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    Hawks of Outremer
    Hawks of Outremer
    Hawks of Outremer
    Ebook44 pages39 minutes

    Hawks of Outremer

    By Robert E. Howard

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    About this ebook

    Hawks of Outremer is a tight tale. The main character is Cormac FitzGeoffrey, a bastard Norman-Gael who has thrown his lot in with the Crusaders. Once a loose peace was established in Outremer, Cormac returned to Ireland but after a short stint fighting, peace broke out there, too. Cormac returns to the Holy Land (Outremer) seeking to attach himself to a liege, only to learn that his liege of choice has been assassinated. Plots are afoot between Muslims and Christian lords who want nothing to do with Saladin nor European kings. Rather than jeopardize the peace with an armed force, FitzGeoffrey vows vengeance and embarks solo to deal death to those who deserve it.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKtoczyta.pl
    Release dateMar 14, 2018
    ISBN9788381487368
    Hawks of Outremer

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      Book preview

      Hawks of Outremer - Robert E. Howard

      Robert E. Howard

      Hawks of Outremer

      Warsaw 2018

      Contents

      I. A MAN RETURNS

      II. THE CAST OF AN AX

      III. THE ROAD TO EL GHOR

      IV. THE FAITH OF CORMAC

      I. A MAN RETURNS

      HALT! The bearded man-at-arms swung his pike about, growling like a surly mastiff. It paid to be wary on the road to Antioch. The stars blinked redly through the thick night and their light was not sufficient for the fellow to make out what sort of man it was who loomed so gigantically before him.

      An iron-clad hand shot out suddenly and closed on the soldier’s mailed shoulder in a grasp that numbed his whole arm. From beneath the helmet the guardsman saw the blaze of ferocious blue eyes that seemed lambent, even in the dark.

      Saints preserve us! gasped the frightened man-at-arms, Cormac FitzGeoffrey! Avaunt! Back to Hell with ye, like a good knight! I swear to you, sir–

      Swear me no oaths, growled the knight. What is this talk?

      Are you not an incorporeal spirit? mouthed the soldier. Were you not slain by the Moorish corsairs on your homeward voyage?

      By the accursed gods! snarled FitzGeoffrey. Does this hand feel like smoke?

      He sank his mailed fingers into the soldier’s arm and grinned bleakly at the resultant howl.

      Enough of such mummery; tell me who is within that tavern.

      Only my master, Sir Rupert de Vaile, of Rouen.

      Good enough, grunted the other. He is one of the few men I count friends, in the East or elsewhere.

      The big warrior strode to the tavern door and entered, treading lightly as a cat despite his heavy armor. The man-at-arms rubbed his arm and stared after him curiously, noting, in the dim light, that FitzGeoffrey bore a shield with the horrific emblem of his family–a white grinning skull. The guardsman knew him of old–a turbulent character, a savage fighter and the only man among the Crusaders who had been esteemed stronger than Richard the Lion-hearted. But FitzGeoffrey had taken ship for his native isle even before Richard had departed from the Holy Land. The Third Crusade had ended in failure and disgrace; most of the Frankish knights had followed their kings homeward. What was this grim Irish killer doing on the road to Antioch?

      Sir Rupert de Vaile, once of Rouen, now a lord of the fast-fading Outremer, turned as the great form bulked in the doorway. Cormac FitzGeoffrey was a fraction of an inch above six feet, but with his mighty shoulders and two hundred pounds of iron muscle, he seemed shorter. The Norman stared in surprized recognition, and sprang to his feet. His fine face shone with sincere pleasure.

      Cormac, by the saints! Why, man, we heard that you were dead!

      Cormac returned the hearty grip, while his thin lips curved slightly in what would have been, in another man, a broad grin of greeting. Sir Rupert was a tall man, and well knit, but he seemed almost slight beside the huge Irish warrior who combined bulk with a sort of dynamic aggressiveness that was apparent in his every movement.

      FitzGeoffrey was clean-shaven and the various scars that showed on his dark, grim face lent his already formidable features a truly sinister aspect. When

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