RHIDAUNA, The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 1

CHAPTER 10 - SOUTHERN LEUDRA (Part One)

Vasthul, hidden in the shadow of the temple, tried to hide his shock from the castle servant. 'The man lives?' He cursed under his breath. Hardingraud wasn't dead! Damn, he had lost his precious athame for nothing. He should have used his deadly grip. That took a lot of energy and was slow in building up, but the results were certain. Now it was too late.

The servant nodded. 'Yes, the man you named was only wounded in this cowardly attack. It was a nasty wound, but luckily his friends got him to the healers in time. They say that, Kathauna willing, he'll be back on his feet soon.'

Vasthul gnashed his teeth. No serious damage? He knew he had planted his athame deep in Hardingraud's back. The greedy soul in the blade must have done its work. It would've hurt the bastard, weakened him and caused him pain, a great deal of pain. At least it should delay his journey and create new opportunities. The sorcerer grinned without mirth.

'I have one last question, excellent servant. Do you know where our mutual friend will be going when he recovers?'

The servant shook his head. 'To my deep regret, no,' he said. 'South, I heard, the King's Road to the south.'

South, Vasthul thought. That could meant Virmaul, and the ferry across the Yanthe. About a half-day's ride. He looked up.

'Your information was satisfactory,' he said. 'Allow me to give you a small donation for the Alms Fund.'

'For the Alms Fund,' the servant said almost eagerly and some gold coins exchanged hands.

When the servant had left, Vasthul returned to his shelter by a different route, all his senses alert. He had found a good hiding place with Richal the Legless, in his cellar in Third Lane. Richal did not mind him staying there. The old soldier floated along the bottom of Third Lane Ditch, right behind the house, weighted down with his own cart, while Vasthul waited in his chair until the worst commotion about the assassination attempt had died down.

From his basement room, the sorcerer could look out at the castle's driveway, which was one of the reasons why he had chosen this filthy hole. He would see Hardingraud leaving. The little man nodded and stared outside, at the road winding down from the castle. His prey would come. Vasthul thought of the three golems waiting for him just outside the city. More mademen that useless bag of bones Central hadn't been able to find. For a simple ambush, it should be enough. Surprise was what mattered. He dropped into Richal's chair and stared through the basement window at the castle.

The stab wound in Ghyll's back healed as fast as the chirurgeon had predicted. After twenty-four hours, he could walk from his bed to the door, and the day after Nadrillia and the Count's banquet, he felt well enough to resume the journey.

Olle shook his head. 'No, brother.' He looked at his Ghyll and his dark eyes flashed. 'We're not going anywhere, not with you nearly naked. This time it was a knife between your ribs. Tomorrow it could be an arrow in your back, or whatever. Here!' He held a shiny mail shirt under Ghyll's nose. 'The best I could find. Fine-meshed steel, made by an expert. Light as a feather, you won't even notice you're wearing it. Now, you put it on, and we'll leave.'

Ghyll had donned it. Although he wasn't about to admit it, he found the mail shirt a safe idea with Vasthul around somewhere. A shiver ran down his spine as he thought of that moment in the market. He would never forget the whispered "die, pig", and the hatred in the voice burning into his soul. Turning to Ulanth, he checked the straps of his saddle and stirrups. You're alive, that's what counts. Think of the future. Southward they must go, to Virmaul, where the ferryman could put them over the Yanthe. After that another three hundred sixty miles to Leudra City and the portal to Din-Werdzom. Three weeks in the saddle. That's one thing he had never considered in his dreams of adventure - that Rhidauna was so damned big. How naive he had been, that Ghyll of two weeks ago, with his useless boar hunt. He shook his head. Din-Werdzom. His eyes strayed to Bo, who would have to bring them there, and he thought of something.