Scorpion Mountain Read Online Free Page B

to bring his right hand, or his weapon hand, into play.
    The idea, of course, Hal mused, would be to have an army of left-handed swordsmen. As far as he knew, nobody had ever tried to assemble such a group.
    They went up another flight and found themselves on a floor where corridors stretched away to the left and right, with a third corridor behind where they stood. The wall facing the stairs was blank stone, but Hal was willing to bet there was a concealed passage behind it, and observation points where a watcher could see who came up the stairs.
    Crowley gestured to the right-hand corridor. “This way.”
    They passed several doors—heavy wooden doors without ornamentation of any kind, but with solid brass fittings. Eventually, Crowley stopped by one that seemed no different from its fellows and rapped with his knuckles on the center panel. From within, they heard a muffled voice.
    â€œCome in.”
    The door was obviously heavy, and reinforced by brass strips and fittings. But it swung open smoothly and silently as Crowley twisted the circular door handle and pulled it toward him.
    A small detail but an important one, Hal thought. An attacker couldn’t simply batter the door open with a ram or a heavy log. It closed onto the solid stone frame, which supported it on three sides, and hinged outward.
    Crowley ushered them in and followed just behind.
    â€œMy lord,” he announced, “meet Hal Mikkelson, Stig Olafson and Thorn . . .” He hesitated and turned to Thorn, saying in a lowered voice, “I don’t think I heard your second name?”
    Thorn grinned wickedly. “Hookyhand,” he said.
    Crowley was about to repeat the name when he realized what he was on the verge of saying. Instead, he amended to say: “And Thorn the Mighty.”
    Thorn wagged his head from side to side. “Prefer Hookyhand,” he murmured. “It’s less pretentious.”
    â€œGentlemen,” Crowley continued, talking over him, “his majesty, King Duncan of Araluen.”
    King Duncan rose from behind the table where he was sitting, studying a sheaf of papers. He was an impressive man, Hal thought. He was tall and broad-shouldered and although there was some gray in his blond hair, his face was still youthful and his movements were easy and athletic. Unlike his Chamberlain, this man
was
a warrior.
    The three Skandians strode forward in step and stopped before the table, facing the King. Duncan eyed them calmly, suppressing a smile. He was used to dealing with Skandians. He’d met with Erak on several occasions over the years and he was aware of the Skandian spirit of equality and lack of regard for inherited titles.
    â€œGreetings, gentlemen,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “It’s a pleasure to meet more of our allies.”
    None of the three were quite sure how to reply to that. They all mumbled something incomprehensible, and that seemed to serve.
    â€œI’m told you’ve done my Kingdom a great service, rescuing a dozen of my subjects from the Socorran slavers,” Duncan continued, singling out Hal. The young skirl shifted his feet, a little embarrassed. He still hadn’t decided how he would address the King. It was fine for Thorn to airily declare that he would simply call him “King.” Now that he was in his presence, though, Hal wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. There was a definite air of authority and command about the tall man facing them. It seemed to demand more respect than the simple sobriquet of “King.” He decided to compromise.
    â€œIt wasn’t all my doing, King Duncan. Stig and Thorn here disabled the prison guards.”
    Duncan eyed Hal’s two muscular companions—one tall, lean and wide shouldered, the other equally tall, but heavier and more solidly built. His eye flicked over the wooden hook on Thorn’s right arm. Gilan had told him about the old sea wolf’s lost