David Gemmell - Wolf in Shadow

Three riders approached him as he angled back down towards the flatlands.

They were young men dressed in homespun cloth, and they carried no guns that he could see.

'Lost your horse?' asked the first, a heavily built man with sandy hair.

'Yes. How far from your settlement am I?'

'Walking? I'd say about two hours.'

'Is there a welcome for strangers?'

'Sometimes.'

'What is this area called?'

'Castlemine. You'll see when you get there. Is that a gun?'

'Yes,' said Shannow, aware that all three were staring at his weapon intently.

'Best keep it hidden. Ridder allows no guns in Castle-mine, save those he keeps for his men.'

‘Thank you for the warning. Is he the leader there?'

'Yes, he owns the mine and was the first to settle the ruins. He's not a bad man, but he's run things for so long he kind of thinks he's a king — or a baron, or whatever they had in the old days.'

'I'll keep out of his way.'

'Be lucky if you do. Are you carrying coin?'

'Some,' said Shannow warily.

'Good. Keep most of that hidden too — but keep three silver coins handy for the inspection.'

'Inspection?'

'Ridder has a law about strangers. Anyone with less than three coins is a vagrant and subject to indenture — that is, ten days' work in the mine. But it ends up more like six months when they add on the transgressions.'

'I think I get the message,' said Shannow. 'Are you always so free with advice for strangers?'

'Mostly. My name is Barkett and I run a small meat farm north of here. If you are looking for work, I can use you.'

Thank you, no.'

'Good luck to you.'

'And to you, Mr Barkett.'

'You're from way south, I see. Out here it is Meneer Barkett.'

‘I’ll remember that.'

Shannow watched them ride on and relaxed. Lifting his saddlebag to a rock, he removed his gun scabbards and hid them alongside his Bible. Then he removed his small sack of Barta coins, looped the thong over his head and swung the sack down behind his collar. He glanced back along the way Barkett and the other two had ridden, made one more adjustment and walked on with hands thrust deep into his coat pockets.

Hoofbeats made him turn once more to see Barkett was returning alone.

Shannow waited for him; the man was smiling as he approached.

There was one other thing now that you've removed your guns,' said Barkett, producing a small, black single-shot pistol. 'I'll relieve you of the Barta coins.'

'Are you sure this is wise?' asked Shannow.

'Wise? They'll only strip it from you in Castlemine. You'll soon earn it back working in Ridder's mine — well, in a year or three.'

'I'd like you to reconsider,' said Shannow. 'I'd like you to put the gun away and ride on. I do not think you are an evil man, just a little greedy — and you deserve a chance to live.'

'I do?' said Barkett, grinning. 'And why is that?'

'Because you obviously intend only to rob me, otherwise you would have shot me down without a word.'

True. Now hand me your money and let's make an end to this.'

'Do your friends know you are engaged in this venture?'

'I didn't come here to debate with you,' said Barkett, cocking the flintlock. 'Give me the saddlebag.'

'Listen to me, man, this is your last chance. I have a gun in my pocket and it is trained on you. Do not proceed with this foolishness.'

'You expect me to believe that?'

'No,' said Shannow sadly, pulling the trigger. Barkett crumpled and pitched sideways, hitting the ground hard, his own flintlock firing a shot that ricocheted from the rocks. Shannow moved closer, hoping that the wound was not fatal — but Barket was dead, shot through the heart.

'Damn you!' said Shannow. 'I gave you more chances than you deserved. Why did you take none of them?'

Barkett's two companions came riding into view, both carrying hand weapons. Shannow drew the Hellborn pistol from his coat pocket and cocked it.

'One man is dead,' he called. 'Do you wish to join him?'

They drew on their reins and stared down at the fallen man, then they pocketed their weapons and rode forward.

'He was a damned fool,' said the first rider, a dark-eyed young man with a slender tanned face.

'We had no part in it.'

'Put him across the horse and take him home,' said Shannow.

'You are not going to take the horse?'

‘I’ll buy one in Castlemine.'

'Don't go there,' said the man. 'Most of what he told you was true — except the part about the three coins. It no longer matters what you are carrying; they'll take it as tax and make you work the mine anyway. It's Ridder's way.'

'How many men does he have?' asked Shannow.

‘Twenty.'

Then I'll take your advice. But I'll buy the horse — what is the going rate?'

'It's not my horse.'

Then give the money to his family.'

'It's not that easy. Just take the beast and go,' said the young man, his face reddening. And Shannow understood. He nodded, slung his saddlebags across the horse's back and stepped into the saddle.

If the rider returned with cash, that would mean they had faced the killer of their friend without exacting revenge and it would brand them as cowards.

'I did not desire to kill him,' said Shannow.

'What's done is done. He has family and they'll hunt for you.'

'Best for them that they do not find me.'

'I don't doubt it.'

Shannow touched his heels to the horse and moved on. Turning in the saddle, he called back, Tell them to look for Jon Shannow.'

‘The Jerusalem Man?'

He nodded and pushed the horse into a canter. Behind him the young men dismounted, lifted the dead body of their erstwhile friend and draped it across the back of one of the horses.

Shannow did not glance back. The incident, like so many in his life, was now filed and forgotten.

Barkett had been given a chance at life, and had spurned it. Shannow did not regret the deed.

He carried only one burning regret. .

And that was for a child who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and who had touched the orbit of death around the Jerusalem Man.

Shannow rode for an hour and his new horse showed no sign of fatigue. It was a chestnut stallion some two hands taller than his own gelding, and was built for strength and stamina. The horse had been well cared for and grain-fed. Shannow was tempted to run it hard to gauge the limits of its speed, but in hostile country the temptation had to be put aside.

It was coming to nightfall before Shannow saw the lights of Castlemine. There could be no doubt as to the identity of the settlement, for it sprawled against the mountains beneath a granite fortress with six crenellated towers. It was an immense structure, the largest building Shannow had ever seen, and below it the shacks and cabins of the mining community seemed puny, like beetles beside an elephant. Some larger dwellings were constructed on either side of a main street that ran to the castle's arched main gate, and a mill had been built across a stream to the left of the fortress. Lights shone in many windows and the community seemed friendly under the gentle moonlight. Shannow was rarely deceived by appearances, however, and he sat his horse, quietly weighing the options. The young rider had advised him to avoid Castlemine, and in daylight he would have done so. But he was also short on supplies'and from his high vantage point could see the town's store nestling beside a meeting hall, or tavern house.

He checked his pistols. The Hell born revolver was fully loaded, as was his own ivory-handled percussion weapon. His mind made up, he rode down the hillside and tethered his horse behind the tavern house. There were few people on the streets, and those who were about ignored the tall man in the long coat. Keeping to the shadows, he moved to the front of the store, but it was bolted. Across the street was an eating-house and Shannow could see it sported around a dozen tables, only half of which were in use. Swiftly he crossed the street and entered the building. The eight diners glanced up and then resumed their meals. Shannow sat by the window facing the door and a middle-aged woman in a chequered apron brought him a jug of cooled water and a pottery mug.