The Shadow of the Gods (Bloodsworn Saga, #1)

by John Gwynne

The Bloodsworn were famed throughout the whole of Vigrið, and most likely beyond. A band of mercenary warriors who hired themselves out to the highest bidder, they hunted down vaesen-monsters, searched out god-relics for wealthy jarls, fought in border disputes, guarded the wealthy and powerful. Tales were sung about them by skálds around hearth fires.

This was an oath stone, where humankind swore their blood oaths to the gods, pledged their allegiances, worshipped them. And worshipping the dead gods is forbidden, now, punishable by death.”

“I… fear him,” the lad begged, weeping.

“Fear me,” Orka snarled.

“Here, have some of my cheese,” Svik said, slicing a wedge from a hard round sitting on a trencher at his side. “Please take it, before your mood infects me and I cut my own throat.”

“Cheese saved my life,” Svik said.

“I am not a troll,” Einar said, giving Røkia a hurt look, “I just have big bones.”

Orka held the dying woman up by her hair. She wiped her seax on the woman’s quilted tunic and let her drop, grabbing the axe from her belt as she slid to the ground.

Varg saw it had a rune carved into it. Sap leaked down the bark and the rune was stained with something dark.

“Because a cleaved head no longer plots,” Orka growled.

“Ulfrir the wolf-god was chained on the last day,” Yrsa said. “A rune-wrought chain, filled with Seiðr-magic by Lik-Rifa, the dragon, Ulfrir’s sister. It bound him tight and cast him down, and then Lik-Rifa’s followers swarmed upon him and slew him with many wounds.”

“And when Snaka was slain and fell, he broke the world,” Yrsa said. “The chain was broken, links and shards hurled in a thousand different directions.”

“And many years later, as humankind began to sp...

world again, we found some of those links, buried in the ground, half-submerged in rivers or fjords, and we used Galdur-magic to break them down, to mix t...

It set a wolf snarling in her blood.

“What are you doing?” Varg whispered. “Getting ready,” Svik said. “For what?” Varg said. “The signal. There’s going to be a scrap, of course. Blood will be spilled, and I want to look my best for battle. It’s important.”

“Battle-fame is nothing; it is chaff on the wind. Bonds of love, of kinship, of passion, of friendship: that is what we should all be yearning for.

“For my son,” Uspa said, her shoulders slumping. “I am prepared to give up all I hold dear and important, all my fine principles, every great thing I have ever believed in, for my son.” Her lips twisted with self-loathing. “I am a hypocrite, you see. Because a mother’s love is a powerful thing. An instinct like no other. I would let the world drown in blood if it would mean my Bjarn was safe and back in my arms again.”

“Berser’s hairy arse,”