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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 looked down at his still form, incredulous that this small man, so weak and pathetic, had managed to carve such a swathe of destruction and death through this land. The heat was unbearable now and it was becoming hard to breathe. Something fluttered on the table where the lamp had stood, catching my attention. It was the scrap of parchment that Scomric had shown me. A possible clue as to the whereabouts of The Treasure of Life. I was sure then that I would never be able to study the meaning of the scrawled writing on it, for within moments I too would be dead, consumed by fire, or killed by Ljósberari’s faithful, but on a whim, I snatched up the paper, stuffing it into my belt. Perhaps even in that moment I was unable to see knowledge destroyed, or mayhap I heard the voice of Leofstan in my mind reminding me how I loathed to think of all those scrolls that had been turned to ash at the Mouseion of Alexandria.

Turning away from the fire, I made to leave, when a sudden thought struck me. There was something else I must do. Holding my left arm over my face to shield my eyes from the flames, I hacked down. It took me two blows of my sword, but at the second attempt, Scomric’s head came free of his neck. I did not wish to touch it, but now was not the moment to be squeamish. I grabbed the head by the hair and hurried out into the hall, bearing my dripping trophy.

Fifty-Eight

It was noticeably cooler in the main hall, but already I could feel the heat pressing on my back. Wind rushed through the doorway, feeding the flames in Scomric’s quarters. It was as if the building itself was breathing. Again I was reminded of a great dragon readying itself to spout fire on those who dared confront it.

Runolf turned to me. He was grinning, his expression at odds with our surroundings and situation. Blood streaked his face, and his kirtle was dark in several places from slashes he had received from Chlotar.

“He didn’t want to die,” he said, stooping to the body slumped at his feet.

Runolf had not merely killed Chlotar. In his rage, he had continued to hack into the man’s body long after death. The fine helm was cleaved in two, the head inside smashed like an overripe apple. A hand was severed and lay nearby like a fat, pale, blood-spattered spider. There was a deep gash in the man’s iron-knit coat. Blood oozed from his many wounds and pooled around his body.

“It looks like you convinced him in the end,” I said.

“I can be persuasive,” Runolf said with a savage chuckle. He had retrieved something from Chlotar’s corpse and now he rose to his full height and tossed it to me. “Yours, I believe.”