Knights Of Dark Renown by David Gemmell Read Free Book Online Page B

the Midwinter Solstice, had ordered an elderly slave to be flayed alive for some indiscretion. No, thought Lamfhada, better to be a runaway.
    The Nomad tracker stopped some two hundred paces away from the boulders and suddenly pointed. Lamfhada blinked and shrank back as the riders spurred their mounts into a gallop. The youth leapt from his hiding place and sprinted towards the mountains, slipping and slithering on the mud and the greasy rocks. The horses thundered after him and he could hear the shouts of the riders.
    In panic Lamfhada screamed the magic name and instantly felt his weight lessen, his stride lengthen. He was almost floating over the rocks. Swerving to the left, he leapt ten feet to a boulder, cutting to the right up a narrow trail towards the trees. The horsemen could not follow directly and were forced to skirt the boulder, losing ground on the runner in the process. Once more the chase was on.
    Lord Errin spurred his giant black gelding into a gallop and bore down on the runaway, scarcely able to believe the speed at which the youth was moving. Had he known he was this swift, he would never have dreamt of giving him to the Duke but would have kept him and taken him to Furbolg for the races. Too late now, thought Errin, as he closed on the boy.
    Hearing the hoofbeats Lamfhada cut left, clambering up a scree slope and clawing his way over the jutting boulders. Errin cursed and guided the gelding on to the treacherous slope but the horse slithered, dropping to its haunches. Another rider galloped up.
    ‘Give me your bow,’ shouted Errin, taking the weapon and notching an arrow to the string. Lamfhada was almost in the clear as Errin drew back the string, took a deep breath, allowed the air to drift from his lungs and, between breaths, loosed the shaft. The arrow sped to its target, catching the youth high in the back. He staggered, but did not fall and reached the sanctuary of the trees.
    ‘Should we follow, my Lord?’ asked the Nomad.
    ‘No, we are not strong enough to face the rebels. Anyway, the arrow went deep; he will not survive.’ Errin threw the bow back to the rider and led the black gelding from the scree slope. ‘What was it the boy shouted?’ he asked.
    The Nomad shrugged. ‘It sounded like a name, Lord: Ollathair.’
    ‘That is what I heard. Now why would a runaway use the name of a dead wizard? And why did his speed increase so greatly?’ Again the Nomad shrugged and Errin smiled. ‘You do not care, do you, Ubadai?’
    ‘No, Lord,’ the Nomad agreed. ‘I track him. I do my job very good.’
    ‘Indeed you did. But it is intriguing; I will ask Okessa when we return.’ The Nomad hawked and spat and Errin chuckled. ‘He does not like you either, my friend. But beware, for he is a powerful man to have as an enemy.’
    ‘A man may be judged by his enemies, Lord. Sooner strong ones than weak ones, I think.’
    Errin grinned at him and led the group back towards the safety of Mactha.
    Just beyond the tree line Lamfhada stumbled to a halt, a great weariness rising within him. He tried to move on, but his vision blurred and the trees seemed to move and sway before him. The ground swept up at him and his eyes closed.
    A slender man stepped from behind a thick pine and advanced towards the fallen youth. He was dressed in a shirt of sky-blue silk, leather trews and silver-buckled shoes, with around his shoulders a fine cloak of sheepskin. His long hair was gathered at the nape of his neck by a silver band, and his eyes were violet. Kneeling by Lamfhada, he saw the blood seeping from the arrow wound and turned away his head.
    ‘Well, are you going to take it out?’ came a voice and the man jerked and rose swiftly to his feet, turning to face the newcomer - a tall, broad-shouldered warrior with blond hair and a red-gold beard.
    ‘I don’t know anything about wounds. I think he could be dead.’
    Llaw Gyffes grinned. ‘Your face is as grey as a winter sky.’ Ignoring the man, he strode