Black Monastery Read Online Free PDF Page A

that the inhabitants were waking. In the east, the sky was beginning to turn red, and far off, a rooster crowed. It was time.
    Bjorn reached over and squeezed Asgrim’s forearm. His brother watched him closely with an uncomfortable look on his face.
    “Brother,” Bjorn said. “I… know how you must feel, but the gods will forgive you. Men make mistakes. We do things we never meant to do. All of us . A madness took you that night, that’s all. You’re not a monster. The gods watch over you now: Odin and Thor. They approve of your courage. That matters, what we do now. All else will pass in time. You will pay the earl’s wergild, and if Freya’s brothers—”
    “Freya had no brothers, and her father is old,” said Asgrim. “But old man or not, if he comes to me with sword in hand, I will not… not…”
    “It won’t be like that, brother. I will talk to her father for you, explain things.”
    A rush of shame threatened to crush Asgrim, and he closed his eyes. Bjorn was wrong about the red dragon, and he was wrong about him. Asgrim was doomed. The crones spun their damned bloody thread from which dangled the lives of men, and some acts could never be smoothed out or explained away.
    Asgrim exhaled and nodded once, quickly, as he pulled free of his brother’s grip. “I know.” But he didn’t know at all, and a thickness clogged his throat. “Fight well. You have my back, as always.”
    Asgrim was surprised and pleased that his voice did not crack.
    Bjorn’s face betrayed his doubt, but he nodded and rose to pull together his men. In minutes, they were gone, moving off toward the fort. The soldiers there would not interfere this night, Asgrim knew. He trusted his brother completely. Bjorn was as clever as an otter. Many a fool had made the mistake of thinking him stupid because of his size. More than a few had died for that mistake.
    When he was certain he’d given his brother enough time to get in place, Asgrim stood and turned to his men, who also rose. The faces of the younger ones betrayed some trepidation, but he saw the mounting excitement in the eyes of others.
    He spoke loudly enough for all to hear him, putting steel into his voice. “Anyone who stands against us dies, but if they run, let them go, let them live to spread tales of us. It’s time for these Frankish holy men to know the wolves of the northern seas have descended upon them!”
    Harsh laughter and murmurs of agreement drifted from the men. Their heads bobbed, and their teeth flashed in unpleasant grins.
    He thrust his sword toward them. “But listen carefully! I’ll have no fires until I have their treasure. After, then we burn everything.”
    Asgrim’s gaze swept their faces, making sure they understood. When their blood was up, men acted like idiots. Such things were to be expected, but the last thing Asgrim wanted was his silver melted.
    Once satisfied they understood, Asgrim slapped his sword blade against his wooden round shield. The sharp crack rang out in the early morning air and the blade of Heart-Ripper vibrated. The time for silence was over.
    “Let’s go get our treasure.” Asgrim stood at the center of his men, who formed a long line facing the monastery. The red glow of the rising sun began to burn away the darkness in the east, creating just enough light to see. Again, Asgrim smashed the flat of his sword against the metal boss of his shield and stepped off. Hopp ran beside him, his tongue dangling, and the men followed. After several paces, they broke into a trot. Their hobnailed ankle boots crunched the salt beneath them as they quickly closed the distance to the monastery.
    Asgrim knew the men would be building up a murderous rage and getting ready to slaughter anyone they came across. He felt no pity for the Frankish holy men. All men died at their preordained time, but dying in battle, that was how real men died, not in some bed, fouling themselves while women cried. The priests should thank him.
    As the first