03 - God King by Graham McNeill - (ebook by Undead) Read Free Book Online Page B

had
used the time to set traps on their back trail. At least one snare had caught a
wolf; he’d heard its plaintive cry of pain. The breath heaved in his lungs and
he knew he couldn’t run much further. At some point soon he’d have to turn and
fight. There hadn’t been time to pluck his arrows from the goblin and wolf
corpses, but his retrieved pack had a spare quiver with a dozen arrows. He
didn’t want to face the goblins and their wolves with only his bow and hunting
knife, so any ambush would have to be planned carefully.
    Cuthwin looked up through the high branches of the tangled canopy, trying to
judge how far it was to the river. He could hear the distant sound of it and its
cold, clear scent was a crisp tang over the mulchy greenness of the forest. If
they were going to get away from these creatures, he’d need to have plotted
their course correctly.
    Deeplock stumbled and almost dragged Cuthwin down with him.
    “Up, mountain man!” he hissed. “Use those damn legs of yours!”
    “Must… go back…” gasped the dwarf, and Cuthwin saw there was blood in his
beard.
    “Not if you want to live,” he said, hauling the dwarf to his feet.
    Deeplock muttered something else, but Cuthwin couldn’t make it out. He set
off again through the trees, but the dwarf fell before they’d managed ten yards.
Cuthwin fell with him, rolling to keep his bow from touching the ground.
    “Damn you, but you’re trouble,” he hissed.
    The sound of a howling wolf drifted through the trees. It was east of him,
and another answered it, this time to the west. There would be more behind him,
at least four, and he knew they were racing to get ahead of him, to close the
circle around him and leave him nowhere to run.
    How far away were they? Listening to the echoes through the trees, he guessed
they were no more than half a mile from him. He cursed and gripped the dwarf’s
tunic, hauling him over his shoulder.
    “Ulric’s balls, but you’re heavy,” he told the unconscious dwarf. Though much
shorter than Cuthwin, the dwarf was at least as heavy as a tall man. Bowed under
the dwarf’s weight, Cuthwin set off again, following the building swell of river
noise, hoping that he’d emerge from the trees where he’d planned.
    He ran on, sweat dripping into his eyes, losing track of time and distance as
he fought to keep going. At last he saw a break in the trees and heard the
rushing sound of falling water. Despite his exhaustion, he smiled, knowing the
forest had steered him true. The sound of wolves was louder now. They knew they
had him cornered, and were howling to get the fear pumping in his veins.
    “We’ll see about that,” he hissed, emerging from the trees onto the banks of
a fast-flowing tributary of the Reik. Tumbling from the high peaks of the Grey
Mountains, it wended its way through the uplands of the forest, gathering speed
as it fed into the basin of the fertile southlands of the Empire.
    Perhaps fifty yards wide, the river poured northwards in a tumbling froth of
white spume and swirling black pools. The riverbed was only a yard or so down,
but it would take all his strength to keep his feet against the speed of the
water.
    Greasy rocks slicked in moss jutted from the river as it widened towards a
crashing waterfall. A glittering rainbow arced over the edge of the drop, the
water falling to a wide pool of upthrust rocks far below.
    Cuthwin set down his burden, leaning the dwarf against a boulder at the side
of the river. His pallor was terrible, and Cuthwin doubted that even the best
healers in Reikdorf could save him. To be killed rescuing a dwarf that likely
wouldn’t live out the day. That would be a poor way to meet his end.
    Heavy tree branches drooped over the water, willows, whip-limbed birch and
young, supple saplings. Cuthwin shucked off his pack. He strung his bow and
unsheathed his hunting knife, moving quickly to the treeline and testing the
longest and thinnest tree