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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

Drosten frowned.

“I didn’t hear you,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought you and Gersine were shirking your work. I was simply looking to find out where you were hiding instead of carrying those logs.”

Forty-Four

Gersine let out a howl of pain that echoed from the steep slopes at either side of the valley. Ingvar flinched at the sound, his eyes darting and flicking, looking for threats in the trees or along the river.

“Keep the boy quiet,” he hissed. He had been nervous ever since the attack. But now that we had camped, surrounded by the quiet sounds of the forest, he was as taut as a bowstring.

“Easy, Gersine,” I said. He gripped my hand tightly. His face was wet with a sheen of sweat.

“Bite on this,” said Leofstan, looking up from where he worked on the arrow jutting from Gersine’s leg. The monk passed me a stick of birch wood from which he had stripped the bark.

“Try not to make too much noise,” I said, placing the stick in Gersine’s mouth. He stared at me with wide eyes and nodded. “Make it quick,” I said to Leofstan, pleading with my eyes. Gersine was feeling the pain, but I was suffering too, helpless to do anything to alleviate his anguish.

“I am doing my best,” said Leofstan. His face was pale, with colour high on his cheeks as he stooped again to the arrow head. “Hold this.”

I could see what he wanted. Taking a deep breath, I released my hold on Gersine’s hand and moved to the other side of his leg. I grasped the arrow shaft firmly, while Leofstan, having already cut into the wood with his knife, snapped off the fletchings.

I did my best to hold the arrow still, but Gersine shook and whimpered around the birch stick in his mouth as the arrow moved in his flesh.

“Are the knives hot enough?” asked Leofstan, flicking his glance towards Beorn, who was crouched by the fire.

Beorn, his hands wrapped in strips of cloth, pulled each of the two knives in turn from the embers and inspected their blades. They both glowed a dull red. He replaced them in the fire and nodded, his expression sombre.

“Good,” said Leofstan. He began to recite the paternoster quietly. I joined him. When we had finished, he said, “Hold his leg still, Hunlaf. And Gersine, prepare yourself for the worst.”

I took a firm hold on my friend’s ankle and knee, ready to add my weight to holding the limb in place while Leofstan worked.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded, as did Beorn. Gersine groaned something unintelligible.