Read The Valhalla Saga 01 - Swords of Good Men for Free Online Page B

‘You heard the man.’ He walked off the dais and sat down by the long table that stretched almost all the way from the dais to the door.
    ‘I heard a lot of moaning, some nonsense about burning stone, and I saw a fat friar about to piss himself like a child. What do you mean, Sven?’ Sigurd snapped.
    Sven’s voice was measured.
    ‘Scars of the evil one. On their necks.’
    A grim silence descended.
    Then Thorvald spoke.
    ‘He really did say that, didn’t he?’
    ‘Could be anyone or anything. It makes no sense,’ Harald interjected. ‘And why would he raid to the south? They’ll get nothing here. Much better to carve the belly of the pig and go west. Better loot, more women, less trouble.’
    The old, bearded man shot the big sea captain a cold look. ‘And have you ever known him to be averse to a spot of trouble, Harald? We all knew that church would not sit well with the northerners.’
    Sigurd sighed. ‘But why now?’
    ‘I don’t know, but I doubt he would move without reason,’ Sven replied.
    Thorvald frowned. ‘I have heard and seen nothing of this, Sigurd. Nor has Sigmar or any of our men. You would think that word would have reached us if he was on the move, especially during market.’
    Sigurd ignored the captain and the scout, looking directly at the old man. ‘What would you have done, Sven? It’s plain to see that King Olav can’t march in winter. If he waits until next summer the chieftains up north will be able to band together and give him a proper fight. He needs us as a wintering base. Would you have signed the treaty or would you have had the homestead of our fathers and our fathers’ fathers razed for being a centre for heathen worship in the west? Those were my choices.’
    ‘I know,’ Sven replied. ‘You did the only thing you could do. But think on this. We have already heard talk of the King sweeping across the south and east, much faster than we thought he would last year, and he is a good eight days away. We all know by now how he rules and what he does to those who go by the old ways. Who else would stand against him?’
    ‘Hm.’ Sigurd’s eye was drawn to a hunting dog lying under the table, gnawing on a large bone. A half-grown bitch approached, sniffing for the meat. The big dog growled, a low, steady sound. The smaller dog slunk away with its tail between its legs.
    ‘Thorvald, send out three of your men. Tell them to watch, listen and stay out of sight at all costs.’ Sigurd turned to Sven. ‘Your counsel is wise as always, but I feel I have to know for myself. Even though I think anyone – even him – raiding in my back yard would be unlikely.’
    ‘Very unlikely,’ Harald chimed in and spat on the floor.
    NORTH OF STENVIK
    The two men leapt over the side of the boat. The younger one waded onto the beach carrying small packs, while the older pushed the boat off. The oarsmen deftly reversed and disappeared out of sight almost without missing a beat.
    Wading to shore, Ragnar looked to the skies as he’d done every single time at the start of a mission since Saxony, many years ago. He’d learned then that a man who looks for rain going in doesn’t get stuck in mud coming out. Clouds were gathering in the north, much as he had expected. They were still white, but given time they’d grow thick and grey. He shivered. In front of him Oraekja was already opening packs, taking out dry boots, trousers and animal skins.
    ‘The moon will be full soon,’ he muttered to himself.
    ‘She said—’ Oraekja piped up.
    ‘I know full well what she said,’ Ragnar snapped, cutting him off and turning away. He started his preparations in silence and allowed his mind to roam, ignoring the youngster. He had led advance parties for raids more times than he wanted to remember and sometimes he felt he should count each of his forty-two years twice. He felt old, and he certainly had the scars and the bald spots to prove it. He hadn’t told anyone, but recently he had aches and