Raven Read Online Free PDF Page B

carver had given the appearance of being made of fur.
    ‘Throwing our hoard over the side one day and robbing us the next, hey,’ Osten growled, one eye gleaming from a swath of shadow between Serpent ’s ribs.
    ‘Go back to your dreams of wanton sheep, Osten,’ I said, to which he grinned, and clutching the carving I made my waycautiously between snoring men to the foreship, then over the sheer strake and down the gangplank on to the wind-whipped sand. An arrow-shot downwind, just beyond the reach of the white-flecked waves, a flame quivered violently against the night. I headed towards it, feeling my own bones tremble with a sense of some dark seidr, and though I did not know why those men had left warm skins to gather on that wild shore, I was not surprised to see old Asgot there. I had not thought to see Cynethryth though, and for some reason the sight of her froze my guts.
    They turned at my approach, some nodding at my joining that strange party, and Halldor watched me from the corner of his left eye which was just visible behind the grotesque, oozing swelling. You could not see his right eye at all. He looked like some troll horror from a child’s nightmare and yet he half grinned at me before turning back to Asgot, who was talking to him in a low voice. Halldor was dressed for battle, his brynja polished to a gleam and his blades sheathed and belted. He wore no helmet and I suspected that was because it would no longer fit on his misshapen head, but other than that he looked ready to take on the Midgard-Serpent. Then I noticed Black Floki cloaked in Halldor’s shadow, his sword drawn and his face clenched in a grim frown, and I suddenly understood what Sigurd had meant when he said it was time.
    ‘Raven, here, lad,’ Sigurd said, and so I stepped up, the wind whistling across the dark beach, lashing sand against my cheeks. I turned to spit out a wad of salty grit, then held out the bone Týr carving to my jarl. Sigurd took it and turned it over in his hand, ‘hooming’ in the back of his throat. ‘I have seen shinier turds, Raven,’ he said disapprovingly.
    ‘That the best you could find?’ Olaf gnarred behind his hand. I shrugged, suddenly wishing I had brought a torc or a silver arm ring or at the least some hack-silver.
    ‘It will have to do,’ Sigurd said, creasing his brow. Then he nodded to Floki, who took a step forward, his sword raisedslightly as though that honed, hungry blade could scent blood.
    ‘No straw death for us, cousin,’ Halldor said, a nervous edge to his voice. His face twisted with a sour smile. Svein and Bram shared a bleak look, their loose, wild hair and beards tousling against the gusts, and Asgot stepped back from Halldor, nodding solemnly at Sigurd. It will happen now, I thought, glancing at Cynethryth. But she was staring at Halldor as though the man was already a haugbui buried in his death mound, and she was mumbling words which I could not hear.
    ‘Wait for me in Valhöll, cousin,’ Black Floki said, his eyes stony and his jaw clenched tight. ‘I will come soon enough.’ A blast of cold breath whined up the beach from the foam-flecked sea. I resisted the urge to pull my cloak tight at my throat.
    ‘You had better not drink all the good mead before I get there, you greedy whoreson,’ Bram warned, pointing a finger at Halldor. ‘And I’ll want a swan-breasted wench or two to warm my bed, too,’ he added, ‘so you make sure old Bram is not left wanting when he crosses Bifröst and comes knocking.’
    Halldor nodded in Bram’s direction but his eyes were on Black Floki, who gestured at him to draw his own sword, which he did, the blade rasping up the scabbard’s throat.
    ‘I have something for you, Halldor son of Oleg, something to take on your journey,’ Sigurd said, stepping forward with the Týr carving. ‘It is not silver,’ he added almost apologetically, ‘but maybe you can show it to the Aesir to test its likeness.’ He pursed his lips. ‘It is