Authors: John Flanagan
Tags: #Fantasy, #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Action & Adventure, #General
The Outcasts (14 page)
“Do as I say,” he snapped.
There was fighting on board
Golden Sun
now, and the pirates who had captured the
Sea Lion
had begun rowing to rejoin their own ship.
Golden Sun
now, and the pirates who had captured the
Sea Lion
had begun rowing to rejoin their own ship.
“In oars,” Arndak ordered. No sense in having the crew wear themselves out. “Form up on me.”
His crewmen gathered their weapons again and moved back to join him, forming a defensive line near the ship’s stern.
His eyes narrowed as he followed the progress of the fight onboard
Golden Sun
. The clash of weapons had died away and there was a series of splashes alongside. He realized that the pirates were throwing the crew’s bodies overboard.
Golden Sun
. The clash of weapons had died away and there was a series of splashes alongside. He realized that the pirates were throwing the crew’s bodies overboard.
“Scum,” he muttered. Those crewmen had been his companions and friends for years. He tested the weight of his ax. “I’ll see a few of you go down before I let you take this ship.” He looked along the line of grim faces beside him.
“It’s been a pleasure sailing with you, men. There’s nothing left for it now but to make it hard on these swine. Let’s take as many of them with us as we can.”
There was a roar of assent from his men and he smiled. They had seen that there would be no quarter given. There would be no surrender. Perhaps that was a mistake on the part of the pirate captain. With no hope of surrender, his men would fight even harder.
And seven Skandians could be a truly formidable force.
The pirates had scrambled back aboard their own ship now and it swung away from the smaller trading ship. The oars came out again and the black ship sliced through the water toward
Spraydancer
. The captured
Sea Lion
was a little way off, her oars thrashing the water to foam as the pirates on board raced to catch up.
Spraydancer
. The captured
Sea Lion
was a little way off, her oars thrashing the water to foam as the pirates on board raced to catch up.
Arndak saw the pirate’s bow angle slightly away from his own as the ship came on. He wasn’t going to ram, then. He probably suspected that there was a cash chest somewhere on board the lead ship and he didn’t want to lose it. Instead, the pirate aimed to meet
Spraydancer
bow to bow, at an oblique angle.
Spraydancer
bow to bow, at an oblique angle.
“Let him come,” Arndak said grimly.
chapter
twelve
twelve
T
here was a grinding crash as the pirate ship ran alongside.
Spraydancer
lurched violently under the impact but the crew, long accustomed to sudden movement underfoot, kept their balance easily. Then, with a chorus of yells and screams, the pirates leapt over the port bow in a swarm.
here was a grinding crash as the pirate ship ran alongside.
Spraydancer
lurched violently under the impact but the crew, long accustomed to sudden movement underfoot, kept their balance easily. Then, with a chorus of yells and screams, the pirates leapt over the port bow in a swarm.
Several of them lost their footing as they hit the decks of the Skandian trader. But they recovered quickly and moved aft, their comrades pressing from behind.
And found themselves facing a shield wall of seven grim-faced Skandian warriors.
They hesitated then, shoving back against the mounting pressure from behind, eyeing the massive axes in their enemies’ hands. For a moment, the two forces eyed each other, then Arndak bellowed the time-honored Skandian battle command.
“Let’s get ’em!”
The seven Skandian warriors surged forward. As they went, they instinctively formed a wedge shape, with Arndak at the point and three men on either side. They smashed into the disorganized pirates, their heavy oaken shields used as weapons of offense, slamming into the pirates and hurling them to either side.
Then the deadly Skandian axes went to work, rising and falling, smashing through thin armor, beating down their opponents’ weapons by sheer force, cutting, hacking, biting into flesh and bone.
The first rank of the pirates fell before that massive onslaught. The deck ran red with their blood and the Skandians trod them underfoot as they surged forward, driving the rest of the boarding party back toward the bows.
For a moment, it seemed that they might succeed in forcing the pirates back onto their own ship. But the numbers against them were too great. A spear slammed into the warrior on Arndak’s left and he fell back with a strangled cry. Then a pirate slid forward on hand and knees, under the massive oaken shields, and stabbed upward into the thigh of another Skandian. He fell with a cry of pain, and in a moment, the Skandian wedge was disrupted.
