Lady Of Regret (Book 2) by James A. West Read Free Book Online Page B

instructed Horge.
    Face ashen, swallowing compulsively as he scanned the dead, Horge did as bidden.

Chapter 7
     
     
     
    Relief flooded Rathe when the river’s mossy scent tickled his nose. It seemed hours had passed since the trio set out from the kitchen. They would have been mounted and gone long before, but the hunters of Deepreach seemed to be everywhere. More, they were driven by Tulfa’s wild cries of, “Meat on the bone!” and “Yes! Yes! Hunt them down, and we shall feast!”
    Whenever the trio heard that voice, or the squeals of hungry shadowkin, they quickly lost themselves down unfamiliar passageways. Horge always brought them back to the first corridor, through which Rathe and Loro had traveled to the great hall.
    Now Rathe heard the river’s rush, saw a dim rectangle of lesser darkness. The way out. He touched Horge’s shoulder, and the man flinched violently, squeaked in terror. “Better let me lead from here,” Rathe said, wondering if the scrawny fellow had become jumpy after falling into the hands of the shadowkin, or if it was a particular trait. He guessed both.
    Loro searched Horge’s face. “Are you without a proper steed, friend?”
    “I have a beast of burden. I do hope these monsters did not get Samba, and that he remains where I tied him. I had gone fishing, you see, when Tulfa captured me, and—”
    “Which way?” Rathe asked, arresting the man’s explanation.
    Horge thought about it, a finger again tracing the air before his face. “That way,” he said, pointing in the direction Rathe and Loro had been going before Tulfa showed himself.
    “You can ride with Rathe,” Loro said quickly, patting his round slab of belly. “This much man-flesh does not favor two riders to a saddle.”
    “Let’s go,” Rathe said, seeing the way Loro’s nose wrinkled at Horge’s unpleasant scent, and regretting that he had not spoken first.
    After gathering their gear and saddles at the entrance, they moved into the mist-shrouded night. Their horses looked up from grazing, ears pricked and alert. It seemed a monstrous blessing that shadowkin had no love for meat that did not cover the bones of men. That aside, Rathe decided to take all blessings that came to him, and gave silent thanks to the Cerrikothian god of war, Ahnok.
    While he and Loro saddled their mounts, Horge danced nervously to one side of the entrance, pausing frequently to cock his head and listen.
    Rathe was slipping his toe into the stirrup, when the sound of claws scratching stone drew his eye upward. His blood went cold. Scores of shadowkin were climbing over the rails of the walkways above. Where the twisted folk scurried and scuttled on the ground, they moved with eerie grace in scaling surfaces that would hinder spiders.
    “Go!” Rathe called, leaping into the saddle.
    Loro kicked his horse into a bounding leap down the stairs to the roadway. Rathe reached for Horge, but the scrawny fellow had vanished. “Horge!”
    Only the shadowkin answered, mad squeals merging with the river’s throaty rumble.
    “He’s gone!” Loro shouted below, his horse dancing a circle.
    Rathe gave another second to searching for Horge, but there was no sign of the little man. Shadowkin began leaping down and scampering near. Rathe’s sword slashed, and the nearest foe toppled back, missing a few fingers.
    “ Horge! ”
    No answer. With a curse, Rathe joined Loro, and they sped away.
    “They’re after us,” Loro warned.
    Rathe glanced back. The freakish folk streaked like wolves on the hunt, closing the gap. His gray snorted in fear, began fighting the bit. Rathe almost lost his seat, but clutched the pommel and righted himself. He had no sooner settled back, when a pillar supporting one of the city’s many footbridges forced him to saw hard at the reins. Trumpeting, the gray swept by the column, so close Rathe had to tuck his shoulder to avoid collision.
    A leering face framed by streaming hair appeared at his stirrup. Rathe hacked his