Rate this book

The Long Hunt (2012)

by Judson Roberts(Favorite Author)

4.32 of 5 Votes: 5

languge

English

genre

Historical Fiction

publisher

Northman Books

series

The Strongbow Saga

review 1: Book Four in the Strongbow Saga picks up the adventures of former Slave Halfdan as he and his fellow Danes search for the men who killed his brother. The band under the command of Jarl Hastein encounter pirates and sea battles as they journey across Scandinavia in search of Toke, his band and Halfdan's kidnapped sister Sigrid. Extremely we'll-researched with lots of factual info about 9th century Viking life. Of course it is set up for book 5 in the saga - release date unknown.
review 2: It ends on a cliffhanger again! ======="Gudfred has told us, of course, that it was Toke and his men, not bandits, who killed Harald, up on the Limfjord," Floki said. "Had we known, Toke would be dead now. We plan to avenge Harald, and the others—Rolf, Ulf, Odd, and Lodv... moreer—too. They were all good men, and our comrades. "But Baug and I have been talking, and thinking, about this tale you told Gudfred. About Toke's attack. And there is one thing we do not understand. How is it that everyone else—Harald, Rolf and the others, and even all of the folk of the estate up there—was killed, but you survived? Harald was the finest swordsman I have ever known, and Ulf a very skilled and experienced warrior. Yet they were killed, and you escaped unharmed. How did that happen?" Floki's words took me by surprise. I had not expected them, nor the tone of his voice, or the scorn visible in his eyes. I could feel my face getting hot and flushed, and my feelings swirled in a confused mix of anger and shame, as I realized Floki believed—and was all but accusing me to my face—that I was a coward. All but. And then, when I said nothing, he did. "Did you run from the fight?" he asked, sneering. "Did you flee, and leave the others behind to die?" Had this been Frankia, had this been a member of our army there, and I the warrior Strongbow, I would have killed Floki for his insult, or died trying. But this was my home, or so I had considered it. Here I was just Halfdan, not Strongbow. I had believed this man was one of my people, and I one of his.You should understand that we follow the jarl, not you. You may be Harald's half-brother, and Hrorik's son. You may be a warrior to the jarl and his men. But we know who you are. We know what you are. You are not a chieftain—especially not our chieftain, and you never will be. We are not your men."I have been thinking," he continued, "about the estate in Jutland, the lands that were your father's, and your brother Harald's after him. You do have a lawful claim to them. No one else has a stronger one. It might be possible—I suppose—to work the lands successfully with only the slaves you freed, if they do not all run off. But it is a chieftain's estate. A man who holds such lands, if he wishes to keep them, must surely have some followers who are more than former thralls. He must have housecarls, warriors, who can fight to protect the estate and its folk, if necessary." I thought it ironic that Hastein was ignoring the fact that I was a freed slave, yet was capable of fighting, but I said nothing. "It is clear to me," he said. "To take that estate as your own, you must become a chieftain. The folk of the estate must accept that you are one. So you must learn how to act like a chieftain. In part you must learn how to command men, and how to make them wish to follow you. But there is more to it than that. You must conduct yourself in all things as if you believe you are as good as any man, and better than most. So I have decided—it is I who must teach you these things. There is no one else who can. You have no one else—your father and brother are both dead." I was speechless. This was totally unexpected. "Well?" Hastein asked. He clearly expected some response. "I…I do not know what to say." In truth, I was not at all certain this was something I wanted. When we had been at the estate, I had asserted that I had a claim of right to it. But Hastein was correct: it was a chieftain's estate. And I was not chieftain, and did not believe I could ever be. To the folk of that estate, I would surely always be just Hrorik's bastard son and a former slave. But I could not tell Hastein that—especially not now. "I thank you," I finally said."So that is why I told you to change your shabby clothes," he continued. " If you wish men to believe that you are a person of note, a chieftain or at least someone who might someday become one, you must look and act like one. It is also why I wished to ride to Jarl Arinbjorn's estate, rather than walk there. From now on, you must always be aware of the impression you make when others meet you—particularly important men, such as Arinbjorn. And it is also why I told you to bring your bow. You have already gained some renown as a warrior, in no small part due to your unusual skill with your bow. A renowned war-king, Ragnar Logbrod, has named you Strongbow, in front of an entire army. That is an honor that few achieve. Do not let others—and particularly do not ever let the carls of your estate— forget that. Many a great man is great to a large extent because others believe he is."