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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

Close to the entrance of the hall, a line of men was forming around the towering presence of Runolf, his red hair acting like a beacon. Beside him stood Hereward, who continued to call the men to him. I still had no idea of what had caused this, but I knew Hereward well. So, without hesitation, I ran to join the line, taking my place beside Cumbra, whose eyes were bleary and his hair dishevelled from sleep. I scanned the group of men facing us some twenty paces away. I did not recognise them and I wondered if they had come by ship in the night. Then, shadowed and blurred by the mist, I picked out the looming shapes of horses cropping at the grass behind them. So they had ridden from elsewhere on Orkneyjar. I took in the details of their clothing, their plaid breeches, their oiled dark hair, and the tattoos that adorned their skin, and I remembered all too well Drosten’s warnings and foreboding that this treeless island was still part of the land of his people. A people he had vowed never to return to.

There were about a score of the Picts. They were hard-faced and came dressed for war. Each had a shield, a short spear and several had swords scabbarded at their hips. Their leader wore a scaled shirt of iron that glistened in the mist like fish skin. On his head was a burnished helm, crested with the figure of a boar.

On the packed earth between our lines lay a figure. He wore Pictish garb and was unmoving. The dirt beneath him was stained dark.

I felt more men join the line beside me. With a glance, I saw it was Gersine and Gwawrddur. The Welshman held a small hand axe he must have picked up from somewhere within the hall. I was glad of his presence. We might be unarmoured, with no shields and only knives and hatchets, but there were many doughty warriors amongst our number. We would not easily be defeated.

And yet, strong and willing to fight as we might be, I could not envisage a way we could be free from this situation without great loss of life. As I watched, still trying to make sense of what was happening, a third group of men was forming up to our right, closer to the hall. This was Tannskári’s kith and kin, and I recognised the faces of the men who now stood with shields and weapons in their hands as they had that first night on the beach. My mind reeled at their betrayal. The day before we had played games with these people, shared meat and drink with them, riddled and sung together long into the night. Now they greeted us with steel and iron.

Dogs barked, their snapping and yapping incessant and piercing. Men yelled at them, restraining them with rope leashes and cuffing them about their heads until they quietened.