—to himself as much as to anyone else. If that gave him the incentive he needed to improve his performance, all the better. As Thorn had pointed out, it might save his life one day.