The Thirsty Sword: A Story of the Norse Invasion of Scotland (1262-1263)Leighton, Robert
History
The Thirsty Sword: A Story of the Norse Invasion of Scotland (1262-1263)
Leighton, Robert
Haakon IV Haakonsson, King of Norway, 1204-1263 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 1057-1603 -- Fiction
"Ah, but to be up here as it were among the very clouds!" said Allan.
"Beats not your heart with quicker joy, Kenric, when you breathe the
keen mountain air -- when your eyes rest upon so vast a stretch of sea
and land as we now behold? I know no pleasure so sweet as this."
"Methinks," said Kenric, "that were Sir Piers de Currie here, and I had
fulfilled my purpose in crossing to Arran, then this joy you speak of
were not greater than my own. But when I go out hunting, Allan, I like
to hunt; when I come over to ask a question of our neighbour, it is not
to my humour to be thus stranded upon a hilltop. So now, if it please
you, we will return to Ranza."
"Nay, I go not from these mountains ere I have once drawn the bow," said
Allan. "'Tis a chance that I do not have too often; and now that we are
so far I would go to yonder gully where but a while ago we saw that vast
herd of deer enter. Come."
"Methinks, Allan Redmain," said Kenric, "that 'tis you who have come
with me to Arran, not I with you, and I beg you to at once return with me."
Allan was about to turn round upon Kenric with an angry word, when
suddenly he minded that the lad was his lord and king.
"Oh, my lord, my lord!" he cried, "pardon me -- I beg you pardon me, for
in truth I had forgotten your kingship. It was wrong in me thus to
oppose my will to yours."
"Nay, Allan, believe me, I would not have you thus regard me at all
times as your master, but rather as your friend. Nevertheless, if my
office is to be remembered, then methinks it is well that we should
search for Sir Piers, and not think of hunting after stags. Now take me
back to Castle Ranza by the nearest way."
Allan then turned and led the way across the eastern shoulder of the
mountain and down a wild ravine towards Glen Catacol. In the bed of the
ravine there coursed a turbulent torrent, swollen by the rains of the
night before. They walked along a narrow goat track from which the rocky
ground sloped sharply downward into the stream. From beyond a turning in
this path they heard the swelling roar of a waterfall.
Scarce had they made this turning, when, above the noise of the
cataract, they heard the yelping of a deer hound. Kenric was now in
advance of his companion, and they were just above the point where the
waterfall turned over into a deep chasm.
"A stag! a stag!" cried Kenric as he promptly took an arrow and fixed it
to his bowstring.
Allan followed his example. Kenric knelt down on one knee and levelled
his arrow. Allan made ready to shoot over Kenric's shoulder. A noble
stag, with wide-spreading antlers of twelve points, seemed almost to be
flying towards them along the narrow path. An arrow was half buried in
his bleeding flank; a pair of shaggy deer hounds were behind in mad pursuit.
"Now!" cried Kenric.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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