Free Bookweird by Paul Glennon Page A

Malcolm’s bodyguard. He might be bad-tempered and unfriendly with everyone else, but he had all the time in the world for Malcolm. His opinion of Norman was clear. His eyes were rarely off him and there was no kindness in them. Doubtless the animal would be at Norman’s throat if he made anything close to a threatening move toward the young stoat.
    â€œDid you ever think you might be a soldier instead of a seer?”
    â€œHuh?” Norman grunted. He’d stopped listening to his furry friend.
    â€œWell, I’d be a soldier even if my dad wasn’t,” Malcolm continued. “Did you always want to be a seer? Is it your father’s profession?”
    â€œI guess so. He…” Norman struggled to describe what his father did. It was hard enough explaining it to his friends in real life, never mind to someone who captained a ship of pirate weasels and stoats. “He’s a teacher. He works at a university.”
    â€œAh, a university,” the young animal answered, in the tone of someone who had heard of such things but had no idea what one was.
    â€œBut I haven’t really thought of what I might do when I grow up. Maybe something with computers.” Norman had forgotten who he was talking to.
    â€œWhen you grow up? You mean to say you’re not fully grown?”
    â€œNo. In ten years, maybe.”
    â€œTen years? You’re still a kit? By the Maker, you’ll be huge then!” Malcolm’s voice went high pitched with surprise. “And you’re out of the nest? Isn’t your mother looking for you? I’ll bet when she finds you she won’t be gentle picking you up by the scruff of the neck.”
    Norman chuckled. It was a funny image for Norman, imagining his mother trying to pick him up with her teeth by the scruff of the neck, like a mother cat. Simon Whiteclaw cast him an ugly look that cut the merriment short. They slogged on in silence for the rest of the day, Norman now preoccupied with thoughts of his mother. He’d been missing for days now. She would be angry, yes, but mostly she would be worried. His stomach tightened into a knot of guilt and despair as he imagined her pacing, crying, listening by a phone that would not ring.
    At noon Duncan pulled them up at the edge of the woods. He alone strode out into the open, leaping quickly onto a tree stump and gazing at the rocky horizon. The forest gave way to scrub and stumps here. The hillside beyond them had been clear-cut. No treewas left, and the ground was brown and barren. Forest creatures didn’t do this. A line of smoke rising over the hills gave Norman some idea who did. Behind the smoke was a flat grey expanse—the Obsidian Desert.
    â€œWhat do you see, lad?” Duncan asked.
    Malcolm had clambered up onto Norman’s head to get a better view.
    â€œSmoke, over the cliffs. Is it the mine?”
    â€œMusts be,” his father replied.
    A branch beside Malcolm’s shoulder twitched, and Simon Whiteclaw’s voice added its agreement. “Aye, ’tis the Rock all right.” The surly old creature spat in disgust and scrambled back down the tree.
    Duncan remained motionless on the stump, until with an invisible gesture his sabre was unsheathed. Turning to face his men, he wielded the weapon boldly.
    â€œTomorrow,” he growled emphatically, baring his sharp eye-teeth, “many more stoats will be free. Many more will raise their swords against the wolf occupiers. Tomorrow, it all begins.”
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    Simon Whiteclaw disappeared again that afternoon, as noiselessly and unceremoniously as he had arrived. Norman tried to take some cheer from it, but knowing what little he did of the battle plans, it was difficult to be too cheerful. Tomorrow, after the battle, the stoats would abandon him. It was hard to see any way around it.
    For once Malcolm seemed to understand that his friend was in no mood to talk, and he left him alone. Norman sat on a log