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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

From the buildings came dozens of people, streaming out into the day to see their master’s latest victims. I counted perhaps a score of adults, both men and women. They walked towards us slowly, warily, their faces forbidding and dark. Before them ran a throng of children. There were perhaps more than a hundred, of all ages. From tiny snivelling, snot-nosed toddlers, to rangy youths, all gangly arms and willowy legs. They swarmed about us, shouting questions to our captors and hurling insults at us. Podgy fingers tugged at our clothing and pinched our exposed skin.

Hereward, Gwawrddur, Leofstan and Drosten kept their gaze ahead of them, walking in a dignified silence. Eadmaer shouted at the children, screaming at them in Englisc, his fear coalescing into a furious impotent rage. The children laughed and one, a stocky boy with soot-stained cheeks and hair as black as ink rushed forward and punched the Northumbrian in the stomach. Eadmaer doubled over, winded.

A jab from a spear made him stagger on, his face red with his pent-up fury, but he ceased his shouting.

Runolf moved with his head lowered and shoulders slumped, more like an ox being led to slaughter, than the powerful warrior I knew. He did not acknowledge the children’s presence. The adults stared at him, taking in his bulk with a mixture of awe and contempt. None of the children approached the tall Norseman.

Os and Beorn, half-carrying Gersine, appeared barely to notice the crowd around them, but Os had clearly been biding his time. When a slender boy with plaited fair hair darted forward, a stone in hand to strike at one of the trio, Os exploded into action, catching the youth unawares. Waiting until the boy was close enough, Os pulled away from Gersine’s hold on his neck and took a quick pace forward. At the same time, he swung his right foot in a powerful kick that connected with the incoming boy’s groin. Such was the force of the blow, that the boy was lifted from his feet. He collapsed on the ash-speckled ground, crying and coughing from the pain.

“That’ll teach him,” said Os with a vicious grin of victory.

His triumph was short-lived. An instant later he was sprawled on the earth. One of the captors struck the back of his skull with the butt of his spear and in a seething rush, the children fell on Os, howling and wailing like wild animals. We were held back by the threat of the wicked spear-points and there was nothing we could do but watch as the children kicked and pummelled the warrior. Os tried to push himself to his feet, snarling and shouting at his attackers, but with his hands tied behind his back, it was impossible.