Rigante Series 04 - Stormrider by David Gemmell Read Free Book Online Page B

Evil men who deserved death. Yet the temptation had never been as great as now. Is it just because my own life is threatened, she asked herself? Is my desire merely to save myself ? The Wyrd hoped it was not.
    She gazed around her small, single-roomed hut, her eyes lingering on the objects gathering dust on the shelves. There was an old green cap that had belonged to Ruathain, stepfather to Connavar the King, and a bronze cloak brooch Connavar's mother had given him when he was twelve. Alongside the brooch lay a bronze and silver wristband which had been worn by Vorna the Witch, long ago when the Rigante were kings of the highlands. There were other items: scarves, belts, jugs and cups. All had been owned by heroes of the clan. Nothing here was worth more than a single chailling in the markets, and yet they were beyond price. She had but to touch them, and her mind would fill with colour, and she would hear the voices of their owners drifting down through the centuries. Closing her eyes she would see fragments of their lives -Connavar fighting the bear to save his crippled friend, Ruathain holding his sons in his arms, Bane gathering the army to defend the homeland . .
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    Moving to the nearest shelf the Wyrd reached out and picked up an old cloth, heavily stained with dried blood.
    'Oh, Jaim,' she said, 'you were the best of them.'
    The cloth had been used by Maev Ring to wipe the blood from Jaim's face after his epic fight with the Varlish fistfighting champion, Gorain. The one-eyed Jaim Grymauch had stood toe to toe with the champion, and - incredibly - had defeated him. 'You had a heart as big as the mountains,' said the Wyrd, a tear in her eye.
    The greatest regret of her long life had come the day she had told Jaim Grymauch of the arrest of Maev Ring. Jaim had loved Maev, and had been determined to rescue her. The Wyrd had asked him to wait. He could have gone to the cathedral, where she was imprisoned for the trial, dealt with the guards and freed her. He would have lived then, and known happiness. But the Wyrd told him that the future well-being of the Rigante depended on his delaying the rescue.
    So Jaim Grymauch had waited. They had brought Maev out to burn her at the stake, and Grymauch had marched through the crowds like a giant of old. He had scattered the guards, and killed three Knights of the Sacrifice. Then, having rescued Maev, and seen her free, he had been shot down by the muskets of the Moidart's soldiers.
    Even now his death felt like an open wound to the Wyrd. Everything she had told him had come to pass. His heroism had forever altered the relationship between the northern Varlish and the Rigante. Before Jaim's death the highlanders were treated like an inferior race, and viewed with ill concealed contempt. A fog of hatred and fear blinded the Varlish. Jaim Grymauch had been the cleansing storm.
    Now it seemed his death might be for nothing after all. War, destruction, plague and death were rampant in the southern lands. Malice hung in the air, touching all living things, disrupting the harmony of nature and poisoning the nature of all earth magic. It even affected the Wyrd. Normally tranquil of nature she found herself more swift to anger. Man had always feared spellcasters.
    Almost all societies had at one time or another burned witches. Yet, ironically, man himself could cast the most destructive spell of all. With his endless lust for war he could pollute the very magic that fed his world.
    The Wyrd took a deep breath, then relaxed. She could feel the spirits of two Redeemers hovering near her. They hungered for her death, their minds overflowing with images of inflicted pain and suffering.
    'You will not make me hate you,' she said aloud. However, even thinking of them brought anger to her heart. Best to think of nobler men, she told herself, turning her thoughts to Kaelin Ring.
    The years since the death of Grymauch had been kind to him. Still in his early twenties he was admired by the Black