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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 am no man’s lackey,” he said. “But I am glad my battle-fame precedes me.” I felt his chest swell with pride behind me and I wondered what kind of man would respond so when faced with nearly a dozen enemies. But of course, he knew he was not alone. And we had already heard tales of what sort of man Chlotar was. I shuddered now at his touch, imagining all those he had tortured and killed before. Surely my death would mean nothing to such a man.

“So Ljósberari is but a man then?” replied Runolf. “We had heard he was a god.”

“He is a great man,” spat Chlotar. “You will meet him soon enough. Then you will know the truth of his greatness.”

“He cannot be that great if he sends one such as you to do his bidding.” Runolf hawked and spat, showing his disdain for the Frank. “A powerful man would command strong warriors, not cowards and weaklings.”

To my surprise, Chlotar laughed. I heard madness in his cackling, and I shivered again.

“You think you can taunt me with your pathetic words?” His voice became measured then, calm and resonant, and I was reminded of the tone used by monks when offering up prayers to the Almighty. “I have gazed on the light of truth. I am Ljósberari’s instrument amongst mortal men.” He paused. “And who, pray, are you?”

“I am Runolf Ragnarsson,” the great axeman said, his voice rumbling like a far-off rockfall, “and I will kill you, Chlotar the Frank.”

“You are a brave one, I will give you that, Runolf Ragnarsson. But you will not be so bold before the end, I promise you. No man is courageous when his eyes have been plucked out and the purifying fires of light are licking around his limbs. Oh, no.” He sounded almost sorry, as if remembering the suffering he had caused brought him pain. “No man is brave then.” He stared at Runolf, and I wondered how much Chlotar had pieced together from his name. “And no woman either.” He laughed again. Runolf snarled and took a pace closer. His huge axe was in his hand and I wondered if he might throw it at Chlotar. Perhaps I could allow myself to fall, presenting Runolf with an open target. But Chlotar’s knife was still hard against my skin and I could not move.