King of the Bastards by Brian Keene, Steven L. Shrewsbury Read Free Book Online Page A

for everyday warmth. Since
the sea has stripped us down to our loins, the choice is obvious. We must take
him for his hide. It will keep us warm.”
    The bear raised its head, and looked around. Then it continued
rooting. Its snout was crimson, and its long, pink tongue licked at the
droplets of blood.
    “How long since you last slain a bear single-handed, sire?”
    Rogan shrugged. “I cannot recall. But I’m not hollowed out just
yet. Besides, I have you along. Why should I fear him with your bow at my
side?”
    Javan breathed a heavy sigh and prepared. “I appreciate your
faith, sire.”
    “Use the heavy arrows Karza’s warriors had.” Rogan rooted in the
pile of weapons. “The forked heads are a work of savage art. Those pricks knew
what they were doing.”
    “As you command.”
    “We have collected enough of those from the stray quivers on the
beach. Wodan knows what else will vomit onto the shore over time. With a good
chance we can pierce a lung in that hulk.”
    “I will do my best, lord.”
    “Keep firing if he doesn’t go down.” Rogan squeezed the handle of
a double-headed battle-axe they’d retrieved from the bireme’s mooring links. “I
shall do the rest.”
    Javan mumbled a prayer to Rhiannon and stealthily positioned
himself farther down the line of bushes. Rogan ran down the beach in the open
for a few yards. The bear looked up from a rib cage that had washed ashore. It
spied the old man clearly, but made no effort to follow. It had no fear, and no
desire to hunt, since easier pickings lay at its feet. Instead, the beast
lowered its snout and continued licking the scraps of organs and tissue still
clinging to the bones.
    Javan fired the first of his arrows into the bear’s side. The
beast grunted and then roared. Quickly, Javan drew from the quiver on his back
and fired three more times, striking the creature in the side, close to the
front quarters, and then the low-hanging belly. He expected the bear to drop,
but instead, it stood firm.
    Rogan loped further out onto the sand with the smooth ease of a
tiger and fired his own long bow twice. The first shot missed, but the second
arrow struck the bear deep in the other flank. The beast rose up, teeth bared
as it howled. Thick flecks of foamy saliva dropped from its jowls.
    Feet planted, Rogan let the bow slide from his fingers, and drew
back, hefting the double-edged battle-axe. He roared in answer to the bear’s
challenge. The animal paused, uncertain of what it faced. Grunting hard, Rogan
flung the heavy axe with all of his might. The weapon tumbled end over end, and
buried itself under the beast’s open maw, cleaving its jaws.
    Staggering, the bear rocked back and forth on unsteady paws, but
still refused to fall. Rogan drew his broadsword and charged low, like a bull.
The mortally wounded animal tried to roar, but only a weak gurgle issued from
its throat. Rogan avoided the desperate claws and stabbed his blade into the
bear’s abdomen. Going to all fours, the beast lurched a few steps, handle of
the axe impacting on the ground, driving the blade in farther. It shuddered
before collapsing. Rogan danced away again, inadvertently stomping on the leg
of some partially eaten shark victim.
    The bear shook, and then moved no more.
    Rogan dropped to his knees and then rolled onto his buttocks
beside it. He greedily sucked the salty air into his burning lungs.
    Javan ran up, whooping in joy. “I think that axe head found its
brain!”
    Rogan eyed the boy and said, “I suppose you expect me to gut and
clean him as well?”
    Javan smiled. “It
is
your kill, Uncle.”
    “I’ll clout you for that,” Rogan promised. “But first I must
rest.”
    §
    It took them the rest of the day to skin and clean the bear,
and it was dusk by the time they were finished. They washed their hands in the
ocean, cleaning them of the sticky blood. They moved on down the way a piece,
and then Javan started a fire behind a dune to prepare dinner. The meat