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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

“I do not believe Runolf would agree with that. He believes we make our own wyrd, with guile and the strength of our steel.”

I noticed with a start that he wore a leather belt from which hung a scabbarded sword. Following my gaze, Leofstan shrugged.

“A loan from Gamal,” he said. “A God-fearing man.”

“I don’t believe Runolf fears God.”

“Perhaps not. But he remembered well how I had stood firm at Werceworthe. I may not be young, but Runolf values my wisdom and the experience of my years. And I have shown him I am no coward who flees before an enemy.”

“I know you are no craven,” I said. But something in his words nagged at me. No, something he had not said. The anger I had felt at Leofstan back on the beach of Rennisøy returned as I understood.

“You didn’t tell him you would never lift a sword again,” I hissed, “did you?”

Leofstan then did something I could not recall him ever doing before. He glanced about him furtively, as one does when scared of being found out. When they have committed a crime.

Or lied.

“I did not lie,” he whispered, but his eyes told me the truth of it.

“Perhaps not with your words. But choosing to omit the truth is the same as lying surely.”

He made the sign of the cross over his chest.

“No,” he said, his tone earnest. “I would not lie. But I must find The Treasure of Life. Ljósberari has it. I am sure of it.”

“Runolf won’t like it when he finds out,” I said, feeling a wave of sadness at discovering the monk’s deceit.

“If he chooses to believe I will fight, that is his concern, not mine.”

“Your words dishonour you. Runolf will not see it that way. You know this. And do you think God would agree with your distinction of what is, and what is not, a sin?”

Leofstan turned away from me, but I could see the flush of shame on his cheeks.

“Do you not see?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “The book is corrupting you. Even though you read from its pages nearly a year ago.”

“I only seek it so that it can do no more evil. You saw the burnt hall. You have heard the tales of the horrors committed by this Ljósberari. He must be stopped, and the book must be kept safe.”

“Or perhaps destroyed.”

“I never thought I would hear you say such a thing, Hunlaf. I believed books were sacred to you.”

His words needled me into fresh bitterness.