Dead Man Riding East

Jim Webster

Description

Once more we visit the 'Land of the Three Seas,' where the unintended theft of a tyrant's concubine, followed by the inadvertent acquisition of a wife, leads to revenge, the fall of dynasties and over-exposure to the world of high fashion. Such are the adventures of Benor Dorfinngil.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 20 mai 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782344438
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page
DEAD MAN RIDING EAST
Death, high fashion and romance of sorts
By
Jim Webster



Publisher Information
Dead Man Riding East
First published in 2012
This edition published in 2015
by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © 2012, 2015 Jim Webster
The right of Jim Webster to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.



Continent Map





Chapter 1
Batra waited silently in the shadow, a midnight blue robe drawn about her. Her rescuer should not be long now. Although barely seventeen, it had taken less than six months of being a concubine to Prince Cirramar of Talan to convince Batra that she had made a mistake, and she was now remedying that mistake. She had seen how another concubine had made her escape, and had decided to follow her example. Batra had sounded out the carpet maker, who was allowed into the women’s quarters, and he had agreed to get a message to Fausto. Fausto was coyly described as her childhood sweetheart, but in reality he was perhaps the only real friend Batra had. Fausto had replied, Jacinto the carpet maker had forwarded the note and Batra had recognised Fausto’s handwriting.
A labourer in Metal Quay, if Fausto had ever written before it was with chalk on a wooden tally board. His letter to her was hardly a love letter but at least he was coming.
She peered over the parapet and saw him in the street below, moving swiftly from shadow to shadow, a coil of rope over his arm. He looked up and she waved to him. Immediately, he ran across the road and, standing as close to the wall as he could, braced himself and prepared the rope to throw. Batra glanced round. She had given her jewellery to the guards; there should be no one on this wall walk for another half hour.
Fausto lowered his right arm and brought it up rapidly. The rope sailed up towards her and Batra caught it as it landed on the roof top. She quickly tied the end around the low brickwork castellation. Suddenly, she heard shouts, and froze. Looking over the parapet she saw guards running towards Fausto, their armour gleaming in the light of the torches they were carrying. She shouted to him, but her warning was unnecessary, Fausto made to flee but one of the guards sprinted after him. Fausto stopped and spun round. The short handled mattock in his right hand caught the guard in the chest. From the wall-top Batra could hear armour crumple and ribs crack. Fausto stepped over the fallen guard and swung his mattock again at the second who raised his shield to block the blow, whilst his colleague stepped forward and drove his spear-point into Fausto’s throat. Fausto sagged at the knees and collapsed. Now there were guards running along the parapet towards Batra from both directions. It was obvious they had been betrayed. Almost contemptuously she untied the rope and threw it down to the ground. The end fell across Fausto’s body. Then without taking her eyes off his broken form, she stepped calmly off the parapet, leaving the guards behind her grasping at empty air.
***
It was a nice room; the sun came in through the window and cast a warm light on the girl lying in the bed. Cirramar looked down at the body of Batra and then glanced at the doctor. The doctor shook his head.
“Whatever I do, she’ll be dead within the hour.”
Cirramar pondered the broken body on the bed in front of him.
“It seems a waste, really. Does she feel any pain?”
The doctor became reassuringly professional.
“As instructed, I did everything I could to ensure she lived, and that included giving her a mixture of herbs for the pain.”
Cirramar smiled and made a gesture of dismissal. The doctor left quietly and Cirramar glanced down to the clerk sitting by the bed.
“Well Galomar, did she say anything?”
The clerk looked at his notes.
“Quite a lot, much of it incomprehensible, half formed words or bits of names, but there was one name that she mentioned, Alissa .”
Cirramar stopped fidgeting with his cuffs, his interest now aroused.
“Alissa you say... so do you think the girl copied her?”
“I would think so, but there is more, whilst she was talking about Alissa, I quietly asked her if she knew how Alissa escaped. My question must have got through the haze of drugs because she answered me. Apparently she had seen Alissa escort a man through the women’s quarters, and being inquisitive had followed them. She had heard the man introduce himself as Benor Dorfinngil, also known as Benor the Cartographer, of Toelar.”
