God Of Thunder. Alex Archer

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ tion>

      

       God of Thunder

       Alex Archer

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      Contents

       Prologue

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Chapter 25

       Chapter 26

       Chapter 27

       Chapter 28

       Chapter 29

       Chapter 30

       Chapter 31

       Chapter 32

       Chapter 33

       Chapter 34

       Chapter 35

       Chapter 36

       Chapter 37

       Epilogue

       Prologue

       Courland

       Baltic Sea

       1104 A.D.

      Death slipped into the village with the thick fog that boiled in from the Baltic Sea. It came in on cat’s feet, but took shape as a raiding party. The warriors had been too long at sea and too long without seizing a proper treasure. This morning under the storm gathering over them, they hoped to change their luck.

      Skagul, called Ironhand, led the way. He was the chieftain. A large man, well over six feet in height, he was massively muscled from a life spent working hardscrabble earth in his homeland for a harsh existence. His dirty blond beard, rimed with sea salt, hung down to his mid-chest. Tiny figurines carved of wood, stone and ivory hung in his beard and the long hair he wore pulled back in a ponytail.

      The reindeer hide he’d added to his tunic to ward off blows and arrows was cracked with age but still supple and serviceable beneath the thick bearskin cloak. A metal helmet covered his head.

      He carried a long-handled war ax in his right hand. His left hand was gone, replaced by a cruelly curved iron hook. Sixteen years earlier, he’d lost the hand in a battle with an opposing tribe. His father had been a blacksmith when he hadn’t gone raiding. Together, they’d fitted Skagul with the hook. He was short a hand, but he’d added an incredible weapon to his arsenal.

      Senses tingling, Skagul trotted through the ice-cold ankle-deep tidewaters. The longship was nearly flat bottomed and could be sailed or rowed in only inches of water. In his years spent raiding, he’d taken his vessel across oceans, as well as upriver.

      His heart beat quickly in his chest, warming him against the touch of early winter and the coming storm. The raiding season was almost over. It they didn’t take a prize soon, there would be little to show for their efforts when they returned home before winter settled.

      Ahead of them, the village sat quiet and still, frosted by the light snow that had come during the night. Most of the houses were wooden one-room affairs much like the longhouses in Skagul’s village. Judging by the smoke from a few cook fires curling into the pink-hued sky, only a few people were up.

      Goats bleated in small lean-tos behind many of the houses. Roosters crowed to greet the new day. A few dogs lounged in the lean-tos, as well, sharing space and warmth with the goats.

      That suited Skagul and met with his expectations. The animals could be a problem, but men just crawling out of bed were often thickheaded and slow to react. He was gambling everything he had on this effort, wanting to go back to his people victoriously.

      Victory meant wealth.

      Behind them, the incoming tide lapped at the shore and birds cried overhead as they skirled through the sky. The dark clouds sailed the leaden sky with greater speed. The wind had picked up, buffeting the Norsemen as they hunkered down in the brush at the edge of the village.

      Holding up his war ax, Skagul glanced over his shoulder.

      There, in the rolling fog under the storm clouds, he spotted the dragon prow of his ship. Snarling and savage, the dragon looked fierce and hungry. Heavy red and white sails lay furled on the masts, ready at a moment’s notice. When raised, the mainsail displayed a snake, mouth open and fangs distended.

      Skagul’s heart swelled with pride. Her name was Striking Serpent and she had earned her name many times over. She was a twenty-oar ship with sixty-three crewmen. There had been more, but twelve had died fighting the Finns and others had been lost along the way. Since Skagul had been chosen to command the vessel, he’d always been successful.

      This, though, had been his hardest year. Only a few weeks earlier, a band of Finns had attacked them at camp and stolen away with all their goods. They’d lost everything they’d spent months stealing.

      Skagul would not return home empty-handed with so many mouths to feed. Nor would he see his young crewmen return without bride-price.

      “Archers,” Skagul growled.

      Twenty warriors peeled away from the group. They nocked arrows to their longbows.

      “There.” Skagul waved toward the forested low hills ringing the north side of the village. The land and the trees provided a windbreak against the freezing СКАЧАТЬ