People of the Songtrail: A Novel of North America's Forgotten Past by Kathleen O'Neal Gear & W. Michael Gear

Author:Kathleen O'Neal Gear & W. Michael Gear
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781466832305
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2015-05-26T05:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Eight

As Alfdis made his way through the spruces and poplars toward the Lawspeaker’s booth on the crest of the hill he kept glancing over his shoulder. A flurry of activity encompassed the shore. People dashed about, some shouting Thyra’s name, others carrying goods to the water’s edge, where small rowboats ferried them to the three ships anchored in the inlet. As the tide came in, the water lifted the ships and set them to rocking like cradles beneath an attentive mother’s hand. Alfdis frowned. He’d sneaked away about two hours ago, and so did not know what had caused the flurry, but the master of the Logmadur, Olaf the Blue, was undoubtedly looking for him. He’d been assigned to help Olaf. While a free man, Alfdis had obligations, as any settler did. If they were loading something, he should be down there carrying boxes and chests.

Instead, Alfdis moved from tree trunk to tree trunk, hiding long enough to scan the forest and the area around the Lawspeaker’s booth. Sunlight gilded the pointed roof of Thorlak’s house. Unease stole through Alfdis. When Thorlak was away he always posted two guards. Where were Thorlak’s guards?

Alfdis’ gaze searched the hilltop, then lifted to the high branches where men might hide. When he glimpsed nothing, his gaze moved on, surveying boulders and any unusual shapes that clung to the shadows. He saw nothing. No one. Even the thrall cage behind the Lawspeaker’s booth stood empty. Where, Alfdis wondered, had they taken the boy? And where was Jofrid? As Thorlak’s personal maidservant, the Foal’s-brow was required to always be at hand.

Shouts went up from the shore.

Alfdis edged out of the trees thirty paces behind Thorlak’s booth to watch the rowboats being dragged ashore, whereupon bundles and boxes were loaded into two of the boats and settlers climbed into the remaining boats.

Alfdis looked around again, expecting to be discovered and attacked at any instant.

When no guards emerged from hiding he trotted for Thorlak’s booth.

Alfdis opened the door latch, and dodged inside into the darkness. The scents of old books and damp wool wrinkled his nose.

Alfdis slung his bow and shoved his arrow back in his quiver. He left the door ajar and hurried to the big chest in the rear, which sat near the table and two chairs. Before he knelt in front of the chest Alfdis cast a worried glance back at the door.

“Gunnar said the chest bore a lock. There’s no lock on this chest,” Alfdis whispered to himself. “Has someone been here before me?”

Alfdis lifted the lid, praying the brass hinges wouldn’t squeal. The chest was empty.

He moved to the wooden box sitting beside the chest, and opened it. Also empty.

Alfdis squinted at the dimly lit room. In the sliver of sunlight that penetrated around the ajar door, he saw that the Lawspeaker’s bed had no blankets and the man’s cloak did not hang upon the peg by the door. Fear shot through Alfdis’ veins.

As rapidly as he could, he searched the boxes beneath the bed, and also found them empty.

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