it.’
Alric saw his friend’s eyes take on a strange cast, and heard his voice become like stone. The monk felt a wave of pity, and fear too, but he would not show it in his face. ‘God watches over you, my friend.’ And I do, too.
Under the swaying branches of the ash tree, they embraced as brothers. And then Hereward walked through the milling crowd, oblivious of the hopeful eyes laid upon him, and into the trees. Alric watched until his friend was gone. But the monk knew it would not be long until the wetlands ran red with blood again. He would return.
The Devil of the Fens.
The Ghost who comes from the Mist.
Hereward, the greatest of the English. The King of Terror.
Вы читаете Hereward
