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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

Audun had described the sound of the attack at Sørbø as like the voices of devils. On hearing the ululating howling that emanated from the pack of children, I thought the description apt. With savage abandon, they punished Os for his audacity at having struck one of their own and I watched helplessly as the warrior’s struggles lessened. Eventually, he grew still, his limbs limp, his head flopping on his neck when one of the larger boys kicked his blood-streaked face.

When it seemed Os must surely be dead, Chlotar pulled the children away. He shouted at them to make way, and had some of his band of warriors drag Os’ limp and bloodied form as we were driven towards the river.

There were more bodies there, perhaps as a warning to anyone approaching on the water. Some, like those lining the path from the forest, had been burnt. Others hung naked and obscene from the branches of a great ash tree that jutted out over the river. They reminded me of the tokens left on the boughs of the trees at Gudrun’s glade.

Dragging my gaze from the vile fruit of the tree, I saw our destination. Down by the wharfs where several log boats and large craft were moored, was what looked like a sizeable storage building. When Chlotar pulled the stout door open, the miasma of human waste that assailed our nostrils made the nature of what had been stored there clear.

We were shoved unceremoniously inside. The stench was overwhelming, unbearable. Beorn and Gersine tripped at the threshold and both tumbled into the churned mud of the floor. It was a thick quagmire of ordure and piss, a reeking memory of the building’s previous inhabitants. Gersine cried out in pain at the jolt in his leg and I prayed that when we had sealed his wounds, we had done enough. If the cuts were yet open, it would be a miracle if his leg did not fester in here.

Os’ limp form followed us into the noisome hut that would serve as our cage. They tossed him into the shadowed interior and he plummeted onto Beorn and Gersine. He made no effort to break his fall, and again I wondered if he was dead. But as Gersine and Beorn struggled up, moving Os as they did so, the battered warrior let out a small moan.

The door was slammed shut and we heard a bar drop into place on the outside. The hut’s walls were fashioned of thick pine planks, the door of solid oak. There was no way we could break out. We were imprisoned as surely as if the building had been made of stone. The sounds of the chattering children and our captors drifted away. We were left in the filth and stink, the only sound the droning buzz of the flies that circled in the darkness.