Gods of War (King's Bane Book 2) by May C.R

Author:May, C.R. [May, C.R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2016-08-17T16:00:00+00:00

Hemming sniffed the air, shooting Eofer a look as the men of his hearth troop grinned in their wake; ‘smelling like a week old turd and as tatty as a thræl.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘And to think of all the trouble we went through to get you back.’ They shared a laugh as they rode south, a group of men with spirits as high as the gull grey clouds which drifted away to the North.

Eofer twisted in the saddle, shooting Grimwulf a question as the riders trotted on. ‘Where to now?’

The youth indicated up ahead with a nod. ‘The road forks about a mile ahead, lord. The pathway which leads away to the South branches off there.’

Eofer smiled his thanks. The young Engle’s time spent as a slave in Daneland was providing them with an invaluable stock of information.

The track made a curve as it neared the crest of the ridge, swinging back to the East, and Eofer caught his breath as the others gathered at his rear. The wide valley below them was awash with Danes, sword Danes, spear Danes as the leding, the great levy of Daneland moved south to strike back at the men who had burned their farms and razed their villages. Bright spots showed within the dun coloured mass as sunlight reflected from mail and spearpoint, each glittering star a huscarl or a jarl, gathered beneath their banners of gold and red. Hemming had moved to his side and the duguth spoke as the others watched the host in silence. ‘We had best get a move on, lord. The king will need to know they are on their way as soon as possible.’

He nodded and guided his mount on without a word, some of the humour of the moment drawn from the others, but not from him, not today. He really should be dead, lying gutless at the end of the blood-winding, tossed into the lake or hanging from Woden’s oak but his men had appeared from nowhere and saved him. The same men he now knew, who had recovered from his loss at the river crossing, leading some of the finest warriors in Daneland on a weeklong trek through the wilderness as their homeland burned. Hemming, Octa and Osbeorn had remained resolute in the face of adversity, carrying out his last orders with intelligence and guile as he knew that they would. Finn, Spearhafoc and Grimwulf had outshone the other youth in the victory and he would need to think on their position in the hearth troop once they were back on the ships and safely away. He turned to Hemming as the road switched back to the West. ‘Tell me about Weohstan again, Thrush,’ he said with a proud smile.

Hemming chuckled as the tongue-lashing from the boy came back into his mind. ‘Your son appeared from the tree line at the side of his uncle, lord,’ he started, ‘shining like a star beneath the white boar herebeacn of Geatland. King Heardred

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