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The Hawk Eternal (The Hawk Queen, Band 2) - Softcover

Buch 2 von 2: The Hawk Queen

Gemmell, David

 
9780345458391: The Hawk Eternal (The Hawk Queen, Band 2)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0345458397 ISBN 13: 9780345458391
Verlag: Del Rey, 2005

Inhaltsangabe

“Gemmell’s great reading—the action never letsup. He’s several rungs above the good—right into the fabulous!”—Anne McCaffrey

While the warlike and merciless Aenir wreak havoc upon the territory outside the mountain stronghold of the clans, Sigarni, the Hawk Queen, arrives in a parallel version of her own universe through a gate in space and time. Taliesen, last of the gatekeepers, has no idea why she has come. But he knows that heroes are needed and grants her passage into the ravaged land.

Only Caswallon—loner, warrior, and thief—realizes the true extent of the danger and the mayhem that his people will come to face. As Taliesen tries to discover Sigarni’s purpose, Caswallon must attempt to unite the clans to overcome their greatest peril.

“For anyone who appreciates super heroic fantasy, David Gemmell’s offerings are mandatory.”—Time Out London

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

David Gemmell was born in London, England, in the summer of 1948. Expelled from school at sixteen, he became a bouncer, working nightclubs in Soho. Born with a silver tongue, Gemmell rarely needed to bounce customers, relying instead on his gift of gab to talk his way out of trouble. This talent eventually led him to jobs as a freelancer for the London Daily Mail, the Daily Mirror, and the Daily Express. His first novel, Legend, was published in 1984 and has remained in print ever since. He became a full-time writer in 1986. His books consistently top the London Times bestseller list.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One

Caswallon watched the murderous assault on Ateris, a strange sense of unreality gripping him. The clansman sat down on a boulder and gazed from the mountainside at the gleaming city below, white and glorious, like a child’s castle set on a carpet of green.

The enemy had surprised the city dwellers some three hours before, and black smoke billowed now from the turrets and homes. The distant sound of screaming floated to his ears, disembodied, like the echo of a nightmare upon awakening.

The clansman’s sea-green eyes narrowed as he watched the enemy hacking and slaying. He shook his head, sadness and anger competing within him. He had no love for these doomed Lowlanders and their duplicitous ways. But, equally, this wanton slaughter filled him with sorrow.

The enemy warriors were new to Caswallon. Never had he seen the horned helms of the Aenir, the double-headed axes, nor the oval shields painted with hideous faces of crimson and black. He had heard of them, of course, butchering and killing far to the south, but of their war against the Lowlanders he knew little until now.

But then, why should he? He was a clansman of the Farlain, and they had little time for Lowland politics. His was a mountain race, tough and hardy and more than solitary. The mountains were forbidden ground for any Lowlander and the clans mixed not at all with other races.

Save for trade. Clan beef and woven cloth for Lowland sugar, fruits, and iron.

In the distance Caswallon saw a young girl speared and lifted into the air, thrashing and screaming. This is war no longer, he thought, this is merely blood sport.

Tearing his gaze from the murderous scene he glanced back at the mountains rearing like spear points toward the sky, snowcapped and proud, jagged and powerful. At their center the cloud-wreathed magnificence of High Druin towered above the land. Caswallon shivered, drawing his brown leather cloak about his shoulders. It was said that the clans were vicious and hostile to outsiders, and so they were. Any Lowlander found hunting clan lands was sent home minus the fingers of his right hand. But such punishments were intended to deter poachers. The scenes of carnage on the plain below had nothing to do with such practices; this was lust of the most vile kind.

The clansman looked back at the city. Old men in white robes were being nailed to the black gates. Even at this distance Caswallon recognized Bacheron, the chief elder, a man of little honesty. Even so, he did not deserve such a death.

By all the Gods, no one deserved such a death!

On the plain three horsemen rode into sight, the leader pulling a young boy who was tied to a rope behind his mount. Caswallon recognized the boy as Gaelen, a thief and an orphan who lived on scraps and stolen fruit. The clansman’s fingers curled around the hilt of his hunting dagger as he watched the boy straining at the rope.

