Shard had memorized the charcoal-sketched map Phaeton had supplied. Sending thirty men into the settlement to kill, burn and create panic, he had led his twenty warriors straight to the Long Hall. That move had proved the only boil on the body of his plan. Stupid Kidrik had tried to grab the older woman, but she pulled a dagger from her belt and stabbed out at him. Kidrik, in pain and rage, had lashed at her with his sword, slashing open her throat. Well, he’d get nothing from this raid. Not even a half-copper coin. Idiot! The younger woman had run back through the hall and out into the open. Straight into the arms of Shard’s brother, Jarik. One blow had rendered her insensible, and Jarik re-entered the hall with the girl over his shoulder.
Even so, the profit from the venture had been halved, which left Shard irritated, and probably short of the capital he would need for a second ship. Raids would always be piecemeal with only one craft and fifty men. But with two, either the larger settlements would become accessible or, by carrying greater supplies, his men could raid deeper into Keltoi lands.
The flames from burning wooden buildings roared higher into the darkening sky. Close by a house collapsed. Shard drank in the sight then turned towards the gate. A young Keltoi warrior ran at him with a spear. Shard casually parried it with his longsword, then sent a flashing reverse cut that slashed through the man’s collarbone and down into his chest. He gave a great scream of pain and fell. Shard put his boot on the man’s chest, dragging his blade clear. Then he ran smoothly back to the open gates and out into the countryside. Despite his awesome size Shard ran well, though not fast, covering the ground in a rhythmic, even lope.
Movement to the right caught his eye, and he saw two riders, one heading for the settlement, the other towards the south. Ignoring them he ran on across the thick grass.
This was good land, he thought, not for the first time. Good farming land. Not like the barren, stony soil of his homeland in the fjord country, where the cattle were bony and lean, the crops thin and stunted. Twice in the last year he had tried to convince his father, the king, to mount an extensive campaign to win these lands. Arald would not be swayed. ‘Raids are good, and profitable,’ he said. ‘But I was part of the last invasion, which was led by your grandfather eighteen years ago. Not only did the Keltoi outnumber the Vars three to one, but they fought like lions. Three thousand of our men were slain that day, your grandfather among them. Few of us managed to fight our way back to the sea. There were not enough men to man all the ships and we burned twenty-seven. Burned them! Can you imagine how that felt, Shard? You have been dreaming of a second ship for three years now. And we burned twenty-seven.’
‘Times are different now, Father. If we landed with ten thousand men we could win and hold a large area of land. Then we could ship in more supplies and men, take over the Keltoi farms and buildings. We could make a strong settlement, and from there sweep out and gradually win the land – just like the Stone men are doing in the south.’
Arald smiled. ‘It is always good to have large dreams, my son.’ And he spoke of it no more.
It might have been different had his brother Jarik added his weight to the argument. Jarik was the favourite son, but he, like Father, was not interested in conquest. Only easy wealth.
Shard ran on. Despite his irritation at the death of Llysona the raid could still be considered a success. Not one of his men had died, though some had suffered cuts. The merchant had done his job well. The warrior Fiallach had not been present, nor his thirty men. They had been drawn away after Phaeton reported a huge lion in the mountains to the north-west. Fiallach loved to hunt, and the lure of such a beast proved impossible to resist.