The Fragile Fall At Tallow Bridge (The White Blood Chronicles Book 1)

by Mark G Heath

  “ Master Thaindire, do join us,” called out Lancaster motioning with his free hand, “ Please, do not stand there on the outside, come and enjoy,” he entreated. One of the women began to pad, her head still down low, like some predatory beast, along the bed towards Thaindire. He stepped into the doorway, a rich spicy scent, which he recognised as worn by Kathryn, filling his nostrils.

  “ Come my friend, drink deep,” smiled Lancaster unabashed by his nakedness.

  “ I shall not,” retorted Thaindire firmly, “ may the One True God have mercy on your sin-infested souls,” he reached for the door handle and as laughter rang out, he slammed the door shut.

  There was a click behind him and he turned. Kathryn’s door, opposite Lancaster’s had just closed. He crossed the landing and knocked on her door. There was a pause and then the door opened revealing Kathryn stood with a broad grin on her face.

  “ Have you come to see me?” she asked raising a forefinger to her inviting lips.

  “ Only to ask have you seen what Lancaster is doing?”

  “ Yes, doesn’t it make you feel, mmmm, warm, Samael?”

  “ On the contrary, it disgusts me, such licentious behaviour,” he snarled.

  “ Come now my handsome man, all they are doing is loving, where is the harm in that. Better to love than to hate, yes?” she soothed, a hand reaching out to touch his chest.

  “ That is not love, that is debauchery,” he countered realising that he had taken two steps into Kathryn’s room. The heady scents began to surround him. He could see a dressing table over her shoulder festooned with small bottles, no doubt the source of the medley of scents that drifted about the room like spirits. A long mirror was placed beside the dressing table, the room reflected within it.

  “ They are not hurting anyone,” smiled Kathryn as she began to pull at the strings to his tunic, loosening them, her eyes never leaving his.

  “ His heart belongs to another, does it not? You said he was married, yet he ruts with those two, those two whores,” he continued.

  “ Sssshh,” Kathryn placed a finger on his lips, he could not banish the tingle that ran through him as her graceful touch was placed upon him.

  “ Stay with me, it is better that way,” she quietly urged, pulling him further into the room. The fire crackled in the grate, the warm orange flames dancing and to the side was her bed, a blood red blanket draped open, inviting him to succumb to her comely ways. The heat rose, clouding his head, his nostrils filled with the many scents occupying the room and her hands slowly caressed him, her light touches so inviting and arousing. She moved her mouth towards him, lips parted ready to embrace him, eyes slowly closing. Thaindire felt his resolve melting under the warmth of the room as he too moved his own mouth towards her, suddenly wanting to feel her lips against his and the warm, darting sensation of her tongue in his mouth. He glanced to one side, and caught his own gaze in the mirror. He saw his hands had taken Kathryn by the shoulders, her own had slipped around his waist and then he gasped, shoving her back as he saw his lust-filled expression leering back at him. Alarmed at the twisted, leering face that he had seen, Thaindire pulled his tunic straight as Kathryn sunk to the bed.

  “ What is it?” she asked, still smiling, her eyes glazed with desire.

  “ No, I cannot. I must not,” mumbled Thaindire and he strode out of the room, relieved at the immediately cooler air beyond the bedroom.

  Without looking back he marched down the stairs towards the loud reverie emanating from the tavern’s main room. He halted at the base of the steps as he looked across a scene of debauchery. The tavern was full of villagers. A fire roared, the orange tendrils of flame rising high within the massive fireplace. The villagers danced, wrapped around one another, swinging flagons and spilling ale from them. Half-naked women sat draped around men, embracing passionately as the men groped them. A surging, writhing tableaux of lust panned out before Thaindire. The bard stood atop a table, his own torso exposed as he frantically plucked at his lyre playing a fast-tempoed song, those villagers dancing in the middle, wheeled about one another, whooping and crying out. Everywhere Thaindire looked he saw hands, thighs, breasts, chests and lips. It was as if the whole tavern had become infected with lust and was engaged in an orgy.

