Free Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels) by Simon R. Green Page A

steaming on the air before him. The light began to fade away. Jordan looked up at the sky. Dark clouds were rolling overhead, cutting off the sun. The wind began to blow steadily, carrying a bitter cold that sliced through Jordan like a knife, despite his thick cloak. He moved quickly back to join the others, who were chattering agitatedly together.
    “What is it?” demanded Jordan. “What the hell’s happening? The sky was clear ten minutes ago. Storm clouds can’t gather that quickly. It’s not natural!”
    “Damn right it isn’t,” growled Gawaine. He drew his ax, and hefted it lightly. “Stay close, Your Highness. We’re under attack.”
    Jordan looked up at the sky again. The dark clouds stretched across the sky, and thunder rolled menacingly close at hand.
    “Is this what you meant by elemental magic?” he asked Roderik.
    Roderik shook his head quickly, still staring at the darkening sky. “No, Jordan, you’d need more than air or water magic to build a storm like this. This has got to be High Magic.”
    “All right, it’s High Magic. What do we do about it?”
    “I don’t know!” said Roderik. “Give me time to think! Gawaine … stand ready with your ax.”
    “His ax?” said Jordan incredulously. “What’s he going to do with that; climb on my shoulders and start carving chunks out of the clouds?”
    “Keep the noise down, Your Highness,” said Gawaine calmly. “This isn’t just an ax. The High Warlock made it for me a long time ago.”
    He hefted the heavy weapon easily in his hand, and for the first time Jordan noticed a series of spidery runes traced across the steel blade. They seemed almost to glow and shimmer in the reduced light. Jordan looked back at the sky. Dark clouds boiled above them, seething with energy. The light had gone out of the day, and the moor was gray as twilight. Thunder crashed suddenly, a deafening roar that shook the air. Jordan staggered back a step, and clapped his hands to his ears. Rain hammered down. The heather bowed under its concentrated pressure. Jordan was soaked to the skin in moments. He looked frantically about him for some kind of shelter, but there wasn’t any. The horses were rearing and neighing shrilly, despite everything Argent could do to soothe them, spooked by the sudden storm.
    Lighting flared across the sky, and cracked down to strike the ground barely a dozen yards away from the group. The ground shook violently, and where the bolt had hit, the heather burst into flames. The pouring rain put them out again before they could spread. Thunder roared again, even closer and louder than before. It seemed to echo on in Jordan’s bones, even after the sound was gone. Lightning struck again, closer this time, and the impact sent all of them flying to the ground. Jordan burrowed down into the heather, knowing even as he did that it wasn’t going to be enough to hide him. Roderik called for them all to stay close together, but his voice was all but lost in the roar of the storm. Jordan looked up, and then buried his head in his arms as the lightning struck again. The earth shuddered beneath him, and he could feel the heat of burning heather not far away. The lightning was drawing steadily closer.
    Gawaine surged to his feet in the pause after the lightning struck, and held his ax above his head. Jordan watched incredulously, half convinced the knight meant to sacrifice his life to save the others. The lightning flared again: a jagged arc of light that stretched from the clouds to the ax’s head in a fraction of a second. The steel blade glowed fiercely as the lightning hit it, but Gawaine barely flinched. And then the lightning was gone, and Gawaine still stood there, unharmed. Jordan brushed the rain out of his eyes with the back of his hand, and watched disbelievingly as lightning flared again and again, blinking on and off in quick succession, drawn to the glowing ax head like moths to a candle. Gawaine stood firm, holding the ax above him,