Read Rigante Series 04 - Stormrider for Free Online Page A

his mid-twenties he was losing his hair, which had receded at the temples giving him a sharp widow's peak above his brow.
    'Aye,' she answered him. 'Finbarr and Ural put up a brave fight. They died swiftly.'
    'Rayster tells us that Kaelin has the youngest,' he said.
    'Yes, the boy is with Ravenheart. The bear is hunting them.'
    'Why did you not say?' shouted Rayster, pushing himself to his feet. 'We must go and help him.'
    'Sit down, man!' snapped the Wyrd. 'Do you think if that was a possibility I'd have dawdled here?'
    'Will they escape it then?' he asked.
    'No. It will come for them. Kaelin Ring will fight it. I cannot predict the outcome.'
    'He's a bonny fighter,' said Potter Highstone. The oldest of the clansmen, Potter was powerfully built, and nicknamed Badger by his friends, after the heavy black and silver beard he sported.
    'I'd wager my money on Ravenheart,' he said. 'Especially if he's carrying those Emburleys. Fine guns, by heaven.'
    'I don't know,' muttered Korrin Talis. 'I've seen Hang-lip. Take a damned cannon to bring him down.'
    'Where are they now?' Rayster asked the Wyrd. 'Can you see them?'
    'No, I cannot see them, clansman. Yet I know where they are.
    Kaelin has taken Feargol to the cliff cave. It is there the last fight will take place.'
    'That's at least six hours from here,' said Fada Talis.
    Rayster sat down again beside the Wyrd, who could feel the tension in him. He yearned to be able to aid his friend. He caught the Wyrd looking at him.
    'I am sorry, Dweller. I did not mean to offend you.'
    'Whisht, man. There is nothing you could ever do to offend me.'
    The men chatted for some time, talking of the skills of Kaelin Ring and the stories of Hang-lip.
    The Wyrd stretched herself out on the rug before the fire. Closing her eyes, she carefully opened the eyes of her spirit.
    Two demonic figures floated close by, their scaled faces but a few inches from her own, their blood red eyes watching her. Sitting up she reached into the pouch by her side, taking a pinch of the powder there and placing it under her tongue. Bright colours flared before her eyes and she felt fresh energy pulse through her veins. Beside her, Rayster got up and walked out of the cabin to help Fada with the grave fires. Even with the heat it would be hard work digging a grave in this winter soil, she knew.
    'You look tired, Dweller,' said Potter. 'You should sleep for a while.'
    Rising, she walked through to the small bedroom and sat on the broad bed. In here the residue was still strong, and she could feel the spirit echoes of Finbarr Ustal's fear. As the first crashes to the timbers awakened him he had rolled from his bed and gathered up his musket. Ural had stood with him. The Wyrd reached out and touched the carved wood of the trunk in which Feargol had hidden. It was old, but there was still power radiating from the symbols.
    Something cold touched the Wyrd's heart and she shivered. In the old days there had been many of these spell chests, crafted and blessed to bring good luck to the owners. It had saved the boy.
    But not the parents.
    Closing her mind to the awful images the Wyrd walked back to the main room. Rayster came in from the cold. 'Time to dig, lads,' he said. 'I've found a pickaxe and two shovels.'
    Two hours later, the men exhausted, the grave dug, and filled again, the Wyrd stood beside it.
    Holding out her arms she spoke in the ancient tongue.

    'Seek the circle, find the light, 
    Say farewell to flesh and bone. 
    Walk the grey path, 
    Watch the swan's flight, 
    Let your heart light 
    Bring you home.'

    She stood silently for a moment, then shuddered. Her gaze flicked towards the tall, talon-gouged tree. They are not free yet,' she said. She swung towards the men. 'Go and rest now,' she said. 'I have work to do, and I need to be alone.'
    She waited as they trooped back to the cabin, then walked to the tree and gathered her thoughts.
    Glancing up she looked at the bough to which the frightened boy had clung.