King of the Bastards Read Online Free Page B

Wagnar leaped over a wounded sailor and roared
an Alatervaeian battle cry. Muscles and tendons stood taut, and he projected a
ferocious image. Smoke from the burning sails obscured him for a moment.
    When the smoke lifted, he lay jittering on the deck, a gray arrow
jutting from his eye.
    “Wagnar!”
    Enraged, Harkon sprang to his brother’s side. His huge hands
cradled Wagnar’s head. His brother’s blood and brain matter oozed from around
the arrow shaft and ran between his fingers.
    “Brother,” Harkon whispered. “You have left me here alone.”
    “Focus, Harkon.” Javan coughed as the smoke reached him. “Make
sure he did not die in vain.”
    Harkon raised his head and stared at the youth. His red-rimmed
eyes burned with bloodlust and vengeance.
    “I swear this to thee, Javan,” he seethed. “These waters will run
with their blood by the time this day is done. My brother shall be avenged.”
    “Then, for Rogan—and for your brother, make it so.”
    The fires raced up the mast. The smoke grew thick.
    “Captain,” Rogan commanded, “get some men on those flames.
Quickly, now!”
    Huxira panicked. “They are already below, bailing the seawater
rushing through the hull. I’ll have some others to attend to it.”
    A spear slammed into the boards at the old man’s feet. Captain
Huxira scrambled backward. Rogan yanked the spear out and hurled it back at the
warrior who’d thrown it. The shaft buried itself in the man’s chest, and he
toppled into the water. Rogan spied another small boat approaching on a
collision course from the north. The grinning pilot didn’t turn or slacken his
pace. Cursing, Rogan grabbed Javan and wrestled him to the other side of the
vessel as the Pryten reaver rammed into them.
    The black men on board the reaver leapt into the air with
cat-like grace. A dozen of them boarded the vessel, swinging great curved
swords and hiding behind long, oval-shaped bronze shields. The bireme tilted
and swayed from the blow to its side. Below decks came the sounds of cracking
timbers and bones, and the screams of the dying.
    “They are well trained,” Rogan observed, picking up a bow from a
fallen archer.
    One of the pirates hacked the head from a sailor. He raised his
eyes and glared at Rogan, just in time to have an arrow sprout from his throat.
    Quarters were too close to reload the bow, so Rogan swung the
shaft up, snapping it off on the jawbone of an attacker. Trying to unsheathe
his sword, Rogan needed more time as another man came after him. He seized the
fighter’s nipple ring and yanked it from the dark flesh. The wounded savage
wailed in agony, allowing Rogan to free his blade.
    Javan drew his small sword as well, throwing an elbow into the
spine of Rogan’s new opponent. Nearby, Harkon raved, swinging his sword in
wild, sweeping arcs as the berserker bloodlust seized him. With each pirate’s
head he sent spinning into the frothing waters, he shouted his brother’s name.
The element of surprise was against the bireme’s crew, and the corsairs had the
upper hand, but Rogan, Javan, and Harkon killed a dozen of the attackers in an
instant. They swung hard with their heavy weapons, splitting shields and
skulls. Heads and limbs dropped from torsos, and blood jetted across the wet
boards.
    Another Pryten crept towards Captain Huxira. The pirate’s gold
earrings glinted in the sun. He thrust his spear forward, but the old man
dodged the attack and lashed out with his dagger, slicing the black man’s
abdomen. The corsair drew back, and Huxira plunged the dagger into his side.
The blade scraped against the man’s ribs. Whispering rumors of the Pryten’s
mother’s heritage and how she’d mated with a goat, Captain Huxira twisted the
dagger and opened his opponent up. As the Pryten died, the old man spat a wad
of chewing leaf into his face. Then he reached for a leather pouch and stuffed
more leaf into his mouth with bloodstained fingers.
    The bireme listed farther to port. Racing