  His gaze shifted to the bar, which was no better. Two figures lay slumped on the bar, inebriated whilst Dromgoole stood bellowing along to the song, waving a flagon high in the air. A young couple sat on the bar, locked in their embrace, her legs kicking excitedly as her amorous companion let his hands roam. Thaindire felt a hand slip around his waist.

  “ See, there is love everywhere tonight,” whispered Kathryn in his ear, her hot breathe, causing his ear to tickle.

  “ Come back upstairs with me,” she pleaded.

  Thaindire took her arm and removed it from about his middle and walked towards the tavern door. He rounded one villager who was crawling across the floor giggling to himself; drool spilling from his open maw.

  He stepped through the doorway closing the heavy door after him. The cold of the night served as a delicious antidote to the corrupting heat of the tavern. He pulled at his tunic, feeling it to be sticky and drenched with the sin oozing through the Last One Inn. He took several deep breaths of the frost-tinged air, the hoots and shouts coming loud from behind him. Thaindire stepped away from the door and gathered himself. The moon shone bright, its silver light coating the village as he decided that he must leave now lest he be consumed by the village’s orgy of desire. Something untoward was happening. It was as if the village was seeking to absorb him, consume him in order to make him part of its unholy fabric. Witchery was evidently at the heart of this sensation, designed to leech away his resolve and cause his resistance to the debauchery to crumble. Thaindire gave thanks to the One True God that he had been blessed with a core of righteousness, which would not be corrupted by Aftlain’s rotten influence.

  Thaindire walked around the corner seeking the stables at the rear of the tavern. A combination of light from within the tavern, spilling out of the windows and the moonlight afforded him sufficient light by which to see as he entered the tavern’s yard. Barrels were heaped to one side and a wagon, no doubt the one he arrived in, was parked to the left. Ahead of him was a low-roofed building and he heard the snort of a horse from within. He slipped through an open doorway to the first bay where a horse reacted by standing up.

  “ Ssssh boy,” hushed Thaindire as he reached, patting the side of the horse’s head. Now it was time to make good his escape. He looked about and then cursed as he saw the moonlight highlight the chain that led from the steed’s leg to an iron peg hammered into the ground. Thaindire kicked at the peg but it made no movement and was solidly fixed. Muttering he entered the second bay which was empty and made his way to the third. The occupying horse stirred and gave a nervous whinny as Thaindire sought to calm it. Cursing he heard the clank of an iron chain again and found it to be similarly fixed into the ground. The fourth and fifth bays were empty. He berated the protectiveness of the villagers to their mounts. His sword would not cleave chains as thick as those that bound the horses and he could not remove the pegs affixed to the ground. The tavern’s stables had proved fruitless. Thaindire walked back to the doorway and stepped out into the yard once again.

  “ Going on a trip?” asked a voice smoothly and quietly. Thaindire turned and saw Reznik stood leant against the wall of the tavern, his sharp features picked out by the light shining from within the inn. He was smoking a pipe and he took another puff on it waiting for Thaindire to answer.

  “ Needed to escape in there,” he responded pointing.

  “ I can understand that. Doesn’t appeal to me either. Never been a lover. All that leaping about and tickling, ridiculous. I much prefer the cool, hard feel of coin. Coin doesn’t nag you, or lie to you or run off with your supposed best friend,” admitted Reznik pushing himself off the wall and walking towards Thaindire.

  “ And of course, even better than the coin
is the killing. Now, that is what I am designed for” he declared. “ Much like you.”

  “ Only in the right circumstances,” responded Thaindire ascertaining his escape routes as the Captain advanced.

  “ Interesting. I find all circumstances lend themselves to killing. It is the purest form,” he opined. He came to a halt a half pace away from Thaindire, his back to the tavern. As per the previous evening Reznik was wearing his uniform and his peaked cap.

  “ Cold night to be riding off,” he remarked jabbing the end of his pipe skywards.

  “ Most likely a frost.”

  “ Ground would be hard though, making tracking difficult.”

  “ Though there would be nothing to track.”

  “ Really?” smiled Reznik.

