Assassin's Creed Valhalla: Geirmund's Saga: The Assassin's Creed Valhalla Novel (Assassin’s Creed Valhalla) by Matthew J Kirby

Author:Matthew J Kirby [Kirby, Matthew J]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: historical fantasy, epic fantasy, norsemen, ubisoft, assassin's creed
Publisher: Aconyte
Published: 2020-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

17

One month after the battle at Bedwyn, word reached Wælingford that Æthelred had died and his brother, Ælfred, had been named king. The Danes rejoiced at this news, assuming the Saxons to be in a state of weakness, and they began to form a plan for the final assault against Wessex. By way of rivers, trackways, and Roman roads Guthrum’s raiding parties had reached deep into the lands south of Readingum, and they had discovered a place called Searesbyrig, near the town of Wiltun, which lay less than a day’s march from Ælfred’s seat at Wintanceastre.

According to the Danes who had seen it, Searesbyrig must have once been a mighty stronghold. It sat atop a flat hill over two hundred fathoms wide, with steep slopes nearly fifty fathoms in height. A deep trench encircled the hill, adding to its defences, with a second inner trench to defend a great hall. The hilltop also bore the signs and markings of previous fortifications, perhaps belonging to the Romans or the Britons, though the Saxons had foolishly abandoned the place and now made no use of its fastness.

Guthrum and Halfdan decided to join their armies and march to seize Searesbyrig, which offered their warriors a new site for an encampment that sat almost at Ælfred’s gates. But they had to plan well and move quickly to take it, or else Ælfred might discover their intent.

Weeks passed before the time came to march. They left Wælingford and Readingum by the silver light of the moon in its fullness and journeyed south by night, making their way first to the ruin of a Roman city much like the one Geirmund had passed through with John the priest. The Saxons called it Calleva, and the Danes stopped there to rest during the day, hidden among its bones and broken foundations.

Geirmund’s warriors made their camp outside the fallen town walls, at the bottom of a large bowl some thirty-five or forty fathoms wide and built from stones. Trees grew within and around it, partly hiding its true size and perhaps making it seem larger than it was. Even so, Geirmund couldn’t imagine how such a building could be roofed, and he decided it must have been open to the air. The crumbling sides of the bowl climbed to its lip in large steps, as though made for the feet of an enormous jötunn.

Skjalgi looked up and around at the place, wide-eyed. “What do you think the Romans did here?”

“They held fights,” Rafn said. “People would pay silver to watch them.”

“How do you know that?” Steinólfur asked.

“Vetr and I have raided south into Frakkland,” the Dane said. “There are many places like this. In Langbardaland they are said to be even bigger. Much bigger.”

“Bigger than this?” Skjalgi asked. “How tall were the Romans?”

Rafn laughed. “Smaller than Danes.”

“And Northmen,” Steinólfur added.

“Those are seats, Skjalgi,” Rafn said, “not stairs.”

“And yet where are the Romans now?” Birna asked. “They are dead and gone because they were mortals like us.”

“Real battle must have been far distant from them,” Vetr said.

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