Wolfsangel

Начало книги

Varrin gripped the shaft of his spear and scanned the dark horizon, fighting for balance as the waves rocked the little longship. There, he was sure, was the river his lord had described, a broad mouth between two headlands, one like a dragon’s back, the other like a stretching dog. It fitted well enough, he thought, if you looked at it with half an eye.

‘Lord Authun, king, I think this is it.’

The man sitting in his cloak with his back to the prow awoke. His long white hair seemed almost to shine under the bright lantern of the half moon. He stood slowly, his limbs stiff with inaction and the cold. He turned his attention to the shore.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘this is as was revealed.’

Varrin, a giant of a man a head and a half taller than the king, touched an amulet he wore at his neck at the mention of prophecy. ‘We wait until dawn and then try the river, lord?’

Authun shook his head.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘Odin is with us.’

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