Brotherband: The Outcasts

Part One: The Promise Chapter One

Twelve years prior

Wolfwind emerged from the pre-dawn sea mist like a wraith slowly taking physical form. With her sail furled and the yardarm lowered to the deck, and propelled by only four of her oars, the wolfship glided slowly towrds the beach. The four rowers weilded their oars carefully, raising them only a few centimetres from the water at the end of each stroke so that the noise of dropssplashing back into the sea was kept to a minimum. They were Erak's most experienced oarsmen and they were use to the task of approaching an enemy coast stealthily.

And during the raiding season, all coasts were enemy coasts.

Such was their skill that the loudest sound was the lap-lap-lap of small ripples along the wooden hull. In the bow, Svengal and two other crew members crouchedfully armed, peering ahead to catch sight of the dim line where the water met the beach.

The lack of surf might make their approach easier but a little extra noise would have been welcome, Svengal thought. Plus white water would have made the line of beach easier to spot in the dimness. The he saw the beach and held up his hand, fist clenched.

Far astern, at the steering oar, Erak watched his second in command as he revealed five fingers, then four, then three as he measured off the distance to the sand.

'In oars.' Erak spoke the words in a conversational tone, unlike the bellow he usually employed to pass orders. In the centre section of the wolfship, his bosun, Mikkel, relayed the orders. The four oars lifted out of the water as one, rising quickly to the vertical so that any excess water would fall into the ship and not into the sea, where it would make more noise. A few seconds later, the prow of the ship grated softly against the sand. Erak felt the vibrations of the gentle contact with the shore through the deck below his feet.

Svengal and his two companions vaulted over the bow, landing cat-like on the wet sand. Two of them moved up the beach, fanning out to scan the country on either side, ready to give warning of any possible ambush. Svengal took the small beach anchor that another sailor lowered to him. He stepped twenty paces up the beach, strained against the anchor rop to bring it tight and drove the shovel-shaped fluke into the firm sand.

Wolfwind, secured by the bow, slewed a little to one side under the pressure of the gentle breeze.

'Clear left!'

'Clear right!'

The two men who had gone onshore called their reports now. There was no need for further stealth. Svengal checked his own area of responsibility, then added his report.

'Clear ahead.'

On board, Erak nodded with satisfaction. He hadn't expected any sort of armed reception on the beach but it always paid to make sure. That was why he had been such a successful raider over the years - and why he had lost so few of his crewmen.

'All right,' he said, lifting his shield from the bulwark and hefting it onto his left arm. 'Let's go.'

He quickly strode the length of the wolfship to the bow, where a boarding ladder had been placed over the side. Shoving his heavy battleaxe through the leather sling on his belt, he climbed easily over the bulwark and down to the beach. His crewmen followed, forming up behind him. There was no need for orders. They had all done this before, many times.

Svengal joined him. 'No sign of anyone here, chief,' he reported.

Erak grunted. 'Neither should there be. They should all be busy at Alty Bosky.'

He pronounced the name in his usual way - careless of the finer points of Iberian pronunciation. The town in question was actually Alto Bosque, a relatively unimportant town market town some ten kilometres to the south, built on the high, wooded hill from which it derived its name.