The Horse Lord by Peter Morwood Read Free Book Online Page A

enough, since he was sober and his attackers were not—someone else had departed noisily through the window and Aldric hastened his own exit. The sound of breaking glass drew Radmur’s City Watch like wasps to syrup, and Tewal’s big front window had held enough panes to attract the deafest constable.
    Then, despite the risk of being jumped on, he stopped. Hen had been backed into a corner by her drunken acquaintance of earlier on, and by the look on the man’s ugly face he was after more than a kiss this time. There was a small knife in Hen’s hand, but the guard was in no mood to sweet-talk her out of using it. Instead he drew a dagger from his boot and advanced with a nasty grin.
    When Aldric shouted he looked round—having learnt nothing from the fate of his colleague—and then lunged. The young
kailin
dodged, grabbed the knife-hand’s wrist and used it to hurl the soldier over his shoulder and headlong into a handy pile of chairs. “All a matter of balance,” he said dryly, then led Hen out into the dark, cool peace and quiet of the street.
    Opening his mouth to make some comment, Aldric shut it again as his mental alarm sounded for the first time that evening. He spun, one hand flying to his sword-hilt—then lowered it as a halberd prodded his stomach.
    “So, my lord Aldric,” said the Prefect of Police with a gentle smile. “At least there is nothing in the canal this time. Yet.”
    Heavy flakes of snow wavered to the ground as Aldric galloped fast for Dunrath. The fall had begun just after he left Radmur and was making the paved road treacherous, but he was in no mood for caution. The magistrates had taken two days to decide who was responsible for the riot in Tewal’s inn, and though they had finally given Aldric an honourable discharge they had taken too long over it. The damage was already beyond repair; it would now seem to
Haranil-arluth
that he had been deliberately misunderstood. And deliberate disobedience was one thing the old man had never tolerated. He would be in just the right frame of mind to hear the real reason for the delay; Aldric’s stomach went cold at the thought.
    He stopped perforce at the way-station, not to feed himself but to rest his lathered horse before the beast dropped under him. Not all the stamping up and down nor the rapping of quirt on boot could hurry the weary animal’s recovery and at last Aldric gave up trying. He went inside and stared in grim silence at the fire.
    Nearer home the sky began to clear and he approached the fortress in cold, brilliant sunshine. The frosty air was still and silent, the only sound his steed’s hoofs muffled by the snow. He could see no guards, no sentries… not a soul. The roan passed over the outer drawbridge, and still no one challenged his presence.
    Aldric frowned and scanned the courtyard, then dismounted. Though the stables were empty of grooms there were horses in the stalls and even his new battle armour still boxed in one corner, not yet unpacked. Intrigued and by now wary, he moved quietly up into the citadel itself.
    Inside was cold, the gloominess accentuated by the dust-flecked shafts of light streaming from the western windows. There was neither movement nor sound save that made by Aldric himself. He had never seen the long corridors so still and dark; even late at night there were usually lamps and servants, but now there was nothing except the slow eddy of golden specks washed by the evening light. Aldric shivered and his sword appeared in one hand almost of its own volition. Very carefully he eased back one of the great hall’s doors and slipped inside.
    The vast chamber was completely deserted; the ashes of dead fires slumped grey in the hearths and of lamps and candles only charred wicks remained. Crossing the hall at a run, Aldric took the stairs four at a time, up the right fork leading past the galleries, into the donjon and towards the lord’s private apartments. Twice he almost went headlong, for apart from