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

by John Gwynne

Svik Tangle-Hair – the blood of Refur the fox is in his veins. Chief skáld/storyteller of the Bloodsworn. He has a particular fondness for cheese

My man!

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

“YOU CANNOT SILENCE ME, I AM THE VOICE OF THE DRAG—” A thud and squawk as Svik’s round of cheese connected with the dragon-worshipper’s face, the man’s nose splitting, blood spraying, and he stumbled back a step, then toppled off of the cart and into the crowd. “Ach, now see what you’ve made me do,” Svik said, shaking his head.

“What does it say?” Orka asked, peering over Lif’s shoulder. “Don’t know,” Lif said, passing the scroll to Orka, “I can’t read. I’m a fisherman.”

Mood

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

Svik looked at Palrun and smiled. “Lead on, then, my good man, and let’s see if we can empty Liga of cheese.” Palrun blinked. “Cheese?” he said. “I am joking,” Svik said, then looked back over his shoulder at Varg and shook his head, whispered, “no I’m not.”

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