David Gemmell – Rigante 4 – Stormrider

The night wore on. Kaelin kept the fire blazing, and moved his position so that he was close to the entrance. From here he could see the edge of the trees, and listen for sounds of the bear’s return. He was tired now, and longed for an hour’s sleep. His mind wandered, and he thought of Jaim Grymauch, recalling the great fight he had had with the Varlish champion, Gorain. What a day that had been. The Bishop of Eldacre had invited Gorain and another champion, the legendary Chain Shada, to fight at the Highland Games. The bishop had wanted to see the clansmen humbled, and reinforce belief in Varlish superiority. It would have worked, too. But the one-eyed Jaim had fought Gorain to a standstill before knocking him out of the circle and into the crowd. It was a colossal moment, and Kaelin would treasure it all his life.

His own life had changed that night too. A girl who loved him had been murdered by a Varlish soldier and his nephew. They had raped her, then hanged her. Kaelin had found them both. In a night of bleak savagery he had killed them. Truth to tell he did not regret their deaths, nor his part in them. He did, however, feel shame at the way he had ripped at their bodies. Blind with rage he had cut off their heads and jammed them on the posts of a bridge.

Kaelin jerked to wakefulness. He had dozed, his head resting against the wall. He rubbed his eyes and stared out at the tree line. There was nothing there, and no sounds of crunching bone could be heard.

He pushed himself to his feet. Just as he did so a colossal black form reared into the opening, its huge head pushing over the newly repaired wall, its torn lip hanging. Kaelin hurled himself to the floor and rolled. Hang-lip let out a roar. Feargol awoke and screamed at the top of his voice. The bear lashed at a timber, which parted and flew across the room. Kaelin scrambled to the jug of lantern oil, grabbed the chair leg wrapped in cloth and held it in the fire. Flames leapt to the cloth. Carrying torch and jug he ran towards the bear, flinging the oil into its face. The beast lunged at him, but was hindered by a second timber, which groaned under its weight. Kaelin thrust the burning torch into the bear’s mouth. The oil on its fur caught fire instantly, flaring up around its eyes. With a hideous roar it dropped to all fours and ran in flames towards the trees.

Feargol was sobbing by the fire. Kaelin moved to him. ‘He’s gone,’ he said. The boy was trembling and Kaelin drew him into an embrace. ‘I am very proud of you, Feargol,’ he said, softly. ‘I would never have been as brave as you when I was your age. I was frightened of mice, you know.’

‘I am frightened of mice,’ said Feargol, holding hard to Kaelin’s shirt and pushing his head against the man’s chest.

Then we are alike,’ Kaelin told him. ‘Once I was frightened of mice – and now I fight bears.’

‘He will come back. I know he will. ‘

Kaelin sat quietly for a moment. The boy was already terrified, and it was tempting to offer a small lie. It would relax him for a while. He dismissed the idea. ‘Yes, Feargol, he will be coming back. He’s not hungry any more. He just wants us dead. So I will have to kill him. But we will get to Ironlatch. I promise you.’

‘Can you kill him?’ asked the child. ‘My daddy couldn’t.’

‘He took your daddy by surprise. Finbarr was a brave man, and your mother was a fine woman. But I will be ready for the beast, Feargol – and you will help me.’

‘I can’t fight bears, Kaelin. I can’t!’ Tears welled in the boy’s eyes.

‘You won’t need to fight him, my friend. You will help me prepare. I want you to go to the kitchen and find any long knives. Then you can fetch your daddy’s staff. We are going to make a spear. Off you go.’ Kaelin gently eased the child from his embrace and stood. Feargol waited for a moment, then ran into the kitchen. Kaelin gathered up his musket and returned to the opening. A spear was unlikely to be more useful than his own weapons, but it would keep the child occupied.

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