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The Year of the Warrior


GOD WILLS IT!

 It all started with a Viking raid: When he is captured and forced into slavery, Aillil the Irishman must pretend to be a priest or die. Better to be a high-value priest than a low-value corpse, he thinks, and so it happens that a failed novitiate (he loved women too well) is taken up by Norway’s first Christian lord, Erling Skjalgsson to bring the Word to his people.

Ironically, though “Father” Aillil is as phony as a three-dollar psalm, he and he alone must convert a fiercely pagan people to the gentle teachings of Christ—and they don’t want to hear about it. Nor do their “gods,” who are all too real, and all too liable to do something horrible to those disturbing their divine peace.

It’s going to take a miracle for Aillil to succeed, or even survive, but fortunately God (the one true God, not those pagan demon creatures) is on his side. . . .



Paperback

Cover art by Gary Ruddell

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

First printing, March 2000

Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 0-671-57861-8

Erling's Word copyright (c) 1997; 
The Ghost of the God-Tree
copyright (c) 2000, 
by Lars Walker.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
http://www.baen.com

Typeset by Windhaven Press
Auburn, NH

Electronic version by WebWrights
http://www.webwrights.com


Contents

Erling's Word

The Ghost of the God-Tree

List of Main Characters & Pronunciations


CLASH BY NIGHT

The wind blew colder, and clouds rode in on it, shrouding the stars. The men sat back to back, sharing warmth. It was as black as Judas' grave.

There was one light in all the world.

It came towards us, over the meadow, from the direction of Thorolf Skjalg's grave.

We all saw him. The warriors groaned. They wept. They yammered like dogs. Some shouted, "Thorolf! It's my Lord Thorolf come out to walk again."

He was a tall man, dressed in full armor, with shield and spear and sword at his belt. He glowed all over with blue fire. He was coming to us.

"It's the battle-fetter!" someone cried. "Run! We've got to run!" But no one ran. No one stood on his feet. A few tried to crawl, but most stayed in their places, watching the walker-again come nearer and nearer.

I could see Thorolf's eyes now. They were green-yellow, round and cold.

Then a hand fell on my shoulder. Erling said, "A psalm, Father! I don't ask you to fight, but sing me a psalm that I may fight—that one about the mountains falling into the sea and shaking!"

I found I still had the crucifix in my hand, gripped so tightly it was wet with my blood. I tried to moisten my lips. "Deus noster refugium . . ." I croaked. God is our refuge and strength . . .

I saw the demon cast his spear, and saw his mouth open in something like laughter. I saw him fend Erling's spear in return. I heard the whacking of blades on shield, and saw the dead man lean and whirl; and his leaps were head-high and his whirls faster than birds' wings.

I spoke my psalm again and again, gripping the crucifix as a drowning man clings to driftwood. . . .


Also by this author:

Wolf Time

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