Dawn of Wolves (The Kingdom of Mercia) Read Free Page A

Northumbrians to meet Nithhogg!”
    The thought of the great serpent, which resided in the underworld, feasting on the flesh of his enemies, caused a thrill to course through his veins. His bloodlust had awakened. No Northumbrian who came within reach of Shield Breaker tonight would be spared.
    Once it was done, he would wed Ermenilda.
    Even a year later, he could still picture her clearly. He had wanted Ermenilda from the moment he saw her. Young and slender, the Kentish princess radiated ethereal beauty, and it had ensnared him. Long, straight blonde hair, a few shades darker than his, flowed over her shoulders, framing a delicately featured face and soulful eyes the color of walnut.
    The girl had a demure manner, yet she had held his gaze unflinchingly at the door to her father’s hall. He had seen the way her face flushed when he stared at her, the way her breathing quickened. The image of how she had looked that evening remained with him. Ermenilda had been radiant as she entered, with rosy cheeks and snowflakes in her hair.
    She was just one more reason he had to retake Tamworth.
    Wulfhere reached up, his fist closing around the small iron spear he wore on a leather thong around his neck; it was the spear of Tiw, the god of war. He had not yet renounced the old gods, although the time was coming when he would have to do so. Wulfhere was not sure he would ever truly cast them aside, for the gods of his ancestors meant a great deal to him.
    Tonight, Tiw would guide his sword and help him regain his birthright.
    They stormed the tower in a fury, a tide of angry men surging into the Great Hall. One or two oil-filled clay cressets still burned around the perimeter of the hall, giving them enough light to discern friend from foe. Wulfhere had ordered his men to light the torches inside the doors as soon as he entered.
    He wanted to see the look on his enemies’ faces before he killed them.
    Aethelred had sent descriptions of the two stewards. They were both powerfully built men, their arms glittering with arm rings. Wada was blond and Alfwald red haired. Wulfhere’s brother had assured him they would be easy to spot—and Wada now slept high above the rest of the hall upon the King’s Loft.
    Wulfhere crossed the hall amid cries of the men, women, and children who had been sleeping upon the rushes. He saw Aethelred emerge from his alcove. His brother was fully dressed and gripped a seax.
    Their gazes met and Aethelred grinned. Wulfhere knew that grin well—he had seen it often as a child, when he and his younger brother got up to mischief. He grinned back realizing that his fears for his brother’s loyalty were unfounded. Aethelred would not betray him.
    Wulfhere’s men fanned across the hall. Three Mercian ealdormen had joined him: Immin, Eafa, and Eadbert. They were powerful, respected men, who had brought their own warriors with them. Wulfhere met Immin’s eye as the hulking ealdorman with a mane of grizzled blond hair stepped up beside him.
    Immin grinned. “Fire in your belly yet, milord?”
    Wulfhere smiled, showing his teeth. In truth, he was more than ready. He longed to spill Northumbrian blood, to cut down those who had no right occupying his hall or commanding his people.
    Some of his men had already engaged the Northumbrians. He spied Elfhere grappling with a warrior near one of the fire pits—but it was Werbode, the captain of Wulfhere’s band, who led the charge. Tall and strong with a shock of black hair and a neatly trimmed beard, the warrior was a fearsome sight. Clad in boiled leather, Werbode howled his rage as he slashed his way across the rush-strewn floor.
    Wulfhere turned his attention away from the melee and strode across the hall toward the ladder to the King’s Loft. Men and women scrambled out of his way. It was not just Wulfhere they were frightened of but also the huge white wolf that stalked at his side.
    Leaving Mōna to guard the foot of the ladder, Wulfhere sheathed his sword and