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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

Wistan, his face pallid, sword and shield still in his hands, sprang forward and rushed into the water. The man who remained in the river was Eafa, his father. Like Wistan, Eafa was no warrior, but by God they were both brave men. I could not stand by and watch them slain.

With a roar of anger at having been forced to disobey Hereward, I ran after Wistan.

Sliding and slipping down the last of the beach, I hit the water, sending up sprays of surf. The water deepened rapidly, and cold mud clung to my feet, as if fists clutched my ankles. I imagined the corpses of the drowned Norse, groping for me, unseen beneath the murky water. I hurried forward as fast as I was able.

Wistan surged ahead of me, his first splashing steps in the river now changed to a slower wading gait as the water deepened. He shouted again, but Eafa did not turn. He was fully occupied fending off the bearded Norseman.

All around us, other Norsemen were coming ashore. Some were trying to make their way upriver in an attempt to avoid the waiting defenders and their sharp spears. But the current was too strong and the Norse could make no headway in that direction. Others allowed themselves to be swept downstream, away from the shieldwall prepared for slaughter on the beach, and towards the mouth of the Uuir. If they could not reach the wave-washed beaches of the coast, the deep sea awaited them. I doubted many would survive for long, but if they somehow made it to shore and escaped the immediate threat of Hereward and the spear-men, they would surely be found soon enough by Mancas and his hearth-warriors.

I was closing on Wistan, who had nearly reached his father, when a tall Norseman, caught in the water’s pull, clattered into me, almost knocking me from my feet. I had been so intent on Wistan and Eafa, my shield and sword held high above the water, that I had not spotted the floating man until he collided with me. He was young, with blond hair and bright blue eyes that were wide with fear. He had long, sinewy arms, strong from years of hard work and, maybe, sword-training. But he had no sword in his hand now. The Norseman wrapped one of his powerful arms around me and I staggered, struggling to remain upright with his sudden bulk pulling me down. For a heartbeat he held me close and I thought he must have been glad to have found someone to halt his journey down the river to an almost certain death by drowning.