Arndak fought on grimly, protected by his shield and the whistling arc carved by his massive war ax. Any who ventured inside it were cut down, tossed aside like rag dolls. But in spite of it all, he was wounded several times. In the heat of the moment, he felt no pain. He continued to hack and slash at the hated enemy. He saw another of his men go down, tripped by a spear shaft thrust between his feet, and a pack of pirates swarmed over him. Snarling with rage, he aimed an overhead blow at a pirate in front of him. The terrified man saw death descending on him and tried to parry the ax with his sword.
He might as well have used a piece of straw. The ax smashed the blade in half, then cut deep into the man’s shoulder. Arndak heaved to free his weapon and finally jerked it loose. The sudden release caused him to stagger back several paces. At the same time, the attacking pirates stepped back as well, surrounding the bleeding, heavy-breathing figure, but unwilling to come within reach of that terrible ax.
Arndak shook his head and looked around. His comrades were all down—either dead or dying. He was alone.
But he wasn’t finished, and the dead and maimed pirates on the deck of his ship were testimony to the fact that he was still a dangerous enemy. He brandished the ax aloft and yelled an inarticulate challenge at the pirates. Vaguely, he sensed he was on the edge of madness—the berserker’s rage that sometimes overtook Skandian warriors at the height of a battle.
The pirates took another involuntary step backward. Then their ranks parted and a slim, tall figure stepped forward.
He was olive skinned, with long, black hair that hung in ringlets. The face was handsome, and he was smiling. But there was an unmistakable gleam of malice in his eyes. He had a round metal shield and a long, curved sword, held carelessly, point down. Studying him, Arndak sensed that both shield and sword could spring into action in the flicker of an eye. This was a warrior—and a very dangerous one.
“Skandian,” the pirate said, “my name is Zavac, captain of the
Raven
.”
Raven
.”
He jerked his head toward the black ship alongside
Spraydancer
’s bow.
Spraydancer
’s bow.
“Leader of this band of murdering scum, more like it,” Arndak said, with the utmost contempt. Zavac seemed unmoved by the insult.
“As you wish,” he said. “In any case …”
“In any case, you’re going to be the next one to die here,” Arndak told him. “And I’ll be delighted to send you to the netherworld.”
Zavac’s smile widened. “I’d expect no less of such a brave fighter,” he said. “But before you dispatch me, I suggest you look behind you.”
Arndak gave a hollow laugh. “Do you think I’ll fall for an old trick like that?” he said scornfully. “I didn’t come down in the last shower of rain, you know—”
His voice was cut off by a shrill cry of pain from behind him and his heart sank. He turned and saw his nephew, Ernak, held fast by a pirate. During the brief, bloody fight, the
Sea Lion
had come up astern of
Spraydancer
and several pirates had boarded. Now one of them held Ernak firmly in his grasp, a curved knife thrust against the skin of his throat. A small trickle of blood ran down from where the blade touched the boy’s skin. That must have caused Ernak’s unwitting cry of pain, Arndak thought dully.
Sea Lion
had come up astern of
Spraydancer
and several pirates had boarded. Now one of them held Ernak firmly in his grasp, a curved knife thrust against the skin of his throat. A small trickle of blood ran down from where the blade touched the boy’s skin. That must have caused Ernak’s unwitting cry of pain, Arndak thought dully.
“Now drop your weapons,” Zavac said smoothly. For a moment, the Skandian debated whether he had time to strike down the pirate and rescue his nephew. But he realized it was hopeless.
“The boy will die,” Zavac said softly, divining his thoughts. Arndak emitted a long groan and released his grip on the ax. It fell heavily to the deck.
“And the shield,” prompted Zavac. He let the shield drop from his arm. It struck the deck and rolled into the rowing benches.
“Now tie them both up,” Zavac said to his crew.
Half a dozen of the pirates leapt upon Arndak, forcing his hands behind him, lashing them with leather cords, then dragging him to the stern. They kicked his feet from under him and secured him to one of the frames that formed the hull shape. His nephew was similarly restrained.
Zavac watched, then pulled a small stool close to them and sat on it. He tossed an order over his shoulder to his men.
“Search the ship. He’ll have a cash chest somewhere on board.”
