By Tim Severin
Read Online or Download Odinn's Child: The Heroes of the North Live On (Viking Trilogy) (No. 1) PDF
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Extra resources for Odinn's Child: The Heroes of the North Live On (Viking Trilogy) (No. 1)
Aching with tiredness, I laboured up the hill in the direction of this safe haven. For the final hundred paces i used to be panting with exhaustion and dreading the shout of discovery. yet not anything got here and as I reached the timber i didn't cease, yet blundered ahead until eventually the tearing of the thorns slowed me. I dropped to my knees and crawled ahead, maintaining my injured hand to my chest as a fox with a wounded leg seeks protect after the seize. attaining deep into the thicket, I collapsed at the flooring and lay panting for breath. i have to have misplaced realization for a while, prior to the sound of making a song penetrated via my nausea, and that i idea that my ears have been deceiving me. I heard the phrases of a hymn that my grandmother, Erik the Red's spouse, had sung within the White Rabbit Hutch again in Greenland. Then the sound got here back, yet no longer in a woman's voice. It was once a male choir. I crawled a couple of toes ahead to discover that my shelter used to be now not as deep and potent as i presumed. The trees made just a skinny fringe at the fringe of the woods. at the a long way aspect of the trees started a woodland of younger oak timber. there have been large open areas among the tree trunks, and at that second the closest trunks gave the look of being the columns of a church simply because, set at the woodland ground, was once a wide transportable altar. The sound of making a song got here from part a dozen White Christ monks who have been celebrating a few type of rite, retaining up sacred symbols, a move, a bowl or even numerous candles as they sang. one of many celebrants was once approximately my age and he was once sporting a wide dish coated with a material. The top determine status beside the altar was once an outdated guy, might be in his early sixties, grey-haired and gaunt. He was once the excessive priest, i presumed, simply because all of the different monks have been treating him with nice admire and, even though he was once bareheaded, he was once richly dressed. Then I heard the whicker of a horse and to my left I observed a wide tent, part hidden one of the timber, positioned the place it had a commanding view of the battlefield I had simply left. Loitering beside the tent have been part a dozen Norsemen. My mind used to be fuzzily attempting to figure out the relationship among the tent and the non secular rite whilst there has been a superb crashing sound. Out from the timber, like an immense enraged endure, burst Brodir. He too should have been hiding from enemy pursuit. Now he got here lumbering out of the timber and that i stuck a glimpse of the crusted streak down his correct part the place blood had leaked from his wound. Brodir nonetheless had his battleaxe in his ungainly left hand, yet why he had burst from hide during this suicidal demeanour didn't take place to me right away. I watched as Brodir ambushed the monks, and the younger guy with the dish attempted to dam his cost. The boy stepped into Brodir's direction and held up the steel dish like a safeguard, yet Brodir swept him apart with a unmarried awkward blow from the battleaxe, and that i cringed in sympathy because the boy's correct hand was once bring to a halt, leaving a stump which spurted blood. Brodir gave a curious low growl as with one other ungainly left-handed sweep he swung his awl on the previous man's neck, half-severing his head from his physique.