Free Tides of Rythe (The Rythe Trilogy) by Craig Saunders Page B

taking him from his rest.
    He thought, ever so briefly, about challenging the two men as to their destination within the city, and even more briefly about asking them to relinquish their swords, which he could see were not for self-defence but for war.
    But he was not a stupid man.
    They drew level with him, and as they looked at him, he thought better of everything, and even of being a guard. They did not pay him enough.
    Shorn and Wen passed unchallenged.
    As he watched their receding swords, the guard decided he was long overdue a toilet break.
     
    *
     

Chapter Nineteen
     
    Sturmen think the wind is the spirits talking, those anguished souls that cannot pass Madal’s gates. Sometimes they scream. Today, the wind was picking up, howling through the city. A man could be forgiven for thinking the spirits were being tortured.
    Shorn strode up to the doors of the barn, his legs now supporting him, but there was a pronounced limp, the legacy of a snowy night high in the Culthorn mountains, and the poison of a deep, muscle rending bite from unnatural hounds. He pushed the doors aside and saw the back of the man who had rescued him that night. He almost failed to recognise him.
    Renir swung around as the wind howled through the open barn door, and saw his friend standing watching him at his exercises.
    “Shorn!” he cried, all thoughts of form forgotten, and dropped his axe where he stood. He covered the distance to his friend and the two warriors clasped hands. The mercenary noted how Renir’s grip had strengthened while he had been away.
    Renir pulled his friend into a hug. After a moment, the taciturn mercenary pulled away, a grin on his battered face.
    “Renir, it is good to see you. I am glad that you have not squandered your time on ale and women.”
    “I can’t lay claim to an ale free time. I might have supped a few in your absence,” he said with a glint in his eye. “I think you’ll find that it’s the Bear who’s been sampling the local ladies. I, alas, remain innocent.”
    “The Bear?”
    “Bourninund. It’s my pet name for him. He pretends he hates the name, but I think secretly he is pleased.”
    “Well, I think we can dispense with the training for now. We should make a special night of it, for tomorrow we ride. I hope Bourninund has trained you well. Our journey only becomes more difficult with time.”
    “We are to leave?”
    “Aye, it is high time. I have already been gone too long, and the Seafarers w on’t wait for long. They only co me on sufferance. They know me well.”
    “They don’t know me.”
    “But they do know Wen.”
    “He’s here?”
    “He’s talking with Drun.”
    “I take it you made up, then.”
    “After a fashion. I suppose you could say so.”
    “Can’t wait to meet him. No hard feelings, eh?”
    Shorn shrugged and forced a smile. “There will always be hard feelings. You can strike a man and get over it, but to scar a man – that cuts all ties. But Wen knows the meaning of duty. He owes me, and I am no longer the man I was. I can understand the need for allies, and he is a powerful man.” Shorn clasped Renir’s shoulder, noting the firmness there where once there was only bone. “I believe you will find him…interesting. I’ve had the time to get to know him again, and we’ve both changed. He’s still formidable, but while his arms grow stronger with time, his mind…I think I’ll let you see for yourself. I have said enough.”
    Shorn steered the fledgling warrior to the door, before Renir remembered his axe. 
    A few seconds later and they were on the way to the bar. Renir’s mind raced. He was apprehensive. He was about to meet the man who gave Shorn his scar. His mind was full of questions, but, he supposed, they would have to wait until later. For now, the chance to meet new friends, and greet the old.
     
    *
     

Chapter Twenty
     
    One look at the man seated with Drun and Bourninund, quaffing ale like a man with a fatal thirst, and Renir