  The two paused, Thaindire felt his hand twitch ready to dive to his sword hilt as he waited for the Captain to show his intentions having discovered Thaindire lurking about in the stable.

  “ Why not join me for a drink?” offered Reznik.

  “ I’ve no desire to go back in there whilst all that is going on,” retorted Thaindire.

  “ Oh I didn’t mean in the tavern, too much for me as well. Come to my house, you and I have more in common than you would realise, there is much for us to talk about.”

  “ Thank you but I would prefer to be alone and take in the air,” answered Thaindire.

  “ Very well Master Thaindire, but if you change your mind on your walk do call in, you know where I am?”

  “ I do, thank you again, “ he answered stepping past Reznik.

  “ You won't find any horses to take by the way,” said the Captain. Thaindire ignored him and walked back towards the square.

  At the square, he saw two more villagers enter the Last One Inn, the cacophony of noise surging as the door opened. He glanced up and could see light in all the windows on the first floor and wondered if Kathryn, in her heightened state, had ensnared someone else and lured him, or her, to her room. He cast the thought aside as he focussed on finding a way to leave the village. It was evident that this village wanted to engulf him in its own despicable behaviour and he feared the longer he remained here, the more susceptible he was to its insidious unholiness. There was clearly no point in trying to engage with the drunken patrons of the tavern to acquire a horse at this time and therefore stealing one was his only option. The horses at the smithy, like those behind the tavern were too secure. That left the farrier but given his reaction of point blank refusal he suspected that any horses kept there would be similarly chained. That just left the mill house. Given its isolation from the rest of the village he hoped that they were less concerned about the harnessing of their mounts and that he would find a suitable steed there to allow him to head to Lancester, even by moonlight.

  The noise of the tavern lessened as he walked westwards, the cold air clinging to him, chilling the sweat, which had beaded on his back. Nobody was moving in this part of the village as he turned by the bakers and made his way along the narrow dirt track down to the river. He was glad of the isolation. He moved cautiously, his only light now that of the moon above. The trees were still on either side of him although the nightlife was very much moving judging by the hoots and chirrups that came from the dark ranks of trees. Thaindire rounded the bend in the track and then saw that he was not the only one heading for the mill house. Up ahead was the unmistakable figure of one of the alchemist’s miniature men. It walked purposefully along, its tiny boots plodding across the earth of the track. Thaindire quickened his step and began to gain on the figure, which did not adjust its own pace. Beneath the moon, the pair continued towards the miller’s home. Thaindire wondered if it was returning after an aborted visit earlier for he was positive that he had seen one of the tiny men in the river, even though Maunsell had passed it off as a log.

  The diminutive man crossed the grassed area out of the front of the mill as Thaindire halted and shrunk into the trees beside the track. Crouching, he watched from the concealed position as the front door of the mill opened in expectation of the tiny man’s arrival. Light flooded from the doorway and he could see the silhouette of a man, presumably Maunsell. The little figure halted in front of him and Maunsell gesticulated towards the river. Maunsell reached behind him and produced a guttering, lit torch as he and the tiny man walked around to the edge of the river. Thaindire watched as the duo stood motionless, the river flowing ceaselessly past them. There came a creaking sound and Thaindire noticed that the waterwheel, which hitherto had been motionless, suddenly cranked into life and slowly began to turn. Into view came a pair of raised arms, which were held above a head with closed eyes and open mouth before the rest of the soaked body followed. Water spilt from the body, which was still clad in clothing, although in the torchlight it was difficult to discern anything of note from the attire. With a clunk, the wheel stopped and the water drained from the buckets on the wheel and the body, which was stretched out. Thaindire saw Maunsell turn to the tiny figure and pass it something small and metallic. The figure then jumped forward and landed on the legs of the unfortunate tied to the wheel. It scurried up over the body and halted on its chest, squatting. Intently it then wielded the metal object, most likely a knife and began cutting into the chest of the body. Maunsell looked on, holding the torch aloft as the orange light illuminated the grim scene. After a few moments, the tiny figure reached within its tunic and produced a piece of cloth, which it smoothed out beside it. The knife then flashed again and darted back and forth until the tiny figure turned and threw the knife so it stuck in the soil beside Maunsell. Thaindire continued to watch as the small man pulled at the chest and removed something, which glistened, and shone, liquid trickling from it as he quickly placed it in the cloth and covered it over with the balance of the material. Grasping the package with both arms it then took a flailing leap from the water wheel and landed deftly on the riverbank.

