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

out of its hole.
    “There are thousands of men in Mattium, Adalwulf. Dozens of warlords, ring-givers, and I’m sure you will find one that pleases you. I can help you find one, indeed,” he had said, bothered. “You could be happier there.”
    “I’ve lived with you and your men for—“
    “With my men, indeed,” he had interrupted and scratched a dog, and I had felt insulted by the fact the mutt received attention and favor, when I was being robbed of all of it. “I’ll not have you lead them,” he said plainly.
    A sprit had whispered to my ear, and it was called Malice. “And if I choose Sigimar?” I had asked him, unwisely.
    That old lord was a deadly Chatti rival, and Germain and he had more feuds between them than Donor had with the Jotuns. Blood had been spilled for decades in the woods and hills, and while the Thing often settled such disputes between rivals, and Oldaric’s rulings carried a lot of weight and the spells of the vitka determined rights and wrongs, Germain would hate his rival forever. He had lost a flock of cows to the lord, once, years past, and I should have known better than to twist his tail in such a manner.
    “Then,” he had eventually said thinly, and even the dogs in the hall slunk away, knowing well the tone of their master’s voice, “you will regret it. Find a lord, boy. Even him , if you will, but expect no quarter for our shared blood if one day you meet us in battle. Your father, my brother, will weep in Asgaard, but this is how it will be. You are grown up, and know what’s what, well enough, no? You choose, choose wisely, and I might one day forgive you.”
    I had stood there, swallowing my anger, and did, finally. I had been left empty, shivering, and lost. I had reached out with a sudden, final thought. “And will you give me the horse and land my father held before? Even some of it? I could start with that.”
    He had snorted and wiped his brow. He had considered it, but Germain was also a greedy man, and Father’s hall had been set amidst rich, fertile woods and fields. He spoke harshly, “And what would that teach you, Adalwulf? To start rich? No, you father would have wanted you to find your own way, to build a life that was your own. Expect nothing but toil and work. And the horse, Adalwulf, Snake-Bite? It stays with your cousin, because why should I make you so mighty, if you think about joining my enemy?”
    And that was all there was to it. I shut my mouth as I rode, wondering if the Quadi’s advice about speaking all of that aloud would ever really help me accept the righteousness of my actions, because all it did was to make me confused.
    I had stalked out of the hall, and had sat by a small steam all that evening. When the anger still hadn’t abated, I had gone up the hill, waited until the men were feasting, and took the horse for a ride.
    And I was still riding.
    A thief. I should not feel sorry.
    But I was sorry.
    Gods cursed man with conscience, and they had none for themselves.
    No, I’d not turn back. I’d carry the shame, and suffer it.
    I let the horse move again, towards what I thought was west. I couldn’t be sure. I had never been that far from home. I had passed the Quadi lands, watching the northern hills of the Matticati with trepidation. Even if the tribe was a shoot-off of the Chatti, they were friends to few Germani, and often raided the lands of the Quadi and the lands I rode, where untamed men made a living. One night, I had seen burning hall far ahead, heard whoops of the Matticati. The next morning, I crossed the river to south, swimming by the horse, braving some strong current, and came to the lands of the Marcomanni, a Suebi tribe and allies of the Quadi, but far more powerful.
    It took days, but I was sure I had nearly reached the river that kept Gauls and Germani apart, and also kept the Roman power at check, the Rhenus River. I was on my way to the banks of that river, where the Marcomanni lived, and for the northern gau