The Oathsworn Series, Books 1-5 by Robert Low

Author:Robert Low
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2014-04-29T16:00:00+00:00

Which let me know, from his accent, that he was more Slav than Norse and more learned than most – though one of the wise Sayings of the High One was scarcely gold-browed versemaking.

‘No,’ he added to Vladimir as I came up with Finn and the others, ‘I do not think I am inclined to let you in, for all that you have done me the service of chasing off those madwomen. There is room enough only for me and my men.’

‘Then there must be more than a few with you,’ Dobrynya answered smoothly. ‘Perhaps if you told us how many were in there, we could count out a suitable number that would not steal the food or shelter from you.’

‘It is of no consequence how strong we are here, Uncle Dobrynya,’ chuckled the man, thumbing his cold-reddened nose, ‘since we are not letting any of you in. You should know that we are strong enough, all the same.’

‘Do you know who I am?’ demanded Vladimir indignantly and the man chuckled again.

‘You are the young prince Vladimir. Your father is dead and you are now so far from Lord Novgorod the Great that you are in more danger here than I am and from your own brothers, too. You should have listened to your Uncle Dobrynya, boy, for I am sure he has advised you to go home.’

Vladimir flushed and fumed, for that was a solid hit to the mark. Dobrynya, seeing the boy fighting his horse, made anxious by nervous jerking, reached out a hand and touched his shoulder.

‘We should talk this out later,’ he said.

Vladimir rounded like a snake. ‘Do NOT touch me. Ever.’

Dobrynya paused, then inclined his head in a bow. The man on the ramparts laughed out loud and everyone, myself included, was annoyed that the prince had behaved like a charcoal-eating nithing. Dobrynya stayed smooth and cool as a still pond.

‘As you say, my prince,’ he said to Vladimir, ‘but this great fool has made it clear that he prefers to be staked rather than deal with us pleasantly. Let us not disappoint him.’

Still furious, Vladimir half-reined his horse round, then paused and stared up at the man.

‘You know me,’ he piped, fury making his voice all the more shrill. ‘Tell me your name also, that I might have it marked on the stake I have driven up your arse for this.’

‘Farolf,’ the man said, not smiling now. ‘I know you – but I know the one with you better. Orm Bear Slayer, I am thinking.’

I jerked at the sound of my name and the by-name that went with it, the one that men used like a sneer, just before they challenged you. He grinned down at me and inclined his head in a mocking bow.

‘I have heard much of you from Lambisson,’ Farolf said. ‘I heard more from that little scar-faced man he has, the one with his wits addled.’

‘Then you know more than you did before,’ I replied. ‘Do you also know where Brondolf Lambisson is?’

‘Gone from here,’ replied Farolf cheerfully.

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