The Crystal Shard Read Online Free PDF

mumbled under his breath, "A pity that Heafstaag is not possessed of your patience."
    "I announce Heafstaag, King of the Tribe of the Elk." the herald cried out in a clear voice,
    "son of Hrothulf the Strong, son of Angaar the Brave; thrice killer of the great bear; twice conqueror of Termalaine to the south; who slew Raag Doning, King of the Tribe of the Bear in single combat in a single stroke…" (this drawing uneasy shuffles from the Tribe of the Bear, and especially their king, Haalfdane, son of Raag Doning.) The herald went on for many minutes, listing every deed, every honor, every title, accumulated by Heafstaag during his long and illustrious career.
    As the challenge of the song was competition between the tribes, the listing of titles and feats was a personal competition between men, especially kings, whose valor and strength reflected directly upon their warriors. Beorg had dreaded this moment, for his rival's list exceeded even his own. He knew that one of the reasons Heafstaag had arrived last was so that his list could be presented to all in attendance, men who had heard Beorg's own herald in private audience upon their arrival days before. It was the advantage of a host king to have his list read to every tribe in attendance, while the heralds of visiting kings would only speak to the tribes present upon their immediate arrival. By coming in last, and at a time when all the other tribes would be assembled together, Heafstaag had erased that advantage.
    At length, the standard bearer finished and returned across the hall to hold open the tent flap for his king. Heafstaag strode confidently across Hengorot to face Beorg.
    If men were impressed with Heafstaag's list of valor, they were certainly not disappointed by his appearance. The red-bearded king was nearly seven-feet tall, with a barrelshaped girth that dwarfed even Beorg's. And Heafstaag wore his battle scars proudly. One of his eyes had been torn out by the antlers of a reindeer, and his left hand was hopelessly crumpled from a fight with a polar bear. The King of the Tribe of the Elk had seen more battles than any man on the tundra, and by all appearances he was ready and anxious to fight in many more.
    The two kings eyed each other sternly, neither blinking or diverting his glance for even a moment.
    "The Wolf or the Elk?" Heafstaag asked at length, the proper question after an undecided challenge of the song.
    Beorg was careful to give the appropriate response. "Well met and well fought," he said.
    "Let the keen ears of Tempos alone decide, though the god himself will be hard-pressed to make such a choice."
    With the formalities properly carried out, the tension eased from Heafstaag's face. He smiled broadly at his rival. "Well met, Beorg, King of the Tribe of the Wolf. It does me well to face you and not see my own blood staining the tip of your deadly spear!"
    Heafstaag's friendly words caught Beorg by surprise. He couldn't have hoped for a better start to the war council. He returned the compliment with equal fervor. "Nor to duck the sure cut of your cruel axe!"
    The smile abruptly left Heafstaag's face when he took notice of the dark-haired man at Beorg's side. "What right, by valor or by blood, does this weakling southerner have in the mead hall of Tempos?" the red-bearded king demanded. "His place is with his own, or with the women at best!"
    "Hold to faith, Heafstaag," Beorg explained. "'This is deBernezan, a man of great import to our victory. Valuable is the information he has brought to me; for he has dwelt in Ten-Towns for two winters and more."
    "Then what role does he play?" Heafstaag pressed.
    "He has informed," Beorg reiterated.
    "That is past," said Heafstaag. "What value is he to us now? Certainly he can not fight beside warriors such as ours."
    Beorg cast a glance at deBernezan, biting back his own contempt for the dog who had betrayed his people in a pitiful attempt to fill his own pockets. "Plead your case, southerner.
    And may