The Dark Horse by Marcus Sedgwick Page B

huddled outside around a fire. A hillside that overlooked the sea but that rolled away to high plains inland. Away in the woods of the valleys a wolf hunted. Around her feet a shrew scrabbled in the scrubby grass at the base of one of the stone fingers.
    Above her head an eagle owl whirled. From its position on high it saw the humans’ fire and came to have a closer look. With its powerful eyesight it saw the movement of the shrew and plummeted groundward. Only at the last second, though, did it see Mouse, hidden and still by the rock. The owl hesitated in its descent, and the shrew disappeared into its hole.
    The owl wheeled away and out to sea.
    Then there was the sea itself, and the wind, and the sound of horses stamping their feet, pulling at their tethers.
    They’re coming.
    They’re coming.
    Horses? Now Mouse knew she had been dreaming, and indeed as she opened her eyes daybreak had come.
    As she shook her head free of sleep the disturbing images from the night would not leave her entirely.
    “They’re coming,” she murmured.
    “Hmm?” said Sigurd, waking slowly beside her.
    But Mouse said nothing because she didn’t know what she meant.
    Other people woke now, and stood and stretched. The fire was smoldering gently, but it had done its job—there was no trace of the old Lawspeaker left. All was ashes, which were gradually being swept into the air by the stiffening breeze.
    Then Mouse saw the boat.
    She pointed down to the shore.
    “A merchant ship!” said Herda.
    Sigurd looked round. Merchants. He needed to be in the village. He believed Horn had traded poorly with these men. That had to change if they were to survive.
    “Quickly,” he said. Without any further ceremony they all left Bird Rock. All except Sif.

9

    By the time we made it down from the hill, much of the rest of the Storn had almost completely encircled the trading ship, which lay beached on the shore. The boat was a knorr—one of those small, open-decked seagoing boats favored by merchantmen, for it could hold a big cargo for its size.
    I could see its carved prow above the crowd. As I approached I began to realize that something was happening—there were many more people than usual gathered around the boat. And it was too quiet.
    I pushed my way through from the back of the circle of people. As I came into the middle I stopped dead.
    In front of me were two or three of the traders. I recognized their leader from a previous visit, though I couldn’t remember his name.
    “So this is the new Lawspeaker,” he said as I arrived. But I paid him no attention because I saw the body at his feet straightaway.
    “They found him,” said Thorbjorn. “They found him in the shallows farther down the coast.”
    “He’s come back!” someone else cried hysterically.
    “Who?” I asked. “Who is it?”
    “We thought he might be one of yours,” said the merchant, and rolled the body over with his foot.
    I should have recognized him sooner.
    Ragnald. Or what was left of him after two days of bobbing around in the sea. Even though his face was disfigured, his white hair and black palms were unmistakable.
    “He’s not yours?” asked the trader.
    “No,” I said quietly.
    I felt what we were all feeling. It was an omen.

10

    “You brought him here. You take him back!”
    Sigurd stared straight at the merchant.
    His name was Morten, and if he thought his job would be even easier now that the fool called Horn had been replaced by a boy, he was wrong. Sigurd sat opposite Morten, who was flanked by a pair of his men. Around the new Lawspeaker sat his chosen advisers, Thorbjorn, so large and strong, and Herda, so gentle and wise. Sigurd met Morten’s gaze and would not back down, though his heart beat hard in his chest.
    “You admit you put this man in the sea,” Morten stated. He was a short, stout man. He didn’t look like a sailor, but he was obviously a very successful trader.
    Sigurd nodded. “That much is true.”
    “And the sea has