A Different Sort of Piracy

by Mizhowlinmad (HBF), 2010

Summary: A little oneshot piece set at the end of The Siege of Macindaw. My first attempt at a Ranger's Apprentice fic, so sorry it's a rather silly one.

Disclaimer: All the Ranger's Apprentice characters are the creation of John Flanagan; this is me writing purely for fun. The lyrics are also copyrighted.

Winter was clearly on the retreat in Norgate Fief. Warm winds stirred the still-bare trees and a few snowdrops had shown their pale faces already.

Will knew true spring was only a few weeks away. He was more than ready to go home to Seacliff. Now that the renegade Keren and his followers had been defeated, and there was no more plotting and planning to be done, he could relax a little after months of tension.

He found comfort on these increasingly warm days walking through the woods, sometimes with Horace or Alyss or even Malcom, but usually by himself. It was so today. In this last part of winter, the woods were the quietest, as if holding their breath at the arrival of spring.

But it wasn't entirely quiet. Somewhere, and it had to be close, was a low, rhythmic song. It took the young ranger back a few years, to the war against Morgarath and his Wargals. But it couldn't be the feared creatures; Will wondered what it was. Then, he had it.

It was the Skandians. Gundar and his men were singing.

He'd only rarely heard the sea-wolves do that. Usually they were too busy fighting amongst themselves or tossing insults back and forth to do any such thing.

As Will approached the source of the sound, the words became clearer. They were in Skandian, of course, which he neither spoke nor understood, even having spent a good deal of time among the sea raiders. The language was harsh, guttural, but somehow cheerful anyway. The Skandians kept time to the song, which Will assumed was some kind of seafaring song, as they cut more trees for the wolf-ship they were currently building. It had a driving, powerful beat to it. He wondered what it might sound like on his mandola…then remembered the instrument was gone.

Gundar stopped when he saw the Ranger approaching him. "So, Ranger, sneaking up on me again, are you?"

Will smiled. Sneaking up on Skandians was easy…it was accidentally startling them that was the hard part. "No, just happened to hear you singing. What sort of song is that?"

The big Skirl grinned at him. "You like that one? That's a very old, very popular wolf-ship song. Every Skandian knows that song."

"What do the words mean?"

Gundar scratched the top of his horned helmet. "I don't think it translates very well to Araluen," he said honestly. "As I said, it's in the old language."

The young Ranger knew that Skandian, unlike his own tongue, was a runic language. It was not written as the Araluen language was, so he just shrugged. "All right, Gundar. I was just curious. How's progress coming on the ship?"

This time, the Skandian's grin widened even more. "I can practically see the Storm-White Sea already, Ranger. Soon I'll be back where I belong."

And he turned back to his task of cutting wood with his massive axe. His bass voice joined in the song with his wolf-ship crewmen.

Will decided he'd had enough walking, and turned to go back to Healer's Clearing for the night.

"So, how is it coming along?" It was Orman who spoke. He'd stopped by that evening to visit. Ever since he's been re-instated as lord of Macindaw, he'd been more pleasant and conversational.

"Fine," Will answered him. "I think the wolf-ship should be ready in maybe a week."

The lord nodded. The Skandians had helped him reclaim his title and his castle, but he was nevertheless glad to see them off. "Very good, Ranger."

Will put down his mug of coffee. He had just remembered something. He cleared his throat.

"Lord Orman," he said, "do you know anything about Skandian music?"

Orman sniffed delicately. In his initial dealings with the man, Will had discovered that the lord of Macindaw was a musical scholar of sorts. If anyone would know the answer to his question, it was Orman.

"Oh, here and there," answered Orman with a dismissive wave. "If I said your music was doggerel, theirs is worse by ten times."

Will couldn't help a small smile. "If I sang a bit of one of their songs, could you tell me what it is?"

"I don't see why not. I actually speak some of that awful language of theirs."

The young Ranger cleared his throat and started singing. He had to phonetically pronounce the words, as he didn't speak the language and had no understanding of the words. He saw Orman wince in response. Then he trailed off.

"Is something wrong?" Will asked with alarm. The look on Orman's face suggested a degree of pain.

"No, I don't suppose. As best I can tell, it's a sort of rowing-cadence song," the lord said stiffly. "It's something about a land of ice and snow, and a midnight sun, and a hammer of their gods driving their wolf-ships to new lands. The chorus is definitely 'sweep with the threshing oar, our only goal the western shore.'" He rose from his chair. "In short, your typical simplistic sea-wolf ditty about their homeland. I'm surprised there isn't something about breaking skulls with war-axes in there.

"Where did you hear that song, anyway?"

Will feigned surprise. "Oh, I heard Gundar and his men in the forest singing it. They seemed to be having a good time, which, considering they weren't fighting, is fairly unusual for Skandians, I think."

"Oh. Well, I suppose even sea-wolves need something fun, don't you?"

"Maybe," said Will. "Good night, Lord Orman. It was good to see you again."

"And you, Ranger. Good night."

The door closed behind him. Will took another swig of his coffee and then, started singing again.

Once he got another mandola, he simply had to try that song.