Child Of Storms (Volume 1) Read Online Free PDF

sighed.
                  Ardabur unhooked his thick fur cloak and threw it across the back of a nearby chair.
                  “He was a fool,” he snapped.
                  “He was hasty ,” Braemorgan said, moving around the table and handing Ardabur one of the mugs. “Since he was a little boy, he was too quick to decide things. He never learned to stop and think before acting. That’s not surprising, really. His grandfather was the same way at that age, but survived that reckless stage of youth and learned prudence.”
                  Ardabur said nothing, taking a long sip of his mead.
                  “Wulfgrim,” Braemorgan said, looking past Ardabur. “Good. Take your seats, gentlemen, and we can begin the council.”
                  Ardabur turned around, nodding at the old veteran who limped into the room leaning heavily on a walking stick.
                  “I am glad to see you up and walking,” Braemorgan said, patting Wulfgrim on the back handily. Wulfgrim sat down at the table and Braemorgan poured him a mug of the mead.
                  “The healers have done well,” Wulfgrim said. “They’ll have me back in fighting form before long.”
                  “I am sure of it,” Braemorgan said.
    The wizard glanced over at the door, smiling warmly at the newest arrival.
    “Thane Ardabur,” he said. “I’m sure you will recall Lady Morag. Now that she is here we may begin.”
                  A tall young woman dressed in a simple dark green dress with a dark purple cloak slung over her shoulders entered. She was flanked by a tall guard who bowed and backed out of the room as she stepped in, closing the door. Everyone stood at her entry, even hobbled Wulfgrim.
    Morag Ravenbane was young, but possessed a dignified bearing beyond her years. She had exceptionally bright red hair pulled back into a single braid which reached all the way down the length of her back. Her face was proud and strikingly beautiful, with clear white skin and large, bright green eyes. Her dress was modest, a simple green dress and dark purple cloak.
    She strode into the room with purpose, a haughty air about her.
                  “Milady,” Ardabur said. “I am grieved to hear of your brother’s death. He was a fine lad.”
                  “Thane Ardabur,” Morag snapped coldly. “You are late. Where is your army?”
    “Still a day away,” Ardabur said, sitting back down. “If it doesn’t snow again.”
    Braemorgan and Morag took seats at either head of the table, Wulfgrim and Ardabur taking the seats directly across from each other. Braemorgan poured Morag a mug of mead and sat down.
                  “Where is the dwarf?” Ardabur said. “Did he fall in battle, too?”
                  “Lord Ironhelm?” Braemorgan said. “No, he is otherwise occupied but very much alive. Let us get down to the matter of this council.”
                  “Start with explaining what the fuck happened,” Ardabur snapped.
                  “Very well,” Braemorgan said patiently. “Since you insist. I’ve been able to decipher most of what occurred. Very few survived the battle, including Wulfgrim, but that has helped in terms of putting together the facts of the matter. All report that Agnar fought with courage and skill in his first battle. Indeed, he led a charge and felled several of the enemy before succumbing.”
                  “There is no doubt he fought well,” Wulfgrim said, nodding. “He fell fighting.”
    Braemorgan paused, sipping his drink.
    “Three days ago Agnar received a report from one of his spies, a man by the name of Furloch,” he said. “This Furloch told him that Einar had a small garrison camped in a tiny hamlet ten miles from here across the river, no more than fifty men but to be reinforced