Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(10)
She struggled to get her careening thoughts back in line. Cuthbert’s men had gone first, it had to be one of them. The hand dragged her onward and she followed.
They hobbled forward through the darkness. The tunnel had been dug by someone close to her size; Aelfhild could feel the rough earth on each shoulder, and her hair brushed the ceiling. Grunts and heavy breathing echoed in the close space as they hobbled forward, squeezing around the thick shoring beams set along the tunnel’s length. Underfoot the dirt was cold and damp, and more than once Aelfhild’s toes sent some unseen, chitinous horror skittering off in the dark.
Small spaces had never agreed with her. Her heart hammered within its cage. She wanted out of this grave, wanted to claw her way up through the earth and back to freedom, regardless of the swords and fire waiting for them above.
Every step took them further down and further away from clean air. She was sure they were lost. The men had gone too far, missed their turning in the dark. Minutes stretched on to hours. Each breath was shallower than the last, each requiring more focus and will.
They came to a stop. She could hear something being shifted up ahead, and saw a faint light appear not far away. The hand led her forward, and she saw the end of the tunnel. A shaft opened over top of them, pale grey against the black of the tunnel, but it might as well have been sunrise to Aelfhild’s eyes.
The Eorl’s warriors helped her up into what could only have been a barn—the telltale wave of wet hay and manure crested over her and removed any hint of smoke or earth from her nostrils. But she was out. She dropped to her knees, gasping, then turned to help her mistress up from the hole. Ceolwen was caked in mud and bleeding from a scrape on her head, but looked to be just as relieved as Aelfhild to be above ground. They collapsed side by side in the straw, panting.
Two more of Cuthbert’s warriors followed behind, then the Eorl himself. How he had managed to squeeze his bulk through that nightmarish maze, she would never know.
The last of Cuthbert’s men followed along, bringing with them a pair of wide-eyed servants. There were only eight fighting men in the barn—Cuthbert, not expecting any such trouble, had brought only a handful of warriors with him on his visit to Cynestead. Between them they had a few axes and swords, and Aelfhild had her dagger, but no shields or spears or helms or mail. Some were half-dressed, others in nightclothes. This was no army.
Cuthbert and one of his men opened the slightest crack in the door, sending an arc of angry red light across floor and ceiling. As she took a moment to look around, Aelfhild guessed they had come up in the old stable that stood one lane over from the Eorl’s hall, a weather-beaten shack with rotting thatch that most folk passed without wasting a glance. They had come, at most, a few hundred paces underground. It had felt much, much longer.
Cuthbert came back over to the group, kneeling in the center as he whispered orders. His calm impressed Aelfhild. Here was a man who kept his head in battle. Mere moments ago, he had been dreaming the pleasant dreams of a rich man. Now his hall was in ruins and his life under threat, but the old bear’s voice was steady.
“Bercthun, Ceolwen, Aelfhild, with me. We go east to the wall and then down to the docks. Immin, take Sabert and these two,” he said, gesturing at the servants. “Make for the west gate and get clear.”
Cuthbert paused. “Where is the other girl? Where is Gyda? Did no one wake her?” His voice rose.
Both of the servants trembled under the Eorl’s gaze. One, grey haired and coated with tunnel dirt, stuttered her terrified way through an explanation. “Lord, she never come back home after supper tonight.”
The Eorl swelled. His great chest filled with air, his eyes bulged. Aelfhild worried he would start shouting. But with visible strain, he wrestled his temper down. “She what?”
Now the old woman was a fountain of pleading words.
“Lord, she has a young man up market way and we thought there were no harm to it and she slips out to see him a-times but I never meant for it, master, to be like this, she is a good girl but young and fool in love…”
She trailed off in tears and shoulder-wracking sobs. Aelfhild’s heart broke for the woman. She had failed her master and that guilt would likely go with her to the grave.
But that did explain why Osric had acted so boldly. Servants talked, and that talk had legs faster than the King’s own coursers. Aelfhild knew it, they all knew it, but they had wagged their tongues in the open.
I even saw the girl’s face when she brought us mead, Aelfhild thought.
Cuthbert looked to be thinking the same thing. His chest sagged. He placed a hand on the servant’s quaking shoulder. “You were not to know. All is forgiven. Follow Sabert, now.” The calm had returned to his voice.
The Eorl turned to the remaining men and continued. “Eadbald, take the rest and head south into the square. Give us a short lead, then do what you can to draw them away. Set fires, make noise, whatever you can manage.”
Then to all assembled, he said, “Do not throw your lives away. Run if you can, but take some of the bastards with you if you are caught—buy the rest of us time. Now go!”
Keeping low, quiet but swift as could be, they left the stable in groups. As Aelfhild followed the Eorl out she could see tongues of fire rising in the distance, silhouetting men waiting around the ruined hall. Anger rose within her. These cowards had come in the night and set them to flight like animals. They were hunted, chased from their nest like vermin.