John Flanagan - Erak_s ransom

Duncan nodded again. It didn't seem necessary to say anything in reply. Svengal looked now at the slim blonde girl at the King's side.

'And I know how difficult it must be for you to send your daughter on a mission like this.'

'I won't deny that I have misgivings, Captain,' Duncan replied this time. Svengal nodded rapidly.

'Then I give you this oath. My helmsman's oath – you're familiar with the helmsman's oath, King?'

'I know no Skandian will ever break it,' Duncan said.

'That's true. Well, here's the oath, and it binds me and all my men. We will protect your daughter as if she were one of our own. So long as one of us is alive, no harm will be allowed to come to her.'

There was a low growl of assent from the members of the crew, who had gathered at the ship's shoreward rail to watch proceedings. Duncan looked around their faces now. Scarred and weatherbeaten, framed by hair wrapped in untidy pigtails and surmounted by horned helmets. Duncan was a big man, but the Skandians were built on a massive scale. They were bulky, hard muscled and well armed. And the faces showed one more thing – determination to uphold their leader's oath. For the first time in the past three days, he felt a little better about the whole situation. These men would never desert his daughter. They would fight tooth and nail to defend and protect her.

He raised his voice a little, so that his answer was aimed not just at Svengal, but at the entire crew.

'Thank you, men of Wolfwind. I don't believe my daughter could be in better hands.'

The sincerity in his voice was obvious, and again there was a fierce growl of assent from the Skandians.

'One thing, however. I think from this point, until you reach Al Shabah, it might be safer if Cassandra were to travel incognito. She has decided to resume the name most of you know her by – Evanlyn.'

Will nudged Horace in the ribs. 'Thank goodness for that. I can never get used to calling her Cassandra. I get tongue-tied around her when I'm reminded she's a princess.'

Horace grinned. It didn't bother him either way. But then, stationed at Araluen as he was, he was more used to seeing Cassandra on a day-to-day basis.

Evanlyn, as she would now be known, hugged her father one more time. They had already gone through prolonged goodbyes in private. Then she glanced up at the pennant streaming from the masthead – her personal pennant depicting a stooping red hawk.

'In which case, we'd better have that down for the time being,' she said.

As one of the crew moved to the halyards to lower the flag, her father muttered to her, 'Make sure you get it back this time. I'm not sure I like the idea of a gang of freebooters sailing under your pennant.'

She grinned and touched his cheek with her hand. 'You're right. It could be embarrassing at a later date.'

She moved away from him and stepped lightly aboard the ship, taking Axel's hand to steady herself as she did so.

'Thank you,' she said. He flushed and nodded, mumbling something indiscernible as she moved to the stern where her companions were waiting.

'Anything else?' Svengal asked and Halt pointed to the east.

'Let's get going,' he said.

'Right! Up oars!' Svengal's voice rose into the familiar ear-shattering bellow that Skandian skirls used when giving orders. The rowing crew clattered into their benches, unstowing their oars and raising the three-metre long oak poles vertically into the air.

'Cast off and fend!'

The line handlers cast off the bow and stern lines that had held them fast to the jetty. At the same time, three other crewmen placed long poles against the timbers of the jetty and pushed the ship clear, setting it drifting out into the current. As the space between ship and shore widened, Svengal called his next order.

'Down oars!' There was a prolonged clatter of wood on wood as the sixteen oars were slotted into their rowlocks down the sides of the ship. The blades were cocked forward towards the bow, poised just above the water, ready for the first stroke.

'Give way alf!' Svengal ordered, seizing the tiller. The oarblades dipped and the rowers heaved themselves backwards against the oarhandles. Wolfwind surged forward through the water and the tiller came alive in his hand. The bow oarsman on the port side called for another stroke and the speed increased as a small bow wave began to chuckle at the wolfship's prow.

They were under way at last.

The trip downriver was uneventful. Several times, they saw farm workers and travellers stopping on the banks of the river to gape at the sight of a fully manned wolfship slipping quietly by. Once or twice, horsemen had set spurs to their horses after the first sighting and gone galloping away, presumably to sound the alarm.

Will smiled at the thought of villagers huddled behind a stockade or in one of the defensive towers that had been built at strategic sites, waiting for an attack that would never come.

Even though there had been no Skandian raids for the past three years, the memories of those who lived near the coast were long, and centuries of raids were not forgotten quickly. There might be a treaty in place but treaties were abstract concepts written on paper. A wolfship in the vicinity was a hard reality, and one calculated to create suspicion.

Finally, Wolfwind slipped out of the sheltered waters of the estuary and turned south into the Narrow Sea. The Gallican coast was a thin dark line on the horizon, more sensed than seen. It could well have been a cloud bank. The wolfship rose and fell to the gentle slow rollers that passed under her keel. Evanlyn, Will and Horace stood in the ship's bow, feeling the regular rising and falling movement beneath their feet.

'This is a bit better than last time,' Will said.

Evanlyn grinned at him. 'As I recall, you said much the same thing last time: If this is as bad as it gets, it should be all right. Something along those lines.'

Will grinned ruefully in reply. 'What was I to know?' Horace looked curiously at the two of them. 'What's the big joke?' he asked.

Evanlyn leant her elbow on the bulwark where it began to curve up to form the bow, closed her eyes and let her hair stream out in the salt breeze.

'Aaaah, that's good,' she said. Then, in answer to Horace's question, she went on. 'Well, pretty soon after Will uttered those immortal words, we were hit by one of the worst storms Erak and Svengal had ever seen.'

'The waves were huge,' Will said. 'Positively huge.' He pointed to the towering mast, where the crew were now busy hoisting the yardarm for the big square sail. 'They came through two or three times the height of the mast there.'

Horace glanced at the mast, mentally projected it to two or three times its actual height and looked back at his old friend, polite disbelief in his eyes. Horace had learned that when people spoke of a terrible storm or a dreadful battle, they tended to exaggerate the details.

Evanlyn saw the look and hurried to Will's support. 'No, really, Horace. They were huge. I thought we were going to die.'

'I was sure we were going to die,' Will added. Horace frowned, looking at the mast again. He might be ready to suspect Will of exaggeration. Evanlyn was a different matter.

'But,' he said reluctantly, 'that'd make the waves bigger than the wolfship itself… ' He couldn't conceive of such a thing but he realised both his "old friends were nodding excitedly.

'Exactly!' Will told him. 'We were actually rowing up some of them.'

'Well, we weren't,' Evanlyn corrected him. 'We were tied to the mast so we wouldn't be swept overboard. Just as well too,' she added, remembering how helpless they had been against the massive force of the green water sweeping down the deck.

Horace gazed anxiously around him. Up until now, he'd been enjoying the light, easy movement of the ship.