Shadow of the Raven: Sons of Kings: Book One Read Online Free PDF Page B

light.’
    ‘So you see yourself as one of them, do you? But do they see you the same way?’
    ‘They will, when their tribute comes in regularly. Silver’s a persuasive commodity.’
    ‘You’ll be no more than their puppet, a simpering mindless doll, taking orders from savages. Do you really believe you’ll have any power in ruling Mercia?’
    ‘I shall be king – and have much authority. I have Rorik’s word!’
    Ambition and jealousy had destroyed the brother Beorhtwulf thought he knew; greed blinded him to the lies and the drastic consequences of his actions. He searched Burgred’s eyes for some glimmer of humanity but recoiled at the hatred he found. ‘What about my son? What do you intend for him?’
    ‘The brat will be dead by noon tomorrow.’
    The second blow to Beorhtwulf’s head rendered him unconscious as he launched himself at his brother to choke the last breath from his treacherous body.
    * * *
    The screams inside Beorhtwulf’s head seemed to rise and fall . . . rise and fall. Searing pains shot through his skull; acidic bile dribbled from his parched lips onto cold, wet earth and he realised he was lying on his belly, shivering convulsively, his hands tied behind his back. He was soaked to the skin and so very cold. He forced his eyes to open, striving to make sense of the wretchedness of his situation. Greyness enveloped him; late evening then, or daybreak perhaps. And it was raining: a steady, cold drizzle. Tortured screams resounded again inside his head – or were they in his head?
    He dragged his battered body onto his side, pulling up his knees to kneel before straightening out his trembling legs to stand. He looked around him, battling his stagnant memory. Signs of recent encampment were evident; the site deserted now, camp fires long since burned down. But laughter sounded from somewhere close.
    Sunset. The last thing he remembered was a glorious red sunset, and the ambush, sickening and bloody. Then threats about razing Thrydwulf’s manor . . .
    And Burgred; treacherous, insane, Burgred.
    ‘Where in God’s name are you now, Burgred?’ he yelled, his voice rasping in his throat.
    ‘No point looking for your loving brother, Mercian. He left before dark last night.’
    Beorhtwulf swung to face the Dane with the thrice-plaited beard and searched the hardened eyes of winter-blue. ‘Can’t you find it in yourself to show mercy? It serves no purpose to slaughter innocents.’
    The Dane shrugged. ‘Rorik must keep his subjects in fear and subservience, or they’ll deem him weak. Many of his people must die to carry this message to the rest.’
    ‘But these are not his people!’
    ‘Not yet, perhaps, but your brother is more pliable than soft clay, has little care for the people you show such fondness for. He’ll be most useful to us.’
    The piercing scream chilled Beorhtwulf to the core. ‘In the name of all that’s holy, what is happening?’
    ‘So squeamish, King of the Mercians. How can your people follow a weakling?’
    ‘I’m no weakling! But mindless killing should give no man pleasure. My people have moved on from wanton slaughter, whereas your people have not.’
    The kick to Beorhtwulf’s stomach was hard and fast and he doubled over, gasping.
    ‘You know nothing Mercian! Once we only raided lands close to our own, but now we are here inyour kingdom. I say we’ve moved a good way on.’ Egil’s throaty chuckle at his own jest was broken by another agonised scream. ‘Heis not a brave man either. Hauk has enjoyed hearing him scream like a woman. You Mercians have no balls.’
    ‘What in Christ’s name have you done to him?’ Beorhtwulf yelled as realisation struck. ‘Beornred’s but a boy!’ His outburst elicited another vicious kick, this time in the groin. Agony exploded and he dropped like a stone, retching.
    ‘As I was saying,’ Egil sneered. ‘You Mercians have no balls. Yours, lord king , won’t be much use for some time. That young whelp won’t