The Sleeping Army Read Online Free PDF Page A

lay scattered in the dirt.
    This was Valhalla. The Hall of the Slain. The gold-bright palace of Woden’s chosen warriors. The dark, echoing wine hall was now only home to the winds.
    â€˜This hall was so bright they used swords instead of fire for light,’ murmured Alfi. ‘The rafters were made of spear shafts and thatched with overlapping shields of gold. There were helmets and red-gold mail coats strewn everywhere, and men shouting and drinking … even Woden’s wolves are gone; I used to give them meat scraps … there were five hundred and forty doors. I know, I used to walk around and count them while the Valkyries, the Choosers of the Slain, served mead and haunches of boar to the tired warriors. That’s the corner where I tried to barricade myself from the menwho pelted me with bones when they’d finished eating and my Master wasn’t there to protect me.’
    Freya’s skin prickled. She was reminded of old photographs of American ghost towns, where only a few sun-bleached buildings and dirt roads showed that anyone had ever lived there. She felt as if she were walking in an ancient graveyard, untouched and unvisited for centuries, with tumbled-down stones and worn-out inscriptions the only signs of the people who had once walked the earth.
    Snot stared at the shards of a black cauldron in the middle of the floor, and kicked at a few shield fragments. A rotten, sagging mead-bench was shoved against what was left of a wall. He picked it up and hurled it against the ground where it splintered. ‘I sat here,’ he muttered. ‘Woden put me in a low place by a door, because I was newly arrived and yet to prove myself. Ha! I didn’t stay there long. As they say, fast temper grows in a seat far from the High Table.’ He sighed. ‘We fought all day and feasted all night.’
    â€˜Didn’t that get boring?’ blurted Freya, before she could stop herself.
    Snot glowered down at her over his raven shield. His dark eyes glinted beneath his crooked brows.
    â€˜How else can you forget your self?’ he said.
    Freya wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Snot frightened her and she wanted to keep away from him as much as possible. She left him to his memories inside the ruins of Valhalla and walked over to where Alfi and Roskva were standing amidst dried-out rushes and sedges, watching the river roaring past as if they had lost the will to move.
    â€˜The All-Father’s palace should be over there,’ said Alfi, pointing into empty space. Freya squinted. She could just make out a few piles of stones and pillars far off in the distance. It looked like the ruins of the Roman Forum.
    â€˜Let me just have a quick look around,’ said Alfi. ‘Wait here.’
    Freya watched astonished, as he ran off. One moment he was there, the next … not.
    â€˜He’s fast,’ said Freya.
    â€˜They say only thought can outrun him,’ said Roskva. ‘Bit of an exaggeration, but he’s pretty speedy.’
    There was a flash of movement, and Alfi had returned.
    â€˜Njord’s palace, and Freyja’s, and Sif’s … none of them exist any more,’ said Alfi, panting. ‘It’s all just rubble and ruins.’
    â€˜Where is everyone?’ said Freya.
    They ignored her.
    â€˜Master! Master!’ shouted Roskva. ‘Master! Are you here?’
    There was a rusty upturned chariot, half-buried in the dirt, choked with weeds. A twisted rope of silver tarnished black lay beside it.
    Roskva prodded her brother.
    â€˜That’s our Master’s!’ she hissed.
    â€˜No,’ said Alfi. ‘It can’t be …’ He picked up the silver reins and scraped at the tarnish, revealing traces of the interwoven pattern. Then he nodded.
    â€˜Roskva, what are we going to do? Do you think we’re too late?’
    Roskva twisted her hands. Freya noticed how old and wrinkled and calloused they were. More like