BooksBarbecue
Back A Night of Flames Save as PDF
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

Hurrying back to my sea chest, I snatched up my sword, throwing the belt over my shoulder. Some of the other men were also lifting their weapons. Sygbald, I noticed, was wriggling into his byrnie. I did not think there was time for that.

With the sudden prospect of combat, my tiredness vanished. Scooping up my shield, I dropped over Brymsteda’s side, splashing into the cold water. It was deeper than I had anticipated, reaching up to my waist. I stumbled and might have fallen, if not for a steadying hand that pulled me upright by my kirtle.

Wading up to the gravelly beach, I turned to see Drosten beside me. His face was set and grim, all shadows and swirling tattoos. I nodded my thanks, but if he noticed, he ignored me. His eyes were intent on the night and the men pouring from the hall.

A voice called out from the dozen or so men who had formed up outside the hall. The words were loud, easily heard in the still night, even over the splashing and hurrying of the crew around me. I recognised the lilt and meter as belonging to the tongue of Drosten’s people.

“So much for not being in Pictland,” Drosten grumbled beside me.

I wondered if he would shout a reply to the voice, but Drosten clamped his mouth shut. I noted the glimmer of steel. The Pict clutched a wicked-looking knife at his side. All around me, the men were lining up, forming a rough shieldwall.

“Easy, boys,” hissed Hereward’s voice from the darkness. Then, louder, “I thought you said this was a friend of yours.”

“Well,” rumbled Runolf, who had somehow found himself amongst the men on the beach, “who can you say is truly your friend until it is put to the test?”

The men from the hall were striding down towards us now, the light from their torches illuminating their stern faces, broad round shields, helms, spears and swords.

“I would rather not have to face the test of your friendship now,” said Hereward. “They do not look very welcoming.”

The leader of the band called out again. This time I understood his words, as he spoke in the language of the Norse.

“Who comes to my lands in the dark, like thieves?” he shouted, his voice gruff and tinged with menace.

“Have you forgotten me, old friend?” shouted Runolf.