Blood Sword Legacy 02 - Master of Torment Read Online Free Page A

take very long for the thick English-oak doors to give way under the combined forces of Wulfson’s men and those of Gareth. Wulfson watched the Dane’s determination to get to his lady, and he gladly allowed him to expend his and his men’s energy. ’Twould serve Wulfson well once inside, for when the man learned his lady would be jumping from one form of prison to permanent exile, there would be yet another battle to stand and deliver.
    She would pay with her life, not because the rumors called her witch, or because she was an accused murderess. Nay, her most dastardly deed was her relationship to the late King Harold. His blood niece could not be allowed to keep her powerful position among her fellow Saxons.All Godwinsons were a threat to William, and this one most especially. Her blood was too blue and too royal. It was blood that her countrymen and women would take up arms to protect, should she give birth to a son of Dunloc.
    Gareth had been a fount of information. After the good lady had lovingly slit the throat of her groom and Rangor got wind of the deed, her men had all been expelled from the castle. Tricked, as it were. All but his lady. Gareth had waited, laying siege, trying in vain to rescue her from the demented uncle. To no avail. So the captain of her guard was most helpful when Wulfson came upon him just that morn.
    The deep droning cadence of the kettle drum keeping the pace, not only for the double battering rams but to intimidate and instigate, rang ominously clear in the morning air. Just as the door gave way, thick waves of fiery pitch were hurled from above. Ever wary, Wulfson had kept his men to the back of the rams. The horrific screams of several of Gareth’s men as they succumbed to the bubbling black ooze were lost on Wulfson’s ears. He’d heard the cry of death and torture too many times for it to bother him. He and his Blood Swords had survived hell to tell about it. The inhuman things man did to man were but part of what drove Wulfson to watch his back, work his muscles every day to their capacity, and continually hone his skills. He had no illusions that he would live to see a gray beard and grandchildren. If he lived to forty, he would die a contented man, but he would never go down without the fight of his life.
    He reined Turold away from the fiery globs of humanity and watched unnerved as Gareth tried in vain to rescue the three men. There was naught anyone could do for them.
    “Pull them away and continue!” Wulfson commanded.
    “Sir!” Gareth protested. “They are my men!”
    Wulfson pointed his sword toward the charred black mass. “Time flies on swift wings. They are doomed. Slit their throats if you must, but get on with it!
    Gareth stepped forward, sword drawn and raised. Wulfson snarled and drew the second of his short swords from the double scabbard at his back, as each of the Blood Swords drew down on the balance of Gareth’s men who came to aid their captain. Wulfson squeezed Turold’s sides and drove the massive horse into the fray, pressing one sword tip into Gareth’s chest. “You dally with men who live over those who will die. Move aside or drop where you stand!”
    Gareth stood his ground, a big hulking Viking of a man, much like Thorin who now sat astride his great destrier behind Wulfson, ever watchful. A warrior, no doubt, but Gareth’s fatal flaw was that he possessed a heart. Wulfson shook his head. Fool. Heart was what got a man killed.
    He pushed past the reluctant warrior with his men behind him. They would not waste another moment on another’s weak stomach. No wonder Gareth’s lady was at the mercy of Rangor. He probably hadn’t had the stomach to stand up to the Saxon noble.
    Wulfson glanced up at the rampart, then back to the thick door that hung from the hinges. While not wide open, there was enough of a gap that if he and his men pushed as a unit on horseback, they would plow through to what he knew from Gareth’s detailed description was