Read Online Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary by Clive Ousley - Free Book Online Page A

sleeping on.
    Initially he had felt relieved to put distance
between himself and Priest Rantiss lest he received a spear in the back. He
knew they would probably hide out in rocks near the track, to stop him doubling
back. But Malkrin had no intention of returning – for now. In spite of his
predicament a fierce curiosity had ignited in him. If he was going to starve
out here, he was determined to try to find out what he could of this land
first.
    The tall mountains surrounding Cyprusnia
towered behind, to the sides, and above him. The tallest still showing a
topping of winter snow, reminding him of the freezing winter they had all
endured. Drizzle started as he stumbled through shingle on the floor of the
pass. The surface beneath him became slippery and he was forced to concentrate
on each step. He paused to refill his water container from a trickling mountain
stream. The clear water revived him and he walked at a steady rate.
    He had come this far only once before when
chasing a band of wolf-pelted bandits who had attacked the palisade barrier shielding
Cyprusnia. He remembered the cave where they had cornered one of the bandits.  The
man had turned to fight, to give his companions a chance to escape. The wolf-pelt
man’s darting spear had ripped into Kalvin Beaverfoot’s shoulder. Malkrin had
become incensed, his face red with berserk power. He had fought the bandit
alone and had prevailed. Now, he looked to the distant ridge where the bandit’s
companions had turned for a moment. He remembered their shouts of anger knowing
their comrade had just died.
    Malkrin had avenged his wounded comrade. He
raised Palerin aloft in a victory salute. Later, calm again, he had regretted
his vengeful temper. It had been wrong to relieve the man of his life, it would
have been better to bind the bandit’s wrists and question him about his life
and brethren. The knowledge would have been useful, and the man could then have
been released. But the Brenna’s code decreed all bandits must be instantly sent
to Jadde and Malkrin had obeyed without thought. They had left the corpse to
the birds.
    Malkrin now headed to that same cave for
the night. It would offer respite from the bitter wind whistling down the long
pass. Later as he entered the cave mouth he thought of the bandit with the wolf
skull headdress who gave his life with brave abandon. Malkrin put his hands
together before his face in the ancient gesture of respect a warrior shows for
a fallen foes spirit.
    He sat wearily on a rock just within the
entrance and took in his surroundings. He had a good view of the long cleft
between the mountains ending in the cave mouth. No one could creep up on him
unnoticed – at least not in daylight. At night the loose shale would give them
away. Ferns grew in the moisture at the cave entrance, filtering the wind as it
blew at an angle outside. He walked around inside, gathered dry kindling and dead
scrub, and set a fire by sparking his flint. He wished he’d been able to find a
suitable tree to fashion a spear, bow or staff from. All he had found were dead
boughs suitable only for firewood. He surveyed the view again, not many trees
could take hold in this wind tormented region, only gorse and sage scrub.
    The cave warmed as the fire took hold. Its
heat accentuated a dank smell of decay from further within the hollow. Instinctive
unease overrode his tiredness. He forced his leaden limbs to check the dark
recesses before collapsing onto a bed of dry ferns covered by his sleeping fur.
He took a large draught from his water container and laughed emptily to himself
as he compared his fern bed to his previous duck feather mattress he shared
with Cabryce.
    The comparison fanned his hatred of the Brenna
laws, but strangely not the ruling Brenna themselves. For the first time he
realised they were victims of their own rigid laws. Could tolerance move the
people forward not the solid fist of revenge?
    But whatever argument he set up within
himself