Time of the Wolf Read Online Free PDF

raven flew back to earth, and Harald Redteeth returned with it.
    For a few moments, he gathered his thoughts, still immersed in the sensation of flying. When the memories of his walk along the shores of that great black sea had receded, he marched toward the makeshift camp, and bellowed “Ho! To me now!”
    Crawling out of their shelters into the gently drifting snow, his bleary-eyed men gathered around him.
    â€œBreak up the camp. We set off in pursuit of the stranger,” Redteeth growled.
    Clapping his arms around himself for warmth, Ivar replied, “It is not first light for many hours.”
    â€œOur plans have changed.” Pulling down his breeches, he urinated into a vessel from one of the burning houses. “Drink,” he said. “Let the juices of the toadstool fill you with the passion of our ancestors.”
    He passed the vessel of steaming urine to Ivar, and then to the other men. The power of the toadstools lived on within it, but his journey had removed the poison that could trap them on the shores of the great black sea.
    â€œHear your ancestors call to you,” he said. “Feel the pull of the tides and the rising fire in your belly. Now is the time we track the stranger. Now is the time to strike.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    T HE HOODED MAN RODE INTO THE TEETH OF THE BLIZZARD , his face numb from the cold. His gray woolen cloak lay beneath a thick covering of snowflakes, as did his horse’s brown mane and the packhorse behind him, laden with one of the secrets of God. He felt unable even to turn his head to search for the two armed guards who had accompanied him on the long journey from the small village near Winchester.
    The white curtain of snow obscured London’s filthy streets, but occasionally he glimpsed torches away in the dark. Deaf from the howling gale, he didn’t hear the guard yelling at him until the man rode alongside, slapped a hand on his shoulder, and pointed ahead. The high timber palisade surrounding the King’s palace loomed out of the storm. A cloaked and hooded sentry stood on a platform above the great gates, holding a lantern aloft to see who was approaching.
    â€œIt is I, Redwald,” the young man called through numb lips, “on the Queen’s business.”
    The gates opened in jerks, as the sentry and another man wrenched them back against the drifting snow.
    â€œHell’s teeth, she had better reward you well for being out in this weather,” the sentry called as Redwald rode by.
    In the enclosure, the wind dropped a little, but the bitter cold still ate into Redwald’s bones. At least he had done good work, and he would be rewarded—if not now, later. Barely suppressing a grin, he threw back his hood to reveal a face that still had many childlike qualities. The curly brown hair, the apple cheeks and full pink lips, suggested an innocence which he used to his advantage around the court. He had seen at first hand what a hard place it was, filled with strong, cunning men all seeking their own advantage in a constant shadow game. But he would not be broken by it. He would survive.
    Clambering down from his horse, the young man stamped the snow from his leather shoes and clapped his hands together and blew on them. The guards had already slipped away in search of fire and mead. Their footprints joined the tramped paths leading to the doors of the newly built timber-framed houses jumbled tightly together across the enclosure, every thatch and wooden roof creaking under a thick white blanket. The Palace of Westminster, King Edward’s new home and the culmination of years of devout dreams, sprawled across most of Thorney Island on the banks of the Thames to the west of the City of London. The earls and the King’s thegns complained about the bitter wind blowing off the river in winter, but Redwald had heard that Edward had been directed to build there by God.
    And looking at the vast silhouette looming up beyond