The Dark Rider Book One: Snow, Time, Bones

Part 3

The waking was slow. The darkness behind his eyelids was a kind of glue, so reluctant was he to open them.

Warren sat up in a pile of furs. They were matted and old but comfortable. The room he found himself in was large with a high ceiling and a long oak table in the centre that could have seated thirty people. A man brooded at the table's head, watching him with an abstracted expression, his bearded chin resting in one brown hand. On the walls around them hung impressive woven tapestries, hanging lank and oddly menacing in the stillness. They depicted battles, warriors being knighted, saints, strange gods Warren vaguely recognised, like the Green Man, his face surrounded entirely by foliage, and others which he had never seen.

    "Are you restored?" the man sighed at length. "Anything you require? Hot wine? Broth?"

    "No thank you. I mean, I'm OK."

    "Oh-kay?"

    "I'm all right."

    "Oh. Good." The man carried on staring into space, a thoughtful crease between his eyebrows.

    "Where am I?" Warren said. "What... what happened?"

    "You had a fainting spell. There is nothing to be ashamed of in this. The Dark Rider has such an effect, even on the strongest warrior, if not used to his presence." The man shifted his weight and rested his chin in the other hand. He was well-dressed, in a blue cloak, tunic, and high leather boots with the tops turned down. One of his ears burned with gold rings. A thin white scar seared across the otherwise sun-browned skin of his cheek, below the left eye. He was tall, when he stood up to introduce himself, and large, but not fat. He gave the impression of having a large frame to suit his height, with everything in proportion, yet elegant, as graceful as a caged big cat.

    "I am the Duke Gorla of T'in-Tagel," he said, extending a long, spindly-fingered hand to Warren. "It means 'Tre war Venydh' or 'Village on a Mountain' which is perfectly ludicrous as everybody knows we are situated on the sea-coast. Village on the Cliff would have suited us better. You are?"

    "Warren. Have you seen my Gran anywhere?"

    "Your what?" Gorla frowned irritably. "Boy, we are at war. The Dark Rider is amassing his armies as we converse, and my people are flocking to the castle courtyard for shelter before we bar the gates and settle in for the worst of it. There will be a siege."

    "My--" Warren corrected himself. "Is the Lady Egrayne safe?"

    "Bless you, yes. She is in one of the upper rooms. But come now, you have done me a service in doing her a service. What reward would you ask of me? Name it."

    "I'd like to go home," Warren could not help saying.

    "That is unwise. It is not safe for a child to roam at this time, unless you are a warrior, but from your dress and lack of weapons I see that you are not. Ask me for something else."

    "Um... well, can I have a sword? In case."

    Gorla smiled, a burst of wry amusement through the melancholy. "Very good."

    The Duke strode over to a bronze gong hanging in the corner and struck it. Two minutes later, a boy scarcely older than Warren, his hair hanging in his eyes, entered and bowed. Gorla told him to run and fetch a sword from the armoury, and to make sure it was a lightweight one. The boy ran out.

Silence stretched between the man and the boy, punctuated by the sounds of people shouting and moving in the courtyard below.

    "Are you afraid?" Gorla asked conversationally.