Read Online The Cross and the Curse (Bernicia Chronicles Book 2) by Matthew Harffy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Matthew Harffy
Tags: Bernicia Chronicles #2
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but he would not drop it.
Perhaps the gods had given him signs to follow after all. He prayed he would live to see the sunrise. And Sunniva.
But death and darkness lay before them that night. Before the broadening light of morning.
With a shout, shredded by the roar of the rain, Oswald broke into a run.
The men surged behind him. They charged, slipping and sliding towards the Waelisc camp.
Beobrand pulled Hrunting from his scabbard. The heft of it reassured him. He let his ire at Athelstan loose. The men in the camp had killed Leofwine, Alric and countless more. Now they would pay.
The campfires were clearer now, shining through the sheets of rain.
Then the long note of a horn sounded. It cut through the noise of men and the elements.
Like dogs who had been held, straining at the leash with the scent of a stag on the wind, King Oswald's Bernician warhost let out a deafening roar and rushed screaming into Cadwallon's camp.
The thunder had woken Sunniva.
For a time she had lain in the dark listening to the breathing of the women, children and old folk who had not marched south with Oswald. She found Beobrand's kirtle in the darkness and brought it to her face. She breathed deeply. The smell of him lingered. She had given him her father's kirtle to wear, saying it was less threadbare. She had not told him the truth: that she wanted something with his scent. At night she was so alone. So frightened. It helped to have a part of him to hold. Once she was warm under her cloak, she could close her eyes and almost imagine he was with her.
She was not sure what had made her stir, but then she heard it again. The distant rumble of thunder.
Would they have already joined in battle?
Thunder again. Long, deep and distant. Was Thunor speaking? Was this the omen playing itself out?
Was Beobrand alive?
Someone giggled in the darkness of the room. It was an eerie sound in the black of night. Sunniva shivered.
She did not want to be here in the gloom. Alone, but surrounded by others each feeling their own fear as their husbands, fathers, brothers were with the fyrd.
She stood, moved the partition to the side and picked her way over the sleeping forms.
The cold outside shocked her. Wind buffeted her. Her cloak slapped about her. The smell of rain was in the air and the ground was wet beneath her bare feet.
She shuddered. She should have dressed. She would not be able to stay out for long in this chill.
A wall-ward recognised her as she stepped up onto the southernmost palisade. His name was Anhaga and she had often seen him watching her while she went about her chores. He was young and polite. Not like that old goat Athelstan, or some of the other warriors. Despite his youth he had not travelled south with the warriors of the fyrd. He had a deformed leg. His right foot was twisted which left him only able to walk slowly with a pronounced limp. He would never walk with warriors into battle. Never stand in the shieldwall. She knew not what had caused his affliction. Perhaps a childhood illness. Or an accident. Whatever the cause, part of her felt for him. Unable to fight, he must feel less of a man.
She knew she had to be careful without her father or Beobrand there to protect her. She had decided many days before that Anhaga was not a threat.
But now, in the windy night, Thunor's wrath lighting up the sky with flashes to the south, she felt vulnerable. Again, she cursed her own stupidity for not dressing before leaving the hall. She was all too aware of her bare feet.
Anhaga stepped close to her, clumsy on his twisted leg. He offered his hand. His gaze flicked down to the pale curve of her ankles. The light from the brazier on the palisade glinted in his eyes.
She didn't take his hand.
"Couldn't you sleep?" he asked.
"The thunder woke me." She wrapped her cloak tightly about herself, against the cold and to prevent the wind blowing it aside. She did not wish to give Anhaga's eager eyes anything to fix onto.
"It is a
Perhaps the gods had given him signs to follow after all. He prayed he would live to see the sunrise. And Sunniva.
But death and darkness lay before them that night. Before the broadening light of morning.
With a shout, shredded by the roar of the rain, Oswald broke into a run.
The men surged behind him. They charged, slipping and sliding towards the Waelisc camp.
Beobrand pulled Hrunting from his scabbard. The heft of it reassured him. He let his ire at Athelstan loose. The men in the camp had killed Leofwine, Alric and countless more. Now they would pay.
The campfires were clearer now, shining through the sheets of rain.
Then the long note of a horn sounded. It cut through the noise of men and the elements.
Like dogs who had been held, straining at the leash with the scent of a stag on the wind, King Oswald's Bernician warhost let out a deafening roar and rushed screaming into Cadwallon's camp.
The thunder had woken Sunniva.
For a time she had lain in the dark listening to the breathing of the women, children and old folk who had not marched south with Oswald. She found Beobrand's kirtle in the darkness and brought it to her face. She breathed deeply. The smell of him lingered. She had given him her father's kirtle to wear, saying it was less threadbare. She had not told him the truth: that she wanted something with his scent. At night she was so alone. So frightened. It helped to have a part of him to hold. Once she was warm under her cloak, she could close her eyes and almost imagine he was with her.
She was not sure what had made her stir, but then she heard it again. The distant rumble of thunder.
Would they have already joined in battle?
Thunder again. Long, deep and distant. Was Thunor speaking? Was this the omen playing itself out?
Was Beobrand alive?
Someone giggled in the darkness of the room. It was an eerie sound in the black of night. Sunniva shivered.
She did not want to be here in the gloom. Alone, but surrounded by others each feeling their own fear as their husbands, fathers, brothers were with the fyrd.
She stood, moved the partition to the side and picked her way over the sleeping forms.
The cold outside shocked her. Wind buffeted her. Her cloak slapped about her. The smell of rain was in the air and the ground was wet beneath her bare feet.
She shuddered. She should have dressed. She would not be able to stay out for long in this chill.
A wall-ward recognised her as she stepped up onto the southernmost palisade. His name was Anhaga and she had often seen him watching her while she went about her chores. He was young and polite. Not like that old goat Athelstan, or some of the other warriors. Despite his youth he had not travelled south with the warriors of the fyrd. He had a deformed leg. His right foot was twisted which left him only able to walk slowly with a pronounced limp. He would never walk with warriors into battle. Never stand in the shieldwall. She knew not what had caused his affliction. Perhaps a childhood illness. Or an accident. Whatever the cause, part of her felt for him. Unable to fight, he must feel less of a man.
She knew she had to be careful without her father or Beobrand there to protect her. She had decided many days before that Anhaga was not a threat.
But now, in the windy night, Thunor's wrath lighting up the sky with flashes to the south, she felt vulnerable. Again, she cursed her own stupidity for not dressing before leaving the hall. She was all too aware of her bare feet.
Anhaga stepped close to her, clumsy on his twisted leg. He offered his hand. His gaze flicked down to the pale curve of her ankles. The light from the brazier on the palisade glinted in his eyes.
She didn't take his hand.
"Couldn't you sleep?" he asked.
"The thunder woke me." She wrapped her cloak tightly about herself, against the cold and to prevent the wind blowing it aside. She did not wish to give Anhaga's eager eyes anything to fix onto.
"It is a
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