John Flanagan: Erak_s ransom

Erak passed his shield and axe down to one of the men standing in the shallow water, then lowered himself over the gunwale as well. He stretched down to arms' length and released his grip, falling only a few centimetres before his feet hit the wet sand. He took his shield and axe back from his crewman and moved to where the thirty men of the attack party stood lined up. The four line handlers who had been first to land would remain with the ship.

Erak couldn't help smiling as he felt a small thrill of adrenaline course through him. It was good to be back, he thought.

'Remember,' he told the raiding party, 'keep the noise to an absolute minimum. Watch where you're putting your feet. I don't want you missing your step and sliding down the hill in your own personal, avalanche. We want to get as close as we can before they spot us. With any luck, and from the look of things, we'll be inside the town before anyone raises the alarm.'

He paused, looking round the tough bearded faces before him. There were a few answering nods. Then he continued.

'On the other hand, if we are spotted, all bets are off. Start yelling to raise the dead and go at 'em. Make 'em think there's an army out here come to see them off.'

Often, he knew, a sleeping garrison could be paralysed by fear at the sound of a yelling, screaming body of attackers. Sometimes, he'd even known garrisons to desert their post and run terrified into the night.

He looked around. There was a rough path at the foot of the hill, winding up towards the silent, sleeping town above them. He gestured towards it with the head of his axe.

'There's our way to the top,' he said. Then, hitching his shield up on his left shoulder, he uttered the time-honoured Skandian leader's call to action.

'Follow me, boys.'

The path was narrow and uneven, and the climb was steep. But the Skandians, in spite of their bulk, were all in excellent physical condition and they maintained a brisk pace behind their leader. There were a few grunts of exertion from time to time and occasionally a stone would be dislodged from underfoot to go rattling down the hillside.

But on the whole, the thirty raiders made little noise as they jogged up the path towards Al Shabah.

Everything was a compromise, Erak thought. Just as he'd taken the lesser of two risks by approaching along the bay's coastline, now he had to balance speed against stealth. The longer they took to reach their objective, the greater the chance became that their presence would be discovered. That would make the fight a lot harder. By the same token, if they rushed up the path full speed, they'd also increase the chance of being heard.

So the best way was to steer a middle course, maintaining a steady jog.

Their sealskin boots thudded softly on the sand and stone underfoot. It was more noise than he would have liked, but he estimated that it would remain unheard even if there were listeners at the top of the cliff.

There was a bad moment when one of the men immediately behind Erak lost his footing and tottered, arms waving desperately, at the edge of the steep slope leading down to the sea. Fortunately, his axe was in the carry loop on his belt, otherwise his arm-waving might have separated some of his friends from their heads.

He let out an involuntary cry and his shuffling feet released a volley of stones and rocks that clattered down the hillside. In the instant that he was about to follow up, an iron grip caught hold of the collar of his sheepskin and he felt himself heaved back onto firm ground by Oberjarl.

'Gods above! Thanks, chief… ' he began. But a huge hand clamped over his mouth, cutting off further words. thrust his face close to the other man and shook him, none too gently.

'Get up, Axel,' he whispered fiercely. 'If you want to break your neck, do it quietly or I'll break it for you.'

He was a big man, one of the rowing crew. Rowers weren't regarded as the most intelligent people in a Ship's crew and he was about to tell Erak that there was no point in threatening to break his neck for a second time. It wasn't logical.

Then he had second thoughts. The Oberjarl, he knew, wasn't big on logic when he was angry. He was, however, good using his fists to settle a disagreement and, large as was, he had no wish to tangle with Erak.

'Sorry, chief. I just… ' he muttered and Erak shook him again.

'Shut up!' he hissed. Then, releasing his grip on the other man's collar, he glanced anxiously towards the cliff-top, waiting to see if there was any sign that the rower's clattering and yelling had been heard.

The entire raiding party waited in silence for several minutes. Then, as there was no sound of the alarm being raised above them, there was a general release of tension.

Erak pointed upwards and led the way again, jogging steadily up the steep slope. A few metres from the crest, he signalled for the men to halt. Then, gesturing to Svengal to accompany him, he covered the remaining distance to the top in a crouch, cautiously peering over the crest as he reached it. Svengal, a metre or so behind him, mirrored his actions and the two big Skandians knelt side by side, taking stock of the situation.

Al Shabah stood some forty metres away, across a bare patch of ground. The town was surrounded by a low stucco wall, less than two metres high. Even if there were sentries patrolling, it would present no real obstacle to the Skandians. They were skilled in scaling walls like these. Two men would stand at the base of the wall, holding a length of an old oar handle between them, at waist height. The rest of the group would take a running start, one at a time. As each man stepped up onto the oar handle, the two men holding it would heave upwards, sending their shipmate soaring up the wall. It took practice to get the timing right but it was one of the skills all Skandians practised from boyhood.

Today, there would be no need for it.

There were no sentries on the wall. However, there was an arched gateway four metres to their right. The gate was open and the entrance was unguarded.

'Too easy,' grinned Svengal.

His captain frowned. 'That's what I was thinking,' he said.

'Where are the guards? Where are the lookouts?'

Svengal shrugged. In spite of the absence of any guards, they both were still keeping their voices low, speaking barely above a whisper.

'We've caught 'em with the back door open, chief,' he added. 'The guards, if there are any, are probably round the front of the town, facing the ocean. That's where I'd expect an attack to come from.'

Erak rubbed his chin suspiciously. 'Maybe,' he said. 'Wait here while I take a closer look.'

Rising into a half crouch, he moved across the open towards the wall. At every second, he expected to a challenge. A shout. Or an alarm bell ringing. But Al bah was silent. Reaching the wall, he edged his way to the open gate. With one fluid movement, he extended his massive battleaxe clear of its belt loop and dropped it in his right hand, then, moving with deceptive speed for someone so bulky, he sprang through the open doorway, quickly facing right then left, axe ready, shield up to protect his left side.

Flat-roofed white houses stretched away from him on a narrow street. The few windows were black in the whitewashed stucco. The doors were firmly shut.

Nothing moved. Nobody stirred. Al Shabah was deserted.

Erak hesitated a few seconds. It seemed wrong. There should be a guard. Even one man patrolling the wall. Then he shrugged. Maybe Svengal was right and the Arridi guards were concentrated at the seaward side of the town. Perhaps all the lookouts were straining their eyes for the first sight of an approaching ship. Or maybe they'd just grown complacent. It had been over twenty years since a Skandian ship had raided here. The secrecy surrounding the timing of the treasure caravans had kept the coastal towns safe. It was only the lucky acquisition of the timetable that had led Erak to plan this raid.