The Lady Quill Chronicles - The Promise

The Lady Quill Chronicles - The Promise - Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Rand looked across the rain slashed valley. Somewhere down there, was a river but the carpet of trees made it invisible even from this height up on the rise. They would be getting terribly wet under the leafless boughs. He looked up  to the sky, the clouds were heavy, showing no sign that the rain would abate anytime soon. There was little shelter to be had so no doubt they would pass an uncomfortable night.

“They do not slow him up much, Master.”

A smile played about Lord Targhe's mouth at the man’s observation.

“They do not, but it makes little matter….we shall be upon them soon enough, Bron.”

Bron shifted on his mount.

“You said that yesterday, Master.” His eyes slid away from his lord’s  stare and became engrossed in the horizon. “I’m not so sure…he is a cunning one, slippery as an eel too, he ought never to have been able to hold off all those men, and yet somehow he did…and now leading them by a way he knows our horses cannot pass…I would take naught for granted.”

“Tis fortunate then that I never do.” replied Lord Targhe with a shrug of impatience.

He was enjoying pitting his wits against the warrior who had collected Lady Adele. What he liked somewhat less was the way this unknown warrior had engendered such admiration in his army, he felt a strange need to compete suddenly for the hearts of his own men.

“What do you intend to do, Lord Rand?”

Rand glanced down the slippery and dangerous slope before him, made treacherous almost to the point of impassability by the pouring rain. For a second he knew the impulse to throw caution to the wind and make the descent any way. But he knew he could not risk his men in so fool hardy a gesture.

“We will take the longer route, Bron.”

“Twil cost us the best part of a day, Master.”

Rand pulled on the reins and wheeled his horse about.

“Better than your life, Bron, would you not agree?”

Bron knew that tone, knew that he had better go about his Master’s order without question or hesitation; he knew what was best for him.

The track that lord Rand had chosen to take was of a much shallower gradient, it curved around the walls of the valley, hardly more than a narrow shelf of rock. There was little room and the horses had to traverse its length in single file.

It was unfortunate that the wind was blowing the rain against them, flinging gusts of ice cold droplets over them with the force of hailstones. Rand pulled his cloak around him more securely, seeking to eliminate the cause of the draught that had slipped its cold fingers through his covering. This might be unpleasant but he could see the end in sight, the finish hastening towards him with the promise of his release.

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“Lord Rafe? Lord Rafe!” The voice was insistent but Finan did not hear it. He felt a sharp tug on his tunic and turned absently.

“What, what is it? Why do you?…..Lord Merrodon!” Finan caught his breath and rolled exasperated eyes toward the page. “You might have warned me Druce!”

“I’m sorry Lord Rafe, I meant not to intrude.” Lord Merrodon’s voice was apologetic, “But I wished for a private word without lord Coughly's presence.”

Finan cast about him for a way to forestall what he felt could only be a tirade against lord Coughly’s character. He was heartily tired of both men and had no desire to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary with either of them. Druce giggled placing both hands over his mouth as if to contain the sound and lord Merrodon glanced at the boy sharply.