Master of the Moors Read Free

and back-stepped. He made a
half-hearted attempt to soothe it before turning his glare back
toward Callow. "If that's how you speak to that woman of yours,
then it's no wonder she ran off and left you."
    All trace of a smile
vanished from Callow's face.
    Mansfield raised a hand.
"Royle, leave it alone for God's sake."
    But he was not to be
silenced. "The nerve! Say what you like about these others if you
feel compelled to, but you won't talk down to me no matter how
bloody high your horse might be!"
    Grady stepped forward.
"Hold yer tongue, Royle, and have a bit of compassion fer the man.
He's out here lookin' for his wife, not a quarrel."
    Royle turned on him. "Ah,
the Catholic peasant speaks. How humbled we are to hear from you. Too
bad you're not worth a---"
    "That's enough," Mansfield
interrupted. "One more word and I swear I'll blacken your
eye."
    "Easy, gentlemen," said
Fowler, with a nervous laugh. Now that Grady had brought it to his
attention, Mansfield noticed the holster strapped to the man's
belt. A polished walnut handle protruded from the sheath like the
top of a question mark.
    The tension curdling the
air was eventually broken by Callow. "We're wasting
time."
    "Agreed," Mansfield said.
"Laws, take Royle home. We'll carry on from here." Laws nodded and
moved behind Royle's horse to where his own mount awaited
him.
    It then became
horrifyingly clear that the tension had not only affected the men.
Royle slapped a hand against his horse's flank in frustration and
the mare started, it's eyes wide and frightened as it rose on its
hind legs and whinnied.
    "Royle, calm that blasted
nag!" Grady yelled.
    Royle, cursing, grabbed
the horse's reins and tugged. "Steady there! Steady , Lightning."
    "Laws, get out of the
bloody way!" Grady called.
    But despite the sudden
ruckus, Laws attention was elsewhere. He had turned almost fully
away from the group and was squinting into the fog, one finger
raised and pointing back the way they'd come. "I just
saw---"
    "Laws!"
    Lightning threw a kick so
fierce and sudden it proved her title an apt one. There came a
sound like someone hitting a sack full of meat with a hammer and
Laws was knocked off his feet, arms aloft as if he were trying to
fly. He landed heavily on his side and flopped over on his back, a
single shuddering breath sweeping about his head like an attentive
ghost. Royle, still struggling to calm the mare, looked around,
confused by the sudden flurry of motion as the group hurried to
Laws' aid. Only Fowler and Callow remained on their
steeds.
    Mansfield got to him
first. The innkeeper lay with his legs apart, mouth moving
soundlessly, expelling nothing but blood. His eyes were like
swollen red rubies. Mansfield, unsure whether or not the man could
still see, resisted the urge to grimace, and put his hand on the
man's shoulder.
    "Laws," he said. "Peter.
Can you hear me?"
    Grady squatted down on the
other side and put his index and middle finger to Laws' wrist.
"He's gone," he said a moment later.
    "But he's still
moving!"
    "Nothing but sparks, sir.
His head's been pulverized."
    Royle, who had finally
managed to placate his mare, moaned loudly. "It was his fault. I
did nothing to him. He knew better than to---"
    "Shut up, for feck's sake," Grady said, and
all there knew that on any other occasion, such a command would
have earned him a world of trouble. But, perhaps unwilling to draw
the ire of anyone else, Royle did as he was told.
    Mansfield looked down at
Laws, at his caved-in head, and swallowed dryly. A single slim
shard of bone protruded from his shattered cheek as his head slowly
drifted to the side. Mansfield feared he'd see that detail over and
over again in his nightmares for years to come. He looked up at
Callow, who seemed impossibly unaffected by what had just
occurred.
    "We have to keep going,"
the huntmaster said.
     
     
    ***
     
     
    "Sir, we can't just leave
the poor sod out here," Grady said.
    Callow gave a curt nod.
"You're correct, of course. Royle can