Loki's Wolves by K. L. Armstrong, M. A. Marr Read Free Book Online

sure he passed them all the time on the streets and never even recognized them without their Viking dresses.
    As the feasting went on, the Seer stood on her platform, throwing her runes and mumbling under her breath, making pronouncements that her assistant furiously jotted down. Matt noticed some of the younger members of the
Thing
had taken seats near her. They were hoping to hear something important. They weren’t allowed to talk to her. No one could. And they really, really weren’t allowed to ask her anything.
    Divining the future through runes was a very serious matter, not to be confused with fortune-telling, a lesson Matt had learned when he’d bought a set of fake ones and charged kids two bucks to get their futures told. That scheme got him hauled in front of the
Thing
, and he’d had to miss the next festival. He should have known better. Okay, he
did
know better. But it was like pulling pranks—he knew he should just behave and make his parents proud, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was hard, doing the rightthing all the time, trying to live up to his brothers when he knew he never could—not really—and sometimes, he just got tired of trying.
    As dinner wound down, more people moved to sit cross-legged around the Seer. Others shifted to the Tafl tables set up along the sides of the room. When Granddad asked Matt to play a match against him, it was no big deal—Matt played Tafl with his grandfather all the time. Maybe not at the festivals, but only because Granddad was usually too busy. As they walked to a table, though, Matt could hear a buzz snake around the room, people whispering and turning to look, some making their way over to watch.
    Tafl—also known as Hnefatafl, but no one could pronounce
that
—was a Norse game of strategy, even older than chess. It was called the Viking game because that’s where it came from, and it was based on the idea of a raid, with each player getting two sets of pieces as his “ship” and the king and his defenders in the middle.
    Matt wasn’t worried about people watching his match with Granddad. Tafl was like boxing: he knew he was good at it. Not good enough to win every time, but good enough that he wouldn’t embarrass his family.
    He didn’t win that match. Didn’t lose, either. The game had to be called on account of time—kids were itching to get out to the fair before dark, and it was Granddad’s job toofficially end the feast. As Granddad did that and the kids took off to the fair, Mom led Matt over to the chairs that had been set up as the tables were cleared.
    When Granddad stepped onto the stage, everyone went silent. Someone carried a podium up and set it in front of him. He nodded his thanks, cleared his throat, and looked out at the group.
    “As some of you know,” he began, “this will be very different from our usual assemblies. No new business will be brought forward tonight. Instead, we will be discussing a matter that is of unparalleled importance to all of us.”
    Some people shifted in their chairs. Were they worried about what Granddad was going to say? Or did they know something Matt didn’t, namely that
important
meant “you’re going to be stuck in those chairs for a very long time”?
    Granddad continued, “As you know, our world has been plagued by natural disasters for years now, but recently the rate of these disasters has increased to the point where we barely have time to deal with one before we are hit with another.”
    That was the truth. It seemed like every day there was a new school fund-raiser for a newly disaster-torn country. So far, Matt had helped out with two dances, a dunk tank, a bake sale, and now the charity boxing match… and it wasn’t even the end of September yet.
    Was that what this was about? Raising money for disasterrelief? Or maybe looking at the town’s emergency plan? His parents had totally redone theirs after all those tornadoes went through in the spring.
    Granddad was still