Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

where the Boat-Lord held sway, always looking enviously our way, though they never told us why. He was old, terrible, a relative, though I didn’t know how, and he was rumored fearful of Draupnir’s Spawn, as many Goth Thiuda would be. Friednot and Hughnot carried it away in their youth, and Friednot wore it, until Bero married. But the Boat-Lord had not given them his blessing to leave the land and he feared, despite his vast might. Should we so wish, we might call men of the old families to call us the lords and many would answer, having respect for the golden thing.
    And yet, I was unhappy.
    Bero held it, I cursed in my mind , because he married a day before Hulderic. It went to the boy who married first. And sometimes, often, I thought Father had wanted to dodge the great treasure Friednot had passed down to his first son. It would have fitted Father’s finger well, I thought. Very well. And ultimately , I thought, mine.
    Instead, it was held by an uncle, the strangely twisted, crooked-backed fool with jet-black hair and a scraggly beard. The champions, even Bero’s own champions Danr and the dog-master Gasto especially, secretly thought him incapable of leading. I looked that way and saw Gasto’s great blond halo of a hair in the fog, as the man was stroking one of his famed hounds, while one of his daughters tended another behind the line. They had told of their unhappiness to Aldbert once, drunk. I stood next to my father and could only frown at the thought. The ring, the fine, indeed hallowed thing was not ours, never would be, unless Bero died, but then the vermin son of Bero should die as well.
    And speaking of the vermin, it spoke.
    ‘Father says they slither like snakes and swim like damned seals,’ Maino, my cousin said as he jumped over a jagged rock not far. Maino was a restless soul and was stalking the mossy boulders between all our men, as if the man but a year older than I was in charge of the coming battle, checking that everything is just right. Hulderic grunted, not really fond of Maino, either. The fool was red-faced from too much ale and bloated from hot air and arrogance. We had received our shields the same time, in the Yule feast Thing the year past, but he had a reputation for going berserk in battle, and men respected him, like they would anyone so loved by Woden. I was still the least of Hulderic’s men, which was something I resented, but in my heart I knew I had not deserved a place like the others, or even Maino.
    I had never killed.
    I had never been in a true battle, ever. I had chased after cow thieves, rowed the boat when we went after men who burned a hall of Hulderic’s oaths man, and did well enough, but I had never been shuddering with fear, guarding a man’s side with my shield, pushing against a snarling visage of a killer who wanted to push his weapon inside my skull.
    Maino had. He had killed four Svearna on a terrible raid to their closest village, one we had previously traded fox furs with, but who had cheated our traders and killed two men. Maino had danced before the spear wall, laughed at the vitka of the Svearna, challenged the biggest bastard to come out and fight and he had killed him with a single spear strike. And that feat was a song now, the poets and bards reciting it to my discomfort even in our hall. To hear them admire the idiot and then see Father reward them for the song? It left me gagging with rage. Grandmother would come to me, whisper words of calm in my ear, but I had a hard time calming myself when the gods seemed determined to keep my face under a pond, and deep inside I feared I’d be a disappointment to Hulderic. Father’s fame was of his own making, a fierce fighter, a clever lord, a ring-giver and a gracious host, but what would our family be like, should he die?
    I eyed Dubbe, Sigmundr, and Harmod. They would give back the weapons Hulderic gave them, and they would find new lords. They would not bow to me. They liked me, but I was a …