The Queen of Swords Read Online Free PDF

and it seemed that some attempt had been made to dye these streaks back to their original colour. The beard, too, was yellow and flecked with areas of stained grey. The face was haggard, covered in broken veins, and from the deep eye-sockets peered eyes that were bloodshot, faded blue, full of hatred, cunning and suspicion. Robes clothed the body from neck to foot. These were plainly of Vadhagh origin—brocades and samite now covered in the marks of food and wine. Over them was thrown a dirty coat of tawny wolfskin—just as plainly made by the Mabden of the east, whom the man ruled. The hands were encrusted with stolen rings torn from the fingers of slain Vadhagh and Nhadragh. One of the hands rested upon the pommel of a great, battered iron sword. The other clutched a bronze, diamond-studded goblet from which slopped thick wine. Surrounding the dais, their backs to their master, was a guard of warriors each as tall or taller than the man on the throne. They stood rigidly shoulder to shoulder, swords drawn and placed across the rims of their great oval shields of leather and iron sheathed in brass. Their brass helms covered most of their faces and from the sides escaped the hair of their heads and beards. Their eyes seemed to contain a perpetual and controlled fury and they looked steadily into the middle distance. This was the Asper Guard—the Grim Guard which was unthinkingly loyal to the man who sat upon the throne.
    King Lyr-a-Brode turned his massive head and surveyed his Court.
    Warriors filled it.
    The only women were the tattooed, naked wenches who served the wine. Their hair was dirty, their bodies bruised and they moved like dead things with their heavy wine jugs balanced on their hips, squeezing themselves in and out of the ranks of the big, brutal Mabden men in their barbaric war-gear, with their braided hair and beards.
    These men stank of sweat and of the blood they had spilled. Their leather clothes creaked as they raised wine-cups to their hard mouths, their harness rattled.
    A feast had recently taken place here, but now the tables and the benches had been cleared away and, save for the few who had collapsed and been dragged into corners, all the warriors were standing, watching their king and waiting for him to speak.
    The light from iron braziers suspended from the roof beams flung their huge shadows on the dark stone and made their eyes shine red like the eyes of beasts.
    Each warrior in the hall was a commander of other warriors. Here were earls and dukes and counts and captains who had ridden from all parts of Lyr’s kingdom to attend this gathering. And some, dressed a little differently from the others, favouring fur to the stolen Vadhagh and Nhadragh samite, had come from across the sea as emissaries from Bro-an-Mabden, the rocky land of the north-west from which the whole Mabden race had originated long ago.
    Now King Lyr-a-Brode placed his hands on the arms of his throne and levered himself slowly to his feet. Instantly five hundred arms raised goblets in a toast.
    “LYR OF THE LAND!”
    Automatically he returned the toast, mumbling, “And the Land is Lyr…” He looked around him, almost disbelievingly, staring for a long second at one of the girls as if he recognized her for something other than she was. He frowned.
    A burly noble with grey, unhealthy eyes, a red, shiny face, his thick black hair and beard curled and braided, a cruel mouth which was partly closed over yellow fangs, stepped from the throng and positioned himself just the other side of the Grim Guard. This noble wore a tall, winged helmet of iron, brass and gold, a huge bearskin cloak on his shoulders. There was a sense of authority about him and, in many ways, he had more presence than did the tall king who looked down on him.
    The king’s lips moved. “Earl Glandyth-a-Krae?”
    “My liege, I hight Glandyth, Earl over the estates of Krae,” the man assured him formally. “Captain of the Denledhyssi who have scoured your