RHIDAUNA, The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 1

CHAPTER 3 - RETURN TO TINNURAD (Part One)

In his woodman's cabin in the forest outside town, the blackrobed man shot upright in his chair

'You mucked it up, Illgram.' Central's toneless words were as hammer blows inside his head. 'Such a simple task, and you botched it. Hardingraud arrived in Gromarthen tonight.'

'What...'

'The Master is not happy, Illgram. Not happy at all.' The thoughts of the Voice of the Dar'khamorth carried no emotions, but the images he transferred with them colored his message with malicious satisfaction.

'I...'

Again, the undead mentalist cut him off. 'You have until sundown, Illgram. Should Hardingraud still live - you know what happens to bunglers.'

Illgram knew; he had killed enough of them. 'Yes,' he said, but Central had left him.

Failure! His mind couldn't grasp the idea. His prey had escaped! How? After all his careful preparations. What had gone wrong? Who had blundered? That castle's fall should have been his chance at glory. Now... He broke out in a cold sweat. Now it could mean his downfall. He gasped. His death?

He forced himself to think. It was hours till sunset; He had time to correct the error.

The bad weather of the last few days had blown over and the spring sun made the waters of the Yanthe sparkle. In the distance, Tinnurad lay like an unrecognizable smear in the river. 

Ghyll stared at what had been his world, blinking against his tears. 'Gods,' he said and it sounded a plea.

He tied his horse to a tree and walked the path down to the river. Their boat was still there and Ghyll stepped on board, groping for the lines to raise the sail. Behind him, Olle took the tiller like he'd done the first time. Neither boy spoke as they sailed back.

At close range, the smear became a smoldering heap of rubbish in the water, strange and unrecognizable without landmarks.

He stepped into the blackened grass and looked around. Only then the realization hit him how complete the destruction was. The mighty old play tree at the water's edge, reduced to a charred stump of dead wood. The leafless trunks of the poplars flanked the gateway like the planted spears of dead soldiers. Home farm and stables, gone. The bronze gate...

With his hand on Olle's shoulder, Ghyll stared at the ruins of Tinnurad. There was no gate. There weren't any walls. All that remained of the castle were a corner of the tower, and stone cairns in an ashy wasteland. So much ash, Ghyll thought. It seemed like everything in the castle had turned into a fine gray pow­der. Everything and everyone... He saw something move and held his breath, but it was a breeze, playing with the dust.

'The guard's here.'

Ghyll looked at where Olle pointed. A cog ship rode at anchor on the other side of the island. Then he saw soldiers, and a large pa­vilion. He felt anger gripping his heart, as if the guards were intruders on his holy ground. Fuming, he marched towards them, with Olle on his heels, until a corporal of the Guard at Gromarthen stopped them with a barked 'Halt' and a raised hand.

'What are you boys doing here? This island is off limits.'

'I'm Squire Denhalf.' Ghyll felt his anger drain out of him. 'I ... lived here.'

The man turned red with embarrassment. 'Your pardon, Squire. I thought you were in Gromarthen.' He hesitated, searching for words. 'We're collecting the dead. It is better you shouldn't look.'