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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

My confusion at my feelings towards Mancas was further compounded when I met his son, Gersine. Like his father, Gersine was thin, with a narrow nose and a face that seemed more comfortable scowling than smiling. He was perhaps a year or two my senior, but he had led a softer life, I imagined, so appeared the same age or even younger. When he was introduced to us on our first full day at Uuiremutha, riding into the settlement behind his father, I wanted to dislike Gersine. It was a drizzled day and the earth squelched underfoot. Gersine dismounted and held out his hand to me.

“You must be Hunlaf,” he said, his eyes wide, his expression sombre. “I have heard much about you.” Surprised at being addressed before any of the older men, I accepted his outstretched hand, clutching his forearm in the warrior grip. He beamed at me, grasping my arm tightly. “Is it true that you had a vision of the defeat of the Norsemen at Werceworthe?”

I sensed my face flushing. I did not wish to speak of visions. But Gersine was persistent. Whenever he came to the settlement, which was most days, he followed me, asking me about my experiences. He often joined my weapons training under the watchful eye of Gwawrddur, and while he did not possess Cormac’s rage-fuelled speed and recklessness, Gersine was of noble birth, so had been taught to handle a blade since he was a child. He was a worthy adversary. I was glad of another young man to share my training sessions, and I enjoyed sparring with him, not least because I could best him more often than not.

The last of the leaves blew from the alders that grew along the Uuir, leaving the trees to claw at the slate-grey heavens with their spindly twig fingers, their dangling catkins trembling in the wind. As winter came to the land with its frost and snow and winds so cold that they seemed to flay the skin from our cheeks, I found myself looking forward to Gersine’s visits. There was always work to do, so I was never idle, but when Gersine decided to stay at his father’s hall and not ride to the bank of the river where the bones of the ship were slowly taking shape, I grew sullen.