The Songs of Slaves by David Rodgers Read Free Book Online Page B

me.”
    “Yes.”
    “Mannus, is he – ”
    “We must go to him now.”
    Connor took her hand as Grania nearly leapt up. He tucked the sword into his belt and took his javelin in his free hand.
    “This way.”
    They were far from safe. The raiders could be anywhere, and were likely to be thicker near the ships as they began to load their plunder. But Connor reasoned that he and Grania might be at least somewhat safer where the Jutes had already been. He had to get her back to Mannus, to fulfill his promise before Mannus – he dared not think of it. As they moved up the hill, Connor stopped to pull his second javelin free of the Jute’s shield. He resisted the urge to spit on the man or speak a curse on his soul. No. God had helped him, and because of this he would fight with honor.
    “They kicked the door in,” Grania said. “They were upon us before I knew what was happening. They grabbed me. Their hands were everywhere. I could feel their eyes burrowing into me. I was so afraid. Oh, Connor. Mannus tried to stop them. He gave them his gold neck torc, and when that did not work he fought. He tried to protect me.”
    “Don’t speak of it,” Connor said, quickening his pace. He could sense that Grania needed to tell him – tell someone – but not now. He raised his hands to his lips. Grania nodded. She followed on silently, her fear giving her the speed to keep up with the desperate pace Connor set.
    Shouts broke out behind them. To the left, more voices sounded.
    “They are taking our gold,” Grania breathed. “But what they are really here for is us. They are taking us as slaves. And if they do, we will never see home again.” 
    “I know,” Connor whispered. “I know.”
    Grania froze as she saw movement through the thicket. Connor grabbed her arm and they changed course. Now, through the terror-stricken and grieving cries that rent the air, they could hear the strange tongue of men. They were close; and getting closer, until their chopping words seemed to be coming from everywhere. The urgency in their voices was like spurs to Connor’s soul, driving him ever faster. But like two deer fleeing the pack of hounds the trap was closing in on them. He could not be sure that the voices calling to each other were searching for them. It did not matter. If one of the murderers saw them it may be over. It may take no more than that.
    “I do not want to die,” Grania said, her voice barely audible over her labored breath.
    “Keep running with me!” Connor said, forcing reassurance into his voice. “You will not die. We are going to get back to Mannus. You two will live together. You will raise children, and see them grow.”
    Grania’s face was set with determination. Her eyes grew strong as she quickened her pace once more, pushing past the boundaries of her body’s strength even as their path turned again uphill. Her hair trailed behind her as her breast heaved and her arms pulled at the air for speed. And for a moment Connor thought that he had never seen her so beautiful.
    The cries of the men smashed into him a breath before he saw them. There were two Jutes bounding through the thicket, flanking them on the right. Their weapons were drawn as their voices sounded in a shrill whooping.
    “This way!” Connor shouted, pulling Grania away from their attackers. But even as they turned they saw the gray iron through the spring leaves. Two more men were closing from the left, closer than the first pair.
    “Connor!” Grania cried out. Her voice was pleading, visceral, and it felt like a knife in Connor’s heart. But as it was answered by the cries of men descending from behind, the full weight of the fear gripped him. He glanced back to see four more, running hard. Their mouths frothed like hungry dogs. Their faces seemed twisted and as cold and cruel as the weapons they carried. In the fore was a tall man who wore not only mail like the others, but a sinister helmet that covered his face down to his full