His men hurried away to do his bidding. Arndak, his eyes fixed on the pirate leader, heard the sound of axes smashing into wood as the pirates tore up the deck planking in search of the cash chest. After a few minutes, there was a cry of triumph.
“Bring it here,” Zavac called, without looking.
Two of his men lugged the heavy chest to him and let it fall to the deck. He threw back the lid and smiled at the pile of gold and silver inside.
“Very nice,” he said. “A good day’s work.”
“It was months of work for me and my men,” Arndak told him bitterly and Zavac turned that humorless smile on him once more.
“Yes. But they’re all dead, aren’t they?”
“And I soon will be,” Arndak told him. He said it without any sign of fear. He had accepted his fate. “But spare the boy, I beg you.” He had no hope that the pirate would agree, but he had to make the attempt, for his sister’s sake. Surprisingly, Zavac nodded his head thoughtfully.
“You know, that might be possible. But I’d want something from you in return.”
“Name it,” Arndak said.
The pirate leaned forward on his stool, bringing his face closer to the skirl.
“I’ve heard rumors of a fabulous treasure in your home port of Hallasholm,” he said softly and Arndak caught his breath.
He could only be referring to one thing—the Andomal.
The Andomal was Hallasholm’s most treasured, and valuable, artifact. Nobody was really sure how the Andomal had come to exist. It had been hauled up in a fishing net several hundred years before. It appeared to be a giant piece of amber, some twenty-five centimeters in diameter. It had been worn into an almost perfect globe by the action of the ocean over many decades.
Its sheer size alone made it valuable. But embedded deep inside it was a blackened, wizened claw of some kind of giant lizard—popular legend had it that it was a dragon’s foot. That was what made the Andomal priceless. It was unique and awe-inspiring. There was nothing else like it in the known world.
The uncertainty about its origin led to its name. In the old tongue,
andomal
meant “thing.”
andomal
meant “thing.”
Zavac, watching keenly, saw Arndak’s fleeting reaction.
“I see you know what I’m talking about,” he said. But, as Arndak refused to say anything, the pirate looked at the boy beside him. “It’s a strange treasure that’s worth more than a boy’s life,” he said.
Ernak glared at him, then turned to his uncle.
“Don’t tell him, Uncle,” he said fiercely and Zavac’s smile widened.
“Uncle?” he said. “This boy is your nephew? And you have it in your power to save him. Tell me about this treasure and I swear I’ll take him with us. And I’ll set him ashore safely somewhere on the Skandian coast.”
Arndak’s thoughts were racing. The Andomal was a great treasure. The shrine that held it was set at the top of a steep hill above the town, and it was securely guarded day and night by a rotating honor guard of six warriors, men specially chosen for their courage and prowess in battle. Only the finest warriors could aspire to guard the Andomal.
There was only one path leading up to the shrine and it was easily defensible. A large alarm bell was in place. If the shrine was under attack, its defenders could rouse the entire town in seconds. Arndak turned his scornful gaze on the pirates who had invaded his vessel. If he and his crew could hold them at bay as long as they had done, they would have little chance against six hand-picked warriors in a perfectly constructed defensive position. He took a deep breath.
“It’s called the Andomal … ,” he began.
He saw the light of greed in Zavac’s eyes when he finished telling him. Of course, he left out the details of how the Andomal was protected, although he knew the pirate would expect something of the kind. He merely said that it was guarded day and night.
Zavac sat back. He had unconsciously leaned farther and farther forward as Arndak told him about the Andomal.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “That sounds like a great treasure indeed. It must be priceless.”
“The Skandian Oberjarl would pay anything to have it returned if it were stolen,” Arndak said. He had no qualms about encouraging Zavac to steal the treasure. You’ll never get near it, he thought. And with any luck, one of the guards will take your thieving head off.
Zavac stood abruptly and called to his men.
“Get this chest on board the
Raven
,” he ordered. “Then sink this ship. We’ll burn the others. No sense leaving any evidence behind.”
Raven
,” he ordered. “Then sink this ship. We’ll burn the others. No sense leaving any evidence behind.”
Two of his men seized the chest and began to lug it forward. Others leapt down into the rowing benches and began to smash holes in the hull, below the waterline.
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