Read Online Hawk Queen 02 - The Hawk Eternal by David Gemmell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Gemmell
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and running, but they were too close.
One of the warriors began to search at the far side of the clearing, stepping into the screen of gorse. Gaelen's eyes opened wide as
Caswallon rose from the ground behind the warrior, clamped a hand over his mouth, and sliced his dagger across the man's throat. Releasing the body, he turned and ducked back into the gorse.
Unsuspecting, the remaining hunters checked to the west and east. Finding nothing, they moved towards the bush where Gaelen sat rigid with fear.
The first warrior, a burly man in bearskin tunic and leather breeches, turned to the second, a tall, lean figure with braided black hair.
'Fetch Karis,' said the first. The warrior moved back towards the clearing, while the leader walked towards Gaelen's hiding place. The boy watched in amazement. The man never once looked down; it was as if he and the bush were invisible.
The warrior was so close that Gaelen could see only his leather-clad legs and the high, laced boots he wore. He did not dare look up. Suddenly the man's body slumped beside the bush. Gaelen started violently, but stopped himself from screaming. The Aenir lay facing him, his dead eyes open, his neck leaking blood on the soft earth.
The dead man began to move like a snake, only backwards. Gaelen looked up. Caswallon had the man by the feet and was pulling him into the undergrowth. Then, dropping the body, the clansman vanished once more into the trees.
The last Aenir warrior, sword in hand, stepped back into the clearing. 'Asta!' he called. 'Karis is dead. Come back here.'
Caswallon's voice sounded, the words spoken coldly. 'You're all alone, my bonny.'
The warrior spun and leapt to the attack, longsword raised. Leaning back, Caswallon swivelled his quarterstaff stabbing it forward like a spear. It hammered into the warrior's belly and with a grunt he doubled over, his head speeding down to meet the other end of the ironcapped staff.
Hurled from his feet, he hit the ground hard. Groggy, he tried to rise. Strong fingers lifted him by his hair, ramming his face into the rough bark of an old oak. He sank to the ground once more, semi-conscious.
*
Ongist could feel his hands being tied, but could find no strength to resist. He passed out then, returning to consciousness some hours later for the sun had risen. His head ached and he could taste blood in his mouth. He tried to move but he was bound to a tree trunk.
Several paces before him sat the two he had been tracking, the man and the boy. Both were obviously clan, but there was something familiar about the lad although the warrior couldn't place him.
'I see you are back with us,' said the clansman. 'What is your name?'
'Ongist, son of Asbidag.'
'I am Caswallon of the Farlain. This is my son Gaelen,'
'Why have you not killed me?'
'I like a man who makes his point swiftly,' said Caswallon. 'You are alive by my whim. You are here to scout Farlain lands. Your instructions were probably to remain unseen, or kill any who discovered you — in which case you have failed twice. You had us encircled, and the circle is now tightening. Therefore if I leave you here you will be found, and you can give this message to your leaders: leave now, for I shall summon the Farlain hunters before the day is out and then not one of you will live to report to your lord.'
'Strong words,' muttered the Aenir.
'Indeed they are, my friend. But understand this, I am known among the Farlain as a mild-mannered man and the least of warriors. And yet two of your men are slain and you are trussed like a water fowl. Think what would happen if I loosed two hundred warcarles upon you.'
'What are your two hundred?' spat the warrior. 'What are your two thousand, compared to the might of the Aenir? You will be like dry leaves before a forest fire. The Farlain? A motley crew of semi-savages with no king and no army. Let me advise you now. Send your emissaries to the Lord Asbidag in Ateris and make your peace. But bring presents, mind.
One of the warriors began to search at the far side of the clearing, stepping into the screen of gorse. Gaelen's eyes opened wide as
Caswallon rose from the ground behind the warrior, clamped a hand over his mouth, and sliced his dagger across the man's throat. Releasing the body, he turned and ducked back into the gorse.
Unsuspecting, the remaining hunters checked to the west and east. Finding nothing, they moved towards the bush where Gaelen sat rigid with fear.
The first warrior, a burly man in bearskin tunic and leather breeches, turned to the second, a tall, lean figure with braided black hair.
'Fetch Karis,' said the first. The warrior moved back towards the clearing, while the leader walked towards Gaelen's hiding place. The boy watched in amazement. The man never once looked down; it was as if he and the bush were invisible.
The warrior was so close that Gaelen could see only his leather-clad legs and the high, laced boots he wore. He did not dare look up. Suddenly the man's body slumped beside the bush. Gaelen started violently, but stopped himself from screaming. The Aenir lay facing him, his dead eyes open, his neck leaking blood on the soft earth.
The dead man began to move like a snake, only backwards. Gaelen looked up. Caswallon had the man by the feet and was pulling him into the undergrowth. Then, dropping the body, the clansman vanished once more into the trees.
The last Aenir warrior, sword in hand, stepped back into the clearing. 'Asta!' he called. 'Karis is dead. Come back here.'
Caswallon's voice sounded, the words spoken coldly. 'You're all alone, my bonny.'
The warrior spun and leapt to the attack, longsword raised. Leaning back, Caswallon swivelled his quarterstaff stabbing it forward like a spear. It hammered into the warrior's belly and with a grunt he doubled over, his head speeding down to meet the other end of the ironcapped staff.
Hurled from his feet, he hit the ground hard. Groggy, he tried to rise. Strong fingers lifted him by his hair, ramming his face into the rough bark of an old oak. He sank to the ground once more, semi-conscious.
*
Ongist could feel his hands being tied, but could find no strength to resist. He passed out then, returning to consciousness some hours later for the sun had risen. His head ached and he could taste blood in his mouth. He tried to move but he was bound to a tree trunk.
Several paces before him sat the two he had been tracking, the man and the boy. Both were obviously clan, but there was something familiar about the lad although the warrior couldn't place him.
'I see you are back with us,' said the clansman. 'What is your name?'
'Ongist, son of Asbidag.'
'I am Caswallon of the Farlain. This is my son Gaelen,'
'Why have you not killed me?'
'I like a man who makes his point swiftly,' said Caswallon. 'You are alive by my whim. You are here to scout Farlain lands. Your instructions were probably to remain unseen, or kill any who discovered you — in which case you have failed twice. You had us encircled, and the circle is now tightening. Therefore if I leave you here you will be found, and you can give this message to your leaders: leave now, for I shall summon the Farlain hunters before the day is out and then not one of you will live to report to your lord.'
'Strong words,' muttered the Aenir.
'Indeed they are, my friend. But understand this, I am known among the Farlain as a mild-mannered man and the least of warriors. And yet two of your men are slain and you are trussed like a water fowl. Think what would happen if I loosed two hundred warcarles upon you.'
'What are your two hundred?' spat the warrior. 'What are your two thousand, compared to the might of the Aenir? You will be like dry leaves before a forest fire. The Farlain? A motley crew of semi-savages with no king and no army. Let me advise you now. Send your emissaries to the Lord Asbidag in Ateris and make your peace. But bring presents, mind.
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