  Maunsell turned and plucked the knife from the ground as the waterwheel groaned into life once more, the body disappearing over the top. The wheel continued to turn a little longer and then halted. Once this had happened, Maunsell walked back into the mill house, the door closing and the orange light fading away. Encumbered with its parcel, the tiny man started walking across the grass back towards the track. The package was half the size of it and slowed it by some margin and also meant that it had to lean its head back to see over the top of the grisly package. Thaindire stood up still within the cover of the trees.

  “ Right you little bastard, time to have a look at you,” he whispered to himself. He drew his sword and hefted it in his hand. The tiny man drew closer, one foot padding out before the other, barely making a sound. It drew level with Thaindire on the dirt track and just as it passed him, he emerged and with a swift movement he slammed the pommel of his sword onto the back of the tiny man. It crumpled to the floor, spilling the parcel, which flopped open. A trickle of dark liquid spilled from a meaty looking object. Thaindire grimaced as he recognised it was a man’s heart, freshly cut from the chest of the poor soul bound to the waterwheel. He kicked the foul package into the foliage and knelt down besides the motionless figure. It was breathing and had only been stunned by his assault. Carefully, he turned it over and regarded it. It wore a dark tunic, pants and boots which were well made and from a decent material. Its face was that of an elderly tiny man, little wrinkles apparent on its brow and by its eyes. Thaindire knew from its dexterity and agility that it acted far from like an elderly man. He glanced back over his shoulder towards the mill house but there came no activity and it seemed his ambush had gone unnoticed.

  “ Right then little fiend,” muttered Thaindre, “ let’s see what your master is willing to part with, for your return.” With that he scooped the tiny figure up under his left arm and began to ascend the track back to the village.

  Thaindire moved urgently back to the bridge road. He furtively looked either side of him and was pleased to see the road empty. He crossed the road and decided that he would make
his way down the square in the shadows of the stores on the southern side. Carefully, but quickly he strode beside the now closed shops until he came to the carpenter’s and made a right turn onto the path, which led to Ilberd Grimoult’s. All through the journey the tiny man had remained unconscious and Thaindire gave thanks for that as despite its small stature he suspected it had a wiry strength and would no doubt have sought to wriggle free from his grasp.

  Thaindire headed up the path and then firmly knocked at the door. He did not have long to wait until it swung open and Grimoult was stood before him, enshrouded in his robes. Thaindire gave him a shove and stepped into the house, reaching and closing the door after him but still facing the alchemist.

  “ Carabia!” gasped Grimoult seeing one of his charges pinned under Thaindire’s arm.

  “ So that’s its name is it?” responded Thaindire glancing about the large room.

  “ What have you done?” asked the alchemist raising his hands aloft in concern. He made to move forward to tend to the fallen Carabia but Thaindire motioned him back.

  “ Sit down,” ordered Thaindire and pointed at one of the seats by the fireplace.

  “ Oh Carabia,” moaned Grimoult as he shuffled towards the seat and did as Thaindire instructed. Thaindire made his way to the second chair opposite which gave him a good view of the room lest any of these strange creatures made themselves known and lowered himself into the chair. He grimaced as he felt the lump on his back nudge the rear of the chair and he wriggled forward to alleviate the pressure on the still sore area. He draped the still prone creature across his lap and then laid his blade over it signalling a clear intent to the worried-looking alchemist.

  “ Now Grimoult, you and I are going to talk,” asserted Thaindire.

  Grimoult nodded and clasped his hands in concern.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Grimoult peered at Thaindire, the flames from the fire reflecting in his spectacles. He leant forward in his seat as if ready to catch Thaindire’s prey lest he should roll from his captor’s grasp.