Darkwalker on Moonshae (Forgotten Realms: Moonshae Book 1) by Niles Douglas

Author:Niles, Douglas [Desconhecido]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2011-05-31T03:00:00+00:00

“Blast and damn! You are all idiots!” Grunnarch the Red ordered his men to assemble outside the ruined cantrev. Food, drink, and wenching seemed to have driven most of the worthless scum to the brink of unconsciousness. Those who did not stir readily enough felt the thud of the Red King’s solid boot.

Stomping among the wreckage of people and homes, he cursed with renewed vengeance as he considered the true reason for his irritation.

Where were the damned Bloodriders?

For a tenday he had had no direct word from Laric, the captain of the Riders. Rumors trickled back, about villages scourged until they were nothing more than black splotches on the ground, about acts of unspeakable cruelty.

Grunnarch recalled, uneasily, his last meeting with Laric. The man had seemed determined to go his own way. He had barely listened to Grunnarch talk, yet something forbidding in his simmering gaze had stopped the king’s rebuke before it reached his lips.

Now, it seemed that Laric’s negligence was jeopardizing the whole plan.

The Bloodriders were to have met the rest of the army here, at Cantrev Macsheehan, three days ago. Macsheehan was a large and wealthy cantrev, and the army had been able to provision an entire supply train for the march on Corwell.

As Thelgaar had predicted, the tide of refugees flowing westward had grown to a flood. If the army could be ready to march within another day, they could strike through Myrloch across the refugees’ route of retreat, and massacre them.

A dull thundering finally caught Grunnarch’s attention, and he looked down the road. His anger vied with relief, for the Bloodriders were thundering into the great field at full gallop. The black horses gleamed with sweat, their flanks and legs caked with dust. The fur cloaks of the Riders were also travel-stained.

Laric reined in before Grunnarch and leaped from the saddle. The king prepared a rebuke for his henchman, but the oaths died on his lips, as his eyes locked with horror on the face of the approaching man.

The Bloodrider’s skin had lightened to a pasty gray hue, and his bright red lips stood out in awful contrast from the unnatural face. The man’s eyes were sunk deep into his head, but seemed to stare from their cavelike sockets with fiery intensity. Grunnarch thought fleetingly of a skull, upon which someone had painted garish red lips.

Laric walked passed the king without saying a word, and Grunnarch the Red, a man not known for reticence, could not command him to stop. In fury, the Red King returned to his task of organizing his army, kicking and lashing out with renewed fury at anyone and anything that failed to hop to.

As he moved about the camp, the king saw that his troops universally reacted to the appearance of the Bloodriders. The rest of the army collected uneasily, with many nervous glances at the cadaverous Riders. The horsemen ignored the other northmen, preparing a simple camp in an area they claimed for themselves.

Grunnarch, wishing he could ignore the Bloodrider, sent a messenger to summon Laric to his meeting of officers.

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