RHIDAUNA, The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 1

CHAPTER 2 - GROMARTHEN (Part One)

The man in the black robe sat motionless astride his horse. He stared at the smoke rising through the rain over the island. He smiled and the glow of the fires warmed his heart. The Master will be pleased, he thought. His hated enemy is dead.

It had been an honorable task, as befitted his rank as a Practicus of Her temple. An undertaking in which he had demonstrated his considerable abilities. He sighed. This was why he had left his God and his family's Order to join the Dar'khamorth. The worship of Her was severe and full of risks, but the survivors would reap great rewards. With this success, power and prestige lay in the palm of his hand. The old castle's destruction would gain him a zelatorate at least. Only two people would outrank him then – and the Master of course. Illgram's grin widened. I will be two obstacles removed from the top. His smile faltered for a moment. Two powerful obstacles. Still, even the mighty are mortal.

Full of hope for the future, he rode back to his cabin in the woods.

The road from Tinnurad's funeral pile to the city of Gromarthen was a narrow strip, which clung to the mountainside high above the river. Along this path they went, with Olle leading. Ghyll followed, lost in a maze of remorse. His soggy boots found their grip in the mud without conscious thought, while the rain ran down between his shoulder blades. 'It's my fault,' he said again. 'It's all my fault.'

Olle didn't listen, and Ghyll plodded on. He was cold to his marrow, his hands almost too stiff to hold the reins of his horse. Now and then, the semi-uncon­scious Damion threatened to slip sideways, and Ghyll had to pull him back up. He did not dare to think about the hellish agony their friend had to endure, but Damion never uttered a sound.

After a time, they came to a huge oak tree that grew over half of the path. Its branches offered some shelter from the incessant rain. 'We'll take a break,' Olle said.

Ghyll nodded. He went to Damion and loosened the bands that kept him on Ulanth's back. With trembling fingers, he checked the boy's circulation. Damion's eyes were open, but it was a visible effort to get them focused.

'What... Where...'

Ghyll forced a smile on his lips. Damn, he thought. He looks bad. Feverish. Those blue lips... 'You're doing great. That beast took a proper pass at you; we're taking you to a healer.'

'Oh, that swine.' Damion's eyes leaked tears. 'I've let you guys down. Dammit, I wanted to be like you.' His voice sank.

Ghyll took his icy hand and began rubbing it warm. 'Don't worry, it'll be all right. We'll teach you how to hunt, I promise.'

Damion closed his eyes and nodded. His breath rattled as an old man's and Ghyll suppressed a rising panic. Kathauna, let him live. But the Goddess didn't answer.

From higher up the slope came the piercing call of a mountain lion. Olle swore when his two horses backed away, and gripped their bridles. He glanced up at the mountain­side. 'Sounded close.'

Ghyll rebound Damion's arms. 'We had better go,' he said. 'All our weapons lie on the damned mountain.' Ulanth turned his head towards him and sniffed. His ears were alert, but his whole attitude showed a simple mountain lion didn't impress him.

Olle led the skittish mounts back into the rain. Ghyll followed him, too busy with his own misery to notice the silver-gray shadow that slipped from the trees and stared hard-eyed after them.

Hours later, they reached Gromarthen. The rain had stopped at last and in the dusk, the lights of the town looked warm and inviting.