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

jars, bowls and bags were arranged in a seemingly haphazard fashion about the surface, but there was a very particular system to it. His system. There had to be. You had to have access to the right things and in the right amounts, or the results would be … unfortunate. Spectacularly so in some cases, he mused. A healer that didn’t know his plants was no healer at all. At the time he had seized the idea of plant study just to get away from the other children and their relentless attacks, but he had to admit the old man had taught him well. He’d taught him all he knew about plants, in fact. This was why some of the plants on the table would have to be stored elsewhere, because if his mentor saw them there would be questions. Questions that Valgard had no interest in answering.
    He clambered down from his stool and shuffled over to the doorway, stinging pains in his back reminding him of how close that had been. Wincing, he peered outside. A quick look satisfied him that he would have his privacy for a little while longer. Moving back over to the workbench, he quickly collected the bowls and bags that he needed. The wooden figurine stared at him impassively. ‘Shut up,’ he snapped, and turned the figure so that it faced away from the workbench.
    He crawled under the bench, reached behind a bundle of wood and pulled out a small, intricately carved box. He made sure everything was in its place, felt for the plants, felt for the cool touch of metal, deposited the ingredients and returned the box to its hiding place. ‘Just in case,’ he muttered. ‘Just in case.’
    Straightening up again, he sat down at the workbench. His hands started working seemingly of their own accord, tidying and ordering as he had been taught to do.
    His brow furrowed in concentration as he gauged the situation. He knew full well what he wanted and how he was going to make it happen. He was going to make Harald the chieftain of Stenvik, whether the stinking brute liked it or not. Then he’d be Harald’s councillor and no one would ignore him. The foreigners were an interesting twist, though. Surely there must be some way of making that work in his favour. Speed things up a little.
    He frowned and wondered if he’d made the right move.
    There were many pieces on the board.
    *
    As his heart threatened to burst out of his chest, Ulfar’s brain scrambled to catch up.
    ‘Erm … thank you for the directions yesterday,’ he mumbled. Houses. He was in town somewhere, but he was not quite sure where. They were standing on a walkway between some sturdywooden houses. Better than the ones outside the walls, anyway. He’d been staring at the ground, had rounded a corner and almost walked into her. Her curves led his eyes up a simple, light blue apron dress fastened with an elegant silver and black brooch, but now he could see nothing but eyes. Eyes that flickered between grey and blue, scrutinizing him, reading information out of every detail of his face.
    He felt the heat spreading on his cheeks and realized to his horror that he was blushing. Embarrassment and fury sent his insides churning and he felt a little weak in the knees. He looked back at her.
    She wore a crown of thick red hair, flowing in wild and unruly curls that seemed to leap and dance and have a life of their own, in stark contrast to her smooth and unblemished skin, the line of her jaw, her lips. Only her eyes seemed alive and seeking, the rest of her face could have been carved in marble. But the eyes looked at him and through him and he felt stripped of everything but the one thing he had to know.
    ‘What is your name?’ He blurted it out and wanted to kick himself. What is your name? What was he, twelve? What next? Run away and giggle? He was getting worse than Geiri, and he cursed himself inwardly for his own stupidity. Around them, Stenvik life eddied and swirled, taking little note of two young people talking.
    Ulfar saw nothing but her.
    He felt the ground slip away from