King Raven #03 - Tuck by Stephen R. Lawhead

Author:Stephen R. Lawhead [Lawhead, Stephen R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, General, Juvenile Fiction, Science Fiction; Fantasy; Magic, Anthologies, Fairy Tales & Folklore
ISBN: 9781905654130
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group Limited
Published: 2009-11-15T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

Leaping, ducking, dodging through the thick-grown woodland tangle like a wild bird, Bran flew towards the sound of the baying hounds. In a little while, he reached the edge of the hunting run and burst out onto open ground—not more than a few hundred paces from the hunting party: four men on horseback, lances ready. They were standing at the edge of the run, watching the wood and waiting for the dogs and their handler to flush the quarry into the open so they could ride it down.

It was their usual way of hunting. Only, this time, their quarry was Bran.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bran put his head down and ran for the opposite side of the wide grassy corridor. He had made it but halfway across when there arose a shout behind him. “Arrêt! Arrêt!”

He ran even faster and reached the far side of the hunting run and flashed into the undergrowth with the riders right behind. There was more shouting behind him and the sound of ringing steel as the four knights began hacking their way into the wood. Bran found a big elm tree and paused to catch his breath. He waited until he heard the hounds again and then darted off once more, this time working his way back through the woods in the direction of the earl’s castle.

The chase was breathless and frantic. The hounds were quick on his scent, and as fast as Bran hurtled through the brake, the dogs were faster still. It was only a matter of time before he would be caught and brought to bay. He ran on, trying his best to put some distance between himself and the hunters. He heard the slavering growls as the beasts closed on him. He was searching for a heavy branch to wield as a club when the first hound finally reached him.

The dog bounded over a fallen limb, and Bran turned meet it. The animal—a great, long-legged rangy grey beast—howled once and leaped for him. Bran, standing still in the path, made no move to flee. Instead, he held out his hands. “Here! Come, old friend. Come to Count Rexindo.”

The dog, confused now, hesitated. Then, identifying the man who had fed him and befriended him, it gave a yelp of recognition and ran to Bran, put his paws on his chest, and began licking Bran’s face. “Good fella,” said Bran. “That’s right, we’re friends. Here, come with me. Let’s run.”

Bran started off again with the dog loping easily beside him. They were joined by a second dog and, within another dozen running steps, the third hound came alongside. The four of them, dogs and man, flowed through the forest with the ease and grace of creatures born to the greenwood, quickly outdistancing the handler and the hunters still sitting on their horses in the hunting run.

They came onto a path lying roughly parallel to the hunting run; a few flying steps farther and it began sloping down towards a stream which would, Bran guessed, lead to the river and the river to the town.

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