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Return of the Temujai (Brotherband Chronicles, Band 8), by John Flanagan
Bücher Kostenlos Return of the Temujai (Brotherband Chronicles, Band 8), by John Flanagan
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Über den Autor und weitere Mitwirkende
John Flanagan (www.WorldofJohnFlanagan.com) grew up in Sydney, Australia, hoping to be an author, and after a successful career in advertising and television, he began writing a series of short stories for his son, Michael, in order to encourage him to read. Those stories would eventually become The Ruins of Gorlan, Book 1 of the Ranger's Apprentice epic. Together with his companion series, the Brotherband Chronicles, the novels of John Flanagan have sold millions of copies and made readers of kids the world over. Mr. Flanagan lives in the suburb of Mosman, Australia, with his wife. In addition to their son, they have two grown daughters and four grandsons.
Leseprobe. Abdruck erfolgt mit freundlicher Genehmigung der Rechteinhaber. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.
The closer they came to the border fort, the narrower the valley became. The steep, almost sheer walls towered high above them, blotting out the sun although it was only a few hours before noon. The floor of the valley was in shadow, the sun only reaching it for a couple of hours each day, which probably accounted for the snow that still lay thick and deep on the ground, even though spring was only a few weeks away. In spite of the snow, the small party was making better time now that they had reached the top of the steep climb that led to the pass, and they were moving on level ground again. There were two carts, each with a single pair of wheels and pulled by a small, sturdy horse. They were stacked neatly with sawn lumber, and as they were past the steep uphill climb, most of the Heron brotherband rode on them, finding space among the stacks of planks and beams that filled the cart trays. Hal and Stig rode two saddle horses, leading the way for the carts. It was a newly acquired skill for the two Heron leaders. Stig had decided that they should learn to ride. “After all,” he’d told his skirl, “we always find ourselves in places where they expect us to ride. We might as well know how to do it. It’ll save us a lot of walking.” Hal had agreed and Stig had searched around and procured two horses, rescuing them from a life where they would be destined to pull carts, and instead turning them into saddle mounts. They were stolid little creatures, quiet and unimaginative, nothing like a fierce, thundering battlehorse or a speedy, slender-limbed Arridan from the deserts to the south. But they carried the two riders uncomplainingly—even Barney, the one tasked with bearing Stig’s large frame. If need arose, both horses could be coaxed into a slow canter or, in extreme situations, a clumsy gallop. Once Stig had found them, Hal hired one of the Araluen archers, who was familiar with horses, to teach them the rudimentary points of riding. After suffering the inevitable tumbles, bruises and minor injuries, both of them emerged as reasonably capable riders. They were, after all, fit and agile young men, with a good sense of balance and the rhythm necessary to match their movements to the horses’ gait. With one exception. “I don’t like trotting,” Hal stated. “I always seem to be going down when the horse is coming up. It’s an unnatural way to travel and it’s painful.” His Araluen teacher, who could sit to a trot instinctively and so had no idea how to teach someone else to do so, took the easy way out. “Why bother?” he had told the young skirl. “If you’re in a hurry, canter or gallop. If you’re not, just walk.” That seemed reasonable to Hal, so he simply ignored the concept of trotting from then on. Occasionally, when he saw Stig managing to sit smoothly as Barney trotted beneath him, he felt a pang of jealousy. He was tempted to ask Stig how he managed it but refused to admit his own deficiency. “I choose not to trot,” he would say, his jaw set stubbornly, whenever the subject came up. Thorn, on the other hand, chose not to ride at all, even though Stig had offered to find a horse for him. “I don’t trust horses,” Thorn said, glaring suspiciously at the two stocky little mounts his friends rode. “Even the small ones outweigh me by several hundred kilos. They have big teeth and hooves as hard as clubs. And they’re shifty.” “Shifty?” said Hal, stroking Jake’s silky soft nose affectionately. “They’re perfectly trustworthy.” “Maybe to you,” Thorn replied darkly. “But not to me. Those big teeth could take off a few fingers—and I’ve only got one hand.” And in fact, Barney and Jake seemed to sense his unease around them and his antipathy toward them, and they reacted in kind. If Thorn walked too close behind Barney, the horse would often lash out, trying to kick him. And, several times, Jake had whipped his head around and given Thorn a painful nip on the shoulder. But with the cunning of their kind, the horses didn’t do so every time came within range, allowing him to be lulled into a false sense of security, whereupon they would kick or bite once more, without warning. Even now, as the old sea wolf trudged determinedly beside them through the snow, Jake was tending to sidle closer to him, measuring the distance between his teeth and the shabby, patched sheepskin vest that covered Thorn’s shoulder—Jake’s favorite point for biting. Knowing what his horse was planning, Hal twitched the reins against his neck and pressed his right knee into the horse’s side, urging him away from Thorn. Thorn noticed the movement, and Jake’s indignant toss of his head as his plans were thwarted. “See?” he said. “I told you those beasts there cannot be trusted.” Stig, sensing that Thorn might be about to launch into another discourse on the evils of the equine species, hurried to redirect the conversation. “So, what’s got Erak up in a lather?” he asked Hal. “Is it something serious or is he just getting clucky in his old age?” Hal grinned. “Try saying that ‘old age’ thing around him. He’ll likely brain you with that big silver-headed walking stick he carries.” He paused, then answered the question. “No. He’s had word that the Temujai have been nosing around the border.” “They’re always doing that,” Stig said dismissively. But Hal shook his head. “They’ve been doing it a lot more than usual,” he said. “That’s why he wants Lydia to scout around across the border while we check out the fort itself.” With their ship laid up for repairs and maintenance during the winter months, the Herons found themselves with time on their hands. Erak, the Oberjarl of the Skandians, had summoned Hal to his lodge in the center of Hallasholm. The young warrior was one of Erak’s most trusted skirls. Hal led an elite group of fighters in his crew, but Erak knew that Hal was more than just brave in battle. He was smart, which a lot of wolfship captains weren’t. Hal could observe a situation with a keen and intelligent eye, and that was what Erak wanted in this case. “Take a look at the border fort,” he instructed the younger man. “See if it’s secure against attack. And see if there’s any way you can make it more secure.” Fort Ragnak defended Serpent Pass, a narrow pass at the junction of the Skandian, Teutlandt and Temujai borders. The pass was the only practical way to travel down from the mountains and access Skandia’s flat coastal strip. Hal moved to the large map on the wall of Erak’s lodge and studied the pass and the fort. The walls of the pass were steep, he knew, and the fort was positioned where they came close together, closing a gap of only twenty meters. “You have archers here?” he asked. Erak nodded. “Fifteen of them. I rotate them in and out every three weeks, along with the...
Produktinformation
Gebundene Ausgabe: 384 Seiten
Verlag: PHILOMEL (1. Oktober 2019)
Sprache: Englisch
ISBN-10: 1524741442
ISBN-13: 978-1524741440
Vom Hersteller empfohlenes Alter: Ab 10 Jahren
Größe und/oder Gewicht:
15,2 x 2,5 x 22,9 cm
Durchschnittliche Kundenbewertung:
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Amazon Bestseller-Rang:
Nr. 56.316 in Fremdsprachige Bücher (Siehe Top 100 in Fremdsprachige Bücher)
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