Book Description
A new series from bestselling author John Flanagan!
Skandians, as any fan of Ranger's Apprentice can tell you, are known for their physical strength. Though Hal, Stig, and the other outcasts may be lacking in that area, they more than make up for it with their intellect and courage--which they'll need every ounce of if they're to compete in the ultimate competition. From tests of strategy to races on treacherous seas, these Skandians will be pitted against some of their country's most promising young warriors. And for some it's more than just a game. It's war.
Skandians, as any fan of Ranger's Apprentice can tell you, are known for their physical strength. Though Hal, Stig, and the other outcasts may be lacking in that area, they more than make up for it with their intellect and courage--which they'll need every ounce of if they're to compete in the ultimate competition. From tests of strategy to races on treacherous seas, these Skandians will be pitted against some of their country's most promising young warriors. And for some it's more than just a game. It's war.
Editorial Reviews
About the Author
John Flanagan lives in Manly, Australia.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Wolfwind emerged from the predawn 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 toward the beach. The
four rowers wielded their oars carefully, raising them only a few
centimeters from the water at the end of each stroke so that the noise
of drops splashing back into the sea was kept to a minimum. They were
Erak’s most experienced oarsmen and they were used to the task of
approaching an enemy coast stealthily.
And during 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 crouched fully 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 the beach easier to spot in the dimness. Then 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 center 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 beneath his feet.
Svengal
and his two companions vaulted over the bow, landing catlike 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 rope 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 to theirs.
“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 battleax 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 market town some ten kilometers to the south,
built on the high, wooded hill from which it derived its name.
The
previous day, seven of his crew had taken the skiff and landed there,
carrying out a lightning raid on the market before they retreated to the
coast. Alto Bosque had no garrison and a rider from the town had been
sent to Santa Sebilla, where a small force of militia was maintained.
Erak’s plan was to draw the garrison away to Alto Bosque while he and
his men plundered Santa Sebilla unhindered.
Santa
Sebilla was a small town, too. Probably smaller than Alto Bosque. But,
over the years, it had gained an enviable reputation for the quality of
the jewelry that was designed and crafted there. As time went on, more
and more artisans and designers were drawn to Santa Sebilla and it
became a center for fine design and craftsmanship in gold and precious
stones.
Erak,
like most Skandians, cared little for fine design and craftsmanship.
But he cared a lot about gold and he knew there was a disproportionate
amount of it in Santa Sebilla—far more than would normally be found in a
small town such as this. The community of artists and designers needed
generous supplies of the raw materials in which they worked—gold and
silver and gemstones. Erak was a fervent believer in the principle of
redistribution of wealth, as long as a great amount of it was
redistributed in his direction, so he had planned this raid in detail
for some weeks.
He checked behind him. The anchor watch of four men were standing by the bow of Wolfwind, guarding it while the main party went inland. He nodded, satisfied that everything was ready.
“Send your scouts ahead,” he told Svengal. The second in command gestured to the two men to go ahead of the main raiding party.
The
beach rose gradually to a low line of scrubby bushes and trees. The
scouts ran to this line, surveyed the country beyond, then beckoned the
main party forward. The ground was flat here, but some kilometers
inland, a range of low hills rose from the plain. The first rose-colored
rays of the sun were beginning to show about the peaks. They were
behind schedule, Erak thought. He had wanted to reach the town before
sunup, while people were still drowsy and longing for their beds, as yet
reluctant to accept the challenges of a new day.
“Let’s
pace it up,” he said tersely and the group settled into a steady jog
behind him, moving in two columns. The scouts continued to range some
fifty meters in advance of the raiding party. Erak could already see
that there was nowhere a substantial party of armed men could remain
hidden. Still, it did no harm to be sure. Waved forward by the scouts,
they crested a low rise and there, before them, stood Santa Sebilla.
The
buildings were made of clay bricks, finished in whitewash. Later in the
day, under the hot Iberian sun, they would glisten and gleam an almost
blinding white. In the predawn light they looked dull and gray and
mundane. The town had been built with no particular plan in mind,
instead growin...
Product Details
- Reading level: Ages 10 and up
- Paperback: 464 pages
- Publisher: Puffin; Reprint edition (September 4, 2012)
- Language: English
- ISBN-10: 0142421944
- ISBN-13: 978-0142421949
- Product Dimensions: 7.5 x 5 x 1.3 inches
- Shipping Weight: 12.8 ounces
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