Read Online The Seventh Scroll by Wilbur Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Wilbur Smith
Tags: Historical
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the valley. This was the most difficult shot that any gun would face. A high pair of pheasant with a half gale quartering from behind, dropping into the shot at their terminal rate of flight, set to pass over the line at the extreme effective range of a twelve-bore shotgun. For the men below it was a calculation of speed "and lead in all three dimensions of space. The best of shots might hope to take one of them, but who would dare to think of both?
"A pound on it!" Georgina called. "A pound that they both get through." But none of the beaters who heard her accepted the wager.
The wind was pushing the birds gently sideways. They started off aimed at the centre of the line, but they were drifting towards the far end. As the angle changed, Royan could see the men at the pegs below her brace themselves in turn as the birds appeared to be heading straight for them, and then relax as the wind moved them on. Their relief was evident as, one after the other, each of them was absolved from the challenge of having to make such an impossible shot with all eyes fastened upon him. In the end only the tall figure at the extreme end of the line stood in their flight path.
"Your bird, sir," one of the other guns called mockingly, and Royan found that instinctively she was holding her breath with anticipation. Nicholas Quenton-Harper seemed unaware of the approach of the pair of pheasant. He stood completely relaxed, his tall frame slouching slightly, his shotgun tucked under his right arm with the muzzles pointing at the ground.
At the moment that the leading hen bird reached a point in the sky sixty degrees ut ahead of him he moved for the first time. With casual grace he swung the shotgun up in a sweeping arc. At the instant that the butt touched I I his cheek and shoulder he fired, but the gun never stopped moving and went on to describe the rest of the arc.
The distance delayed the sound of the shot reaching I Royan. She saw the barrels kick with the recoil, and a pale spurt of blue smoke from the muzzle. Then Nicholas lowered the gun as the hen suddenly threw back her head and closed her wings. There was no burst of feathers from her body, for she had been hit cleanly in the head and killed instantly. As she began the long plummet to earth Royan heard the thud of the shot. By then the cock was high over Nicholas's head. This time as he mounted the gun in that casual sweeping gesture he arched his back to point upwards, his long frame bending from the waist like a drawn bow. Once again at the apex of the swing the weapon kicked in his grasp.
"He has missed!" Royan thought with a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment, as the cock sailed on seemingly unscathed. Part of her wanted the beautiful bird to escape, while part of her wanted the man to succeed.
Gradually the profile of the high cock altered as the wings folded back and it rolled over in flight. Royan had no way of knowing that his heart had been struck through, until seconds later he died in mid-air and the locked wings lost their rigid set.
As the cock tumbled to earth, a spontaneous chorus of heers ran down the line of beaters, faint but enthusiastic on the icy north wind. Even the other guns added their voices with cries of, "Oh, good shot, sir!'
Royan did not join in the cheering, but for the moment her fatigue and cold were forgotten. She could only vaguely appreciate the skill that those two shots had called for, but she was impressed, even a little awed. Her very first glimpse of the man had fulfilled all the expectations that Duraid's stories about him had raised in her.
By the time the last drive ended it was almost dark.
An old army truck came mbling down the track through ru the forest along which the tired beaters and their dogs waited. As it slowed they scrambled up into the back.
Georgina gave Royan a boost from behind before she and Magic followed her up. They settled thankfully on one of the long hard benches, and Georgina lit a cigarette as she
"A pound on it!" Georgina called. "A pound that they both get through." But none of the beaters who heard her accepted the wager.
The wind was pushing the birds gently sideways. They started off aimed at the centre of the line, but they were drifting towards the far end. As the angle changed, Royan could see the men at the pegs below her brace themselves in turn as the birds appeared to be heading straight for them, and then relax as the wind moved them on. Their relief was evident as, one after the other, each of them was absolved from the challenge of having to make such an impossible shot with all eyes fastened upon him. In the end only the tall figure at the extreme end of the line stood in their flight path.
"Your bird, sir," one of the other guns called mockingly, and Royan found that instinctively she was holding her breath with anticipation. Nicholas Quenton-Harper seemed unaware of the approach of the pair of pheasant. He stood completely relaxed, his tall frame slouching slightly, his shotgun tucked under his right arm with the muzzles pointing at the ground.
At the moment that the leading hen bird reached a point in the sky sixty degrees ut ahead of him he moved for the first time. With casual grace he swung the shotgun up in a sweeping arc. At the instant that the butt touched I I his cheek and shoulder he fired, but the gun never stopped moving and went on to describe the rest of the arc.
The distance delayed the sound of the shot reaching I Royan. She saw the barrels kick with the recoil, and a pale spurt of blue smoke from the muzzle. Then Nicholas lowered the gun as the hen suddenly threw back her head and closed her wings. There was no burst of feathers from her body, for she had been hit cleanly in the head and killed instantly. As she began the long plummet to earth Royan heard the thud of the shot. By then the cock was high over Nicholas's head. This time as he mounted the gun in that casual sweeping gesture he arched his back to point upwards, his long frame bending from the waist like a drawn bow. Once again at the apex of the swing the weapon kicked in his grasp.
"He has missed!" Royan thought with a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment, as the cock sailed on seemingly unscathed. Part of her wanted the beautiful bird to escape, while part of her wanted the man to succeed.
Gradually the profile of the high cock altered as the wings folded back and it rolled over in flight. Royan had no way of knowing that his heart had been struck through, until seconds later he died in mid-air and the locked wings lost their rigid set.
As the cock tumbled to earth, a spontaneous chorus of heers ran down the line of beaters, faint but enthusiastic on the icy north wind. Even the other guns added their voices with cries of, "Oh, good shot, sir!'
Royan did not join in the cheering, but for the moment her fatigue and cold were forgotten. She could only vaguely appreciate the skill that those two shots had called for, but she was impressed, even a little awed. Her very first glimpse of the man had fulfilled all the expectations that Duraid's stories about him had raised in her.
By the time the last drive ended it was almost dark.
An old army truck came mbling down the track through ru the forest along which the tired beaters and their dogs waited. As it slowed they scrambled up into the back.
Georgina gave Royan a boost from behind before she and Magic followed her up. They settled thankfully on one of the long hard benches, and Georgina lit a cigarette as she
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