Read Online Raven: Sons of Thunder by Giles Kristian - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Giles Kristian
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English were not used to moving around Fjord-Elk and they tripped and fell as we hacked them to pieces, their torn flesh steaming in the morning air so that a dragon’s breath fog hung over the deck.
‘Ealdred! Ealdred! Where are you, worm?’ Sigurd was yelling through the din. Men were begging for mercy, but when they saw they would find none some jumped over Fjord-Elk ’s side and Norsemen ran across the deck to spear them like fish. A man dropped to his knees before Penda, wringing his hands and babbling as Penda swung his sword to send the man’s head thumping across the oak deck, spraying blood as it bounced. Seeing this, another man who had thrown down his sword bent and clasped the leather grip again. If he knew Penda he must have known that begging would help about as much as fouling his breeks, so he chose a good death instead.
‘Tell Satan that your bastard lord will suck his prick soon!’ Penda snarled, knocking the man’s sword aside. But the man was quick enough to parry Penda’s next attack, which made Penda half smile and step back, holding his sword wide and inviting the man to try to kill him. The man suddenly screamed and swung his sword furiously and Penda leapt back and spun full circle on his heel, scything his blade into the Wessexman’s neck, carving a splinter from his collarbone on the way, and that terrible white sliver pointed skyward as the man dropped to his knees. Bright blood spurted and stuttered from the wound and his jaw hung slack, a black hole in his black beard.
‘Hungry?’ Penda gnarled. ‘Eat this.’ He rammed his sword into the man’s mouth and the blade burst out the back of his skull and still the Wessexman stared.
The bloodlust had barely taken a grip on me when I realized it was all but over. We had ploughed through the Wessexmen with sickening ease and now we stood amongst torn bodiesand stinking open bowels and dead white faces that were twisted and frozen in shock and pain. Instinctively, we made a shieldwall, four lines deep across Fjord-Elk ’s deck before the mast step. I looked back to Serpent and saw that Asgot and seven or eight Norsemen were still aboard her, as there had not been room for everyone to join the fight for risk of us getting in each other’s way. These men stood ready with spears or bows, watching the English survivors who stood in a last desperate knot before their lord at the bow. They were big, grim-faced men, Ealdred’s household warriors. Mauger, his bodyguard, was there and he must have known what lay in store for him, that the worms would soon be sucking his flesh. Though if he was afraid he showed no signs of it. There were five of them. All must have been putting on their mail whilst we were killing their countrymen and that had taken some nerve, meaning we would be fools to take such men lightly. They stood in a pitifully small but perfectly tight shieldwall before the dark wooden cross they had mounted in place of Sigurd’s proud dragon’s head. Ealdred’s long moustaches were shiny with grease. His dark eyes stared out balefully.
Sigurd stepped from our shieldwall, his sword slick with dark gore. I could imagine all too well what he thought of the cross at Fjord-Elk ’s bow.
‘You are a man of no worth, Ealdred,’ he said in English, ‘and your word means less than the shit from a cow. You betrayed me. You even killed your own son.’ Sigurd spat because this last was so disgusting to him. ‘I have only steel for you, Ealdred. I have only the raven to peck the flesh from your bones, the wolf to chew the marrow and the worms to feed on the filth that remains until you are nothing but a stain in the mud.’
The Wessexmen held their shields firm, waiting for us to attack. They stood proudly even as they stared at their own deaths and I admit I did not want to kill them. They were fathers and husbands, but mostly they were warriors and theyshowed no fear, nor did they beg for their lives. It was their ill-wyrd that
‘Ealdred! Ealdred! Where are you, worm?’ Sigurd was yelling through the din. Men were begging for mercy, but when they saw they would find none some jumped over Fjord-Elk ’s side and Norsemen ran across the deck to spear them like fish. A man dropped to his knees before Penda, wringing his hands and babbling as Penda swung his sword to send the man’s head thumping across the oak deck, spraying blood as it bounced. Seeing this, another man who had thrown down his sword bent and clasped the leather grip again. If he knew Penda he must have known that begging would help about as much as fouling his breeks, so he chose a good death instead.
‘Tell Satan that your bastard lord will suck his prick soon!’ Penda snarled, knocking the man’s sword aside. But the man was quick enough to parry Penda’s next attack, which made Penda half smile and step back, holding his sword wide and inviting the man to try to kill him. The man suddenly screamed and swung his sword furiously and Penda leapt back and spun full circle on his heel, scything his blade into the Wessexman’s neck, carving a splinter from his collarbone on the way, and that terrible white sliver pointed skyward as the man dropped to his knees. Bright blood spurted and stuttered from the wound and his jaw hung slack, a black hole in his black beard.
‘Hungry?’ Penda gnarled. ‘Eat this.’ He rammed his sword into the man’s mouth and the blade burst out the back of his skull and still the Wessexman stared.
The bloodlust had barely taken a grip on me when I realized it was all but over. We had ploughed through the Wessexmen with sickening ease and now we stood amongst torn bodiesand stinking open bowels and dead white faces that were twisted and frozen in shock and pain. Instinctively, we made a shieldwall, four lines deep across Fjord-Elk ’s deck before the mast step. I looked back to Serpent and saw that Asgot and seven or eight Norsemen were still aboard her, as there had not been room for everyone to join the fight for risk of us getting in each other’s way. These men stood ready with spears or bows, watching the English survivors who stood in a last desperate knot before their lord at the bow. They were big, grim-faced men, Ealdred’s household warriors. Mauger, his bodyguard, was there and he must have known what lay in store for him, that the worms would soon be sucking his flesh. Though if he was afraid he showed no signs of it. There were five of them. All must have been putting on their mail whilst we were killing their countrymen and that had taken some nerve, meaning we would be fools to take such men lightly. They stood in a pitifully small but perfectly tight shieldwall before the dark wooden cross they had mounted in place of Sigurd’s proud dragon’s head. Ealdred’s long moustaches were shiny with grease. His dark eyes stared out balefully.
Sigurd stepped from our shieldwall, his sword slick with dark gore. I could imagine all too well what he thought of the cross at Fjord-Elk ’s bow.
‘You are a man of no worth, Ealdred,’ he said in English, ‘and your word means less than the shit from a cow. You betrayed me. You even killed your own son.’ Sigurd spat because this last was so disgusting to him. ‘I have only steel for you, Ealdred. I have only the raven to peck the flesh from your bones, the wolf to chew the marrow and the worms to feed on the filth that remains until you are nothing but a stain in the mud.’
The Wessexmen held their shields firm, waiting for us to attack. They stood proudly even as they stared at their own deaths and I admit I did not want to kill them. They were fathers and husbands, but mostly they were warriors and theyshowed no fear, nor did they beg for their lives. It was their ill-wyrd that
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