Time of the Wolf by James Wilde Read Free Book Online

mercenaries drove the old woman outside at spearpoint. Her shrieked protests and curses rang out until Redteeth snatched a spear from the nearest warrior and drove the blade through her stomach. Alric cried out in horror. It was clear to Hereward that the young monk blamed himself for this death, as he did for all the ones in Gedley.
    â€œKill us and be done with it,” he said, in a voice cracking with passion.
    Redteeth turned on him. “Your time will come, monk. I wish to savor your demise before we cut off your head and take it back to the man you have wronged.” To Hereward, he continued: “I would know your secrets, stranger. You are clearly a warrior of no little skill, yet you put your own life at risk for those you do not know. What gain is there for you in interfering in my business?”
    Held tight between the two mercenaries, Hereward showed a cold face. “Lean closer. I will whisper it to you.”
    Seeing the contempt in those eyes, Redteeth nodded to Ivar. Without warning, the second in command crashed a giant fist into Hereward’s face, splitting his lip. Once the ringing in his head had cleared, the Mercian tasted iron on his tongue, and spat a mouthful of blood into the embers.
    â€œLet us begin with questions you can answer easily. What is your name?” Redteeth asked.
    Hereward did not respond, and Redteeth nodded to Ivar once more. The second punch sent a jolt of pain through Hereward’s head and neck.
    â€œWhat is your name?” Redteeth repeated calmly.
    Hereward said nothing. Savage blows rained down on him, but he took it as he had taken every beating in his life, and there had been many. His left eye swelled shut, his lips turned to pulp, blood streamed from his nose, and his left ear throbbed so much that he could hear nothing on that side. Redteeth asked again.
    â€œWhy do you not tell him your name?” Alric cried incredulously. “You told it to me in an instant. It is not a secret! You are only buying yourself more pain!”
    â€œMy name …” Hereward mumbled through his torn lips. “My name … is mine. It is what I have.”
    Redteeth nodded to Ivar once more.
    â€œHis name is Hereward!” Alric shouted. “There! You do not need to hurt him more!”
    â€œHereward,” Redteeth repeated. “That means nothing to me. Now … where are you from?”
    Unable to watch the punishment inflicted upon his companion, the young monk turned his head away, but he flinched with the sound of every blow.
    After a while, Hereward floated free of the shackles of the world. The voices around him receded and he was in the fens, a boy, catching fish on a sun-drenched afternoon. He was stealing a gold cup from the abbot’s room to sell to buy mead with his friends. He was looking down on the torn body of Tidhild, her hand so pale against the blood.
    Icy water crashed against his face, shocking him alert.
    â€œLook at him,” Alric said. “He is not human to suffer in silence so.”
    â€œWe have only just begun,” Redteeth replied. The Viking paced the house, flashing glances into the corners as if things waited there that no one else could see.
    When two of the men had stoked the hot embers in the hearth, Ivar placed a pair of iron tongs, a poker, and his long knife in the flames. While they absorbed the heat, Redteeth addressed Alric, who was slumped in one corner, his head in his hands. “Christian man. You have converted many of my people to the Creed. They no longer talk of Odin hanging on Yggdrasil, but of Jesus on the Cross. You build churches in the old stone circles and in the sacred groves, and by the wells and the springs. That is how you lure them. I have heard your kind say that your God is better than mine. Is that so?”
    Alric nodded.
    â€œYour ways are better?”
    â€œYes.”
    Redteeth nodded slowly. “So a Christian man should not break a vow sworn in his