Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(32)

“Do you think that will save him?” asked Ceolwen.

“No.” Aelfhild could not bring herself to even stretch the truth. “But he may live long enough for us to come up with another plan.”

Runild gathered Sola into her arms. The girl had been watching birds while they worked. None of the strife on the ship seemed to touch her.

“I am sorry I yelled at you, Runild,” Aelfhild said. She wiped the cold sweat from her brow with a sleeve.

“You were looking out for my little girl, lady,” the woman responded. “The Gods will smile on you for that.”

Perhaps the Gods could smile on us by crushing Leofstan where he stands. Aelfhild savored the image. That would make up for a great deal.

“I will kill him before he can lay a hand on her,” she said instead. The words sprang out of her, unplanned and unbidden. Though she was not sure where the thought had come from, she was not ashamed.

Both women stared at her. Ceolwen looked surprised. Runild did not.

“I believe you, lady,” Runild replied. There was not a hint of doubt in her voice.





16

Redsails! Redsails to the west!”

Aelfhild snorted as she rocked forward. Her vigil over the wounded man had lasted long into the night, but at some point she must have fallen asleep.

Men scampered overhead, swinging from platform to platform as they shouted.

Runild and Sola slept in their nook in the corner, and Ceolwen was bent over their patient. Aelfhild went to her.

Dark rings around Ceolwen’s eyes hinted at her state. They had agreed to take shifts, but Aelfhild guessed she had been left to sleep longer than discussed.

“How is he?” she rasped.

Ceolwen sighed. “Feverish, still. His pulse is all but gone. Not long now, I think.”

“What are they shouting about?” Aelfhild asked.

“I have not the faintest idea.” Ceolwen shook her head. “I am too tired to listen. But something spooked them.”

“Get some sleep, my lady,” said Aelfhild, patting her mistress’ hand, “I will see what is happening.”

She braced her feet against the curve of the hull and lifted herself as far up as she could. Leofstan and his men were looking out over the port side of the ship, but Aelfhild could not see above the lip of the hold. The slavers looked to be sweating despite the chill of the morning.

And they seemed not to be paying any attention to her. Both were good things.

“Run out the oars! We need all speed!” she heard Leofstan call. She dropped down before he could spot her, as the wood of the oars scraped against oarlocks.

The noise had awakened Runild, who stared up bleary-eyed at Aelfhild. “What is that noise, lady?”

“The oars. We are running from something. I heard them say red sails, I suppose that means another ship.”

Runild gasped. “Red sails means Thrym, lady!” She exclaimed. “Gods save us, we are doomed if those savages come for us. Our men back home say the raiders wear the ears of the folk they slaughter about their necks, and they eat the rest!”

Thrym. Aelfhild smiled at the thought. If it was a Thrym village Leofstan and his men had burned, that would certainly explain their instinct to run. The ear necklaces sounded fanciful, though she had to admit that seeing Leofstan’s ears removed did hold a certain attraction. Maybe the peasants were right.

“But there are Thrym on the crew,” Ceolwen said. With all the noise, she had not gotten back to sleep.

“They are beasts, not men. They kill each other as easy as breathing!” The fear in Runild’s voice was infectious. Aelfhild started to consider what could go wrong.

They might think we were with the slavers. They might not care who we are. They might take Sola away.

Leofstan appeared at the edge of his platform. “You two, get him out of there and over the side,” he waved some of his men down into the hold. “We need to shed all the weight we can.”

Two of the slavers dropped down with rope, which they tied around the wounded man’s shoulders. Aelfhild gaped as they used it to pull the limp form up onto the foreward platform.

“But he is one of theirs.” Ceolwen sounded as stunned as she was.

Then there was a splash.

He was going to die anyway. And he was a slaver. Aelfhild tried to convince herself it was no better than the scum deserved, but struggled.

Sigfus lowered himself into the hold. Positioning herself in front of Sola, Aelfhild stood shoulder to shoulder with her mistress and Runild.

“You monsters will not touch her,” she shouted.

But the big Thrym paid them no attention. He lifted crates and barrels from the hold, tossing some over the side and levering the heavier ones onto the platforms for others to dispose of. The women seemed to be forgotten.

The mast creaked under the strain of the sail, and the hull flexed in the waves. As the ship shed its weight, and the rowers pulled, the deck began to rise and fall sharply with each wave. Spray whipped over the prow and splattered down into the hold.

Aelfhild stood up again to spy on the slavers.

Leofstan stood at the rudder, whence he yelled at his men. They all threw terrified glances over the stern of the ship. Their fear felt like sunshine on a summer day, and Aelfhild basked in it. She was not quick enough, though, and he spotted her. Screaming abuse, the slaver kicked a nearby bucket toward her raised head. With an undignified squawk, she dropped into the hay, the bucket clattering down after.