Читать книгу The Viking's Touch - Joanna Fulford, Joanna Fulford - Страница 7

Northumbria—AD 889

Tongues of flames from the roof leaped thirty feet into the night sky and the heat grew so intense that it forced the spectators back. Grim-faced, they watched helplessly as the hall was consumed, beam and rafter and shingle backlit in a blaze of scarlet and orange. Acrid smoke oozed from the timbered walls and poured from the doorway, thickening the eerie glow. No one spoke. The only sounds were of crackling wood and the roar of the fire.

Wulfgar stood unmoving, like a man petrified by fell enchantment, and looked upon the destruction of the place he had once called home, the pyre of those he loved most. The light of the flames dyed his face blood-red and lent his gaze a terrible aspect. All the thoughts behind lay buried, overwhelmed by grief and anger too deep for utterance. His sword companions stood a little way off with the rest, watching in horrified silence from the edges of a vast darkness.

Time lost all meaning. Oblivious to fatigue and chill, Wulfgar remained there until grey dawn stole through the trees. Its pallid light revealed a black and smoking ruin. He did not notice the soft thud of hoof falls on turf or the creak of saddle leather as the rider dismounted. Only when the horseman stood beside him did he look round and, as one emerging from a long sleep, come slowly to consciousness.

The vivid blue gaze that met his might have been the mirror of his own. The face, lined now with age, also bore a striking resemblance to his. However, his father’s hair was now more grey than dark. Similar in height to Wulfgar, he bore himself erect and his powerful frame carried yet its familiar aura of power. For the space of several heartbeats the two men surveyed each other in silence. Wulfgar was the first to look away.

‘I should have been here,’ he said.

Wulfrum shook his head. ‘It would have changed nothing.’

‘I failed them when they needed me most.’

‘You could not have foreseen this.’

‘She begged me not to go, but I paid no heed. Tried to convince myself it was for her and the child I was doing it.’ Wulfgar’s voice shook. ‘It was my own selfishness that brought them to this.’

‘You could not have saved them, any more than you could have saved all the others who died.’

‘I could have tried.’

‘Aye, but the result would likely have been the same. The fever makes no distinctions. It kills noble and base-born together.’

‘That doesn’t help.’

‘No, only time will do that.’

‘Will it?’

Wulfrum paused. ‘What will you do now?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You could return to Ravenswood for a while.’ The words were casually spoken, but underlain with something quite different. ‘There will always be a place for you.’

‘My place was here,’ replied Wulfgar, ‘but there is no going back.’

His father pursed his lips and looked away, past the ruin to the trees beyond. ‘So, you will rejoin Guthrum then?’

‘Guthrum grows old and his days of war are over. It’s my belief he’ll not live much longer.’

‘What then?’

‘I don’t know. Something else.’

‘You don’t have to decide now. Take some time, think about it.’

‘Ah, what was it you once said? “We are the decisions we make.”’ Wulfgar’s lip curled in self-mockery. ‘Well, mine are turned to ashes and I am to blame for that.’ He turned to face his father. ‘If there is any future for me now, it will not be found here.’