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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

Without warning, Runolf stopped walking, and I was brought up short, barely avoiding a collision. I peered past him, expecting to see our enemy, but there was no movement at the end of the hall. The door to the rear partition was closed, though if Scomric and Chlotar were indeed inside, there was no way they would not have been roused by the shouting coming from without. As if to emphasise the point, the banging on the barred doors increased in intensity.

Momentarily confused, I glanced at Runolf, wondering what had caused him to halt. The doors would soon be breached and there was no time to waste. The giant Norseman was looking up and to the left. I followed his gaze and gasped, taking an involuntary step backwards.

Leofstan was naked and had been hung upside down, like a pig at slaughter. A rope had been tied about his ankles and thrown over a beam. He had been hauled off the ground, the rope secured to a pillar, leaving him to dangle, head down. Beneath the old monk was a large cauldron. I did not need to look into it to know that it would be full of his congealing blood. Bile burnt the back of my throat. To capture his body’s blood, they must have done this to him while I yet lay insensate in the hall. At the sight of his dead, pale skin, his face a mask of dried blood that had run down from the gaping wound in his throat, something shifted within me. The tethers that held my reason had been frayed and stretched to their limits, but now they snapped, and for a time, I believe I lost my mind.

I growled, deep in the back of my throat, an animal sound that made Runolf turn away from Leofstan’s butchered corpse and stare at me.

The pounding was loud now as those outside took up something heavy and solid in an attempt to break down the doors. But the sounds were distant to me as my blood rushed in my ears like a gale, and a scream of fury ripped my throat.

“Scomric,” I bellowed, “I am Death and I am come for you.”

Runolf was pale, whether at the vision of Leofstan’s bled-dry body or at the change in me, I did not know, nor care. I barged past him, making my way towards the door that led to the sleeping quarters at the rear of the hall. Runolf hurried after me.

“Scomric!” I screamed again, revelling in the power of my fury that burnt away all fear and uncertainty. Gone was thought for the past or the future. All that existed was the present and an incandescent hatred that demanded Scomric’s death. “I will kill you!” I bellowed.

Before my hand touched the door, it was flung open.