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

anguished sob; for him, nothing would ever be normal again.
    In the heaving market place the aromas of cooked food failed to mask the gut-churning reek of raw fish and Eadwulf’s stomach heaved anew. They were steered between merchants’ tents and stalls surrounded by eager customers vying for a vast selection of wares – from exotic trinkets, fine silver, jewellery, glass, spices, amber, silks and furs – to more mundane household goods like soapstone bowls, beeswax candles, tools, knives, handsomely carved wooden chests, and leather shoes and belts. Eadwulf registered them all in trembling dread. His own ragged little group would soon be on display, like cattle, or fattened geese.
    They were dragged to a vacant space and strung out like beads on a string. The guards called out, gesturing to their offerings, but for some time they were hardly given a second glance. Animated bargaining competed with the bleating of sheep and goats, the honking of geese and the shrill calls of traders enticing folk to buy. Loose dogs yapped and squealing children chased between the stalls, whilst overhead, the dirges of seabirds reflected Eadwulf’s feelings of utter despair.
    Gradually, customers began to wander over. A ragged boy watched glumly as the churlish man he followed prodded Eadwulf in the ribs. An ugly purple bruise stained the boy’s left cheek and Eadwulf knew there would be no kindness in his future life should this brute become his master. But the man turned away, the boy trailing miserably after. A ginger-haired young man wandered past, his fine blue tunic and darker blue cloak indicative of some high ranking family. He was so engrossed in eating a steaming delicacy he almost tripped over a yapping mongrel hurtling past. Yelling curses after the dog he sauntered off.
    By mid-afternoon all the young women had been taken, so had Alric and Aethelnoth. His friend’s new master seemed to be a wealthy lord, accompanied by the young man dressed in blue that Eadwulf had spotted earlier. Whether that meant that Aethelnoth’s life would be any easier, Eadwulf couldn’t begin to guess. Besides himself and Sigehelm only two of the little group remained: a matronly woman who barely raised her eyes to anyone, and a dark-headed man who scowled at any who neared, for which he’d been repeatedly lashed.
    The crowds had now thinned and traders were packing away unsold goods. Eadwulf ached with exhaustion and his bound hands had long since gone numb. His legs suddenly buckled and he collapsed in a heap. One of the guards yanked him roughly to his feet – just as a fierce-looking man in a cloak of thick, dark fur appeared before them. His long, flaxen hair and plaited beard resembled those of many of the Danes that Eadwulf had seen during the day, but he emanated an air of power, like a chieftain. He spoke briefly to two armed men on his flanks, gesturing angrily to the stall.
    Behind this trio, accompanied by four more armed men, were two boys, one of them astride a sturdy pony. Eadwulf guessed that both were a little older than him. Both were finely attired, but physically they were very different. The dark-haired youth slouched in his saddle, his misshapen back hunched, his feet in stirrups adjusted to suit his short legs. The other boy had a robust, muscular build, and was as fair as his companion was dark. Both stared at Eadwulf with arrogant disdain.
    The scowling chieftain snapped at the two boys, then moved to tower over Eadwulf, his meaty knuckles pressed to his hips. Few men could compete with him in girth, though his height was not as impressive as Thrydwulf’s – or even Beorhtwulf’s. Eadwulf reeled as thick fingers yanked up his chin and piercingly blue eyes bored into his. Then the man stepped back, examining every inch of him, before subjecting Sigehelm and the two others to the same grousing scrutiny, continuously muttering and snapping at the two boys.
    Attentions suddenly focused on Sigehelm, who had boldly