Dobson, D [Inquisitors' Guild 03] The Woeling Lass by Dave Dobson

Dobson, D [Inquisitors' Guild 03] The Woeling Lass by Dave Dobson

Author:Dave Dobson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2022-03-05T00:00:00+00:00


37

Rock Of Ages

Gueran

“T his is it, then,” declared Jensen.

That was fine, I supposed, but I could not see anything remotely worthy of the remark. We stood on a narrow ledge before a mud-stained rock face, fractured in several places, with blobs of white quartz mixed in a plethora of folded layers. Sometimes the folds themselves were refolded a few times. Vines hung down from a crack above us, dangling little chains of clustered green spiky leaves. It was pretty, in a way, but hardly worth the climb. We’d come up here over a series of jumbled rocks and then walked out on the narrow ledge around the cliff face. To what purpose, I had no idea. My breath was coming in short gasps that tore at my injured throat. My side was aching. I was beginning to think this had been a terrible idea. I wondered if there even was a site of interest around here, or if Jensen had just gone soft and led me into the woods at random.

Jensen turned and noticed my distress. “You don’t look good. Terrible, actually.”

“Thanks,” I gasped. “For that unwelcome and unhelpful assessment.” There wasn’t much room on the ledge, only about two feet. I put my back to the stone face and slid down, working my legs out to let them hang down below. It felt good to sit. “For the record, you’re no shining beacon of beauty either.” I wondered briefly how I was going to get back up to a standing position, but then I decided I didn’t much care. Standing was vastly overpraised.

Jensen laughed. “Aye, but I’m a weathered old man, while you’re a strapping young thing. Yet I’m still on me feet.” He put an arm up over his head for stability, grabbed onto a jagged protrusion, then leaned against the rock face and smiled down at me. “You can’t sit there, you know.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I was enjoying my seat. The forest extended below us, and the woods and the distant hills beyond the trees glowed with the amber that sunset brought. “I can sit wherever I want. I’m a free man, and you’re not my master.”

“All of that’s true,” he said. “But we can’t get it open if you don’t move. You’re sitting in front of the part what slides down, and sure if it won’t push you off the hillside if you insist on stayin’ there panting your guts out.” He had a merry glow in his eyes. “But by all means, Inspector, enjoy the exercise o’ your freedoms. I can wait. But you’re holdin’ up supper.” He looked out over the valley.

Supper sounded nice. I briefly imagined a six-course meal such as I might have had back at our city home, now burned to ash. A fancy broth with bits of beef, then perhaps a platter of roast venison or fish, then some pheasant or swan. Finish it up with tarts and cream, then some cheese and fruit. Lovely. I lived in the dream for a bit.



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