In The Shadow Of The Beast (10 page)

‘
And to where does he
travel, lord?’

‘
He seeks a girl. But
regardless of his intentions, whomever he finds as the end of his
journey, I will not suffer them to live,’ scowled
Mortaron.

‘
I understand,
lord.’

‘
See that you
do.’

‘
And what of the young
lord?’

The Baron paused, considering his next words
carefully, ‘the world beyond the walls of the city is a dangerous
place. Terrible things might befall a young fool who spends the
currency of his life recklessly.’

Huron did not respond immediately, uncertain
that he had inferred The Baron’s meaning correctly.

‘
You mean that if the young
lord resists I am to....’

‘
You are to do whatever is
necessary to ensure that his journey ends with the elimination of
all who are there to witness it. No survivors.

A shadow of uncertainty passed across the
face of the knight Huron, there and gone in an instant, before he
bowed his head and turned to march from the chamber.

Mortaron had noted the hesitation in the
knight, a trait usually nowhere to be found about his person.
Although Huron was sworn to his service, perhaps asking him to move
against the family Fellhammer had been a command too far. The
knight would have to be watched carefully.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, stolen
from the sky by the curve of the world, and day gave way to night
the people of the great city of Corrinth Vardis, returning from
their days work toiling in the fields or trading with the villages
to the south were flocking back to to the city.

Returning in their droves through the
massive iron wrought gates of the north wall. Affectionately known
as ‘Sebastapold’s yawn’ in honor of one of the city’s long dead
monks who was possessed of an exceptionally loud mouth, the
laborers and traders hurried through that portal before its heavy
iron lattice of a spiked grille was lowered for the night, to clank
shut loudly as its iron teeth bit into the floor below. Once shut,
it served the purpose of effectively sealing off the city from
outside threat.

Moving in opposition to the crowd, a lone
figure moved through the masses against the flow of traffic, like a
fish that swims upstream in defiance of raging currents. That
figure, coweled and hooded moved between the press of bodies as
deftly as it might, trying its best not to attract the attention of
the city guard, who watched over the gateway, concentrating far
more intently on those who would enter the city than those who were
trying to leave unnoticed.

Sigourd kept to the main body of the mass,
drawing the occasional irritated comment or scowl from those he
moved against. He tried his best to carefully avoid barging the
tired and grumpy individuals who comprised the returning workforce,
but here and there it was impossible not to bump into folk, who
would turn and snap off a derisive comment or bump him back in
annoyance.

Sigourd was of course free to leave the city
as and when he pleased, provided of course it did not countermand
the orders of his father. But if he were to announce his departure
at the gate, as he would ordinarily be obliged to do, then it would
have instantly been reported to the master of watch, who would have
notified the head of the castle guard, and word would have made its
way back to his father before an hour had passed.

Given the current state of affairs, The
Regent would of course immediately dispatch riders to fetch Sigourd
back to the castle, and that was something he couldn’t afford. He
needed at least a full day’s head start to be sure he’d loose any
pursuit that might be sent after him.

It was all Sigourd could do to keep his head
down and keep pushing forward, struggling through the tangle of
bodies and whispering the occasional apology whenever he caught
someone.

When he felt he was a safe distance from the
sight of the city guard, Sigourd began to make his way from the
centre of the column to its flanks, no easy task to be sure, so
that he might slip from the column into the woods to the south east
of the city and disappear through those.

Eventually, he had made his way to the edge
of the line, and continuing to track back along its length he moved
to a position parallel with the edge of the woods before making his
break for cover. Keeping his head bowed and striding purposefully
from the edge of the crowd he moved to the tree line, ducking
quickly into the foliage.

Once safely secreted amongst the thick
bracken and fen, Sigourd chanced a look back in the direction from
which he had come. There was no sign of any pursuit, no sign that
anything was amiss whatsoever. The endless line of city dwellers
continued to push on inexorably toward the north wall, disappearing
into Sebastapold’s yawn like mead poured freely into the gob of a
thirsty beggar.

He took a last fleeting look at the city,
twinkling in the encroaching gloom of night, before he turned and
disappeared into the enfolding darkness of the woods.

High overhead, unnoticed by Sigourd or
almost any other, a bird wheeled in the sky above the old wood. The
war hawk gave a single piercing shriek before diving into the
forest canopy and out of sight.

From the edge of the wood another shadow,
observing silently from saddle atop a battle steed the color of
spent coal, had witnessed Sigourd’s escape to the safety of the
woods.

Huron tugged at the reigns of the steed,
turning the beast slowly to canter into the forest, so that he too
was swallowed by the dark.

CHAPTER 7

A weary
heart...

Bael stood on the edge of the world,
watching the wan morning sun cresting the peaks of the jagged
Ash’harad. Those distant mountain ranges jutted up out of the earth
like savage teeth, biting into the pallid flesh of the lightening
sky where heavy storm clouds gathered. Snow was falling lightly,
delicate flakes settling upon Bael’s hard features.

Beyond the Ash’harad lay the valley in which
he and his people made their home. It would be many days more
travel before they would see the lush green of the valley. The
route through the mountain ranges would take most of their time,
and sap most of their strength.

He looked directly into the light of the
cresting sun without sheltering his eyes, as if daring that
celestial body to force him to look away. He surveyed the expanse
of peaks and rocky valleys that lay spread out before them as far
as the eye could see, and pondered what other trials lay ahead of
them.

In truth, as far as he saw it this whole
enterprise was a wasted effort, one that was certain to cost his
people far more than they could afford to give. Arook had led them
down this path based on a misguided belief in some ancient
prophecy. Such a waste.

