Hammer of Fate: An utterly gripping fantasy adventure (The Rune Song Trilogy Book 1) by G.N. Gudgion

Author:G.N. Gudgion [Gudgion, G.N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781837901791
Publisher: Second Sky
Published: 2023-05-31T23:00:00+00:00

6.4 MALORY

Malory d’Eivet touched the willow switch across the boy’s bare backside quite gently, almost as if he was caressing the welts, but the wretch still whimpered and clenched his buttocks. The trick was to let the ‘informant’ know exactly where the blow would fall, to within the width of a woman’s finger. The expectation was so important.

‘Now, Jesper, son of Hugues, let us try again.’

The whimpering rose into high-pitched begging, almost as if the boy’s voice hadn’t broken. ‘No-no… please… no.’

Malory kilted the skirts of his robe more securely through his belt, the better to run, and backed to the far side of the room. The boy was bent over, spreadeagled with ankles and wrists strapped to the legs of a table, and he was bare from the waist down. A fine cote-hardie and a new pair of boots lay on the floor, beneath the boy’s nose, where they’d catch any puke or snot. Pateras Ghislain was quite fastidious about his personal chamber. He was watching from a far corner with his elbows resting on the arms of a throne-like chair, his hands joined and his fingertips touching his lips. Thin morning light through an unshuttered window put that corner in shadow and made his expression unreadable, but he was utterly still, as if a statue had been draped in the black-and-white robes of the anakritim. The draught from the window carried the smell of rain as well as the pervasive stink of the Gaelle.

Malory started his run from the same point each time, a particular crack in the flagstones. It helped with accuracy. And the sound of four running paces was like a drum roll before a hanging.

It was all about expectation.

‘Please-please-please.’

Perfect. The willow landed exactly along the line of an existing welt. Malory flicked the wand in the air while he waited for the scream to subside into blubbering.

‘Remember, young Jesper, this is not torture.’ By Tanguy, he felt dizzy. His body wasn’t ready for such exercise. ‘A priest does not apply torture, though if you do not tell us the truth, there are masters of the craft waiting for you downstairs. This, boy, is merely chastisement. Now, yesterday you wore cast-off rags, so where did an apprentice without a denier to his name acquire a new cote-hardie? And boots that could grace a gentle?’

‘I told yer, me uncle gave me them.’

‘Lying child, you have no uncle. That, it seems, was Arnaud l’Armurier’s way; to take in the waifs and strays.’

Jesper pulled against his restraints, making a high whining noise as Malory touched the welt with the wand, again. He’d drawn blood with that last blow; small red spots were welling through the skin. He backed away once more, ignoring the sounds from the table. Priests were not supposed to shed blood, but this was not a time to be fastidious in front of the anakritis-general.

‘And there’s still silver in your purse. Lots of silver. You have been bribed, boy. Admit it or we’ll have you hung as a thief.

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