The Songs of Slaves by David Rodgers Read Free Book Online

not hear her words, only the piteous tones of begging and lamenting, cut by the harsh jeers and commands of men.
    Connor hastened stealthily ahead, veering right to flank them. He dropped behind an old oak as he drew near. Once more, as he had that day so long ago, he saw the glint of gold hair through the leaves. He had found Grania. And, as she never had before, she needed his help.
    Crawling on his belly, he moved closer. He peered up from concealment as four figures came into full view. In the lead was a black-bearded man. He was tall with wide shoulders. In his right hand was a stained sword, but his other thick arm carried a full bag of the plunder they had found. Behind him was another of the raiders. This man was blonde haired and more slightly built, but had the wiry physique that Connor had learned more than once to respect. He carried a heavy axe in his free hand as he led Grania, dragging her along with a fist full of her hair. Grania winced under his cruel grip. Her face was red, streaked with tears and creased with misery. There was blood on her hands and her white dress from where she had held Mannus’ broken body. Her dress was torn at the shoulder, but she appeared as yet unharmed. She stumbled on the uneven ground, and the blonde haired man yanked her up. Behind her a small, narrow-eyed man poked a sword-point into the small of her back, pushing her along behind the other captor.
    Connor took in a deep breath. Three enemies. Only three. But men who wore armor, and had killed before. There was only him, and he only had his hunting tools. What could he do against them? But one look to Grania’s despairing eyes steeled him.
    With the skill of a lifelong hunter, Connor moved to a nearby tree and set his back to it. He set one of his javelins against the trunk, where he would be able to reach it quickly. He took the other in his right hand. The distance was not far – only about fifteen or twenty meters, but there would be little time to aim. The leader’s shield was on his back and his chest was well-exposed, but Connor knew that if his javelin flew the slightest bit off-line the invader’s chain mail would turn the point harmlessly aside. His throw had to be true. There would not be another chance. If the man did not fall, then the three would quickly flank him, and he could expect no better than a speedy death.
    He touched the cold blade of the weapon to his forehead. It had already served him well once that day. Let it serve him again.
    “ Blessed are thou, Oh Lord ,” Connor breathed, “ who trains my hands for battle and my fingers for war. ”
    He took a deep breath.
    Connor leapt out from cover. His left foot planted as his arm rose. His eyes bore into the chest of his enemy. He could see nothing else. Nothing else mattered. His arm came down as his core twisted and his right leg came up. The ash shaft sped from his open hand, and all was one line. The black-bearded man saw him. His mouth opened to shout and he began to raise his sword, but Connor’s eyes, shoulders, hips, and legs all pointed straight to his heart, like the finger of an accusing judge. The javelin sped on that line.
    “For Dervel,” Connor thought. But at the same time he heard another voice in his head.
    “ Thou shalt not kill .”
    The point of the javelin head split into the chain links with hammer force, rending them as the shaft pushed forward. The black-bearded man cried out as the sword and bag fell from his hands. He fell back as the spearhead buried deep into his chest. His hands found the ash shaft as he lay on the ground, as his life fled his body with his final breath.
    Connor turned to see the blonde-haired man speeding towards him. His round shield was held ready, and his axe was raised high. His green cloak trailed behind him, like the robes of the death angel. Connor risked a glance to Grania. She was held fast by the other man, who held his sword blade to her throat. But there was no time to think of that now,