Solomon Kane Read Online Free PDF

hospitality. The downpour drove him onwards until he lost all sense of time and almost of himself. He seemed to have become merely a plaything of the elements. It must be God’s will, and he knew God’s will often to be pitiless.
    At last the rain slackened without having softened the earth or even thinned the clouds. As it trailed away to the horizon it revealed fields where a few leafless trees stood sentinel. Its enervating chill stayed with Kane, whosegarments felt laden with water. He cast back the sodden hood and was striding doggedly along the road, which was defined largely by uneven ruts as hard and cold as iron beneath his feet, when he heard a sound like an omen of another storm.
    It was the rumbling of wheels. He turned to see a small covered wagon drawn by two horses. As it trundled alongside Kane the driver reined it to a halt. Under the conical wide-brimmed hat of a Puritan his pockmarked face was weather-beaten, but his large nose seemed to lend humour to his eyes. “Can we offer you a ride, pilgrim?” he said.
    Kane had an instinct that his destiny was best sought without the distractions of companionship. “Thank you, no.”
    The man’s wife touched her husband’s arm. Beneath a headscarf her face was weathered too, but still delicate. Like his, her garments were as sombre as the depths of winter. Kane saw that she was mutely urging her husband, who said “These roads should not be travelled alone.”
    “A man who fears God need fear no man.” This silenced the driver while Kane added “Thank you for your offer, but I’ll be walking.”
    “As you wish,” the driver said. “God be with you.”
    “And with you too, sir,” said Kane.
    The driver jerked the reins, and the wagon left Kane behind. Then the flaps at the rear of the vehicle were parted, and a boy’s face gazed out at him. Was there a glimpse of red fabric beyond him – the only hint of brightness in the wagon? The boy watched Kane as the wagon pulled further ahead, and Kane could have fancied that he was seeing his own boyhood retreat from him. He put those memories away from him as the wagon swayedover the ruts into a wood. The wagon and the sounds of hooves and wheels disappeared among the trees, and Kane strode towards his fate.

SIX

    I t took Kane the best part of an hour to find sufficient wood that was dry enough for building even a meagre fire. He struck the flint again and again until his fingers ached. He had prayed too by the time a grudging flame sputtered up from the driest twigs. He waited for the flames to gather strength, and then he set about arranging sticks over them. A pair of crows observed his efforts from high in the trees that surrounded the forest glade. Apart from the crackling of wood the only sound was the belated fall of raindrops that had lingered in the branches, for the crows were absolutely still.
    At last the sticks began to smoulder, and once they caught fire he added more sticks. In time he was rewarded with a fire that put him in mind of a treasure, considerably smaller than the heap of gold that used to haunt his dreams but just now far more valuable to him. As he held out his hands to it he felt renewed or at least capable of renewal. He was crouching closer when he heard a sound.
    Had the fire brought the crows to life as it was restoring vitality to him? The birds seemed not to have stirred, and their unblinking night-black eyes stayed fixed on him. A twig snapped in the heart of the fire, and Kane recognised how similar the stealthy noise had been. It was not the same, and he rose slowly to his feet.
    Ahead of him a fallen tree lay along the top of a slope. Kane thought the sound had come from beyond the massive trunk. He was heading for the slope when a footfall snapped another twig. It was behind him, and he had no chance to turn, for a knife was at his throat. “Move and you die,” a voice said in his ear.
    The blade was already breaking the skin, and it was close to his jugular vein.