Read Online RuneWarriors by James Jennewein - Free Book Online Page B

his choice.
    Jarl shot first. He pointed his bow straight up in the air over his head and, holding his arm stock-still, let it fly. Bzing! Up, up it flew, disappearing, it seemed, into the clouds…and then down, down it came, speeding straight for Jarl. He moved not a muscle. The crowd gasped. His arrow was falling directly toward him; if he didn’t move, he’d surely be killed. Then, at just the last moment, he thrust his bow aloft over his head and thwwfft! the arrow point sank into the wooden bow itself, stopping inches from Jarl’s face.
    Cheers went up! The spectators could scarcely believe it, and neither could Dane. He was beaten. He knew he had no trick shot to top Jarl’s stunt. He dropped his bow and walked off the field, the villagers rushing past him to crowd around and congratulate the victor, their chants of “Jar-rl! Jar-rl! Jar-rl!” making Dane feel empty and small.
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    Astrid felt sick. She’d dearly wanted Dane to win. Feeling his pangs of dejection as if they were her own, she tried to find the words that might ease his pain. Pushing through the throngs of commoners, she was halfway to him when the crowd abruptly parted, and a tall commanding figure moved toward her.
    It was Prince Thidrek, pinning her with his coal-black stare.
    â€œ You , young lady,” said Thidrek, “were magnificent. Allow me to congratulate you.” Curtsying, she offered her hand. He kissed it and said, “Do me the honor of dining with me tonight at the feasting?”
    She eyed her father, then Thidrek. What could she do but accept? And by the time Thidrek withdrew, she looked round to see Dane was nowhere to be found.
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    Lut the Bent felt momentarily dizzy as the crowd swarmed round him, streaming toward the feasting tables. Where was Voldar? And how would he tell him of his awful premonition with so many people around? He’d wanted to take him aside and tell him at first light that morning. But he’d overslept, and by the time he’d risen and stretched and bathed and combed his beard and breakfasted on ale and salt fish, well, Voldar had been too involved in preparation for the festivities. Then Lut had been asked to say a blessing over the athletes and Thidrek had arrived, and then the games had begun and Lut decided he’d have to wait until later. But when? The longer he waited, the harder it would be. Wearied by the long day in the sun, his belly rumbling in hunger, he looked for a place he might sit down and rest. Yes, he would get his strength back. He needed his strength.
    And then the crowd parted and there was Voldar, standing right in front of him, deep in excited conversation with a half dozen elders from the outlying villages, the men alldrinking with gusto and replaying favorite highlights of the day’s games. Lut saw too that Thidrek himself was among them, joining in the joviality.
    â€œLut!” said Voldar, spotting the old one. “Great games, huh?”
    Stepping forward, Lut cleared his throat and tried to speak.
    â€œMy friend—” he rasped. “I need a word.”
    â€œA word?” Voldar said, playing up to the men. “I got a word— bacchanal ! How’s that for a word?” The men exploded in knowing laughter. Lut felt his nerve now faltering, acutely aware this was the worst moment possible for broaching such a delicate subject.
    Then, noticing Lut needed to speak, Voldar said, “What is it, Lut?”
    In a blink, everyone stopped talking. They turned to stare at the seer, waiting to hear what he had to say. But Lut couldn’t speak. His mind went blank. His throat went dry. His insides quaked with hunger. The sky spun overhead. His thoughts were ablur. Lifting his gaze, he found Thidrek staring at him, the dark eyes drilling into his.
    â€œIt’s about—your son…,” Lut blurted out.
    â€œWhat about him?” said Voldar.
    â€œI—I—”
    â€œWell, out of