Time of the Wolf by James Wilde Read Free Book Online Page A

God’s name?”
    Alric bowed his head.
    â€œWill your God forgive such a transgression? Will he wash away the stain of blood caused by such a crime? So many innocent deaths?” Redteeth stepped forward and kicked the monk hard in the stomach. “If you had not run like a coward, I would not have had to slaughter the people who sheltered you. Think on this in your final moments.”
    â€œLeave him,” Hereward croaked.
    â€œYou would prefer your own pain to his?” Redteeth said. “Why, you must be a Christian too.” The warriors all laughed loudly.
    At the Viking commander’s order, Ivar removed the poker from the fire and held it close to Hereward’s ribs. The Mercian gritted his teeth as his flesh bloomed under the searing heat. When Redteeth leaned in to whisper, Hereward could smell his enemy’s meaty breath and the vinegar reek of his sweat. “Why would you dare to risk offending me? What lies in your head?”
    Hereward looked Redteeth in the eye and grinned. “You will never know.”
    Responding to a nod from his leader, Ivar pressed the hot poker to Hereward’s side. Pain lanced through him, and the stink of his own sizzling flesh rose up to his nose. His roar tore his throat, but it was the sound of triumph, not defeat.
    â€œLook at his eyes!” Alric shouted. “You waste your time! I tell you, he is not a man—he is the Devil!”
    â€œHe is a man,” Redteeth replied with a shrug. “And we will find his humanity, given time. Perhaps when we cut his skin from him, as he did to my own man Askold.” He pointed to the blade in the embers.
    Wrapping his woolen cloak around his fingers, Ivar plucked the glowing knife from the fire, its heat so intense that the mercenary flinched even through the covering.
    â€œBegin with his right arm,” the Viking commander ordered. “Start with the skin. Then remove the flesh and muscle down to the bone.” He added to Hereward, “We will carve you like the wild boar at our Yule feast.”
    As the Northmen jeered and laughed, Hereward hid his thoughts behind a blank expression. He had noticed that Ivar had leaned in close when he brandished the poker, closer than he would ever have risked if the Mercian’s arms had not been pinned. As the second in command approached with the red-tipped knife, Hereward waited for the opening to materialize and then lunged forward. Clamping his teeth on Ivar’s cheek, the English warrior bit down to the bone and ripped away the chunk of flesh with a twist of his head.
    Howling, Ivar lurched back, dropping the knife onto the old woman’s bed. Amid the crackle of straw, gray smoke curled up. When the Mercian felt his two captors loosen their grip in the confusion, he wrenched his arms free, jabbing his right elbow into one throat and driving his forehead into the face of the second man.
    He felt the thing inside him rise up, the other Hereward, born of rage and bloodlust, unconstrained by human values, and he welcomed it. The pain of his wounds vanished. As strength flooded into his weary limbs, he reacted with a speed that made the mercenaries seem lead-footed in comparison. Snatching up the poker, he lashed it across Redteeth’s face. From the corner of his eye, he saw the monk wriggle out from among their captors and wrench open the door. Good, Hereward thought. He planted one leather sole in the Viking commander’s gut and propelled him out into the snowy morning.
    The mercenary band began to gather their wits, too late. As flames licked up from the hearthside bed, Hereward snatched up his sword, hacking one man in the face, then whirling to lop off the right hand of another. With a flick of his shoe, he kicked the burning straw across the room to the other straw at the back. The fire rushed up the timber frame to the thatched roof.
    As a sheet of flame spread over their heads, panic erupted in the dense smoke. Hereward