David Gemmell – Rigante 4 – Stormrider

‘All right,’ said Eain. ‘Then what were you thinking of ?’

Draig hawked and spat into the fire. ‘I was thinking of warning Kaelin Ring,’ he admitted.

‘We don’t even like him,’ argued Eain.

‘I don’t like you either – but I’d tell you if there was a snake in your boot.’

‘No you wouldn’t. You’d just wait and laugh when it bit me. Like when that bloody tree branch fell on me. You could have shouted. Didn’t though, did you?’

‘Gods, man, that was fifteen years ago, and you’re still on about it. I told you then it was funny.’

‘Nothing funny about a broken shoulder.’

‘No, you’re wrong. That was even funnier.’

‘Well, a pox on you and the horse you rode in on.’

‘I don’t know why you say that,’ said Draig, settling down by the fire. ‘You’ve never ridden a horse. Neither have I.’

‘I like the sound of it. It’s like poetry.’

‘All the best poems have the word pox in them,’ said Draig. ‘Are you going to stir that porridge? I hate it when it’s full of black bits.’

Eain grinned at him, showing stained and misshapen teeth. ‘You really are in a strange mood, brother.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Draig. ‘That’s true, right enough. You remember when the Dweller came here and healed old Scats? We thought he’d lose that eye, but she put a poultice over it and all the pus just dried up.’

‘I remember. You got angry because she wouldn’t heal a boil you had.’

‘It wasn’t a boil, it’was a cyst. Big as a damned goose egg.’

‘Whatever. She said you were a man who deserved boils.’ Eain laughed. ‘Never thought to hear you let a woman talk to you that way.’

Draig shrugged. ‘Didn’t bother me,’ he lied. ‘She wouldn’t take no payment from Scats. Made no sense. She’d walked twenty miles. Wouldn’t even eat with us.’

‘Probably didn’t like black bits in her porridge,’ observed Eain.

‘Probably.’ Draig suddenly swore. ‘You know what’s really liced my skin? That Varlish just assumed I was the kind of man who would kill a woman and a child. That’s the reputation I have. No wonder the Dweller wouldn’t heal my boil.’

‘Cyst,’ said Eain, gleefully.

‘And the horse you rode in on,’ said Draig.

Eain chuckled and stirred the porridge. ‘You think Tostig will agree to kill them?’

‘Of course he will. There’s no Rigante in that man.’

‘There’s not more than a thimbleful in us,’ Eain pointed out. ‘And that was from Great-Gramps – which means it was three ‘parts liquor anyway.’

Draig suddenly laughed. ‘You are not wrong, brother. We’re Cochlands now. And we look after our own. To hell with anyone else, eh?’

‘Damn right.’ Eain served up the porridge in two deep wooden bowls, and they ate in silence. Finally Draig put aside his empty plate and pushed himself to his feet.

He swore suddenly. ‘Damn it, but I do like Kaelin Ring,’ he said.

‘You said you didn’t like anybody.’ Eain sounded aggrieved, and Draig laughed.

‘The man’s a fighter, and there’s no give in him. When the Varlish took his woman and imprisoned her he walked into that fort and brought her out. Have to admire that.’

‘He thrashed you and broke your nose,’ argued Eain. ‘We don’t want to get involved in this, Draig. Tostig is an evil whoreson. Added to which he’s good with sword and knife. Kaelin Ring can take care of himself.’

Draig shook his head. ‘Not if he don’t know what’s coming. I think I’ll walk to Ironlatch.’

‘I’ll not come with you on such foolishness.’

‘Who asked you?’

‘We’re not full Rigante, brother. We don’t owe anybody anything.’

‘I never said we did.’

‘Has it occurred to you that the Moidart is the one who wants them dead?’

‘Yes,’ said Draig, a sense of unease settling on him at the mention of the man’s name.

‘If he found out you’d gone against him, you know who he’d send.’

Draig shivered and did not answer. He knew all right.

Huntsekker would come, with that cursed scythe, and Draig’s head would be in a bag.

‘It’ll be Huntsekker,’ said Eain. ‘He never fails.’