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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

Again, I could not hear Runolf’s response, but I imagined he told Drosten much the same as he had said to me. The Pict growled something and now it was Runolf whose temper frayed.

“It is out of my hands, man,” he shouted, his voice booming. “We must seek repairs.” He leaned against the tiller for a time without speaking. He stared over our heads as we rowed, gazing towards the coast, and the destination to which he was navigating. “Besides,” he said at last, more quietly now, but loud enough for those of us in the Aft crew to hear, “we are not heading for Pictland. We are making for Orkneyjar. Have you been to the islands before?”

Drosten shook his head. The muscles and tendons of his neck and jaw bunched and stood out like ropes.

“See?” said Runolf, slapping Drosten on the shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about. We will meet a man I know there who will help us, and then we will be on our way. Besides, we will not stay long. We will be gone before anyone apart from my friend knows we are there.”

Drosten’s face was dark, his brow furrowed, as he stalked back along the deck to his position before the mast. If Runolf believed the man’s fears assuaged by his words, I thought he was very mistaken.

Now, as we tiredly pulled Brymsteda between two headlands, Gersine, who was sitting across from me, his face a pale smudge in the gloom, spoke. I was surprised he found the strength to utter a sound. We had all ceased talking long since, before dusk had cloaked the world in shadows.

“Why doesn’t he want to come here?” Gersine asked.

My mind was as tired as my body, and I looked at him vaguely.

“Who?” My voice croaked like the cry of a gull. I hawked and spat onto the deck before me.

“The Pict.”

I recalled a conversation the summer before in a darkened hall. My body had ached then too from digging and preparing the defences of Werceworthe. I remembered Drosten’s burr, his words uttered haltingly in the gloom.

“It’s his story to tell,” I replied. The truth was, I knew little about Drosten’s past, save for the few words he had spoken that night. He had said that he had been accused of a crime he didn’t commit. I wondered how many guilty men believed the same thing.

I thought Gersine, ever hungry for knowledge, might press me to say more, but he had been at the oar as long as I and his head began to nod over the loom, as if he had fallen asleep whilst still hauling the ship through the water.