David Gemmell – Rigante 3 – Ravenheart

Lanovar threw aside the musket and ran towards Grymauch. The musketeers, their weapons empty, were backing away from the ferocious clansman. The swordsmen were either dead or fled into the woods. Lanovar moved alongside the blood-spattered warrior.

‘We leave! Now!’ he shouted.

As they swung away the Moidart stepped from behind a tree. Grymauch saw him – and the long-barrelled pistol in his hand. Vainly he tried to move across Lanovar, shielding him. But the shot tore through Grymauch’s black cloak, ripping into the outlaw leader’s side and out through his back. ‘That is for Rayena!’ shouted the Moidart.

Lanovar’s legs had given way instantly. Grymauch reached down, hauled him upright, and draped the paralysed man across his shoulder. Then he had run into the thickets beyond the trail. At first the pain had been incredible, but then Lanovar had passed out. When he awoke he was here on the mountainside, and the pain was all but gone.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Grymauch.

‘Not so braw,’ admitted Lanovar. Grymauch had plugged the wound again and had settled him back against a rock face. Lanovar began to slide sideways. He tried to move his right arm to stop himself. The limb twitched, but did not respond. Grymauch caught him and held him close for a moment. ‘Just wedge me against the rock,’ whispered Lanovar. Grymauch did as he was bid.

‘Are you warm enough? You look cold, Lan. I’ll light a fire.’

‘And bring them down upon us? I think not.’ Reaching down, he pressed his left hand against the flesh of his left thigh. ‘I cannot feel my leg.’

‘I told you, man. Did I not tell you?’ stormed Grymauch. ‘The man is a serpent. There is no honour in him.’

‘Aye, you told me.’ Lanovar began to tremble. Grymauch moved in close, pulling off his own black cloak and wrapping it around the shoulders of his friend. He looked into Lanovar’s curiously coloured eyes, one green, one gold.

‘We’ll rest a little,’ said Grymauch. ‘Then I’ll find the Wyrd.’

Jaim Grymauch moved out along the ledge and stared down over the mountainside. There was no sign of pursuit now. But there would be. He glanced back at his wounded friend. Again and again he replayed the scene in his mind. He should have been there sooner. Instead, to avoid being seen by Lanovar, he had cut across the high trail, adding long minutes to the journey. As he crested the rise he had seen the soldiers crouched in hiding, and watched as his greatest friend walked into the ambush. Masking his face with his scarf Jaim had drawn his sword and rushed down to hurl himself at the enemy. He would willingly have sacrificed his own life to save Lanovar from harm.

The sun was setting, the temperature dropping fast. Jaim shivered. There was precious little fuel to be found this high. Trees did not grow here. He moved back alongside Lanovar. The Rigante leader’s face looked ghostly pale, his eyes and cheeks sunken. Jaim’s black cloak sat upon the man’s shoulders like a dark shroud. Jaim stroked Lanovar’s brow. The wounded man opened his eyes.

Jaim saw that he was watching the sky turn crimson as the sun set. It was a beautiful sunset and Lanovar smiled.

‘I love this land,’ he said, his voice stronger. ‘I love it with all my heart, Jaim. This is a land of heroes. Did you know the great Connavar was born not two miles from here? And the Battle King, Bane. There used to be a settlement by the three streams.’

Jaim shrugged. ‘All I know about Connavar is that he was nine feet tall and had a magic sword, crafted from lightning. Could have done with that sword two hours ago. I’d have left none of the bastards alive.’

They lapsed into silence. Jaim felt a growing sense of disorient-ation. It was as if he was dreaming. Time had no meaning, and even the breeze had faded away. The new night was still and infinitely peaceful.

Lanovar is dying.

The thought came unbidden and anger raged through him. ‘Rubbish!’ he said aloud. ‘He is young and strong. He has always been strong. I’ll get him to the Wyrd. By heaven I will!’

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