The Valhalla Saga 01 - Swords of Good Men by Snorri Kristjansson Read Free Book Online

pains to match. He had always been a scout – slim, light, quick and slightly below average height – not the best for a wild charge but just right for slipping in under cover of darkness and doing the dirty work. And it had been all right, too, in the old days. Back then you knew what it was about. It was different now. Had been ever since she came along. Suddenly everyone jumped to her tune, even his very own brother. He could understand that the men were frightened of her – he’d seen what she could do with her fire and her spells – but he’d never seen his older brother afraid of anything. She just seemed to … own him. And on top of that she’d saddled him with the puppy – Oraekja. The boy was obviously smitten with her, but Ragnar could not help but feel that the little runt was a bit … different. He didn’t look like much, but he moved and listened well. There was something about his eyes, though. They were always glancing, looking, scanning, moving. One of them would slide to the side from time to time. Ragnar hated to admit it, but the boy made him uneasy. He could just about sneak and fight, sure enough – but Oraekja had none of the sense . The kind of sense that got you out of trouble before you got yourself into it. The kind of sense that was telling Ragnar in no uncertain terms how this particular mission was going to go. ‘Fenrir take their bones. All of them,’he muttered to himself, spat on the ground and turned to the young man.
    ‘Right, puppy,’ he said in a voice laced with menace. ‘Ready?’
    The fervour in the boy’s eyes worried him.
    ‘Yes.’
    He motioned for quiet and pointed towards the treeline, towards the road he knew would be within walking distance from the beach. They set off, moving in tandem and looking exactly like two hunters heading to market.
    Underneath the bundle of skins strapped to his side, Ragnar could feel the cold, hard fire-steel against his hip.
    STENVIK
    The sounds of children running, shouting and playing outside in the crisp morning air were anything but joyous to Valgard, hunched over his workbench. In his head they still pursued him, after all this time. The memory of their faces, feral and twisted in cruel anticipation, exploded in his head, their cries cutting him to the bone even now.
    A tingling sensation spread from the back of his head. His heart started beating faster, harder. Tremors shook his shoulders and his breath caught in his throat. ‘No,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Not now. No. No. No.’ He could feel the muscles in his back locking. The cramps spread to his hips, down to his legs. His hands twisted and turned, resembling the claws of a tortured bird.
    Gritting his teeth through the spreading pain, he thought of the pond. A quiet pond surrounded by tall trees and steeped in dark, green shadows in the middle of a forest. He envisioned the surface of the pond swelling slowly, a horrific beast rising from the depths. Around it, birds took off from nearby trees and criedout in warning. He imagined himself, powerful and muscle-bound, vibrant and strong, stepping out of the forest, striding towards the water’s edge and spreading his hands. Breathing slowly, he halted the rising of the water with the power of his mind. The beast snarled and strained against him, scales and teeth and a baleful, malicious eye visible under the translucent sheen of the water.
    He regained control.
    Slowly, the beast retreated back down into the dark waters, and Valgard came back from the lake in his mind to the workbench in his hut. He had to use the left hand to pry the right away from the edge, where white knuckles had grabbed hold and would not let go on their own.
    ‘Not now,’ he mumbled as cold sweat broke out on his forehead. ‘Not now. Maybe later, but not now.’
    Shaking out the pain from his hands, he swallowed and composed himself, dried the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve and turned his attention to the workbench.
    An array of