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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

“And you must defeat both. The wood, that does not always wish to release its secrets, and your own fear, that will only make your hands tremble. Cut boldly. Reveal the beast within the timber. I have watched you shaping wood. You have a rare talent. You must not listen to your fear. Listen to me, for I say you can do this thing and I wish to see what your knife and chisel will bring forth.”

From that moment, whenever he was not called upon to work on the ship itself, or to stand guard duty, Drosten spent all his waking time carving the prow. He would sometimes even miss the evening meal, working in one of the storage huts by the light of a tallow candle. One dark spring night, when the moon was new, I had slipped out of the hall to meet with Cwenswith. We saw the light from beneath the ill-fitting door of the store building. Creeping close, we peered through a crack, our faces close, Cwenswith’s hair and breath maddeningly stroking my cheek, igniting my desire. Drosten was unaware of us. He was hunched over his work in deepest concentration, his brow wrinkled, his tongue protruding from his mouth as he meticulously carved a tricky shape. He had the appearance of a scribe surrounded by quills, ink and parchment, and yet all around Drosten were the curled feathers and shavings of wood that his knife lifted from the block. Cwenswith had sniggered at the burly warrior’s intense expression, whispering disparagingly about his unswerving focus on the wood. Not wishing to interrupt the man at his work, I had led her away, angered by her demeaning words. I respected the fire of creativity that had been kindled within the Pict and I felt as though Cwenswith’s jibes were directed at me. She saw only the sword-wearing warrior, who swaggered in a fine cloak, she knew nothing of who I had been. Of the man I truly was. By the time we had reached our own store room, I had made up my mind that I would not succumb to Cwenswith’s charms until I had made her understand what drove men like Drosten. And me. That night I discovered how very weak a young man’s resolve can be when confronted with the determined ministrations of a comely woman.