Éire’s Captive Moon Read Online Free PDF

not allow.
    Agnarr already knew these plans the others discussed, so he scouted briefly ahead, his sword drawn and shield at the ready. It was foolhardy to be otherwise in unknown territory. The blade of his sword was as long as his arm, set into a rune-bedecked hilt. It was named Mjøllnir. The sword had been his father’s and Agnarr felt the spirit of Halvard Erikson in its runes and heft. The round shield was Agnarr’s own, as his father’s had been shattered in the last battle Halvard had seen. The shield was painted red for vengeance, and it boasted a pointed steel center boss that could be used as a weapon in and of itself.
    The Ostman cleared the slight rise that came up green from the rocky beach. Ahead and just off to the west was the stone of the monastery Tuirgeis wanted to raid. The land to reach it was flat, but a swell in ground began just beyond the low walls that surrounded the main building. Up the rise, Agnarr could hear a village. Shouts echoed from the top of the incline. Agnarr felt a pull in his gut toward the settlement. What did it mean? Had the Norns meant for him to go there, too? He eyed the road, but shook his head. No, he would stay with the plan. Time enough to think about raiding a village after the churchmen had been taken.
    He moved forward toward the monastery, his legs reveling in the incline of the land and the work of the walking, after days at sea. He breathed deep, smelling brine and earth. Yes, he wanted this place for his own. There was the monastery; he could see it more clearly here on the other side of the dirt path. It was more elaborate than he thought it might be, in spite of all Tuirgeis had told him on their voyage. Gray stone made the building material. Man-high walls gave way to windows. It was a place of study, he had been told. It was natural they would want so many windows for light. But they were not good for keeping their treasures secure.
    Before they would reach the building, they would have to get through a stone wall with a wagon-wide gate. As Agnarr watched, the gate swung open for two men to pass through. “Could it be any easier to breach?” he asked himself aloud. He had no need to hide himself, he felt. The village’s shouts of alarm would surely have alerted the men in the stone building if they had not already discovered that Tuirgeis’s men had arrived.
    “Agnarr!”
    He turned at the sound of his name, whispered loudly across the dirt path from the lip of the rise. It was Erik, the young man from the longship. Erik flushed at Agnarr’s raised brow, but he whispered—again, loudly—“Tuirgeis is ready. Have you seen anything?”
    Slipping back down the incline, Agnarr shook his head. “Only the monastery letting in two unarmed men.”
    Erik looked both apprehensive and eager to begin. “Well good! Tuirgeis is ready and I’m to be in your group on point.”
    Agnarr nodded. Training up the younger warriors was the duty of all noble Ostmen . He could remember his own first raid, though it had been many years ago. He’d been sporting his first mustache, his shoulders had been as narrow as Erik’s, and he had thought he would be ready for anything. Scars on his shoulders and back attested to his inexperience and overconfidence. And they had led him to seek the blessing on his helmet. He had learned.
    Erik would learn, too.
    “Let’s not keep Tuirgeis waiting,” Agnarr suggested, lightly shoving Erik between the shoulder blades to propel him back to the men. To his credit, the young man kept his balance, axe leveled in front of him, down the rise and took his place among Agnarr’s group of warriors.
    They nodded to him, some younger ones offering him the salute of an uplifted hand, in deference to Thor, Agnarr’s favored god.
    Agnarr jogged back to the longship for his spear, splashing water on the way. He would only carry the one spear. The shaft of it came to his shoulder, the leaf-shaped blade extended for a handspan above that. He’d named