The lead rider, a man in shining breastplate and raven-winged helm, cut the rope and the boy began to run toward the mountains. The riders set off after him, lances leveled.

Caswallon took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. The flame-haired boy ducked and weaved, stopping to pick up a stone and hurl it at the nearest horse. The beast shied, pitching its rider.

“Good for you, Gaelen,” whispered Caswallon.

A rider in a white cloak wheeled his mount, cutting across the boy’s path. The youngster turned to sprint away and the lance took him deep in the back, lifting him from his feet and hurling him to the ground. He struggled to rise and a second rider ended his torment, slashing a sword blade to his face. The riders cantered back to the city.

Caswallon found his hands shaking uncontrollably, and his heart pounded, reflecting his anger and shame.

How could men do such a thing to a youth?

Caswallon recalled his last visit to Ateris three weeks before, when he had driven in twenty long-horned Highland cattle to the market stalls in the west of the city. He had stolen the beasts from the pastures of the Pallides two days before. At the market he had seen a crowd chasing the red-haired youngster as he sprinted through the streets, his skinny legs pounding the marble walkway, his arms pumping furiously.

Gaelen had shinned up a trellis by the side of the inn and leaped across the rooftops, stopping only to make an obscene gesture to his pursuers. Spotting Caswallon watching, he drew back his shoulders and swaggered across the rooftops. Caswallon had grinned then. He liked the boy; he had style.

The fat butcher Leon had chuckled beside him. “He’s a character, is Gaelen. Every city needs one.”

“Parents?” asked Caswallon.

“Dead. He’s been alone five years—since he was nine or ten.”

“How does he survive?”

“He steals. I let him get away with a chicken now and then. He sneaks up on me and I chase him for a while, shouting curses.”

“You like him, Leon?”

“Yes. As I like you, Caswallon, you rascal. But then he reminds me of you. You are both thieves and you are both good at what you do—and there is no evil in either of you.”

“Nice of you to say so,” said Caswallon, grinning. “Now, how much for the Pallides cattle?”

“Why do you do it?”

“What?” asked Caswallon innocently.

“Steal cattle. By all accounts you are one of the richest clansmen in the Farlain. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Tradition,” answered Caswallon. “I’m a great believer in it.”

Leon shook his head. “One of these days you’ll be caught and hanged—or worse, knowing the Pallides. You baffle me.”

“No, I don’t. I make you rich. Yours is the cheapest beef in Ateris.”

“True. How is the lovely Maeg?”

“She’s well.”

“And Donal?”

“Lungs like bellows.”

“Keeping you awake at nights, is he?”

“When I’m not out hunting,” said Caswallon with a wink.

Leon chuckled. “I’m going to be sorry when they catch you, clansman. Truly.”

For an hour they haggled over the prices until Leon parted with a small pouch of gold, which Caswallon handed to his man Arcis, a taciturn clan crofter who accompanied him on his raids.

Now Caswallon stood on the mountainside soaking in the horror of Aenir warfare. Arcis moved alongside him. Both men had heard tales of war in the south and the awful atrocities committed by the Aenir. Foremost among these was the blood-eagle: Aenir victims were nailed to trees, their ribs splayed like tiny wings, their innards held in place with wooden strips.

Caswallon had only half believed these tales. Now the evidence hung on the blood-drenched gates of Ateris.

“Go back to the valley, my friend,” Caswallon told Arcis.

“What about the cattle?”

“Drive them back into the mountains. There are no buyers today.”

“Gods, Caswallon! Why do they go on killing? There’s no one fighting them.”

“I don’t know. Tell Cambil what we have seen today.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay for a while.”

Arcis nodded and set off across the slopes, running smoothly.

After a while the Aenir warriors...

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Verlag
Del Rey
Erscheinungsdatum
2005
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0345458397
ISBN 13 
9780345458391
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
368
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Buchpark GmbH
gpsr@buchpark.de

Krügerweg 1
Trebbin
Brandenburg
14959
Deutschland