The War Hound and the World's Pain Read Online Free

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    “Have you made the bargain?”
    I attempted to reply in a reasonable tone. “I came and went as you see, upon my horse. I have no bond, if that is what you mean, with the master of this castle.”
    I addressed the coach, believing that the castle’s owner must sit within:
    “But again I say that I apologize for my unwitting trespass. I have done no harm, save eat a little food, water my horse and read a book or two.”
    “No bargain,” muttered one of the monks, as if puzzled.
    “No bargain he is aware of,” said a third horseman.
    And they laughed amongst themselves. The sound was a disgusting one.
    “I have never met your lord,” said I. “It is unlikely that I know him.”
    “Doubtless he knows you.”
    Their mockery, their malicious enjoyment of some secret they believed they shared, was disturbing my composure and making me impatient.
    I said:
    “If I may be allowed to approach and present myself, you will discover that I am of noble birth …”
    I had no real intention of talking with the occupant of the coach, but should I be able to advance a little farther I would gain time and distance and with some luck I might break free of them without need of my sword.
    “You may not approach,” said the first rider.
    “You must return with us.”
    I spoke with mock good manners:
    “I have already sampled your hospitality too long. I’ll impose upon it no further.”
    I smiled to myself. My spirits began to lift, as they always do when action is required of me. I began to experience that cool good humour common to many professional soldiers when killing becomes necessary.
    “You have no choice,” said the rider.
    He lowered his pike: a threat.
    I relaxed in my saddle, ensuring that my seat was firm.
    “I make my own choices, sir,” I said.
    My spurs touched my horse and he began to trot rapidly towards them.
    They had not expected this.
    They were used to inducing terror. They were not, I suspected, used to fighting.
    I had broken through them in a matter of seconds. Barely grazed by a pike, I now attempted to ride the monks down.
    I hacked at the cowled men. They did not threaten me but were so anxious not to release their grasp on the carriage’s ropes that they could not move from my path. They seemed perfectly willing to die under my sword rather than give up their charge.
    I was forced to turn and face the riders once more.
    They had no battle skill, these people, and were uncertain in their movements, for all their arrogance. Again I received an impression of hesitation, as if each individual action had to be momentarily remembered. So clumsy were they that their pikes were tangled by a few passages of my sword.
    I used the bulk of my horse to back farther into the press of monks. They offered the heavy resistance of corpses.
    I turned the steed again.
    I let him rear and strike down two monks with his hooves.
    I jumped first one taut rope and then the other and was aiming for the grassy flanks of the steep hillside when the riders from the rear came galloping forward to cut me off.
    I had a balustrade before me, some statues to my left, an almost sheer drop beyond these.
    Again I was forced to pause. I tried to pull a pistol loose and fire in the hope it would startle their horses. I did not think I could delay their charge by wounding one.
    My horse was moving too much beneath me, ready to gallop, yet not knowing where to go. I reined him tight, standing firm against that rocking nest of pikes which was now almost upon me.
    A glance this way and that told me that my chances had improved. There was every possibility of escape. I no longer felt in terror of my attackers. At worst I could calculate on a few flesh wounds for myself and a sprained tendon or two for my horse.
    The pikes drew closer as I reached for my pistols. Then a clear, humorous voice sounded from the interior of the coach:
    “There is no need for this. It wasn’t planned. Stop at once, all of you. I demand that you