The Flame Bearer (The Last Kingdom Series, Book 10) by Bernard Cornwell Read Free Book Online

and just drew the sword, leaving belt and scabbard in Rorik’s hands. ‘Go back to the fort, boy.’
    ‘But …’
    ‘Go back!’
    The dozen men who had been already mounted ready to leave the fort were well ahead of me, all riding to cut off the horsemen who pursued the four men. Those horsemen, seeing they were outnumbered, sheered away and just then a fifth fugitive appeared. He must have been hiding in the bracken beyond the skyline and now ran into view, leaping down the slope. The horsemen saw him and turned again, this time towards the fifth man, who, hearing their hooves, twisted away, but the leading rider slowed, calmly levelled a spear, then thrust its blade into the fugitive’s spine. For a heartbeat the man arched his back, staying on his feet, then the second rider overtook him, back-swung an axe and I saw the bright sudden mist of blood. The man collapsed instantly, but his death had distracted and delayed his pursuers and so saved his four companions, who were now guarded by my men.
    ‘Why didn’t that stupid fool stay hidden?’ I asked, nodding to where the six horsemen had surrounded the fallen man.
    ‘That’s why,’ Finan answered, and pointed towards the northern skyline where a crowd of horsemen was appearing from the mist. ‘God save us,’ he said, making the sign of the cross, ‘but it’s a god-damned army.’
    Behind me the sentries on the tower were clanging the iron bar to bring the rest of my men to the fort’s ramparts. A gust of rain blew heavy and sudden, lifting the cloaks of the horsemen who lined the skyline. There were dozens of them. ‘No banner,’ I said.
    ‘Your cousin?’
    I shook my head. In the grey and rain-smeared light it was hard to see the distant men, but I doubted my cousin would have had the courage to bring his garrison this far south through a dark night. ‘Einar, perhaps?’ I asked, but in that case who had they been chasing? I spurred Tintreg towards my men, who guarded the four fugitives.

    ‘They’re Norsemen, lord!’ Gerbruht shouted as I approached.
    The four were soaked through, shaking with cold, and terrified. They were all young, fair-haired, and had inked faces. When they saw my drawn sword they dropped to their knees. ‘Lord, please!’ one of them said.
    I looked north and saw that the army of horsemen had not moved. They just watched us. ‘Three hundred men?’ I guessed.
    ‘Three hundred and forty,’ Finan said.
    ‘My name,’ I said to the men who knelt in the wet heather, ‘is Uhtred of Bebbanburg.’ I saw the fear on their faces and let them feel it for a few heartbeats. ‘And who are you?’
    They muttered their names. They were Einar’s men, sent to scout for us. They had ridden for much of the previous afternoon, and, not finding our trail, had camped in a shepherd’s hut in the western hills, but just before dawn the horsemen to the north had disturbed their sleep and they had run, abandoning their own horses in their panic. ‘So who are they?’ I nodded at the horsemen to the north.
    ‘We thought they were your men, lord!’
    ‘You don’t know who’s chasing you?’ I asked.
    ‘Enemies, lord,’ one of them said miserably and unhelpfully.
    ‘So tell me what happened.’
    The five men had been sent by Einar to look for us, but three of the mysterious mounted scouts had discovered them in the wolf-light just before the sun rose behind the thick eastern clouds. The shepherd’s shelter had been in a hollow and they had managed to drag one of the surprised scouts from his saddle and drive off the remaining two. They had killed the one man, but, while they did that, the surviving two scouts had driven off their horses.
    ‘So you killed the man,’ I asked them, ‘but did you ask him who he was?’

    ‘No, lord,’ the oldest of the four survivors confessed. ‘We didn’t understand his language. And he struggled, lord. He drew a knife.’
    ‘Who did you think he was?’
    The man hesitated, then muttered that he