God of Vengeance by Giles Kristian Read Free Book Online Page B

and strode towards the old man whose eyes bulged like boiled eggs. ‘I told you to hold your tongue,’ he growled, grabbing fistfuls of the man’s tunic and hauling him through the long grass to the edge of the bluff so that they could both see the white water churning against the rocks below.
    Then Sigurd saw the fishermen and their boat up on the shingle.
    ‘I meant no harm!’ the old man whined.
    ‘Sigurd! Let him go!’ Runa screamed. And the others watched, wide-eyed but closed-mouthed but for Svein who had seen his father killed already and so had no care for an old prattler who should have kept his lips together.
    Still gripping the man, Sigurd had already forgotten him. In the strait the battle raged, the ring of steel on steel, the thump of blades against shields, the shrieks of the wounded and the roars of warriors, but in his mind Sigurd heard the rising croak of the raven that had watched from the pine wood.
    He threw the old man to the ground. ‘What is the quickest way down from here?’ he asked him.
    ‘There’s a path beyond that rock,’ the old man said, pointing a trembling hand. ‘Leads right down to the water’s edge.’
    Sigurd nodded and turned to Svein and Aslak. ‘Are you coming?’ he asked. They looked at each other and nodded, and before the old man had even climbed back to his feet the three of them were tearing across the bluff, then scrambling down the worn narrow track towards the sea.
    When they reached the shore the four fishermen turned and stood, two of them pulling knives from their belts, their nerves honed to an edge by what they had seen in the strait.
    ‘Give me your boat,’ Sigurd said, striding up to them, Svein at his right shoulder, Aslak at his left.
    One of the men laughed though there was no mirth in it.
    ‘Fuck off, boy,’ another growled, waving his knife through the air.
    Sigurd spun the spear in his hands and thrust, striking the man square on his forehead with the butt end and dropping him. The other three stepped backwards leaving their senseless companion lying on the wet shingle.
    ‘That’s Jarl Harald’s son,’ a man said and brows arched above round eyes.
    ‘Take it,’ a leathery-skinned fisherman said, nodding towards their small boat.
    Sigurd nodded and turned his back on them, going over to the boat from which seagulls took off screeching, their feast of fish guts disturbed. They pulled it down into the still water of the sheltered cove and when the boat was in two feet of sea they climbed in, Aslak giving it a shove for good measure before he sprang aboard.
    ‘I’ll do it,’ Svein said, placing himself in the middle, taking up both oars and setting them in their locks, his back to the open fjord. Sigurd looked up at the bluff and saw Runa, her hair bright as gold in the afternoon sun, and he waved at her but she kept both fists and the silver Freyja pendant against her breast. Then Sigurd turned and knelt at the bow, watching the battle rage beyond the skerry-guarded cove as Svein hauled back on the oars, his great strength pulling the boat away from the shore.
    ‘What are you scheming, Sigurd?’ Aslak asked as Svein’s long strokes took them past the rocks out into the strait. ‘We cannot do much with one spear.’
    ‘Just be ready,’ Sigurd said, standing up on the step, using his spear to balance as the battle din grew louder. Somewhere amongst the chaos a man screamed. Yngvar was still blowing his horn now and then, when he wasn’t fighting for his life. Sigurd heard splashes as warriors fell into the sea, their ringed brynjas taking them down to the sea bed before they realized they were dead.
Sea-Eagle
was lost, its thwarts full of Jarl Randver’s men, some of whom Sigurd could see stooped, stripping Harald’s dead perhaps whilst others joined those who were now clearing
Reinen
’s deck. But even standing, Sigurd struggled to see over the ships’ sides and it was only when he caught sight of his father’s helmet, its panels