A Burning Sea by Theodore Brun (snow like ashes series TXT) 📗

even though they could barely understand one word of his in ten. His thralls proved tough as mules, helping them drag their boat up the riverbank. Then negotiations began.

The twins’ estimate of a portage of four days would have been a blessing indeed. Instead, it took six days of butting and heaving and shoving the boat over its timber rollers, cajoling and coaxing the headman’s wretched oxen with whips and goads over the upland terrain till they were more sweat than muscle. And at long last they were sliding the hull down a silty bank into the mighty Dnipar.

In the six days past, Erlan had learned a few words of the headman’s language. When they were ready to push off, he thanked the old man and paid him his silver.

‘The big river,’ the headman intoned. ‘Runs east a while. Then south.’

‘And then the sea?’

The headman shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘It runs where it runs.’

With fair weather and the stream in their favour, the twins’ mood improved a great deal. They were good company, all things considered, and Erlan was satisfied he’d been right to let them come along. Truth was, there was no way he would have got even this far without them.

They talked about many things – family, women, wars, their father and his travels. Some days they talked without drawing breath. Others, when the rays of the early spring sun warmed their faces, they just lay back like a pair of wolves on a rock and listened to the rush of bubbles under the hull.

At night, around the fire, they badgered him for stories, about battles he’d fought, enemies he’d vanquished, kings he’d known, and offered up some of their own – mostly absurd escapades from their childhood which always ended with one or other of them getting a beating off their father.

He was happy. They all were. He found he felt a lightness in his soul he hadn’t in a long while, for as long as he could remember – until the thought crept out of the shadows of his mind: that their journey was carrying him further and further away from Lilla.

Maybe that was the best place for him. After all, why should she ever think of him? She was where she was meant to be, with the man whom fate had chosen for her. And he—

‘Hey, Erlan.’ Adalrik’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘Ever heard of a place called Miklagard?’

‘The name. Not much more.’ He remembered Sviggar mentioning it shortly before he was murdered. The Sveär king had been transported by grand visions of trade with this place called Miklagard. Alas, those plans had died with him.

‘Our father used to speak of it,’ said Leikr.

‘Has he been there?’

‘Not him. But he once met a merchant who had.’

‘Hasn’t everyone?’

Adalrik flicked a piece of snot into the water. ‘He says it’s the greatest stronghold in the whole world.’

‘Aye – with temples so big they shut in the sky!’ agreed his brother. ‘Every one made of silver and gold and precious stones.’

‘Sounds like quite a place.’ Erlan yawned. ‘Pass that skin.’

Adalrik tossed him the ale-skin and leaned forward. ‘I’ve been thinking about your king of kings.’

‘Oh, have you?’ Erlan took a swig, then wiped his lips dry. ‘And I suppose you’re reckoning this Miklagard is where we’ll find him. Only the king of kings could rule a place so wondrous? Huh?’

‘Exactly!’ Adalrik’s face was beaming.

‘Brilliant. So tell me, my friend – where is it?’

Adalrik’s smile fell. ‘Well. . . I don’t know. But someone must—’

‘It’s beyond the great rivers,’ said Leikr. ‘That’s what Father says.’

‘And that’s where the Dnipar will take us. So we’ll find out. One way or another.’

Erlan gazed out beyond the banks of the wide river. It had been nearly two weeks since the portage. The land it cut through was vast beyond imagining. He slouched against the tiller and tipped back his head, closing his eyes to the sun’s caress, letting his mind drift into dreams of golden halls and the king who ruled them. He inhaled the river air, its muddy scent mingling with the sweeter smell of pine sap drifting from the trees. It smelled like. . . freedom.

He noticed a change under the hull. The bubbles running faster. He opened his eyes. The river was narrowing some distance ahead. He got to his feet, trying to see further.

‘What’s up?’ asked Leikr, rolling his head over his shoulder towards the prow.

‘I don’t know. Maybe nothing.’ He climbed onto his sea chest to get a better look, steadying himself against the mast. Aska pricked his ears.

He could see the banks drawing closer, rocks breaking out along the shoreline. On the western bank, the tree line, normally a constant, came to an abrupt end. He swore, seeing why.

The land was dropping away.

‘What is it?’ Adalrik scrambled to his feet.

‘Secure the gear.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Just do it!’ Erlan turned back to the tiller. But everything was moving faster now. The twins scrabbled to do as he said while he levered his way over the thwarts to the stern.

‘Lash it all down, whatever you can. There’s faster water ahead.’

Leikr tossed his brother a coil of hemp rope and Adalrik squatted down to secure the sea chests and weapons. Before Erlan could reach the tiller, the boat slewed sideways. The force of the current against the strakes rolled it to larboard. Erlan lost his balance and stumbled, twisting his foot. Pain streaked up his leg from his crippled ankle like fire. Adalrik rolled, too, banging his head on a thwart and cursing.

Erlan snatched the tiller. The noise was growing, the water roiling like the sea. Aska was standing in the bows. He barked and a roar of water answered him.

‘Hel,’ Erlan muttered. ‘We need to get to shore. Now.’ But it was too late. The banks were closing in, encasing them in high walls of rock. There was a bang and an angry scraping noise. The boat listed violently to larboard again.

‘Rocks!’ yelled Leikr.

‘Go forward and steer me