The Serpent Sword (Bernicia Chronicles Book 1) by Matthew Harffy Page A

for all the gods to have their share.
    “I came here two years ago,” said Coenred. “Abbot Fearghas found us in Eoferwic.” In the shadows his face took on a strained look.
    “Found who?”
    “Me and my sister. We were all alone. He gave us a new life.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What about you? Do you have family?”
    “I did,” said Beobrand. “They are gone now. I’m all alone now too.” He bit his lip.
    “You’re not alone now,” said Coenred. His teeth flashed in the gloom.
    Beobrand forced a smile, but deep inside he felt empty and lost.
    Sometime towards midday they heard movement from the monastery. Laughter, talking and the sound of horses and waggons being readied for travel permeated the fog. When the Waelisc finally left, they moved up the hill in the direction of the hollow tree. Beobrand willed them not to detect their hiding place. Coenred closed his eyes and clasped his hands together. Beobrand was sure he was praying for his god to make them invisible to the heathens.
    The group of Waelisc walked within an arm’s length of the entrance to the tree trunk. They were so close that Beobrand and Coenred could smell their sweat, but none of them turned to look in their direction and after some time, the pair dared to breathe again.
    They waited a while longer before venturing out of the oak. They were hungry and stiff. Beobrand found it hard to stand and needed to hold onto the trunk of the tree for support. His breath was ragged as he concentrated on staying on his feet. The pain in his chest flared up acutely and his throbbing head made him dizzy.
    Once he felt more confident, Beobrand put his arm around Coenred’s shoulders and allowed the young monk to lead him back towards Engelmynster. The fog had cleared, but the day was still cold and damp. The sound of their feet in the thick carpet of wet leaves seemed unnaturally loud in the still forest.
    Coming to the edge of the trees, Beobrand got his first look at the monastery. It was made up of a hall, circled by several smaller dwellings. The group of buildings nestled in the bend of a small river. On both sides of the river, the forest sloped upwards. All the structures save for one were made of wood and had thatched roofs. The exception to this was the largest building, which had walls partly made of stone. The finely hewn rocks were mortared and went to about the height of a man’s waist. At that point they were topped by walls of the more common wattle and daub. All this was crowned by golden thatch, one corner of which was charred and blackened.
    They paused before continuing down to the monastery buildings. There was no movement down there. No sound or smoke from a fire. Neither Beobrand nor Coenred spoke. Both feared what they would find when they gathered enough courage to enter the compound. Coenred shuddered. Beobrand gripped his shoulders more tightly, both comforting and gaining comfort from his grasp.
    They went first to the largest building. Near the entrance, there was what at first glance appeared to be a fur cape, crumpled in a heap where it had been dropped. When they got closer, Beobrand saw it was a small dog. It had been hacked almost in two. Coenred mumbled something under his breath. Beobrand couldn’t make it out, but he thought it was the name of the animal. He cast a glimpse at Coenred. Tears had begun to roll down his smooth cheeks, leaving salty furrows in the grime. Beobrand looked away and back to the building they had now reached. The corner of the thatch had been set alight, and part of the lintel of the doorway was black and cracked. The damp weather had saved the structure, and the Waelisc had apparently lost interest when they had failed to get a blaze going easily.
    Hesitantly, Beobrand and Coenred entered the building. They strained to see in the gloom. The interior was as silent as a burial mound. As their eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, they made out a shape on the altar at the end of the