Free Shadow of the Raven: Sons of Kings: Book One by Millie Thom

expanses of water meadows and marshland flanked innumerable streams. Sigehelm shuddered. This was, indeed, a God-forsaken land, one in which the pagan gods played with the souls of the misguided.
    They stopped each night at small homesteads where they were shunted into some kind of barn and fed a meagre meal before being locked in for the night. Then, as daylight faded on the sixth day, they approached a settlement that Sigehelm instinctively knew was their destination. It was larger than the homesteads of previous nights and near to the sea. The odour of salty air filled his nostrils and the harsh keening of seabirds added to the steady rumble of the carts’ wooden wheels.
    Daylight had almost faded as they trundled through the town’s narrow streets toward the waterfront, the buzz of voices and clamour of activity bearing evidence of a thriving community. Lamplight flooded through open shutters, glinting on the dark water as it lapped the wharves. In happier circumstances the melodic murmurings would have created a lulling sense of peace. But fear seized Sigehelm’s chest so tightly he could scarcely breathe.
    Rough hands grabbed his tunic and dragged him from the cart, hustling him inside one of the large warehouses that lined the quay. The low-roofed building was similar in design to that at Ribe – a wood-planked, thatched structure with a straw-strewn floor, empty but for the pitiful souls thrust inside. The raucous laughter and inebriated singing of night-time revellers carried through the walls long after they’d been fed the usual quota of dried rye bread and water; the racket gradually evolving into vicious arguments and brawls, and the screams and sobs of women.
    Sigehelm knuckled his stinging eyes and massaged his throbbing head; he was so exhausted that merely standing was further punishment. He longed for respite from the reality of past weeks but, as dawn approached, he’d spent yet another night almost devoid of sleep. The other poor wretches had eventually succumbed to restless slumbers, some sobbing themselves into a state of total exhaustion. In the pre-dawn light he could just make out Eadwulf and Aethelnoth, curled side by side, their young bodies, for the moment, blessedly unaware.
    What would the new day bring? Sigehelm prayed that he wouldn’t be separated from Eadwulf, whose grief had remained buried throughout the tortuous journey. But once the harrowing memories eventually surfaced, the boy would have great need of guidance and comfort.
    * * *
    As the first glimmers of light squeezed through gaps in the wood-planked walls, Eadwulf roused from his sleep and rolled stiffly over. He blinked several times and glanced around before pulling himself up and tweaking stalks of straw from his salt-stiffened hair.
    ‘Take heart, child; I am here,’ Sigehelm said gently. ‘You’ve been far away these past days, unaware of our sea crossing or our journey here.’
    ‘I did see those things, Sigehelm, but somehow they just seemed like dreams.’ Eadwulf’s face contorted as cruel reality returned and his agonised groan tore at Sigehelm’s heart. ‘Sigehelm, my father and mother! The Dane who captured me said my father’s dead, that he died like a true warrior. But I can’t bear to think about it!’
    ‘Months, perhaps years, will offer consolation and acceptance of your loss, Eadwulf. But for now you must focus on your survival. Conduct yourself with dignity and never give up hope of returning home one day. Such hope may keep you alive.’
    ‘But I must know what the Danes have done to Mother! She isn’t dead – I know she isn’t. I saw her! I know it was her – I recognised her hair, and the green gown she wore so often. That ugly Dane was pushing her into a wagon just as we were leaving.’
    Sigehelm’s mind reeled. Pray God that Eadwulf was right, though even if he were, finding Morwenna would surely be impossible.
    ‘What will they do with us, Sigehelm?’
    ‘If I’m correct,’ he