Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(11)

But there was no time for any of it. As soon as they were far enough gone from the stables to be out of sight of unfriendly eyes, they ran.

The city was starting to wake as the light and smoke from the fire spread. They heard a few cries of “Fire!” as they went, but stopped for nothing. Sprinting flat-out, they reached the western wall of the central keep with little delay.

Breath came in rapid gasps, and Ceolwen clutched at a stitch in her side. Aelfhild had not let go of her mistress’ hand since they left the tunnel.

Leaning against the wall for a moment to catch his breath, Cuthbert motioned for them to follow. He pressed a finger to his lips, calling for quiet. They followed the wall north, wending their way through the dark alleys behind houses and huts on their way to the docks. Cuthbert made each turn through the dim, narrow streets without hesitation or rest; the old warrior’s muscles seemed to have forgotten none of their former strength. Aelfhild’s legs burned, and she could feel Ceolwen flagging as they went. The other warrior, Bercthun, loped along behind and did not seem at all winded.

We live soft lives. There was a touch of shame at the thought, but Aelfhild was sure nobody could see her cheeks grow even redder in the dark.

The ground began to slope down as they came closer to the harbor on the lake, easing their passage. They stayed in the shadows, darting from one building to the next. The warehouses that loomed over the waterfront provided ample cover for them as they snuck alley to alley.

From the part of the city they had left behind came a rising din; whatever distractions Cuthbert’s men had managed mixed in with the clamoring of the commoners on their way to stop the blaze before it spread to other houses. With any luck, Aelfhild hoped, the merchant district would be in such chaos that searchers would not be able to pick up their trail.

Cuthbert leaned out from an alleyway to look up and down the street, then flattened himself against the wall at his back. He waved at Aelfhild, who dragged herself and Ceolwen along behind her into the deepest shadows.

The glow of torches played across the mouth of the alley as two men strode down the lane. Aelfhild could see axes in their belts, but the pair did not seem to be in any hurry. She could hear a fragment of their conversation.

“Did you hear that? What do you think is happening?”

“Not our worry. He said watch the docks. So we watch the docks.”

A pause.

“Hardly seems right working with the Oescans,” said the first, picking up what must have been the previous topic. The voice was reedy and nervous, its owner barely yet a man. “The King would not care for it.”

But someone had taken care to pair the boy with a real warrior. The second voice had no youthful uncertainty. “The old King, maybe. He says he just wants to set her straight, and send her off.”

“You believe that?”

“Watch your gabbing. You live longer if you ask no questions. Shut it now, and keep your eyes open.”

The pair wandered out of earshot.

Cuthbert hefted his sword and motioned for Bercthun to follow with axe in hand. Part of Aelfhild cried out for the boy’s life. He was caught up in something bigger than he could understand. She sympathized, now more than ever.

So, it seemed, did Ceolwen. She put a hand on Cuthbert’s arm before he could step out of the alley. “Not tonight,” she whispered.

The cousins locked eyes for a moment. Neither gave ground. Then Cuthbert sighed and nodded. Aelfhild nearly melted in relief.

“One day, girl,” Cuthbert replied. He motioned again to Bercthun.

The Eorl and his man vanished around the corner. Aelfhild stayed with her mistress, back pressed against the wall, and strained to hear every sound. Her palms dripped with sweat which she rubbed against her dress.

Mist was rising off the lake, the first moonlit wisps drifting up along the streets closest to the water. The Leohtmere was famous for it—by morning, the fog would be thick enough to bathe in.

Maybe the Gods are on our side tonight, thought Aelfhild.

There was a thump, and a body hit the ground. A scuffle followed, grunting and kicking. The street grew dark again as the torch went out. Aelfhild chanced a look around the corner, but saw nothing in the darkened lane.

Ceolwen pulled at her shoulder from behind. “Get back, before they see you,” she pleaded.

Cuthbert’s unmistakable frame leaned out around the next corner, and he waved for them to come over.

“I see Cuthbert. Come on!” Aelfhild dragged her mistress out into the street.

They found Bercthun and the Eorl standing over two bodies. The younger warrior was busy stripping the foes of gear, while Cuthbert wiped down the blade of his sword.

Ceolwen gaped at the men. She opened her mouth to speak, but her cousin beat her to it.

“The boy will live; Bercthun gave him a good crack across the head. The other one was faster. Too fast for his own good,” he said, sheathing the sword.

They left the bodies in the shadows for the mist to cover, one bound at the wrists and ankles, the other facedown in the mud.

Cuthbert led them to a stone boathouse along the shore of the lake, nestled up against the central keep’s high wall. He waved to Bercthun, who pushed the handle of his axe in between the door and frame, splintering the bolt and levering the flimsy wood open with a pop. Aelfhild glanced over her shoulder, but not a soul was around to hear them. She shuddered as she looked back up the street and thought of what they had left in the alley.