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Back A Night of Flames
Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise forMATTHEW HARFFY
  3. BY MATTHEW HARFFY
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. Dedication
  7. Maps
  8. Epigraph
  9. Contents
  10. Place Names
  11. One
  12. Two
  13. Three
  14. Four
  15. Five
  16. Six
  17. Seven
  18. Eight
  19. Nine
  20. Ten
  21. Eleven
  22. Twelve
  23. Thirteen
  24. Fourteen
  25. Fifteen
  26. Sixteen
  27. Seventeen
  28. Eighteen
  29. Nineteen
  30. Twenty
  31. Twenty-One
  32. Twenty-Two
  33. Twenty-Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. Thirty-Two
  43. Thirty-Three
  44. Thirty-Four
  45. Thirty-Five
  46. Thirty-Six
  47. Thirty-Seven
  48. Thirty-Eight
  49. Thirty-Nine
  50. Forty
  51. Forty-One
  52. Forty-Two
  53. Forty-Three
  54. Forty-Four
  55. Forty-Five
  56. Forty-Six
  57. Forty-Seven
  58. Forty-Eight
  59. Forty-Nine
  60. Fifty
  61. Fifty-One
  62. Fifty-Two
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Sixty-Two
  73. Author’s Note
  74. Acknowledgements
  75. About the Author
  76. An Invitation from the Publisher

“Crafting a sea serpent is not like sowing crops, boy,” Runolf growled. “I need timber, lots of it. Hundreds of rivets. Pine tar. And where do you think we are to find a sail and ropes?”

“We can sell what we took from Skorri’s men.”

Runolf sniffed.

“We will need the byrnies and the weapons for the men who will man the ship I build. And where do you think you will find the crew? And the men I will need to help me with the building?”

I frowned. I had promised I would find a crew, but it was becoming clear this would be no simple task.

“The Lord will provide,” I answered. Picking up one of the heavy planks so that my journey was not wasted, I trudged away.

When I looked back, Runolf had not moved. His features were starkly lit by the setting sun, his golden-red hair and beard burning like fire against the ruddy glow of the molten sky. Standing there, unmoving, his bulk and height made him appear like a carved statue of one of his people’s pagan gods.

For the next few days, as the nights grew ever longer, my mind turned over the problem, the way a song thrush twists and flicks a snail this way and that, to crack it open and feast on the soft flesh within its shell.

I was no longer a member of the brethren of Werceworthe. There was no sign now of the tonsure on my head, but at times I yearned to join the brothers when the sounds of their liturgies wafted from the newly constructed chapel. For years, my life had been governed by the different offices of the day, and I still found myself waking with the monks in the dead of night to celebrate Vigils. But I was a warrior now, and I would not turn back from the path I had chosen. Or that the Lord had chosen for me.

Gwawrddur, still sporting a bandage across his back and over his right shoulder, was not of much use to the builders, but he helped where possible, carrying nails and trenails, and passing hammers and axes to the workers with his left hand. The Welsh swordsman was a man of action and, like Runolf and me, he carried the burden of his frustrations with little grace. I had half-expected him to leave once he was well enough to travel, but, despite his desire to once more be able to test himself against an enemy, he knew he needed to recover fully before swinging a sword in battle again. Besides, perhaps he sensed that staying by my side would reap the most opportunities for him to challenge himself. If so, he was not wrong.

At the end of each long day, Gwawrddur took a seemingly perverse pleasure in continuing my training with sword and shield.