Weatherwitch: Book Three of The Crowthistle Chronicles Read Online Free PDF Page A

keen on this mission, then hie hence.” Not to be outdone, to his own equerry he said, “You, Riordan, accompany them.”

    Unaware that several of his companions were following him, Conall Gearnach careered through the canting woodlands. The light was fading, but he was tracing a conspicuous trail of broken twigs and crumpled vegetation. The sweet fragrance of crushed mint-bush scented the air, and the dainty rich purple petals of royal bluebells flew up from his running feet.
    Presently the trees opened out, and he burst into a glade. He slewed to a halt. Before him two lumbering Marauders, as tall as horses, were hauling the limp form of Prince Halvdan between them in a strenuous effort to cross the clearing and reach the shelter of the trees. The moment they spied the avenging knight they let fall their burden, but it was too late. Whipping out his knife, Gearnach fearlessly leapt upon one of the brigands. Locked together, they crashed to the ground, tumbling over and over in a desperate struggle until, with a lightning movement, Gearnach slashed his throat. Confronted by this apparently berserk fiend, the other fellow made off in reckless haste.
    “Are you alive?” Gearnach said, dropping to his knees beside the prince.
    Halvdan, barely conscious, nodded weakly. He lay spent but living, amongst the prickly spears of alpine crowthistle. Crashing noises issued from the woods behind them, and Gearnach jumped up. He whirled to face whatever new danger threatened, this time drawing his swords. On spying the three retainers who emerged into the clearing he sheathed the blades once more, barking, “Tend to his highness. Do not wait for me. I will meet you at the lodge.” He dashed off again in the wake of the fleeing Marauder.
    “Bide!” Halvdan weakly called after the knight, but to no avail. Gearnach, moving at speed, was already out of earshot.
    “Your Highness!” exclaimed the Head Gamekeeper.
    “I am hale,” said Halvdan, dismissively waving a hand. His appearance belied his words; he was spattered with ichor and grime, his garments ripped to tatters. “It is Two-Swords for whom you should be concerned. Darkness is nigh, and the woods wallow in shadow. To pursue a lone brig-and is not only perilous but also bootless. I would have stopped him, if I could. It is sheer folly.”
    “Lord, it is our duty to bring you safely back to the hunting lodge,” saidGunnlaug’s equerry, Riordan. “Come, let us bear you to your comrades.”
    The retainers half-carried Halvdan back to the scene of the skirmish, where the rest of the hunting party waited. Joyously they greeted the prince, but their delight turned to dismay when they heard of Gearnach’s grim and reckless quest.
    “Alone at this time of the evening!” exclaimed Walter. “Unseelie wights will soon be out and about.”
    “In the darkness a man might easily lose his footing,” said Ronin of Slievmordhu.
    “Let us hope that common sense prevails,” his brother Kieran said, “and Gearnach soon abandons this mad mission. Halvdan, my friend, let my equerry bandage your wounds. I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you!”
    “There is no need for fuss,” said Halvdan, swaying as he stood.
    “Lo, this one is still somewhat quick!” cried Gunnlaug. He began to kick one of the dying Marauders in the ribs and skull, until Walter of Narngalis pushed him aside and with one clean blow of his sword severed the ill-proportioned head of the suffering colossus.
    “We are not unseelie wights,” he said coldly to Gunnlaug. “We do not torment our enemies. It is the duty of honorable men to grant mercy. We owe our fellow men a clean death, at least, be they ever so ill-made.”
    “It was only sport,” the Grïmnørslander retorted sourly. “Let’s go hunting the rest of these filth. That was the best amusement I have had since I speared that big boar in the Forest of Svalbard.”
    “Nay, Gunnlaug. Darkness falls, and they are gone,” said Ronin.
    “In that