Hereward 03 - End of Days Read Online Free Page A

the undergrowth alongside him. The monk was small and wiry, and he had a good head start. Kraki could see they would not catch him easily. And yet the churchman skidded to a halt. From a pouch at his waist, he pulled a hunting horn and raised it to his lips.
    ‘Bring him down,’ Kraki bellowed.
    Guthrinc notched a shaft to his hunting bow. In one fluid movement, he took aim and loosed his arrow.
    Too late; the lowing of the horn rolled through the still woods a moment before the shaft thudded into the man’s back.
    Away in the trees, another horn answered.

C HAPTER T HREE
    WHEN THE HUNTING horn blared again, nearer this time, Kraki, Guthrinc and Hengist jerked alert as if they had been burned. Wood cracked. Running feet thrummed on the leaf-mould.
    Kraki cursed.
    ‘We stand and fight?’ Hengist peered into the mist with his unsettling pale eyes.
    Turning, the Viking shook his head. ‘Too many of them by the sounds of it,’ he whispered. ‘Back to Ely.’
    ‘The treasure?’ Guthrinc made a hurt face; he already knew the answer.
    ‘Leave it. It will only weigh us down. We take with us something greater than gold – the knowledge that the Norman bastards have not spilled Hereward’s blood.’
    The horn moaned once more, closer still, and it was echoed by two more. The call and response rang across the fog-shrouded woods. Kraki frowned. This was no mere hunting band.
    ‘Go, now,’ he urged. ‘Kill the knights, leave the monks. But if Turold stands in your way, gut him.’
    Guthrinc darted away through ochre waves of bracken, light on his feet for such a big man. Kraki followed. Barely a spear’slength had passed under his feet when he heard a cry. He whirled and saw Hengist crash down into the fern, his features contorted.
    Kraki dashed back to the fallen man, fearing his spear-brother had been winged by a crossbow bolt. But as he knelt, he saw the wiry warrior only clutched at his ankle.
    ‘Leave me,’ Hengist whispered with a grimace. ‘I will lie among the ferns and hope the Normans will not see me.’
    Kraki grunted. ‘I have heard better plans from the mouths of children.’ He peered into the white cloud. The sound of running feet echoed all around now. ‘Over my shoulder you will go. And no whining or I will dump you in a bog.’ Hengist started to protest, but Kraki only cuffed him round the ear to silence him.
    He hooked one hand in the warrior’s brown tunic, the other under his thigh, and heaved him up. Hengist weighed little more than a young deer, and for that Kraki was thankful. He lumbered away from the sound of the nearing army.
    Ahead, a cry echoed in the Norman tongue. Kraki recognized Turold’s voice. Guthrinc must have led the English away already. That was good. Kraki veered away from where they had caught the band of churchmen. If he could reach the flanks of the approaching Normans, he could hide in the fog as he circled behind them.
    Yet even that thin plan faded too fast. Grey shapes emerged from the white cloud, two of them, he saw, searching all around. Their lips curled back in glee when they saw their prey. Shrugging Hengist off his shoulder Kraki whirled up his axe. A head flew through the air before the English warrior sprawled in the bracken. As the other soldier cupped his hand to his mouth and yelled to his comrades, Kraki hacked into his neck.
    Wrenching his weapon free, he scooped Hengist up and struggled on, but he could hear the calls of their enemies drawing closer.
    ‘You are drunk or mad or both,’ Hengist gasped. ‘Aelfgar the One-Legged moves faster than us. Leave me now.’
    ‘If the gods want us both, they will take us. What we do matters not. Now keep your pox-ridden mouth closed.’
    Kraki heard heavy footsteps pounding behind them. Hoping their pursuer might lose them in the fog, he ran on through the white world, the bracken swaying against his knees. But when the sound of running feet drew closer, he cursed. His choice was stark: fight or die with a