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

him, so much so that he had to look down to make sure it was still there. Where were his words? Even her shoes were pretty, Bragi be damned. Her foot was pretty. The hem of her skirt was pretty. He felt as big as a field mouse, and made to turn away when a quiet voice broke the awkward silence.
    ‘Lilia.’
    His heart stopped for a beat, then restarted with a flush of blood to his whole body. Stars burst inside him, and her name rang out in his head. Lilia. He turned and looked up at her.
    An eternity passed.
    ‘Ulfar.’
    He dared not blink, and noticed that she didn’t either. But neither of them looked away.
    ‘I …’ he started. Completely unbidden, the words marched to his mouth. ‘I did not know they had such precious gems in Stenvik.’
    It happened in the blink of an eye. The first tear, the first tremble of the lip. Then she turned and ran.
    He wanted to give chase but his legs wouldn’t obey. He noted through the haze that she rubbed her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt as she ran away.
    He stood rooted to the spot for a long time afterwards, wondering what had just happened.
    RAUKVIN, EAST NORWAY
    Finn tasted blood as his head was knocked back. Two soldiers rushed to his aid and grabbed the arms of the farmer who had landed the lucky swing. Recovering, Finn threw a series of savage punches to the man’s face until he stopped struggling.
    The soldiers dropped him to the ground.
    Angered, Finn spat a glob of reddish spittle at the feet of the man and aimed a vicious kick at his ribs for good measure.
    King Olav’s soldiers were fighting all over Raukvin. ‘Bloody pig-headed farmers and valley clods,’ he thought. ‘I hope the nextbatch does as they’re told.’ They were overwhelming the small village easily enough, just like they’d ploughed through the rest of the east, but Finn found himself wishing they could have bypassed it. There was nothing here. Woven huts, mangy cows, stinking mud-rollers. There was nothing to be had, and they’d picked up too many recruits from various places as it was. He’d heard rumours of dissension already. The young King would have his work cut out controlling the army if he continued like this.
    A cheer went up to Finn’s left. In the middle of a dirt road four soldiers circled around a frightened girl. They shoved her back and forth between them, grabbing and tearing at her clothes. One of them had managed to get hold of her neckline and rip, exposing a breast. She tried to cover herself up but strong hands tore and pushed at her, grabbing and squeezing. Snarling, the soldiers circled. She looked about desperately for help, and her eyes met Finn’s.
    She pleaded wordlessly with him to make them stop.
    The tears made her eyes sparkle and shine like stars.
    Her mouth started moving, but no sound escaped her lips.
    Her full, young, beautiful lips.
    He wanted to move. He wanted to help her. He wanted her.
    But he couldn’t.
    He was stuck to the spot. His legs wouldn’t move.
    The hope in her eyes turned to despair, then resignation.
    And just as quickly as it had been cast, the spell was broken. One of the soldiers, a big, burly man with a crooked nose and a split lip, decided that he would no longer be denied his spoils of war and yanked her to him by the hair. A coarse hand squeezed her breast roughly, then pushed up under her skirt.
    She screamed then.
    Screamed and squirmed and kicked out at her attackers, trying to dislodge their clawing hands.
    Energized by her sudden reaction, the soldiers grinned at one another. One of them, a fat man with wobbling jowls, squeaked: ‘Hold her still, Birkir!’ He brushed a strand of greasy hair from his face and fumbled excitedly with his trousers, pushing at his belly to get to his belt, eyes alight with anticipation.
    ‘Stop.’
    Suddenly King Olav was there, next to Finn.
    The two men that saw him ceased immediately. The fat man and the brute kept pawing at the girl, who struggled with renewed vigour. The large man