Up here, so high above everything the air
was thin and the bitter winds whipped between the peaks, howling
and moaning like the freed spirits of the dammed.

From behind him, one of the others in the
pack approached, his hood pulled up high to fend off the biting
winds. Bael picked up his scent in the wind before he even heard
him approach.

‘
A storm is coming. We
should find shelter before it catches us out in the open,’ said
Nartaba as he came to stand beside his pack leader.

Bael did not respond, content to merely
continue staring out over the vast expanse of the mountain ranges
arrayed before them. He could sense Nartaba’s disquiet at recent
events, and in truth knew that he was right to be concerned. But
Bael didn’t much care to discuss what may or may not come to pass
as a result of his previous actions. He was content to allow
Nartaba to speak his mind, but would not allow himself to be drawn
into further fruitless discussion on the subject.

They had snatched the serving girl Isolde as
planned, and had made sure that the young prince had been there to
witness it. They had not considered that he might have brought
assistance with him, and in Bael’s view slaying the old soldier had
been an acceptable act, if not entirely necessary.

‘
He will be displeased,’
stated Nartaba finally, as if unable to hold his tongue any longer.
‘We should not have acted so conclusively.’

‘
Butchering cattle will
make little difference to the outcome.’

‘
Arook will see it as
failure on our part.’

Bael snorted, ‘he is too hidebound to see it
any other way.’

From out of the swirling snow and bitter
winds, another voice added itself to the conversation.

‘
And what exactly am I too
hidebound to see?’

Bael and Nartaba swung around to face whom
it was that addressed them. Stepping out of the gathering
maelstrom, his fine clothes exchanged for more careworn and sturdy
garments of leather and thickly knitted cottons of a dark hue, it
was the man with the craggy features who had so startled Veronique
to see.

‘
Arook,’ exclaimed Nartaba
in surprise, stepping back to allow the other man to approach more
closely.

He had appeared there behind the pair
without either of them being aware of it. No small task considering
the practiced hunters that he had surprised.

‘
You know my thoughts on
this matter. Why waste breath trying to convince you further?’
stated Bael flatly.

‘
I have been thinking much
the same. You were successful in the task I set you?’

Bael gestured dismissively in the direction
of the rest of the pack, who was now gathered about the trail
overlooking the pass. Arook was careful to note the that their
number had indeed swelled by one. Another figure sat between two
large pack males, the collar of her cloak pulled high to fend off
the biting mountain winds.

He nodded to himself in satisfaction,
‘Excellent, our plan goes as it should.’

‘
Our plan!?’ scoffed Bael,
who made to push past the other two to make his way back toward the
group.

Arook snatched at Bael, catching his arm in
a vice like grip and stopping him in his tracks. He sniffed at the
air around Bael, like a creature that had suddenly caught a whiff
of its prey on a gentle breeze, ‘you have the stink of fresh blood
about you,’ he said.

Nartaba shuffled uneasily on the spot,
lowered his gaze so that he would not have to look Arook in the
eye.

‘
Your young progeny was not
as alone as you’d predicted,’ snarled Bael, ‘I had no choice but to
act.’

Arook’s expression moved from shocked
disbelief to thunderous rage in an instant.

‘
It’s true’, offered
Nartaba uncertainly, ‘there was another with the boy,
he--’

‘
Be silent’ growled Arook,
who did not once take his eyes from Bael, ‘there was to be no
killing,’ he said through teeth bared.

‘
Then you should have taken
the task upon yourself,’ said Bael, his own temper rising to the
fore in a hot flush, ‘I have no tolerance for these vermin, and I
do not share your reluctance to see them to their end.’

Bael snatched his arm from the grip of the
other man, his eyes blazing defiantly.

‘
Your vanity will be the
undoing of your place in this endeavor,’ said Arook.

A thin smile creased Bael’s lips, his
sharpened incisors glinting in the pale light of morning, ‘on that
point father, we are in complete agreement.’

Bael turned and trudged away down the trail
followed by Nartaba, leaving Arook looking on after his son for
long moments, a stain of dark concern growing in his heart for the
course Bael seemed determined to take.

The Regent’s anger swept before him like a
storm front, its potency rocking the assembled nobles back on their
heels. In one motion he swung his hand across the surface of the
large oval table before him, sending clattering to the floor all
manner of markers and trinkets designating the disposition of all
his military might in the area and its relation to that other great
house of the Morays.

Small wooden figurines of horses and
cavalrymen, archers and heavy cannon pattered noisily across the
stone tiles in the wake of that furious gesture.

‘
You let him go!’ barked
The Regent.

The nobles, dressed in the finest silks held
together with the prettiest gold clasps that their considerable
wealth could afford them, looked to the floor in the face of such
admonishment.

‘
You allowed my son to
venture out alone into the madness beyond the walls!’

The court paige had entered the war chamber,
timidly approaching The Regent with news of his son’s
disappearance. That timidity had been well considered. Upon hearing
this news The Regent’s wrath had been immediate and undeniable,
erupting before the eyes of the stupefied council.

Everyone present knew that their regent was
typically a man of considered bearing, and to see him in such a
state spoke volumes about the depths of worry to which a father’s
concern for his only son might drive a man.

But it was not only the disappearance of
Sigourd that had driven The Regent to distraction. The very
summoning of this war council was attributable to the escalating
tensions between the Fellhammers and the Morays, simmering for the
last two years, it had now finally appeared to boil over into
outright attack.

The Regent had much to concern himself with
of late. Did he dare keep his council any longer, should he sue for
further peace, or would he attack?

‘
Not only must I deal with
the threat of war, hammering at our doors, but now I must contend
with the idiocy of my own council!’