The Blood-Tainted Winter Read Online Free

seemed to Raef, belonged to a trio of women, their arms corded with muscle, their blonde hair twisted in intricate braids. “The so-called daughters of Thor,” Einarr said, following Raef’s eyes. “Sisters from Solheim and Fengar’s greatest fighters.”
    The press at the gate was thick and Raef had to shoulder past a group of warriors bearing the mark of Wayhold. He passed others, recognizing the symbols of Norfaem, Kelgard, and Bergoss knit into cloaks, worked out of silver, or hammered into leather. One by one, the men disarmed, leaving their weapons outside the hall in a gesture of good will, though Raef was certain more than a few kept a small blade hidden in a boot. It would not be a surprise to see blood spilled in the Great-Belly’s hall that night. It was not so much the choosing of a king that would provoke them, not yet, though it might come to that in the end. It was the drink and the long-standing rivalries that would threaten sound minds.
    The massive hall grew crowded but still men poured through the doors like fish in a narrow chasm. Raef pressed in close to the Vannheim warriors around him, catching the sour breath of ale on one and the too-sweet odor of sweat on another. Already he was sweating and a trickle slid down his spine. Einarr stood just ahead of him, whispering in the ear of one of his captains.
    A great pounding drew all eyes to the platform that had been erected in the center of the hall. A giant of a man, one of the Great-Belly’s, bludgeoned the floor with a spear until the voices in the hall quieted, allowing Thorgrim to speak.
    “Lords, you are welcome to Balmoran. You know our purpose. May Odin grant us wisdom,” the Great-Belly said before lowering his bulk into a chair. Raef was surprised at the brevity of his words.
    A moment of silence passed, as everyone waited for someone else to make the first call. Finally, a voice rang out, from where in the hall Raef couldn’t be sure. “I call on Thorgrim of Balmoran!” A rustle of voices followed and the Great-Belly bowed his head in acceptance of the call, but this call was courtesy, Raef knew, a way of acknowledging the host. Thorgrim was a strong lord, but Raef’s father had explained during their journey to Balmoran that he likely did not truly aspire to be king. Rather he would hope to gain influence with the new king and was holding the gathering to promote his position—and gain valuable host gifts.
    The Great-Belly’s banner was hoisted into the rafters and silence ensued once more. This one was brief.
    “Uhtred of Garhold!”
    “Tormund of Darfallow!”
    “Andrik of Ver!”
    Three more banners flew upwards as servants scrambled to keep up with the flurry.
    “Too poor, too old, too disliked,” Einarr muttered just loud enough for Raef to hear. “Important men, but none would make a king. Worse, everyone knows it.” And so they waited for the first true candidate to be called.
    “Sigholf of Freywyn!”
    “Gudrik of Karahull!”
    A few shouts followed each name as men indicated their support but it wasn’t until a man offered “Fengar of Solheim!” and another “Torrulf Palesword” that waves of approval rolled through the crowd.
    A moment later, a voice called for Einarr of Vannheim and Raef felt a tremor of anticipation chill his skin as his father’s green and gold banner joined the others above them. That someone would call his father wasn’t a surprise, in fact Raef had expected to hear it, but he had not expected the loud response of the crowd. Vannheim was well respected, he knew. But he had not let himself imagine his father could be king.
    Time passed, the calls died down to nothing and Raef raised his eyes to count the banners. “Fifteen,” he whispered to himself more than to the men beside him. “We will be at this for days.” A round of ale for every man followed and then the candidates gathered on the platform, the banners hanging stiff and proud above them. Besides his father, among them