In the Shadow of the Gods Read Online Free Page B

at him. Blue eyes like ice over a lake, and Kerrus supposed his lank hair might have been blond, given a few washings. Stocky, thick shoulders, skin tanned from the sun glaring off snow. Northern blood, no doubt of that. “He’s small enough,” Kerrus said. “I can’t imagine he’ll bring too much ill luck. Untie him.”
    â€œHe’s a bloody Northman!”
    â€œHe’s a bloody child!” Kerrus bellowed back, and reached out to snatch the ropes from the wardens’ hands. The priest knelt down in front of the little Northman and untied the ropes. “The Mother and the Father love all the world’s children,” hetold the wardens sternly. “Northern and southern, young and old, highborn and low, everyone from the king right down to you dolts. This poor soul has clearly suffered enough to have earned the Father’s protection, and I’ll hear nothing more said about it. Do I make myself clear?” There was muttering and grumbling and shuffling feet, but no disagreement.
    They drifted away, some with backward glares, until it was just the priest, the boy, and the chief warden. “You’ll care for him, then, Parro?” Eddin asked.
    Kerrus sighed. “It seems I will. I’m bound to offer succor to all the Parents’ children. Or at least that’s what my old master made me swear.” Eddin clapped him on the shoulder, gave the boy a last, thoughtful look, and then went to join his men in the squat stone building that housed the wardens.
    There was something eerie about the way the boy stared. He didn’t blink nearly as often as he should. Some of the more superstitious convicts told tales of wolves in men’s skin, big Northern brutes who could change into animals and tear you to shreds, beasts with no souls. It was cold out, but not quite cold enough for the sudden, violent shudder that took hold of Kerrus.
    The priest looked away from those wide blue eyes, and became very aware of the other eyes staring. Prisoners and their families were crowded into doors and windows, braving the cold to gawp at their dirty visitor. Frowning, Kerrus held his hand out to the boy. “Come then, little lad. Let’s get you cleaned and fed.” The boy looked at the proffered hand, at Kerrus’s face, back to the hand, and then stuck his own hands in his armpits. Kerrus snorted. “As you wish.” He turned back toward his hut, and the boy slunk along behind him.
    It took three scrubbings with the roughest sponges Mora could find, but the boy cleaned up well enough. Bundled in borrowed furs, skin shined raw, hair plaited at the back of his head—he could have passed for some young Northern lordling, if they’d had lords in the North. He had a healthy appetite, shoveling porridge into his mouth as fast as he could swallow the muck. Hard to tell if he hadn’t eaten in a while, or if he just had a boy’s voracious appetite. It amounted to the same thing.
    Kerrus sat at his small table, waiting patiently until the boy had finished, then folded his hands and, with his most fatherly look, said, “Well, I imagine you’d best tell me what brings you to our neck of the woods.”
    The boy stared.
    Kerrus tried it again in the Northern tongue, which he’d learned the rudiments of a few boring winters ago, and got the same response. That exhausted Kerrus’s knowledge of languages. “Not much of a talker, eh? I can respect that. Man needs to know when to keep his mouth shut. You’ll have to learn to trust me, though, little lad.” He fished around in his pockets until he found one of the sweets he kept scattered about his hut and person. He set the sweet on the table in front of the boy. “I daresay I’m the best friend you’ve got now.”
    The boy picked up the sweet, sniffed at it, gave Kerrus a strange look, and popped it into his mouth. He sucked at the sweet, and stared, and kept