David Gemmell - Wolf in Shadow

'We have meat and sweet potatoes,' she told him. He looked up into her dull brown eyes and detected an edge of fear.

That sounds fine,' he told her. 'What meat is it?' She seemed surprised.

'Rabbit and pigeon,' she said.

‘I’ll have it. Where can I find the storekeeper?'

'Baker spends most evenings in the tavern. There is a woman there who sings.'

'How will I know him?'

The woman glanced anxiously at the other diners and leaned close.

'You are not with Ridder's men?'

'No, I am a stranger.'

'I'll fetch you a meal, but then you must move on. Ridder is short of workers since the lung fever massacred the Wolvers.'

'How will I know Baker?'

The woman sighed. 'He's a tall man who wears a moustache but no beard; it droops to his chin.

His hair is grey and parted at the centre — you'll not miss him. I'll fetch your food.'

The meal was probably not as fine as Shannow's starved stomach told him it was, and he ate with gusto. The grey-haired woman came to sit beside him as he finished the last of the gravy, mopping it with fresh-baked bread.

'You look as though you needed that,' she said.

'I did indeed. It was very fine. How much do I owe?'

'Nothing — if you leave now.'

That is kind, but I came to Castlemine for supplies. I shall leave when I have seen Baker.'

The woman shrugged and smiled. Years ago, thought Shannow, she must have been strikingly attractive. Now she was overweight and world-weary.

'Do you have a death wish?' she asked him.

'I don't think so.'

The other diners left and soon Shannow found himself alone. The woman locked the door and cleared away the plates and a thin man emerged from the kitchen, removing a stained apron. She thanked him and gave him two silver coins.

'Good night, Flora,' he said, and nodded in Shannow's direction. The woman let him out, then moved around the large room extinguishing the lamps before rejoining Shannow. 'Baker will be leaving the hall around midnight. You are welcome to sit here and wait.'

'I am grateful. But why do you do this for me?'

'Maybe I'm just getting old,' said Flora, 'but I'm sick of Ridder and his ways. He was a good man once, but too many deaths have hardened him.'

'He is a killer?'

'No — although he has killed. I meant the mine. Ridder produces silver for the Barta coin. There is a river sixty miles north that goes to the sea and he ships his silver to many settlements in exchange for grain, iron, salt and weapons — whatever he needs. But that mine eats people. Ridder used to pay for miners, but they died or left. Then he began trapping Wolvers and using them.

But they can't live underground; they sicken and die.'

'What are these Wolvers?'

'You've never seen them? Then you must have travelled from a far place. They are a little people, covered in hair; their faces are stretched, their ears pointed. It is said that they once looked like us, but I do not believe it.'

'And there is a tribe of them?'

'There are scores — perhaps hundreds — of tribes. They tend to gather in small packs within the tribes and are pretty harmless. They live on rabbits, pigeons, turkeys- any small animal they can bring down with their bows or slings. Ridder says they make fine workers while they live.

They're docile, you see, and do as they're told. But since the lung fever, Ridder has been desperate for workers. Now any stranger will end up in Castlemine. He even has men scouring the countryside. Sometimes we see wagons driven in to the castle with whole families doomed to the shafts and tunnels. It used to be that a man could work his way out in two or three months, but now we never see them.'

'Why is he allowed to do this?' asked Shannow. 'It is a big settlement — there must be three, maybe four hundred people here.'

'You don't know much about people, do you?' said Flora. 'Ridder is the main source of wealth.

Those of us who live beneath the castle need have no fear of Brigands or raiders. We live comfortable lives; we have a school and a church. Life is good.'

'A church?'

'We are a God-fearing people here,' she said. The pastor sees to that.'

'And how does your pastor react to Ridder's methods?'

She chuckled. 'Ridder is the pastor!'

'You are right, Lady. I do not know much about people.'

'Ridder quotes the Bible with every other sentence. The verse that always seems to surface is,

"Slaves, obey your masters."'

'It would,' said Shannow. His eyes were fixed on the door of the hall, which opened as a tall grey-haired man stepped on to the porch.

'Is that Baker?' he asked.

'Yes.'

Shannow removed a shiny Barta coin from his pocket and placed it on the table. 'My thanks to you, Lady.'

'It is too much,' she protested.

'The labourer is worthy of the hire,' he told her. Flora let him out through the front door and he crossed the street swiftly, moving up behind the storekeeper. The man was a little unsteady on his feet.

'Good evening, Meneer Baker.' The man turned his watery blue eyes towards Shannow.

'Good evening.' He blinked and rubbed his eyes. 'Do I know you?'

'Only as a customer. Would you be so kind as to open your store?'

'At this time of night? No, sir. Come back when the sun is up.'

'I am afraid that will not be convenient, but I shall pay you well for the privilege.'

'I suppose you want hunting goods,' said Baker, fishing in his pocket for the key to the store.

'Yes.'

'I would have thought Ridder would have been well-pleased today.'

'How so?'

'With the pair Riggs brought back. I shouldn't have thought you would need to rush out in the dead of night.'

The storekeeper pushed open the door and Shannow followed him inside.

'Well, choose what you need. I'll put it on Ridder's bill.'

'That will not be necessary. I have coin.'

Baker seemed surprised but he said nothing, and Shannow took salt, dried oats, sugar, herb tea and a sack of grain. He also bought two new shirts and a quantity of dried meat.

'You are a friend of Riggs, I see,' said Baker, pointing to the Hellborn pistol at Shannow's side.

'He has one of these?'

'He took it from the man they captured today — not the black man, the other one with the forked beard.'

Ruth stared from her study window at the students taking their midday break on the wide lawns below. There were thirty-five young people at Sanctuary, all willing to learn and all yearning to change the world. Usually the sight of these young missionaries lifted Ruth's spirits, gave her renewed belief. But not today.

The evils of men like Abaddon she could withstand, for they could be countered by the love at Sanctuary. But the real dangers to the new world, she knew, were men like Jon Shannow and Daniel Cade — dark heroes, understanding the weapons of evil and turning them on their users, never realizing they were merely perpetuating the violence they sought to destroy.

'You are an arrogant woman, Ruth,' she told herself, turning from the window. The parable of Man was there to be seen within the Sipstrassi Stones — a gift from the Heavens that could heal, nurture and feed. But in the hands of men, that was never enough; it had to be turned to death and despair.

Ruth could feel herself slipping from harmony so she took a deep breath and prayed silently, drawing the peace of Sanctuary deep into her soul. The bay window disappeared as she closed the study to all intrusion. Pine-panelled walls surrounded her. The carved oak chair shimmered and became a bed. A stone hearth with a glowing log-fire appeared and Ruth lay back and watched the flames.

She felt the presence of another mind, and her defences snapped into place as she sat up and tentatively reached out her thoughts.