Scorpion Mountain by John A. Flanagan Read Free Book Online Page B

shoulders and raised his eyebrows.
    â€œAh, Thorn,” said the King, “it’s good to have someone like you around. Someone who has absolutely no respect for me.”
    Thorn tilted his head thoughtfully. He was grinning at the King now. “That’s true,” he said, and Duncan laughed all the louder.
    â€œYou really do remind me of your Oberjarl Erak. He always managed to puncture my dignity for me. I need that, you know. Kings don’t take kindly to people disagreeing with them. We get accustomed to thinking we’re always right just because we are kings. That’s why I have these reprobates serving me.” He indicated Crowley and Gilan.
    Crowley smiled. “We do our best to keep you in line, my lord.”
    Duncan, who seemed now to have totally adopted Thorn as a friend and trusted confidant, slapped him on the shoulder and pulled him a little closer.
    â€œAnd if you think these two are bad, you should see Halt. He’s a senior Ranger and he shows no respect for me at all.”
    â€œThat’s not quite true, sir,” Gilan interjected. “He has enormous respect for you, so long as you agree with him.”
    â€œYes. That’s true.” Duncan released his grip on Thorn’s shoulder and took a second or two to collect himself.
    â€œAll right,” he said at length, “let me think about what we’ve discussed here.” He looked at Gilan. “I’m still inclined to the idea of sending you with some reasonable force.”
    Gilan shrugged. “That’s all right, sir. You’ll soon see the light of reason.”
    Duncan sighed. “I suppose so.” He looked keenly at Stig now, taking in the wide shoulders, the muscular build and the easy, athletic grace with which the young Skandian moved.
    â€œAnd you say this lad is as good as Horace?” He addressed the question to Gilan.
    â€œWithout a doubt. Different weapons and technique. But there’s nothing to choose between them.”
    â€œHmmm. Pity Horace is in Hibernia. It’d be good to see a practice match between them.” He came back to the matter in hand, and said briskly, “Very well. Let me give this some consideration and I’ll give you my decision tomorrow.”
    He waved them toward the door. Crowley and Gilan gave slight bows of the head. The Skandians contented themselves with coming loosely to attention. As they passed through the door, Stig slipped up beside Hal.
    â€œWho’s this Horace that I’m a match for?” he asked.
    Hal managed to keep a straight face as he replied. “He’s a one-legged, half-blind old beggar who suffers from uncontrollable flatulence.”
    â€œFlatulence? What’s that?” Stig asked. Words of more than two syllables sometimes confused him.
    â€œHe farts,” Thorn put in.
    Stig thought about it, then nodded his head. “Yeah, well, I can do that.”
    Hal and Thorn both answered simultaneously.
    â€œWe know.”
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    The three Herons split up and went to their rooms to unpack and familiarize themselves with their new surroundings. Like Lydia, they had little in the way of luggage or belongings and the unpacking took only a few minutes.
    As the skirl, he’d been given a large suite to himself. There was a jug of water on the table in the sitting room, along with several beakers. He poured himself a glass and sipped it. For a minute or two, he prowled restlessly around the room, picking up items to examine them before putting them down again. After weeks in the close confines of the ship, never more than a few meters from other members of the crew, it felt strange to be on his own. He drained the last of the water from his glass and hitched his rump up onto the sill of the open window. Below him, and beyond the castle walls, the green parkland stretched out to the forest. He could see several people—couples walking in the