The Hunger of the Gods (The Bloodsworn Saga, #2)

by John Gwynne

“By Berser’s hairy arse but I am sick of Seiðr-touched women throwing me around this gods-cursed place,” Sighvat bellowed.

“Somehow, she learned how to take sustenance from them, from the ones who did not fight back, at least. That is why she is called corpse-tearer and soul-stealer.”

“Kill your enemies,” Glornir said. “Aye, and make a mountain of their corpses,” Orka finished.

“Slaying a dragon sounds like a fine saga-tale to us,” she said. “We are with you.”

“Now command it to close, and to be bound to the skeleton; to the flesh, blood, sinew and soul of its new host,” Uspa called down from Sighvat’s arms. “And say his name. Say Ulfrir.”

“HJARTA SLÓ AFTUR,” Uspa bellowed, as she slammed her bloody palm upon the beast’s chest. “Heart, beat again,” Elvar whispered.

“Rotta slew Orna and Ulfrir’s daughter, Valkyrie, and cast the blame upon Lik-Rifa,” Gunnar said. “He strangled Valkyrie, skinned her and left her hanging from a tree. But Orna and Ulfrir saw through his deceit and so he fled from them. Came here, where he wrote the Raudskinna, his red-skinned book that holds the secrets of the gods, all of it carved into Valkyrie’s flayed skin.”

“How can she think to be master of a god, when even her own kind do not obey her,” Ulfrir rasped, many heads turning to look at him.

“I was too busy feeling pain and falling to see what you did,” Lif wheezed

“What are you doing?” Einar said to Røkia. “Helping you win,” Røkia said. “You are clearly useless at this game.”

“What are you so happy about?” Edel snapped at the vaesen. “All the teeth,” Vesli grinned.

I am a jarl. I am proclaimed a hero by a queen and gifted gold, Guðvarr thought, it is no more than I deserve.

It was only a dream.

“But there are some who can come with you,” Edel said. She raised her arm and figures moved across the glade. Halja Flat-Nose, Gunnar Prow limping and Revna Hare-Legs. “They have asked to go with you, if you’ll have them.”

“My path is dark and most likely full of death. Maybe your death, if you come with me. As I keep telling Lif, you may not come back from it.” “She does,” Lif agreed, nodding.

“Too many teeth for my pouch,” she said, shoulders slumping. “Vesli going to need a bigger bag.”

To be a survivor is the opposite of being a fool. Staying and fighting at the Grimholt was the fool’s choice. Retreat and live to fight again, that is the deep-cunning mark of a strategist, and that’s what I did at the Grimholt. Seize the opportunities presented to you, that’s what I say. You ran because you were scared,

They had been stitched shut, the stitch holes red-raw and swollen, some leaking watery pus, linen thread caked with clotted blood.

“It’s rude,” Guðvarr muttered, “and would not be so brave and foolish as to insult me if those bars were not there to protect it.” I’m glad those bars are there to protect me,

“You all right, boss?” the guard outside said as he stepped into the room. Paused as he took in the scene. Einar’s fist crashed into the guard’s jaw and he dropped, unconscious before he hit the ground. “Not a very good guard,” Einar observed, nudging the unconscious man with his boot.

Images of Agnar on his knees haunted Biórr. How he had looked up at Biórr with trust and friendship. And then I put a spear in his mouth.

“Well, Breca Thorkelsson,” the man said, “you’re going to have a scar on your face from this cut for the rest of your life. So next time you think about running away, you put your hand to this scar, and you remember what happens to runaways. And you remember who gave it to you. My name’s Brák Trolls-Bane, and don’t you go forgetting it.” “I won’t,” snarled Breca.

We can all say brave words when the danger is passed. I should know, that is my speciality.

“The wrong path. She talks of righting the wrong, of ending the enslaving of the Tainted, but at her heart she wants vengeance and death, not justice. She would replace one twisted way of life with another. So Berak and I stole the Graskinna from her, and set about destroying it, thinking it would end her plans and madness.”

“Yes,” Uspa said. “Thinking that I was saving the world from Ilska’s madness, thinking that I was saving people like you from a life of slavery, torture and death.” She looked Elvar in the eye. “And then you captured us, beat my husband to his knees, put a collar around his neck and sold him to the highest bidder. And treated me and my son as thralls, as cattle to be bartered. Or slaughtered.”

“It is the way of the world,” she muttered instead.

We decide what is the way of the world. Us. People. It is not imposed upon us by some greater force. Once the gods ruled and humans were as slaves to them. Now humans command and the offspring of the gods are slaves.”

she knew that Lik-Rifa would not be able to resist looking upon the road of the dead. She was ever obsessed with life and death, and the barriers that separated the living from the dead.”

“It appears that you know nothing of the Guðfalla, or the time before it. Next you will be telling me that you have not heard of Snaka’s sister, Skuggar.”

Skuggar was always one for the shadows, where Snaka would love the world to watch him. Snaka was the maker, Skuggar the unmaker.”

I smiled when the serpent’s venom burned him.”

The Bloodsworn are… formidable. How do you think you can take one of theirs?” Formidable? I killed one of them without too much trouble.

“When did you escape your prison?” she asked him. Rotta’s smile faded. “Before or after the Guðfalla?” Lik-Rifa pressed, an edge to her voice that made Biórr uncomfortable. “Before or after I was imprisoned.”

Hakon never knows I have been connected with the Galdurman. Guile, as my aunt said. I have a rare gift for it, so it should not be too difficult.

Varg leaned over the top-rail of the Sea-Wolf and vomited into the green-black sea, only to have a gust of wind hurl most of it back into his face. He tasted pickled herring, peas and skyr. He vomited again, to the sound of Svik and Røkia’s laughter.

“It was a dark day for the Bloodsworn, and for Svik more than most. He loved her like a mother. We all did.”

When they found us, Brák nailed Kel to a wagon and cut his throat; said he would be an example to the rest of us.”

“Good. Maybe No-Sense is finally getting some sense,” Svik laughed.

“We could raise dead Orna, thrall her with the chain, and with her as your servant we could slay a dragon.” A light was gleaming in Skalk’s eyes.

“A tungumatur; a tongue-eater,”

“They are parasites, smaller than fleas when they are young; they live in stagnant water.”

Real courage is to feel fear, but to stand and face it, not run from it.

“It’s a scorpion,” Svik told him as Varg gawped open-mouthed. “They have strange gods in Iskidan.”

three brothers rose up among the survivors of Vigrið. Mag, Oleg and Aslog.”

“Kirill the Magnificent is descended from their line,”

They found a land broken by the Guðfalla, just like Vigrið. The gods had made the world their Battle-Plain, you see, fighting and dying throughout all of Iskidan, just as they had done in the north. The people of Iskidan were divided, split into many petty realms and clans, all mistrusting each other and jostling for power.”

“Much like Vigrið, then,” Varg muttered.

The clans of Iskidan were like the stars in the sky, hundreds of them, so there must have been thousands gathered for the Great Meeting. But when the sun rose the next morning… they were all dead. Only Mag, Oleg and Aslog stepped out of that tent with breath in their bodies. They had slain everyone, even the clan they had fought for.”

Varg looked up at Røkia. “What do you think?” he asked her. She was silent a long moment, face unreadable. “I like it,” she said, then looked at Svik. “Do it to me,” she said, sitting down on a barrel.

First,” she held up one finger. “Don’t let them do it in the first place.