Black Monastery Read Online Free

and the blade whistled through the air. Its balance was perfect, like an extension of his arm. He stared in wonder at his father, who beamed back at him.
    “It’s perfect. Lighter than I would have thought, wider than most swords.” He gripped the pointed tip with his fingers and slightly bent the blade. “But lighter somehow, and more flexible—so flexible.” He stared in wonder at the blade. A single groove, called a fuller, ran most of the length of the weapon. The indentation carved in the sword made it lighter and more flexible, allowing it to retain its strength the entire length of the blade. Staring intently at it, he saw writing in the hollow of the fuller. Starting near the hilt, a single word read: +ULFBERH+T. “It can’t be Damascus steel, not with those crosses. Is it… Frankish?”
    His father snorted. “Franks make good swords, boy, but those aren’t crosses. They’re hammers. Thor hammers. You’re holding crucible steel, lad, crucible steel, made in the secret ways brought back from the Volga . That is an Ulfberht blade. One of only a damned few ever made. The metal is special. I won’t pretend to understand how, but because it’s lighter, it can be made longer, more flexible and thus won’t get caught in an opponent’s shield as easily as others might. You see the point? It’s tapered so it can stab through chain mail.”
    “Chain mail? Really?”
    “Really. Once, I saw the earl skewer a Frankish prince with his Ulfberht . A single thrust, right through the metal links, like they were nothing more than wool. Ripped the man’s heart in two.”
    “ Heart-Ripper ,” he said in wonder.
    “As good a name as any.” His father smiled, his eyes gleaming. “I wish I had such a weapon when I was your age.”
    He stared at his father. “I can’t take this. I don’t deserve it. You’ll need it this spring.”
    His father seemed to rise in height, and when he spoke, his voice boomed with his authority. “It is a gift, boy. A gift.”
    The young man lowered his eyes. “Yes, father. I’m sorry. Thank you. I… don’t know what to say.”
    His father snorted. “Then say nothing. But take it, and get yourself home. Your mother will worry that I keep you out too late when you’re still injured.”
    “I’m better now.”
    His father grinned and shoved him. “I know it, boy, but your mother doesn’t.”
    “What are you going to do?”
    His father tilted his large head toward Sea-Eel , which bobbed softly in the waters of the inlet. “I’m going to go sit on my ship for a time. It’ll probably be the only chance I’ll get for a spell of solitude until after this spring’s raiding.” With a slightly pained expression on his face, he rubbed his bicep, swinging his arm in a circle. “Too damned old for this shit. Go on, then, Asgrim. Off with you.”
    Asgrim turned and loped away, his new sword beneath his arm. Bjorn would be green with envy. As he approached the lights of their manor and farmlands, his feet seemed to float over the ground. Somehow, life had become good again. That hadn’t seemed possible. Soon, very, very soon, they would finish Sea Eel’s rigging. In another week, she would be provisioned and ready for sailing. This time, under his father’s command, he would wash away the memory of his first raid. His scars would remain forever, but his future was bright again.
    The next morning, Guthorm, always first to work, found Asgrim's father’s corpse, still sitting at the prow of his longship, an arm around the tiller, a surprised look on his dead face, which stared up at the early morning sky.
    “Destiny,” whispered the workers.
    Fate.

One
    The coast of the Kingdom of Frankia,
    August 2, 799,
    Dawn
     
    Sea Eel’s dragonhead prow rose high above the waves and then smashed down again, throwing cold spray into the air. Asgrim Wood-Nose locked his gaze on the dark tree-lined shore of the approaching island. Sea Eel’s sail was furled, so each of the eighty-six Danish