Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(21)

A figure appeared beside the horse, tossing down a blanket and hoisting a saddle atop the beast’s back. The man crouched at the shore and splashed water on his hands and face.

Aelfhild watched him from beneath her hood, confident he could not see her face. Do not let him notice us, she prayed. She could hear Ceolwen breathing beneath her. Do not let him notice us.

The Gods did not seem to be listening.

Looking up from the riverbank, the rider spotted the boat. He stared out across the water. Aelfhild expected the man to bolt to his horse at any moment. Her chest tightened, heart hammering.

But the man called out to them in cheery tones. “Hail, brother! Fair morning to you.” He had a Cynestead accent, but so would most folk rich enough to afford such a horse.

Aelfhild nearly choked on her dry tongue. Bercthun was caught off guard as well, and took a moment to muster a response.

“Fine morning, master,” he shouted across the water.

And that seemed to be the end of it. Maybe the man had nothing to do with Osric, Aelfhild dared to hope, and was just a nobleman out for a ride. Maybe they were jumping at shadows.

The man waved and swung into the saddle. Aelfhild’s eyes were poised to fall from her head if she stared any harder.

“Is that it?” came Ceolwen’s whisper from below. Aelfhild shushed her. This was no time to take chances.

Sitting atop his courser, the rider called out once more. “Tell me, brother, have you seen two noblewomen on the river? One tall and fair—a real beauty!—the other shorter, plain. Maybe with a fat man?”

Plain. Aelfhild frowned at that.

“No, master, begging your pardon,” Bercthun cried back. “Seen nought but the fish since the lake.”

“No bother, friend!” A pause. “Last one to Haernmuth buys the ale!” Booming laughter, the stranger galloped off.

The boat was silent. A trail of dust rose along the bank, as horse and rider disappeared into the fields.

So, he was one of Osric’s, thought Aelfhild.

Ceolwen sat up from beneath the bench. “If that is the best Osric has, I am not worried. The man was a ti—”

But Bercthun did not let her finish. “Better you stay hidden for now, lady. We cannot know who else is watching. Forgive me being forward, but the Eorl said to keep you safe and I aim to do so.”

“But—” Ceolwen began. Aelfhild could see the argument brewing.

“I agree, lady,” she said. “We were careless before and almost paid for it. And we should hide away that hair, you heard what he said.” She tore off a strip of blanket and motioned for her mistress to lay forward.

Leaning back, Ceolwen allowed her servant to gather up her tangled locks. “I heard him call me a real beauty, if you mean that,” she jeered. “Ouch! Aela, that pulls.”

“Beg your pardon, lady.” Aelfhild spotted Bercthun’s grin from the corner of her eye. She hid as much of the flaxen hair as she could beneath the cloth. “Keep your hood up when we get to Haernmuth.”

There was grumbling, but Ceolwen stayed out of sight for the rest of the journey. Relaxing was out of the question after the morning’s encounter, but they did not seem to under imminent threat of attack. Regardless, Aelfhild kept a wary eye on the south bank. They floated past fishermen perched atop long skiffs, untangling and spreading spindly nets. Herdsmen drove cattle down into the river, stirring up muddy sediment and turning the waters a murky brown. Cows and sheep jostled one another for position at the water’s edge, and the young calves and lambs played up along the bank.

Aelfhild assumed each one to be a spy, but none of them paid the little boat any mind.

By late afternoon they had arrived at the outskirts of Haernmuth. The grasslands to the south began to grow sparser, replaced by broad, sandy dunes as they drew near the coast. The Swiftea grew so wide near its mouth that they could scarcely see the northern side.

Buildings cropped up on the south bank; first a few peasant huts and fishermen’s sheds, then the high thatched roofs of sawmills with their great churning waterwheels. The boatyards of Haernmuth were famous throughout the kingdom, and much of the timber felled in Norholt and Blaedscir was floated downriver to the mills near the sea.

A brisk wind rising out of the east made the water of the river increasingly rough, and Bercthun had to look for a place for them to land their small boat, unsuited as it was to the waves. He found a spot not far from a shipwright’s dock, marked by half-built or stripped-down vessels up on frames near the beach, their arched backs and curved ribs exposed to the sky.

Aelfhild and Ceolwen helped drag the boat up onto the sandy bank. The sea breeze carried a chill with it, and Aelfhild pulled the coarse wool of her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

“Lady, if you please, wait here while I find out what we can get for our boat,” said Bercthun. “We have to keep from drawing too many eyes, so please, no wandering.” He looked nervous, and Aelfhild could not blame him.

She looked out over masts and furled sails, stretching down the beach and out of sight. Haernmuth was a center of trade and travel on the eastern shore, a gathering place for the people of Earnfold, Thrymgard, and Oesca. Oescans dared not sail further up the coast than the mouth of the Swiftea—they feared not only the harsh seas in the north, but Thrym raiders keen to seize their cargo. The infamous longships of Thrymgard came to Earnfold to trade, but seldom went further south unless they were set on raiding villages and cities along the Oescan coast. The folk of Earnfold in turn gathered here to trade their harvests of grain, lumber, and wool with northern and southern neighbor alike, bringing their cargo downriver from the Leohtmere by barge and boat.