The Knight Marshal (The Silk & Steel Saga) Read Online Free PDF

the snow to mud. Finding the view too grim
for words, the marshal had no reply.
    Sir Abrax scowled. “Looks like
they’ve claimed the wall. Little good the Whore will do them.”
    But the marshal saw their strategy.
“The Whore will help them hold the pass while their foragers ransack the other
walls. They’ll be feasting on our winter stores whilst we go hungry.”  His
stomach chose that moment to rumble, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in over
a day. “We need to find the others.”
    They edged backwards, keeping their
heads low. Remounting, they followed the ridge south, always keeping well
within the trees, the horses forging a path through the lightly crusted snow.
Single file, they rode throughout the day, hunger gnawing at them like a second
enemy. By twilight they ran out of ridge, descending a steep trail to the flat
lands.
    A low growl echoed through the
woods. Instead of retreating, the marshal turned his horse toward the sound.
They emerged from a stand of white-barked aspen to find a pack of wolves
feasting on a fresh-felled stag. A dozen wolves snapped and snarled over the
kill. Sir Abrax drew his great sword, “Looks like we’ve found dinner.”
    The marshal gave him a stern look.
“Careful. Voices carry.”
    Sir Abrax nodded, lowering his
visor.
    Silent as snow, the three knights
charged the wolves; their armor gleaming in the fading light, their swords
raised high. A great gray wolf whirled to meet the charge. Fangs bared, he
stood his ground, menacing a deep-throated growl, but fangs were no match for
Castlegard steel. Sir Abrax took his head with a single sword stroke while Sir
Rannock rode amongst the others, his morning star carving a deadly whirl. The
wolves broke and ran. Sir Abrax pulled his warhorse to a halt. “Knights against
wolves, how the mighty have fallen, but at least we’ve gained a meal.” He
peered down at the bloody carcass. “Does anyone know how to dress a deer?”
    Silence reigned, they were knights
not huntsmen.
    The healer caught up to them,
bouncing on the back of his horse. “I’ll do it.” Quintus slid from the horse,
pulling a packet of leather-wrapped surgeon’s knives from one of his many
pockets. “Skin and muscle are much the same, though some are tougher than
others.” The knights stood guard while the healer carved the stag. Beyond the
hill, the wolves howled a mixture of frustration and anger. One shaggy-maned
wolf stood sentinel, a gray shadow on the hilltop.
    Quintus finished his work, blood up
to his elbows. “I’ve salvaged as much as I can, but the meat will need to be
well cooked.” He knelt, scrubbing snow on his forearms. “A pity we don’t have
salt.”
    “There’s many things we don’t
have.” The marshal threw the healer a spare blanket. “Wrap the meat in this; we
need to be off.” They remounted and the marshal led them deeper into the
flatlands. Behind them, the wolves yipped and howled, reclaiming the carcass.
    They rode for the better part of an
hour. Coming across a clump of boulders, the marshal called a halt. “This is as
good a shelter as we’re likely to get. We’ll rest here and dare a small fire.
Carve the venison into strips and cook all of it. From now on every fire will
be a risk.”
    They picketed the horses and
scrounged for firewood while the healer cut the meat into strips. In the lee of
the boulders they coaxed a small flame to life, setting the venison to cook on
sticks. Sir Rannock filled his helm with snow and set it near the coals.
Sitting in a circle, they watched the meat like starving wolves. Too hungry to
wait, they burned their fingers on half-cooked venison, the juices staining
their beards. The marshal was just as impatient as the others, cramming his
mouth with venison. The sizzling strips proved tough and stringy but they
filled his empty stomach. Reaching for the helm, he quenched his thirst on
snowmelt. No one spoke. His hunger finally sated, the marshal watched his men,
three champions of