Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series (17 page)

As he placed the finished arrow with those already prepared and took up another, he glimpsed the auburn-haired maid. He wondered anew whether she might speak the Frankish tongue. He had found little opportunity to test that possibility. Now he wished he had, for he would forewarn her of what might come.

Lyting placed the second arrow with the others and slipped one of Gytha’s twice-baked bread rounds from the leather pouch, propped against his sea chest. Just when he lifted it to his mouth, something flitted past his head. An instant later, on a whir of wings, a little bird perched upon the railing beside him.

A shorebird, its name unknown to him.

“What are you doing so far from your nest, little fellow?” He smiled easily, though his pulse quickened.

The little bird cocked its head, then began to pace.

“Impatient, are you?” Lyting crumbled a pinch of hard-bread atop the rail.

The bird twisted its head and stared at him. It took a series of quick, back-and-forth steps. Stared and s
tepped. Stared and stepped. Pecked at a crumb. Called a mellow “chooe-ee” of appreciation and flew away.

Lyting rose, his gaze following its flight to the eastern horizon. He shielded his eyes from the sun
’s glare off the waters and watched the little bird diminish to a dot. Then he saw it. Faintly. A pale dune ridge, backed by a tall screen of trees, still vague and bluish at this distance.

His breathing deepened and his blood livened
as his instincts steeled within. The time of testing had come. If Byzantium’s emperor were to keep his throne and the maid her virtue, and if he were to see these women free, then at all costs his plans must succeed this day.

Lyting lifted his face to the heavens and offered a prayer. Then, drawing a breath, he sounded the call.

The women grew restive and murmured among themselves as the men hastened about the deck in a fever of excitement.

Chests were flung open, corslets and helmets withdrawn. Weapons were retrieved from storage
— shields and spears laid out, arrows and bows placed at the ready. Skallagrim took up a great, twisted horn, and with a series of deep, reverberating blasts, signaled the ships behind.

»«

Ailinn saw clearly now that the convoy closed upon a coastline. It appeared to rise up from the waters as they made their advance. To the right loomed a high, lofty ridge, fronted with steep banks and crowned with soaring pines. To the left the land appeared darker, rockier, dominated by the same stately pines.

From her vantage the sea appeared to arm its way through the two masses of land, pushing them apart. The mouth of a river
’? Could this be the entrance to one of the great waterways that led to the eastern kingdoms?

She glanced about. The men donned coats of leather, sewn with protective bone platelets, and readied their axes. Unquestionably they prepared for an attack. Ailinn fought down a wave of panic.

Quickly she sought the white-haired Dane, wishing she could bridge the chasm of language that lay between them, wanting desperately to know what dangers waited ahead.

Ailinn
’s breath caught the instant her eyes touched him. He stood toward the bow, a princely figure, clad in a corslet of gleaming chain mail. He turned his bright head and, finding her eyes upon him, captured her gaze before she could withdraw it.

The distance faded between
them. His crystal blue eyes shone brilliant now, effused with the intensity of his thoughts. ‘Twas as though he reached across the chasm that separated them and touched her mind with his. What language he whispered there, she did not know, only that her fears departed.

Again, he turned to gaze landward his hand resting on his sword hilt, the sunlight gl
inting off the ringlets of mail. As they entered the narrows, he took up the helmet that rested at his feet and fitted it to his head. Striding the length of the deck, he assumed his position astern.

»«

A flash of light. The sun, glancing off polished metal. Now a second. From high atop Domesnär’s ridge. A third, fourth. Signaling the number of ships in the convoy to a point across the narrows. A point behind the island of Saaremaa. Fifth, sixth. The flashes ceased.

Lyting slowly exhaled. The convoy had been marked. But in so doing, also had the pirates of Riga.

He seated himself on his sea trunk, ready at the oar. In moments they would sail free of the corridor of cliff and pine and be forced, almost at once by the rocky shoals off
steorboard
, to alter their course and bear up toward the island, windward, losing much of their sail power.

‘
Twould be a vulnerable position as they filed, singly at first, through the shallows, with the wind slightly aft of the beam. They would need ply their oars mightily then, forging ahead to a point where they could turn downwind again and harness the wind’s driving force dead astern.

As they did now.

Lyting raised his eyes to the full swell of sail before the mast. Thankfully, the wind was to advantage this day, allowing the crew to conserve their strength and energies for the time to come.

Behind, the ships continued to course in an alternate pattern, holding to a distance as he had signaled for them to do. Success depended on the
Little Auk
feigning to be easy game — drawing off the sea dogs and breaking the concentration of their numbers.

According to the chieftain,
‘twas the robbers’ ploy, not to engage the entire convoy, but to mark out their prey and fall upon them like a pack of wolves, seizing only what they could successfully secure and keep within their grasp. Predators, trapping quarry from the herd.

The raiders would expect resistance, but they also relied upon the merchant ships being lightly manned and heavily
encumbered with goods. Lyting counted on the robbers underestimating the
Little Auk’s
potential entirely, though he, himself, held every confidence in her capabilities.

Lyting suspended his thoughts as the watery passageway opened upon the Gulf of Riga. Immediately Skallagrim pulled back hard upon the tiller and brought the ship about, northward toward the island. Lyting leaned into the oar in unison with the others, the wind now coming across the
larboard
quarter and its velocity dropping somewhat as they moved in the lee of the land.

Immense quiet hung like a mist over the Gulf, save for the sporadic cries of circling terns or the whistles and
“wickas” of sandpipers and godwits calling from ashore. The men continued to ply their strength to the oars, waiting tense and expectant for the first sight of the pirates.

