Stones of Power 01 - Ghost King by David Gemmell

Author:David Gemmell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi

Thuro watched as the two men left the clearing, Prasamaccus limping behind the taller Hogun.

Korrin Rogeur approached him. 'Can he use that bow?'

Time will tell,' said Thuro. Korrin shook his head and departed with four other men. Laitha sat beside the prince.

They brought in three other pregnant women last night, she told him. 'I heard them talking. It seems Korrin raided a convoy they were with: four soldiers killed and several others wounded.'

Thuro nodded. 'It is his only chance to hurt Astarte - rob her of her sacrifices. But he is doomed, poor man, just like his brother.'

'While he lives, there is hope - so Culain used to say.'

Thuro nodded. 'There is truth in that, I suppose. But there are not more than fifty men here -

against an army of ten thousand. They cannot win. And have you noticed the lack of organisation?

It is not just that they lack skill as huntsmen, but they do nothing but sit and wait for Pallin to go mad. There are not enough scouts out to adequately protect the camp; they have no meetings to discuss strategy; they do not even practise with their weapons. A more disorganised band of rebels I have never heard of; they wear defeat like a cloak.'

'Perhaps they were just waiting for a prince with your battle experience,' snapped Laitha.

'Perhaps they were!' Thuro pushed himself to his feet and approached the nearest guard, a hulking youngster armed with a longbow. 'What is your name?' asked Thuro.

'Rhiall.'

Tell me, Rhiall, if I were to walk from this camp what would you do?'

'I would kill you. Would you expect me to wave?' This brought a chuckle from the other three guards who had gathered around.

'I do not think you could kill me with that bow - not were I ten feet tall, six feet wide and riding a giant tortoise.' The other men grinned at Rhiall's discomfort. 'What is there for the rest of you to smile about? You!' hissed Thuro, pointing at a lean man with a dark beard and green eyes. 'Your bow is not even strung. Were I to run yonder into the trees you would be useless.'

'It doesn't pay to be insulting boy,' said the huntsman.

'Wrong,' Thuro told him. 'It does not pay to insult men. What are you, runaway servants? Clerics?

Bakers? There is not a warrior amongst you.'

That does it!' said the lean man. 'It is time someone taught you a lesson in manners, boy.' Thuro stepped back, allowing the man to draw his longsword, then the prince's gladius snaked into the sunlight.

'You are right about lessons, forester.' The prince leapt lithely back as the huntsman raised his sword and charged, slashing the weapon in a vicious arc towards Thuro's left side. The prince blocked the sweep with ease, pivoted on his heel and hammered the man from his feet. The huntsman's sword flew through the air to clatter against the trunk of a nearby tree. 'Lesson One,'

said Thuro. 'Rage is no brother to skill.'

A second man came forward, more carefully.

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