The Elven (The Saga of the Elven, #1)

by Bernhard Hennen

the south and that King Horsa Starkshield had put a price on his head. This did not concern Mandred. Asmund was a good hunter who brought his share of meat to the village. That counted for more than any rumors. Mandred had known Gudleif and Ragnar since before they could walk. Both were fishermen. Gudleif was stocky and strong as a bear. Perpetually in a good mood, he had many friends, although most who knew him found him rather simple. Ragnar was short and dark haired, in contrast to the mainly tall, blond inhabitants of the Fjordlands. Sometimes he was mocked for it, and in whispers, he was called a kobold child. Foolish nonsense, of course. Ragnar was a man with his heart in the right place, a man to be relied on unreservedly. Mandred’s thoughts turned wistfully to Freya, his wife. No doubt she was sitting at the fireplace, listening into the night. He had taken a signal horn with him. One blast meant danger, but if he sounded the horn twice, those in the village knew there was nothing out there to fear and that the hunters were on their way home. Asmund had lowered his bow and placed one finger to his lips in warning. He raised his head like a hound sniffing out a scent. Now Mandred could smell it, too. A strange odor drifted over the clearing, a stink that reminded the men of rotten eggs. “Maybe a troll after all,” Gudleif whispered. “They say they come down from the mountains when the winter’s hard. A troll could kill an elk with its fist.” Asmund looked darkly at Gu...