Fenrir by MD. Lachlan Read Free Book Online Page A

trousers as soon as you took your eye off her, didn’t she?’
    ‘You can’t trust whores nowadays,’ said Ofaeti.
    Another voice spoke. ‘No wonder the Franks ran away with that dangling at them.’
    Laughter.
    ‘I can’t believe we let ourselves end up in this mess.’ The voice had something of a chuckle in it.
    ‘Following that shapeshifter was bad luck, for sure.’
    ‘He would have taken her if we hadn’t. And look on the bright side. We’re surrounded by so many that even you will be able to hit at least one of them, Holmgeirr.’
    ‘I blame you for this, Ofaeti, this is your god’s doing – Tyr’s blessing, many enemies.’
    The voices were light and the men laughed as they spoke. The confessor recognised it for what it was – warrior bravado, but if it was an act, he had to admit it was a convincing one.
    ‘Let’s face it,’ said the voice belonging to the one who had been called Holmgeirr. ‘The one to blame is that Odin-blind crow-man we followed in here. Where is he now?’
    ‘He followed the wolfman and the girl.’
    ‘Oh, terrific. Kiss goodbye to the reward then. Helgi’ll be as likely to nail us up by our nuts as give us anything now.’
    ‘We might still be in luck. Fastarr and the others went after him.’
    ‘Let’s hope they skin the bastard if they find him.’
    ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t skin them.’
    The confessor had not heard the next voice before. It was quieter and more serious.
    ‘It’s too late. The Raven will have her. He said he would.’
    ‘Don’t say that, Astarth. That girl’s worth seventy pounds of silver to us alive. What’s he want her for? Sacrifice?’
    ‘Nothing so fancy; he just wants her dead.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘What do you mean, why? When did the servants of Odin ever need a why to want someone dead? Perhaps he’s hungry.’
    ‘Oh, don’t. No, don’t.’
    ‘Fair point, though, isn’t it?’
    ‘I can’t give Sigfrid a pile of gnawed bones, can I?’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Well. It could be anyone, couldn’t it?’
    ‘Now there’s a plan,’ said Ofaeti.
    The men seemed to find this truly hilarious.
    Jehan heard the church door creak open, a shout and then the door was slammed again.
    ‘Try it, you Frankish bastard, just try it,’ shouted a Norse voice. ‘Come on, see what you get!’
    The voice he had heard called Holmgeirr said, ‘Look, it’s as black as Garm’s arse in here. Get a light, will you?’
    The confessor continued to pray for the life of the Norsemen’s souls and the death of their bodies.
    ‘Never mind that. What are we going to do about this lot outside? I tell you, they’ll burn us out. We’ll have light enough then.’
    ‘They’ll never burn their own holy place, that’s our job. Relax. It’s built like a mountain anyway, I doubt you could burn it. The worst that can happen is that you’ll die by the sword.’
    ‘Looked on like that, what am I worried about?’
    ‘Actually, the worst that can happen is we get caught.’
    ‘I ain’t getting caught.’ It was a fourth voice, low and rough.
    He heard the sound of a flint being struck, some blowing and puffing and then: ‘Hang on a minute, who’s this?’
    A sword was drawn.
    ‘A beggar.’
    ‘No, look at his hair – he’s a monk. I’ll tell you who this is, boys: it’s our passage out of here. It’s their crippled god. It’s the god Jehan they’re always on about.’
    ‘Not God,’ said Jehan in deliberately bad Norse. He decided that the less the Norsemen thought he understood of their tongue, the better for him. However, the suggestion that he was a god had forced him to deny it.
    ‘He’s a healer, they reckon.’
    ‘Doesn’t seem to have done a very good job on himself, does he?’
    ‘Here, god, do my arm. Your boys gave it one hell of a whack.’ The confessor guessed the arm must be broken. The Norsemen liked to make light of their wounds whenever possible. The man wouldn’t have asked unless he was in dire pain.
    ‘Need to set it,’