Cirramar paused to gather his thoughts. The escape of Alissa had been a public humiliation. He glanced at the girl on the bed and observed dispassionately, “And being a tyrant I cannot allow my will to be publically flaunted, otherwise others will try. And being notoriously vengeful I will obviously have this Benor tracked down and both he and Alissa will be killed or brought back here to Talan for execution.”
Galomar nodded. “It is what is expected of you.”
Cirramar breathed in deeply.
“Then give word to have it done, please, Galomar. I have no doubt that you can arrange for the proper funding of the operation.”
Galomar smiled mirthlessly.
“For a tyrant, everything is within budget.”
Cirramar glanced down at the girl on the bed and briefly smoothed the covers with his left hand. Then, as if remembering himself, he stood erect and walked out of the room without looking back.
Galomar stood up, too, glanced down at the girl and followed his master out of the room.
***
Rothred Axlebowkin felt that he was getting used to Toelar life. He was cleaning a dart carcass in the larder as he heard Benor arrive. He seemed in a good mood, so Rothred asked “Had a good afternoon?”
“Ah, a delight,” Benor beamed, “a genuinely civilised afternoon. Madame Afflagar introduced her ‘niece’ to society and society was suitably gracious. The old termagant also recognised Virinal as her companion and great-niece.”
“Well she could hardly admit that her niece was her daughter and her great niece her granddaughter,” Rothred observed.
“Given that she doesn’t admit to being a day over forty five, probably not.”
“So what else was said?”
“Oh, Madame even announced, in tones that would have frozen the marrow of a lesser man, that Virinal is walking out with Kirisch.”
At this point Tillie, Rothred’s wife, put her head round the door.
“I did wonder if that would be mentioned.”
“You should have seen it, Tillie. Kirisch proved to a lot of respectable ladies he could drink tea out of a cup without killing anyone or succumbing to uncontrollable lust.” Benor paused, his eyes sparkling, “which knowing some of them was probably a disappointment.”
Tillie reverted to practicality. “Dinner is ready. Benor, can you fill three glasses from the Ale barrel? Rothred needs to wash before he sits down to eat.”
In the kitchen Benor filled glasses and put them on the table. Still drying himself with a towel, Rothred sat down at the kitchen table and hung the towel over the back of his chair. After taking a sip from her glass, Tillie put the glass down, looked round, reached behind the clock on the mantelpiece and produced a letter.
“This came for you today Benor, your brother Sar sent one of his lads round with it. It was apparently waiting for you at Meor.”
When Benor saw the handwriting on the envelope he paled and passed the envelope hastily back to Tillie, “You open it please.”
Tillie shot a concerned glance to Rothred who shrugged. She opened the letter and scanned it quickly, then read it more carefully.
“You have a wife?”
“Yes.”
If Tillie sounded unnecessarily incredulous, Rothred thought, Benor sounded unnecessarily defensive.
Tillie composed herself and read on.
“She wants to see you.”
Rothred felt that it was a chance to contribute. He put down his glass.
“That’s nice. Where is she?”
“About four thousand miles away.”
Without any further explanation, Benor stood up and walked across to his sword hanging by its baldric from a hook on the kitchen wall. He took it down and put it on, but Tillie stood up and patted him gently on the arm
“Not until after dinner surely? You lay out the plates and I’ll serve. Then you can tell us all about it.”
***
By the time the meal was served there were five of them gathered in the kitchen: Virinal and Kirisch had joined them at Tillie’s invitation. Tillie insisted they let Benor eat first before plying him with questions, and it gave him chance to get things clear in his mind. Finally plates were emptied and Rothred topped up everybody’s glass from the barrel. Benor looked around the table.
“It was just after the siege of Oiphallarian. Lord Faerbalt wanted me with him to map the territory to the north, in the Coldraith Mountains where he was thinking of building a keep. Well I rode with him north and helped him survey the mountains, had a few weeks hunting with him in the high valleys and I think the cold just got to me, because then I collapsed.
Someone said I needed warmth, and Faerbalt called in a favour with some idiot mage he knew, who would transport me to Tideholt, which is a pleasant small town on the shore