Skarth the Godless“Wake up!”
I don’t know what I feel first—the bucket of cold water or the punch to the face.
Shooting up, I rub the water from my eyes and prepare to take the head of whoever dares to wake me. When I see who it is, I wish I had taken his head a lot sooner.
“You reek of ale and defeat,” Ulf spits, offering me his hand.
I slap it away and stand on my own, but the world is slightly slanted, and I realize that’s because I’m still drunk on ale and the blood of Saxons.
It’s been three days since I laid my love to rest, and for the past three days, Saxon blood has stained this wretched land. I didn’t care who they were. If they were Saxon, then they died by my sword.
Each life was retribution for Emeline, but I know she wouldn’t want that. She wouldn’t want more death. But
