Warlord by Keith McArdle

Author:Keith McArdle [McArdle, Keith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Keith McArdle
Published: 2019-05-31T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

After dawn broke, soaking the land in a mash of pink and orange, Vyder encourage Storm to drink what remained in the water bucket nearby. She stood in front of the pail looking at him, then nudged his shoulder.

“You can lead a horse to water,” he muttered, stroking her face.

Quiet movement came from all around as people awoke. A yawn, cough or groan accompanying a stretch spoke the end of slumber. A loud fart echoed around the village square.

A woman tutted. “You're such a pig of a man!” she hissed.

“Sorry, dearest,” the clansman boomed and farted again. He held out his hands, mouth open, eyebrows arching. “I couldn't help that one.”

She glowered at him, but amusement twinkled in her eyes. She turned away to roll up her bedding.

Vyder watched the exchange, chuckling to himself. A flap of wings caught his attention. Two sparrows sat beside one another on a branch, looking down at him, twittering to each other.

That is an old tree that one, little brother. At least seventy years in time as you know it.

A blur of motion across the sky, and a hawk slowed, performing a perfect landing on a branch in the tree's upper canopy. It appraised Vyder with glowering eyes.

“It seems the animals are aware of your presence, Gorgoroth.”

Storm finally drank her fill and raised her head from the empty pail, pushing a wet nose against Vyder's cheek.

“In a minute, lass,” he laughed, patting her neck.

He saddled Storm, and when the rest of the clan was ready to move, he stepped into the stirrups and swung up onto the horse's back. He walked Storm to the head of the column and led them away from the village green towards the northern entrance.

Torgun cantered up beside him and slowed. “I take it Windeagle decided not to join us, Chieftain?”

“Aye, lad, it'd appear that way. It was worth a try.”

The heavy weight of disappointment pulled at Vyder's guts. The meeting of Clan Windeagle had appeared to be successful. Perhaps more bickering had occurred after he and Gorgoroth had flown clear of the longhouse?

Who knows, little brother? We'll smite these Firestorm monkeys by ourselves if need be.

Vyder smiled.

“It was worth a try.” Vyder looked at Torgun. “We'll take Firestorm down by ourselves if we have to.”

“I'm glad you think so,” muttered the younger man.

“We are Ironstone, lad. Don't forget that, Torgun. Some of our people have forgotten what it is to be highlanders, let alone Ironstone.” He held Torgun's stare. “Don't be like them, lad. We are Ironstone, now and forever.”

Torgun's jaw bulged, his brow furrowed and a fierce glint entered his eyes. The younger man nodded.

Shouting erupted from the rear of the column, the shrieks and bellows drowned out by a thunder of hooves. Vyder stood in the stirrups and stared over his shoulder. A column of riders galloped towards them, a cloud of dust drifting into the sky behind them. Cloaks billowed from shoulders, but the piece of tartan fixed diagonally across each chest told the assassin all he needed to know.

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