Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(33)

Ceolwen and Runild watched her with wide eyes.

“I think we may be losing ground,” Aelfhild answered their silent question.





The slavers had to yell over the sound of waves and the tortured groans of the ship’s frame. A cargo ship was not built for this kind of use, and the wooden beams made their complaints known.

“If we row them any harder, they will not be able to fight!”

Aelfhild could hear the men shouting to one another above; they were talking about the slaves.

“If it comes to a fight we are all dead anyway! The only chance is that they get tired of chasing!”

“We will not get paid if the slaves all die!”

“If the redsails catch us, we will not get paid at all, fool!”

She could hear the occasional clatter of oars, as the rowers tired and lost rhythm. Leofstan had grown hoarse from shouting in the stern.

Ditching the cargo had opened up hiding spots under each platform. Runild and Sola crawled back into an opening between the beams, wrapping themselves in the blanket. Ceolwen and Aelfhild piled what little was left of the ship’s supplies around the entrance to the hole. The raiders would have a hard time finding them, at least. The two Thrym women had the same idea, it seemed, and had disappeared from sight.

“We should get you hidden, too, lady,” Aelfhild said to her mistress. “I want to watch, though, in case something happens.”

“Aela, you have gone mad!” Ceolwen cried. “Just mad! All this talk of killing and battle, what can you do against armed men? Hide with me, you are not a warrior.”

Aelfhild nodded. She did not want to argue. She helped Ceolwen find a spot to hide, but stayed close to the edge so she could see.

A slaver swung across the gap, shouting, “Arm yourselves! Hands to the starboard beam!”

She edged back out in to the light. Looking back and over the starboard side of the ship, she could see the top of another mast. A rectangular sail, crimson striped with gold, billowed in the breeze.

“Gangways! Push them back!” Leofstan shouted. There was screaming, both Earnfolding and Thrym. Aelfhild thought she heard prayers over the roaring waves.

Planks of wood, barbed at the ends with metal hooks, hovered in the air over the hull. The raiders were close.

Ceolwen pulled at her from behind. “Get back, Aela! Hide!”

She wanted to see. The boards drifted down, almost lazily, then shot back to dig their talons into the lip of the hull. The slaver’s ship jerked in the water, listing violently.

Aelfhild saw the first man cross. The faceplate of his helmet hid everything above the mouth, which was opened in a roar. Arms daubed with dark warpaint hefted a battleaxe over his head. His wordless howl rent the air as he leapt aboard.

That was enough. Aelfhild ducked back under cover. The boards above them shuddered under heavy footfalls, clanking chains, and collapsing bodies. Ceolwen clutched at the back of her dress.

Two men came tumbling down into the hold in front of them. Sigfus and the raider she had just seen rolled overtop one another, punching and choking. The massive slaver had the advantage of size, and pinned his warpainted assailant to the deck.

I should help, Aelfhild thought. I should do something.

But she froze. Sweat beaded on her forehead and soaked her dress. She was rooted to the spot.

A ragged form dropped from the deck above into the fray, a man bound at wrists and ankles with chains. Bercthun lifted himself from the hay and sprang onto Sigfus’ back, looping his manacles around the pulsing sinews of the giant’s throat. The slaver reeled backwards, wheezing and clawing at the biting links.

At once the raider was on his feet and pulled a knife from his belt. Blade flashing in the sun, he stabbed over and over into his foe’s exposed chest.

With a last, dribbling gasp, Sigfus toppled back overtop his former captive. The armored Northman leapt back up and into the fray.

Aelfhild ran out from her hiding spot to help Bercthun, Ceolwen at her heels. They shoved at the corpse crushing their friend, but Sigfus had grown no smaller since their last encounter.

She looked up to see Leofstan vault over the port side of the boat. There was a splash as he landed in the water below.

“Get back, Aela! Help me!” Ceolwen hissed, as Aelfhild lifted herself onto the foreward platform.

“I have to see,” Aelfhild felt herself muttering. “I have to see.”

Armored raiders lined the port side. One held a spear to his shoulder, training the point on the figure splashing in the waves.

The Thrym chanted and slapped their knees as he took aim, then let fly.

The first throw flew wide, missing by a few paces, much to the amusement of the other raiders. They whooped and jeered at their companion. To Aelfhild’s surprise, the spearman threw back his head and barked laughter.

He called out, and the man to his left handed over another short spear.

The current was fighting Leofstan, and he seemed to be gaining no ground. His sodden clothes weighed him down in the water as well, and his strokes looked to be growing increasingly labored.

Shore was nowhere in sight, so he had been a dead man from the time he jumped off the boat. Looking at the raiders, Aelfhild corrected herself—he had been a dead man before that, too.

The spearman inhaled and let fly again. This time, the spear found its mark.

Any sound was drowned out by the waves and the groaning wood, but Aelfhild saw the spear shaft sprout from Leofstan’s back. He went limp in the water, face down. She smiled.