Chapters (76)
- Cover
- Praise forMATTHEW HARFFY
- BY MATTHEW HARFFY
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Maps
- Epigraph
- Contents
- Place Names
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
“Get up,” I yelled, scrambling in an effort to regain my footing. “Get up!” But Runolf did not move. I looked down and saw his face was awash with blood. He lay quite still where he had fallen.
I wanted to give up then, to curl into a ball and cry for all I had lost, all the death and all the suffering that surrounded me. But I heard Gwawrddur’s voice screaming inside my mind.
“On your feet, Killer!” he yelled. “I didn’t train you to give up. Fight! Fight!”
Pushing myself to my feet with a groan, I turned to face my enemies. Very well, I thought. I would try to make Gwawrddur proud. So, this was the moment of my death. I offered my soul to God and hoped that Runolf’s spirit was looking down and would see that I died well.
Sixty-One
Turning my back on those I had been facing, I jumped over Runolf’s still form. I vowed to his shade that I would make those who had killed him pay with their blood, before I too fell. A spear blade flickered towards my face, and I swayed to one side, lunging under the reach of the haft and cutting into the fingers of the man who held it. Screaming now, howling and raging as incoherently as Ljósberari’s warriors, I slashed and hacked, my sword again biting deep into flesh.
I was sure that at any moment a spear would take me between my shoulder blades. And yet I could not face all of my opponents at once, and so I bellowed and roared my fury at the men before me and carried on my savage assault. Soon I would be struck down, but by the Almighty, I would make them remember this night.
A short man with huge hands and broad shoulders and a neck as thick as an ox’s found enough courage to step towards me. He swung a war axe as large and deadly as Runolf’s. I caught his downward strike on my shield. The willow wood splintered, and my hand and forearm throbbed from the force of the blow. I took a swipe at the axeman, but he was nimble and he stepped away.
There was a sudden commotion behind me, and I tensed, certain that I would feel the bitter bite of steel in my back. But the stocky warrior before me came on again, swinging his axe low and I could not turn to see who would kill me from behind without allowing the axeman to kill me from the front. I danced away from the axe-head and it missed my knee by less than a hand’s breadth. The men around him were stepping back, seeming to make room for their man to fight me without them impeding his movements.