Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) Read Free

but full of piss and shit. Only those who resolutely tread in such a morass can one day look back and smile.
    I hadn’t smiled when I had stalked to the hall to confront Germain. I had paid no heed to the people there, as I squinted my eyes and coughed, as the ever-present smoke invaded my lungs. It drew attention to me, and I had seen Germain’s wrinkled brow wrinkle even more, as he guessed what was coming. I doggedly tried Tallo’s advice, and spoke aloud on the horse, trying to catch my mood that day. “Am I not as worthy as he?” I had asked him. “Ansgar,” I had added needlessly, because he was not a fool.
    He had sat on his seat, a bit drunk on his bitter, ash-colored ale, already greatly bothered by the many petitions from his servants, and his oaths-men. He had stroked his beard in a way I recognized as annoyed and short-tempered. I took his voice, and the horse raised its ears in shock, because I was not a half bad mimic.
    “If you are asking me whether or not I think you can fight like he does, then, yes, I do think so. Neither has been tested, mind you, Adalwulf, not once in a shieldwall, but I think you’ll do very well. Your young beard is a man’s beard. Your speech is confident. You are strong and sturdy, and brave, no doubt, since we are related. You did well while we trained all these years, and Old Hand said you’d make a very good warrior.” He seemed to bite on a rock as he went on, his voice tight with determination to press out his words. “And I don’t need Old Hand to tell me this. I know you are stronger than Ansgar, and there is something about you that makes me think you will perform great deeds during your lifetime.”
    “Then why ?” I had demanded. The horse chortled, and I wondered if the answer would have been obvious to Snake-Bite, even if I had had no clue.
    He spoke plainly. “I asked a vitka. He looked at you, and said there is a cloud of storm hovering around you. It’s a stench of a god breath. It lingers on your skin like the stink of death, like a promise of violence. I see my boy, and he is just like the rest of us, but when I, and many others, see you, we see shadows and dust, and rage and that makes you queer. I can’t put my finger on it, neither could the vitka, really, but I think you’ll be a rare warrior, your life will be glorious. No matter how short.” He had looked troubled, and people had sensed it and moved away.
    His words put me back. I had stood there, shuffling my feet. Stench of death? Was that an insult? Or did it make me more valuable? I had decided to find out. “And why, lord uncle, do you not let me serve under your standard? I would do you proud. You hint, but do not give an answer,” I had asked. “I saw Ansgar, and he didn’t look at me. It was no god’s breath that made him look away, but shame and sorrow. You said “no,” when he asked you for me.”
    And he, reluctantly, had answered. My voice no longer sounded like his, because I was enraged, but still I mimicked him. “A warband, Adalwulf, is a tight knot of brotherhood. I decide what we do, as dictated by Oldaric, of course, or his family, and they respect me enough to obey me. They object little, and they do so because I feed them, take care of their families, praise them, and make them famed men who hear their names sung in the halls of their fathers, but the men are one, and learn to love those who are ablest. And one day, I will be gone, and who shall they turn to?”
    And that was the reason.
    I was more able, more promising than Ansgar.
    Had he not asked a vitka about it? The vitka had warned him. It was his warband, his to do with as he wanted, and when he died, he didn’t want to see his brother’s son take it over, no matter if he had grown richer by his brother’s estate.
    “I see,” I had said, seething inside. He had seen I understood and hated the reason, and he had waved his hand weakly, half sorry, half determined to air it all, as I had called the bear