Chapters (96)
- Cover
- By David Gilman
- SHADOW OF THE HAWK
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Contents
- CHARACTER LIST
- Map
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- PART ONE
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- PART TWO
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FORTY
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FIFTY
- CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
- PART FIVE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
- CHAPTER SIXTY
- CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
- CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
- CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
- CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
- CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
- CHAPTER SEVENTY
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
- Author’s Notes
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
The men nodded their understanding and slipped away. Blackstone waited, letting his men creep as silently as they could to encircle de Hayle’s skinners. Instinct was everything. When to move. When to melt into the forest. And instinct warned him he would have to move sooner than he wanted. He felt the breeze on his neck. It had veered. If the routiers were not alert enough to sense it then the horses would be. He felt the comfort of Wolf Sword’s hilt in his grip and his archer’s killing knife in the other. He was already moving forward before his thoughts considered the options. Better to be closer to the horses that would soon raise the alarm than wait, hoping forest smells might obscure his men’s scent.
Ten, fifteen strides and he was at the horses, their chestnut colour blending them into the trees. They swivelled their heads and whinnied, tugging at their tied reins. Blackstone was lucky. Had he hesitated any longer the mercenary who was already on his feet would have landed a fast blow from his sword. There was no need for the man to raise his voice in alarm; his companions were already free of their blankets. Blackstone’s lunge into the camp and the nervous horses had alerted the men. They had been where he thought they would be, lying around the perimeter. Six men turned on him. John Jacob and the others would attack now the alarm had been raised but vital seconds would pass before then. Six fighters came at him hard and fast. Blackstone parried the nearest man’s strike. The second man came in on his flank. Two more closing: yards away, snarling faces, swords raised, legs pumping hard to reach him. The fifth man was no threat. Not yet. He had further to travel. The sixth man stumbled in his desire to reach his comrades, slowing his own advance. Six men. Blackstone killed the first, and pivoted onto the second, who thought he had the advantage until the knife in Blackstone’s other hand came out of nowhere and rammed into his throat. Six men. Instinct tormented him. Something was wrong. And then he knew. There were seven horses.