Still, the great quiet loomed.

Steadily the Little Auk gained in speed as they traveled windward. Skallagrim guided them close to the southern point of the island which hooked slightly northward, shouldering a partition of pines and creating a blind.

Lyting watched the light sparkle through the stand of trees, winking and glittering in the breaches as the midday sun danced upon the waters behind. He studied the patterns of light and dark. So
keenly did he feel the enemies’ presence upon his senses, he thought to breathe their foul scent as well.

His gaze locked on a portion of the wood. Movement. Shadows. Gliding behind the screen of trees.

Lyting called out a warning to the others. They laid into the oars with all their might, pulling and pushing as though Fenrir Wolf gnashed at the keel and Hel set the waters afire.

The first of the pirate ships emerged from the palisade of pines, its bow shining of metal. At once it pointed its iron-clad bow ahead of the
Little Auk’s
and began to advance.

Good, Lyting thought. It had taken the bait.
‘Twas a matter of course, when posturing one’s ship to ram another’s, to aim thusly for the opponent’s bow. Allowing for distance and “way,” the speed, of both ships, the attacking vessel could expect to close upon the other straight on the beam and strike it broadside, midship.

Lyting vowed, however, that this day nothing would be a matter of course.

Before he could scan the size of the oncoming force, a second ship appeared joining the first, directing its fortified bow toward the
Little Auk
with obvious intent.

Lyting strained at the oar, unable to mark what other craft might be issuing forth from the shelter of land, or how great their numbers aboard.

As his muscles knotted and stretched, he imagined the pirates to be grinning wide beneath their whiskers and helmets. The
Little Auk
must appear a small fish, easily swallowed with time to feast on the rest. He hoped they believed that and would continue to follow the
Little Auk
a stretch longer, widening the gap between the other ships of the convoy, purchasing for them a critical space of time.

Despite her size, the
Little Auk
owned significant advantage. Not only did she enjoy a hull lighter than most, but the expanse of her sails measured near the same as those of the larger ships. Comparably, she possessed greater sail power, even in reduced winds such as these.

Now, as if to prove her worth
— and in contrast to her namesake — the
Little Auk
surged ahead, skimming the waters fleet as a gull. The pirates pressed after them in fervent pursuit, but as the smaller vessel steadily gained in distance, they slowed, then veered off, having no wish to participate in a stern chase. What first appeared an easy catch was too little a prize to trouble with greatly. Turning back on the merchant ships that lagged behind, they allowed the
Little Auk
to slip away.

Lyting knew a mixture of elation and relief as they achieved their first goal, winning past the pirates through the crosswind leg and now sailing free of the shallows into open waters. A shout of triumph went up onboard.

Lyting’s heart drummed, his blood pounding in his veins. Time was precious, the real victory yet to be attained. If the sea dogs believed the
Little Auk
did but run before the menace of their jaws, ‘twas their mistake and one that would cost them.

His energies surging, Lyting secured his oar and bounded to his feet. He shouted for Ragnar to do the same and join him. Hakon and Orm he instructed to remain at their positions.

Grabbing up one of the spare oars and some line, he proceeded to lash one end of the oar to the foot of the mast and the other to the windward clew — the lower, outside corner on the bottom side of the sail — thus rigging a beam to stretch the sail and entrap the wind.

Lyting then ran aft. Taking hold of the sheets, he eased the
windward line forward while taking up the slack on the leeward. Simultaneously he called for Skallagrim to come closer to the wind and bring the wind on the beam. As the chieftain complied, the sail snapped full and the ship lurched ahead.

To the pirates, Lyting realized,
‘twould appear the
Little Auk
made good her escape, fleeing northeast. But, he held no thought of abandoning the convoy.

As the
Little Auk
skipped across the water, building in velocity, Lyting worked apace. He needed to quickly alter her course and bring her swiftly about. The rudder alone did not command enough force to pivot the ship on his command.

Seizing up another of the surplus oars, Lyting moved to the end of the ship and physically lashed it to the stern post, creating a
“sweep-oar,” an ancient technology, used through ages past.

With the sweep-oar rigged to augment the rudder, Lyting ordered for Skallagrim to hold his course and for Ragnar to slash the line binding the first oar to the sail
’s windward clew. He then directed Ragnar to reverse the oar, swinging it over and strapping it to the opposite,
larboard
, clew — the other end still being affixed to the mast.

In combination with Ragnar
’s actions, Lyting gripped hold of the sweep oar and gave it a massive pull, putting momentum through the turn, swinging the bow away from the wind, and wearing the ship.

The craft
“heeled,” and the women scrabbled for the high side. At first the maneuver began as a smooth, slow sweep, then accelerated into a fast spin as Lyting brought the wind across the stern.

With the rudder hard over, Skallagrim trimmed the sheets from his position at the helm while Lyting finished bringing the
Little Auk
about, on the opposite beam.

Again, the sail snapped full and the ship shot ahead with high momentum, No auk this, nor gull, either, but a hawk
— falcon swift — sweeping down on her prey, marking forward of the pirate’s bow.

»«

Ailinn’s eyes rounded as the ship sprinted across the waters and closed fast upon the enemy. For all the world it appeared that they would ram the first of the vessels straight on.

Several slavewomen cried out, terrified, and tore at their
hair. Ailinn fought down her own panic and gripped Deira tight.

As the expanse between the ships narrowed briskly, one woman clawed and clambered her way over the others, screaming hysterically. Her terror became Deira
’s, and Ailinn struggled to hold her stepcousin back.