Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) by Alaric Longward

“We need him here for the defense. He’s damned good with a blade and spear. Damned good.”
    Gisil tilted her head at Cerunnos. “You are also the best rider. Get him here.”
    Cerunnos hesitated, but not for long. “Fine. I’ll go. I’ll take the two dolts with me.” Gunter spat in disgust.
    “Go, then. Take the idiots with you,” Gunter shouted, and pulled the young man around. “And take care. Be fast. I don’t like this.”
    “None can catch me when I mount a horse, unless it’s beautiful with nice hips and young,” he laughed, and ran inside to get his gear and to saddle a beast.
    Sunna’s last light disappeared with a red flash, and shadows shot through the yard. There was something uncanny about the sudden darkness and the ominous silence, the deep shadows, as if we had all been pushed to the land of the damned. I felt the hair stand in my neck. “Shall we defend the hall?”
    Gisil nodded, looking around. “We dare not leave. Hulderic is coming here, and we must be here as well.”
    Gunter slapped his spear on the wall. “I’ll decide such matters, not a woman. I think we’ll be sorry to see Cerunnos gone.” She fixed him with a cold glare, and he raised his hands defensively. “But I agree. We’ll block the doorway,” Gunter said, and pointed a finger that way. We took the horses to the northern end of hall, where the stables were. We dodged as the young Cerunnos—wearing a sword—and the two terrified slaves rushed out with their beasts, and we left the horses there.
    “Do not take the harness and the saddle off,” Gisil said darkly. “Block the doors, but leave the horses ready to ride. It’s uncomfortable for them, but must be done.”
    The blacksmith and I grunted with agreement, left the horses in the stable, and entered the main hall from the stable end. We pulled the heavy, well-made doors closed as we entered the hall of Teutorigos, and lifted a bar in place. Then we did the same with the main door. While the doors were closed, I thought I saw something moving in the fields at the wood’s edge, but it could have been anything; a bear, fox, or a wolf, so fleet it was, but I felt cold and unreasonably afraid. We latched the door with a heavy bar. I saw the blacksmith‘s face was drawn and white. I was about to ask him if he had seen something as well, but he shook his head, and didn’t say a word, pulling me after him for the main hall.
    It was much like Germani halls. It was long and wide, and smoke billowed in the rafters, where it slowly escaped from holes to the dark sky. A series of fire pits littered the floor, shingles burning in the corners, where a slave dutifully crouched next to them, ready to change the burning bits of tarred wood when they burned far enough and became dangerous.
    Hay littered the floorboards, but Teutorigos had some finer ornaments; hunting weapons set on the walls and hung from thick ash pillars, gray and white drapes to separate parts of the hall into a more private sections. There were meticulously carved tables and stools with strange Celtic symbols of men with inhuman eyes and long faces, and animals, spirits likely, set in a long strings around the edges of the tables. There were many spinning wheels, which the great man’s daughters apparently used dutifully, as they were well cared for, but there were no women in the hall, as they had gone with their father. Gisil had no interest in such contraptions, but stepped up to a dais set in the middle of the hall. Two plain chairs sat empty, waiting for the master and his guest to return.
    But they were not empty.
    On one seat was a sword, ancient and long, what the Romans might call a spatha.
    It was well oiled, sharp, and old as time, as if the blade was thinner in some places than others, but still a very beautiful, deadly weapon of much honor and fame. On its blade, countless of lives had ended. It whispered to me, I thought, in the dim light of the hall, the glinting edge beckoning for me,