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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

But as the sky burnt red behind us for the second sunset, there were still only a smattering of clouds in the east and Scurfa said he thought it would be dry again.

“Perhaps we will see some rain tomorrow,” he said ominously, sniffing the air.

I crossed myself.

“As long as we see no more storms,” I said, “I will count myself blessed.”

“I doubt we’ll see a squall like that this side of autumn,” he said, but then added with a shrug, “but God alone can be sure of that.”

The second dawn at sea was not as bright as the first. Just as Scurfa had predicted, there were dark clouds over the eastern horizon, and the sun struggled to shine its light through the sheets of rain that smudged the sky beneath them. The wind picked up, but it was still manageable with adjustments to the sail and rigging. We were all sailors now and there were no mistakes. We quickly and efficiently obeyed Runolf’s orders.

Since dawn I had noticed an increase in the number of sea birds in the water, and at midday we had another indication we were close to land. A light rain had begun to fall, closing the sea in around us in a drizzled shroud. Men were huddled under cloaks in a vain effort to remain dry. Gersine and Sygbald played tafl, cursing whenever the keel struck a wave with enough force to shake the pieces from the smooth wooden board. Visibility was much reduced, and we seemed to be sailing into a never-ending ocean.

Garwig’s shouted warning snapped us all out of our lethargy.

“Sail!” he bellowed. “Sail to port!”

Runolf immediately yelled out orders for the sheets to be adjusted, as he hauled on the tiller.

Moments later, a small fishing vessel, perhaps a quarter of the length of Brymsteda, slid by. Five faces stared up at us from the bark. Before the bobbing ship was lost to view in the smirr of rain, Runolf called out to them.

“From where do you hail?”

The oldest of the fishermen called back a name that meant nothing to me.

“My thanks to you,” replied Runolf, who clearly recognised the place mentioned, for a sudden urgency entered his movements. He had barely slept, apart from short dozes during the daytime when he trusted Snell with the steerboard, and I could not imagine where he found his energy. But he laughed now as he pushed the rudder, and called out fresh commands to adjust the sheets once more.