Giles Kristian - Raven: Sons of Thunder

The Second RAVEN Adventure

Giles Kristian

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Epub ISBN 9781409094340

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First published in Great Britain in 2010 by Bantam Press an imprint of Transworld Publishers

Copyright Giles Kristian 2010

Giles Kristian has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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ISBNs 9780593061640 (cased) 9780593061657 (tpb)

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Sons of Thunder is for my parents, who sent the wind and turned the tide

Also by Giles Kristian

Raven: Blood Eye

For more information on Giles Kristian and his books,
see his website at www.gileskristian.com

NORSEMEN

Osric (Raven)

Sigurd the Lucky, a jarl

Olaf (Uncle), shipmaster of Serpent

Knut, steersman of Serpent

Bragi the Egg, shipmaster of Fjord-Elk

Kjar, steersman of Fjord-Elk

Asgot, a godi

Svein the Red

Black Floki

Bjarni, brother of Bjorn

Bjorn, brother of Bjarni

Bram the Bear

Bothvar

Arnvid

Aslak

Gunnar

Halfdan

Halldor, cousin of Floki

Hastein

Hedin

Gap-toothed Ingolf

Kalf

Orm

Osk

Osten

Ulf

Yrsa Pig-nose

WESSEXMEN

Ealdred, an ealdorman

Cynethryth, his daughter

Father Egfrith, a monk

Penda

Mauger

Baldred

Cynric

Gytha

Ulfbert

Wiglaf

FRANKS

King/Emperor Karolus (Charlemagne)

Alcuin, his adviser

Fulcarius, commander of the shore guard

Radulf, a reeve

Bernart, a soldier

Arthmael, a soldier

Winigis, a fisherman

Borgon, bishop of Aix-la-Chapelle

Arno, a priest

DANES

Steinn, son of Inge

Rolf

GODS

in, the All-Father. God of warriors and war, wisdom and poetry

Frigg, wife of in

Thr, slayer of giants and god of thunder. Son of in

Baldr, the beautiful. Son of in

Tr, Lord of Battle

Loki, the Mischiefmonger. Father of lies

Rn, Mother of the Waves

Njrd, Lord of the Sea and god of wind and flame

Frey, god of fertility, marriage and growing things

Freyja, goddess of love and sex

Hel, both the goddess of the underworld and the place of the dead, specifically those who perish of sickness or old age

Vlund, god of the forge and of experience

Eir, a healing goddess and handmaiden of Frigg

Heimdall, Warden of the gods

MYTHOLOGY

Aesir, the Norse gods

Midgard, the place where men live. The world

Asgard, home of the gods

Valhll, ins hall of the slain

Yggdrasil, the World-Tree. A holy place for the gods

Bifrst, the Rainbow-Bridge connecting the worlds of the gods and men

Ragnark, Doom of the gods

Valkyries, Choosers of the slain

Norns, the three weavers who determine the fates of men

Fenrir, the mighty Wolf

Jrmungand, the Midgard-Serpent

Hugin (Thought), one of the two ravens belonging to in

Munin (Memory), one of the two ravens belonging to in

Mjllnir, the magic hammer of Thr

Gjallarbr, the bridge to the Underworld

Mdgud, Giantess who guards the bridge over the river Gjll

Gjallarhorn, Yelling horn which Heimdall sounds to mark the beginning of Ragnark

Urd, one of the Norns

Fimbulvetr, Terrible winter, heralding the beginning of Ragnark

Bilskrnir, Lightning Crack, Thrs own hall

Ffnir, Embracer, a dragon that guards a great treasure hoard

Sleipnir, the eight-legged grey horse of in

Tanngnjst (Gnash-tooth) and Tanngrsnir (Snarl-tooth), the goats who pull Thrs chariot

Gleipnir, the magic fetter forged of a mountains roots and birds spittle, which restrained the wolf Fenrir

Men with arms of iron
Drove the tired spruce oars
Through the snaking Frankish river.
Brothers now in slaughter,
Saxon, Dane and Sword-Norse,
Fled the Emperors anger.
Far from fjord and mountain,
Across the storm-tossed sea,
A hoard of fame was waiting.

Ravens Saga

HAVE YOU EVER SAILED IN A LONGSHIP? NOT A STUBBY, ROBUST knrr laden with trade goods and wallowing like a packhorse across the sea, but a sleek, deathly quick, terror-stirring thing a dragon ship. Have you ever stood at the bow with the salt wind whipping your hair as Rns white-haired daughters cream beneath the beasts strong, curving chest? Have you travelled the whale road with wind-burnt warriors whose rare skill with axe and sword is a gift from mighty in, Lord of War? Men whose death work feeds the wolf and the eagle and the raven? I have done all this. It has been my life and though it would make those skirt-wearing White Christ followers sick with disgust (and fear, I shouldnt wonder) I have been happy with my lot. For some men are born closer to the gods than others. By the well of Urd, beneath one of the roots of the great life tree Yggdrasil, the Norns, those sisters of fate, of present and future, take the threads of mens lives and weave them into patterns full of pain and suffering, glory and riches, and death. And their ancient fingers must have tired at the spinning of my life. Ah, but wait. The ale has greased my tongue and it slides ahead of itself. Come in, Arnor! Come flatten some straw, Gunnkel, we have all night ahead of us and very far to go. That is if my old head has not leaked memories like a rotten pail. Last night you heard just the beginning, slurped merely the froth from the mead horn. Now, together, we shall drink more. Thats it, Hallfred, stir some life back into the embers. Make the flames dance. Make them leap like the fires of Vlunds own forge. Yes, yes, there you go. Ingvar, give that threadbare hound of yours something to eat, for the love of Thr! Hes been chewing some poor clods shoe for the last hour! Is young Runa not here? That is a shame. Theres nothing like a plump pair of tits to make an old man add a little more gilt to his tale. Im no skald, I admit. My only song has been the sword song, the whisper of the great bearded axe as I made it dance before my enemys shieldwall. But skalds venture so far up their own arseholes that a man cannot smell the flowers amongst the farts. In their tales they paint Sigurd as one of the Aesir, the gods of Asgard, his sword the slayer of mountain giants. Their Raven is a red-eyed monster, an ugly death-sowing beast. Pah! What do they know? Did they ride the whale road with Sigurd the Lucky? Whoresons. Sigurd was a man. His sword was like any other sword, a thing forged of iron and steel by another man who knew his business. As for myself, am I a monster? I was handsome... after a fashion. I was young, anyway, and that is good enough. I had grown from carpenters apprentice, from a boy skulking on the toe end of his village, to a wolf amongst a pack of wolves. I was part of a fellowship of warriors. I had become a rider of the waves and a killer of men.