============There are many ways one can react to danger and misfortune. The measure of a man is often revealed by how he chooses to do so. The six pirates who found themselves suddenly stranded on the small island, the rest of their comrades all either slain or taken prisoner, had elected to drink themselves into a stupor. "You mentioned the path of your life. It is useful to think of life that way. Each of us, as we travel through our lives, regularly come to places where the path forks—where there are different directions our life may take, depending on some decision we must make. In your life for example, what would have happened if, after Toke slaughtered your brother Harald, and his men and the folk of the farm up on the Limfjord, you had not sworn to avenge their deaths? What if you had just fled, caring only for your own safety, and had become a homeless wanderer? For certain, if I had met you under such circumstances, I would not have been moved to offer you a place in the crew of the Gull. And had that not happened, you would not have been with me and my men in Frankia, and would not have been in a position to save the life of Ragnar Logbrod. And had that not happened, you would not have been honored by him before an entire army as ‘Strongbow,' a warrior of renown. Do you see how it works? How so much has flowed from that one decision you made? How your life could so easily have gone a different way?" The more Hastein tried to explain it, the more confused I felt. "If it was part of the Norns' plan that I seek to avenge Harald and kill Toke, could I have decided anything else?" "Oh, yes," Hastein said. "It was your decision to make, or not to. The path of a man's life is not like runes carved into stone, which cannot be changed." "But if, as you suggest, the path my life has taken thus far is part of a great pattern of fate being woven by the Norns, had I not sworn vengeance—had I just fled from Toke—would the pattern not have been altered?" "Ah!" Hastein said. "That is a good question!" He clearly was enjoying this discussion far more than I was. "What makes fate so very hard to grasp is its vastness. That is why mortal men do not have the ability to truly comprehend it." That, among other things, I thought. "To the Norns," he continued, "every man's life is no more than a few threads—and short threads, at that. You have seen cloth woven, have you not?" I nodded. When growing up I had watched my mother and the other women of Hrorik's household seated at the big looms, weaving the threads they'd spun from sheep's wool into cloth. "Think of it this way. Many, many threads are woven into a single bolt of cloth. And to make something as large as a longship's sail, many bolts of cloth must be woven, and sewn together. If a single weaver were to fail to weave a few short lengths of thread in their proper place and order into a single bolt of cloth, it would not change the sail in any way you could notice, would it?" I shook my head. "Fate—the fate of the whole world, which the Norns are weaving, is far, far vaster than a longship's sail. Unlike mortal men, the Norns can see, as they weave, that which has not yet come to pass. As they hold the threads of each man's life in their fingers, they can see a path our lives could follow that would best serve the pattern they are weaving. We are, each of us, given the chance to follow that path which the Norns wish us to take. But if any man, through his own decisions and actions, turns aside from that path…" Hastein shrugged. "He is but one man, and his life but a few threads. There are other lives, other threads, which can be woven instead to achieve the final pattern. No single man's life can change the course of fate itself.""Why do you try so hard to serve the Norns?" Many believed in fate, but I had never before heard of anyone who tried to serve it. "In truth, because I believe it often profits me to do so. I believe the Norns caused your path and mine to cross for a reason. I believed, when we met and I learned what had befallen you, that the Norns wished me to take you into the crew of the Gull, and to aid you in your quest for vengeance. But aiding you has certainly brought benefit to me, as well. You saved my life more than once in Frankia. I could have died there, but instead I came away from Frankia a much wealthier man." "So you believe that by aiding me—by furthering what you believe is the Norns' plan for my life—you will benefit as well?" That somehow made me feel better. "I believe that if any of our lives no longer furthers the pattern the Norns are weaving, we will be of no use to them, and then the risk grows that they will choose to cut the threads of our lives." less

Download links for: The Long Hunt

Advertising