The Valhalla Saga 01 - Swords of Good Men Read Online Free PDF

opened wide, and he moved to protest. King Olav silenced him. ‘Choose them now. If you object, I take thirty.’
    The farmer tensed his shoulders and took a step forward, poised and ready to strike. An almost imperceptible gesture from the King stopped him in his tracks.
    Finn watched the fighting spirit in the man’s eyes fade from a burning fire to a flickering candle flame. After a brief while he turned towards the crowd and began shouting names. The King’s new men emerged reluctantly from the crowd.
    ‘You are my soldiers now,’ King Olav proclaimed over the shuffling group and motioned for them to leave. The soldiers stepped aside again, allowing the twenty recruits to leave the settlement.
    Their friends, families and lovers watched them depart.
    Olav waited until the recruits had left and the circle had closed. ‘I will deal with them according to their conduct, and by their own standards I will judge them. Then they will know that I am the Lord,’ he said softly to himself, and moved towards his mount.
    ‘This is not right,’ the village leader blurted, taking another step towards the king. His face was flushed. ‘You cannot take the men away from us to fight for you. For what? For sacrificing to the gods? Who’s going to defend us? Who’s going to harvest? We will starve! We will … we …’ the chieftain’s words faltered as Olav turned back towards him, looking him in the eye. Finn watched the man wilt under the King’s steely gaze.
    ‘Are you the leader of these people?’ Olav asked quietly.
    ‘Y-yes.’ The man looked around, but found little support. ‘Yes, I am.’
    ‘Are you the man they have turned to in their hour of need?’ the King continued, tension building in his voice.
    ‘I … yes.’
    ‘Have you taken responsibility for their lives? Their eternal lives? And have you led them in worship of’ – the King drew a breath and composed himself – ‘these gods?’ He gestured towards the shrine.
    ‘Yes.’
    King Olav Tryggvason looked at the man standing before him and seemed to come to a decision.
    ‘Do you have any sons?’ he asked.
    ‘No. Not yet,’ the man replied.
    ‘Good.’
    In a flash the King drew his sword and cut through the village leader’s throat with one forceful swing.
    With eyes wide open and blood gushing from his throat the farmer collapsed onto the ground. King Olav had already moved on to the man next to the dying leader and fixed him with a level gaze, and now he spoke in calm, reassuring tones. ‘You are the chieftain of Vingulmark. This settlement will renounce its heathen ways. You will be responsible for removing the totems. You will not make sacrifices to the old gods. You will answer to me, and I will be your king. In time, I will send holy men to see how you fare, collect my due and teach you about the White Christ.’
    The newly appointed leader looked from Olav’s face to the blood dripping off the point of his sword, and from there down to the dead man at his feet. Then he nodded, eyes wide with fear.
    King Olav turned and looked at the assembled peasants.
    Gaunt faces with hungry eyes stared back at him.
    Instinctively, he made the sign of the cross over his chest and turned to Finn.
    ‘We leave now. Gather the men.’
    ‘Do we take supplies, my lord?’
    Olav paused for a second and cast a sideways glance at Finn. Then he looked again at the forlorn group of peasants, staring at their dead leader.
    ‘There is nothing more here for me.’ He shook his head almost imperceptibly, mounted up and guided his horse to a slow walk out of the settlement.
    AT SEA
    Four oars sliced into the velvet ocean, making almost no sound. A small boat skimmed across the water, heading for the darkened mass of shore. Away from the rowers, two figures huddled in shadows in the bow.
    ‘It is a good night,’ a sibilant voice whispered. ‘She will be pleased that we are fulfilling the will of the gods. The signs are favourable.’
    ‘And so they will remain