uncertainly.
“I wonder if this is such a good idea?” he said. Then he shrugged and sighed deeply as he stepped into the net. “Hal, you call the steps.”
Hal hesitated a second, then began to call instructions, setting the same pace Thorn had begun with for Stig.
“Forward two… left three… right one…”
“Faster!” Thorn snapped, and Hal upped the pace.
“Left four, forward three, back two…”
“Faster!” Thorn called. “What’s all the delay?”
“Right three forward one left two…”
“Faster! Come on! Faster!”
“Back-one-left-two-right-three-half-left-forward-one…”
And as Hal began to issue the orders in a seemingly nonstop volley, Thorn matched them easily, stepping high and confidently with each one, never missing a beat until he seemed to be dancing in the net, moving lightly on the balls of his feet, always in balance, always in motion. Then he began adding extra movements, lunging to the side with his ax as he stepped left, or raising the shield high over his head as he moved back. Once, he performed a complete turn, high stepping around through a full circle, as Hal hesitated in the call. A murmur of admiration and surprise was torn from the boys as they watched, their eyes riveted on the cavorting figure.
Then, ignoring the next set of orders, Thorn spun so he was facing them and they could see he had his eyes shut tight. Hal’s voice fell silent as Thorn carried out an intricate pattern of steps, his feet never touching the ropes as he moved. Then, his eyes snapped open and he charged forward at the watching group of boys, moving at a full run and finally leaping off the ground with both feet to clear the net and land crouching before them, the shield up and the ax drawn back behind his head.
“YAAAAH!” he yelled at them, and startled, they drew back involuntarily.
Thorn straightened from his crouch, lowered the ax to the ground and smiled at Jesper.
“Well, what do you know?” he said. “I’ve still got it.”
Jesper nodded several times. He was impressed—very impressed. And he made a mental note not to challenge Thorn quite so often in the future.
“Yes,” he said. “I’d say you’ve still got it, all right.”
“Thorn,” Hal said, “can you tell us the point of this exercise?”
Thorn looked at him and nodded. Hal had a good grasp of the principles of commanding a crew, he thought. Sometimes, when you were first imposing discipline, it could be necessary to demand blind obedience. But there were other occasions when there was real value in an explanation. Men—and he thought of the crew now as men—performed better when they understood why they were being asked to carry out a task. With this exercise, he wanted more than blind obedience. He wanted that understanding, knowing it would lead to greater commitment and, in the long run, abilities that might save their lives.
“It’s all about speed and agility,” he said. “They’ll be your biggest assets when we fight the
Raven
’s crew. They have experience on their side of the ledger. They’ve been raiding and fighting for years. You don’t have that. But you’re young. Your main assets will be your speed and agility when you fight. That’s what we’re going to be working on while we’re here. Speed and agility. We’ll work on them until we get them to the highest possible pitch for each of you. And if we do work on them, they may well save your lives.”
He paused and looked around their faces, suddenly grim as they thought about what he had said. They could see beyond a bizarre exercise with a net between their feet. They were looking forward to a time when the sort of agility and speed of movement that Thorn had just displayed might well be the difference between winning and losing. Living and dying.
“Now,” he said, nodding toward the net, “who’s next?”
chapter seven
T he morning wore on, and the rest of the crew took their turns in the net, with varying degrees
“I wonder if this is such a good idea?” he said. Then he shrugged and sighed deeply as he stepped into the net. “Hal, you call the steps.”
Hal hesitated a second, then began to call instructions, setting the same pace Thorn had begun with for Stig.
“Forward two… left three… right one…”
“Faster!” Thorn snapped, and Hal upped the pace.
“Left four, forward three, back two…”
“Faster!” Thorn called. “What’s all the delay?”
“Right three forward one left two…”
“Faster! Come on! Faster!”
“Back-one-left-two-right-three-half-left-forward-one…”
And as Hal began to issue the orders in a seemingly nonstop volley, Thorn matched them easily, stepping high and confidently with each one, never missing a beat until he seemed to be dancing in the net, moving lightly on the balls of his feet, always in balance, always in motion. Then he began adding extra movements, lunging to the side with his ax as he stepped left, or raising the shield high over his head as he moved back. Once, he performed a complete turn, high stepping around through a full circle, as Hal hesitated in the call. A murmur of admiration and surprise was torn from the boys as they watched, their eyes riveted on the cavorting figure.
Then, ignoring the next set of orders, Thorn spun so he was facing them and they could see he had his eyes shut tight. Hal’s voice fell silent as Thorn carried out an intricate pattern of steps, his feet never touching the ropes as he moved. Then, his eyes snapped open and he charged forward at the watching group of boys, moving at a full run and finally leaping off the ground with both feet to clear the net and land crouching before them, the shield up and the ax drawn back behind his head.
“YAAAAH!” he yelled at them, and startled, they drew back involuntarily.
Thorn straightened from his crouch, lowered the ax to the ground and smiled at Jesper.
“Well, what do you know?” he said. “I’ve still got it.”
Jesper nodded several times. He was impressed—very impressed. And he made a mental note not to challenge Thorn quite so often in the future.
“Yes,” he said. “I’d say you’ve still got it, all right.”
“Thorn,” Hal said, “can you tell us the point of this exercise?”
Thorn looked at him and nodded. Hal had a good grasp of the principles of commanding a crew, he thought. Sometimes, when you were first imposing discipline, it could be necessary to demand blind obedience. But there were other occasions when there was real value in an explanation. Men—and he thought of the crew now as men—performed better when they understood why they were being asked to carry out a task. With this exercise, he wanted more than blind obedience. He wanted that understanding, knowing it would lead to greater commitment and, in the long run, abilities that might save their lives.
“It’s all about speed and agility,” he said. “They’ll be your biggest assets when we fight the
Raven
’s crew. They have experience on their side of the ledger. They’ve been raiding and fighting for years. You don’t have that. But you’re young. Your main assets will be your speed and agility when you fight. That’s what we’re going to be working on while we’re here. Speed and agility. We’ll work on them until we get them to the highest possible pitch for each of you. And if we do work on them, they may well save your lives.”
He paused and looked around their faces, suddenly grim as they thought about what he had said. They could see beyond a bizarre exercise with a net between their feet. They were looking forward to a time when the sort of agility and speed of movement that Thorn had just displayed might well be the difference between winning and losing. Living and dying.
“Now,” he said, nodding toward the net, “who’s next?”
chapter seven
T he morning wore on, and the rest of the crew took their turns in the net, with varying degrees
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