Read Online Reave the Just and Other Tales by Stephen R. Donaldson - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen R. Donaldson
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door.
An inarticulate howl rose in Kelven’s throat. He snatched up the first heavy object he could find, a brass paperweight thick enough to crush a man’s skull, and hurled it at Reave.
It struck Reave at the base of his neck so hard that he stumbled to his knees.
At once, Kelven flung himself past his desk and attacked his visitor. Catching one fist in Reave’s hair, he jerked Reave upright: with the other, he gave Reave a blow which might have killed any lesser man.
Blood burst from Reave’s mouth. He staggered away on legs that appeared spongy, too weak to hold him. His arms dangled at his sides as though he had no muscle or sinew with which to defend himself.
Transported by triumph and rage and stark terror, the Divestulata pursued his attack.
Blow after blow he rained upon Reave’s head: blow after blow he drove into Reave’s body. Pinned against one of the great bookcases which Rudolph Huchette had lovingly provided for the study, Reave flopped and lurched whenever he was struck, but he could not escape. He did not fight back; he made no effort to ward Kelven away. In moments, his face became a bleeding mass; his ribs cracked; his heart must surely have faltered.
But he did not fall.
The utter darkness in his eyes never wavered. It held Kelven and compromised nothing.
In the end, Reave’s undamaged and undaunted gaze seemed to drive Kelven past rage into madness. Immersed in ecstasy or delirium, he did not hear the door of the study slam open.
His victims were beyond stealth. In truth, neither the widow Huchette nor Jillet could have opened the door quietly. They lacked the strength. Every measure of will and force she possessed, she used to support him, to bear him forward when he clearly could not move or stand on his own. And every bit of resolve and desire that remained to him, he used to hold aloft the decorative halberd which was the only weapon he and the widow had been able to find in the halls of the manor house.
As weak as cripples, nearly dying from the strain of their exertions, they crossed the study behind Kelven’s back.
They were slow, desperate, and unsteady in their approach. Nevertheless, Reave stood patiently and let his antagonist hammer him until Jillet brought the halberd down upon Kelven Divestulata’s skull and killed him.
Then through the blood which drenched his face from a dozen wounds, Reave the Just smiled.
Unceremoniously, both Jillet and the widow collapsed.
Reave stooped and pulled a handkerchief from Kelven’s sleeve. Dabbing at his face, he went to the desk, where he found Kelven’s glass and the decanter of brandy. When he had discovered another glass, he filled it as well; then he carried the glasses to the man and woman who had rescued him. First one and then the other, he raised their heads and helped them to drink until they were able to sit and clutch the glasses and swallow without his support.
After that, he located a bellpull and rang for the Divestulata’s steward.
When the man arrived—flustered by the late summons, and astonished by the scene in the study—Reave announced, “I am Reave the Just. Before his death, Kelven Divestulata confessed his crimes to me, in particular that he obtained possession of this house by false means, that he exercised his lusts in violent and unlawful fashion upon the person of the widow Huchette, and that he imprisoned and tortured my kinsman, Jillet of Forebridge, without cause. I will state before the magistrates that I heard the Divestulata’s confession, and that he was slain in my aid, while he was attempting to kill me. From this moment, the widow is once again mistress of her house, with all its possessions and retainers. If you and all those under you do not serve her honorably, you will answer both to the magistrates and to me.
“Do you understand me?”
The steward understood. Kelven’s servants were silent and crafty men, and perhaps some of them were despicable; but none were stupid. When Reave
An inarticulate howl rose in Kelven’s throat. He snatched up the first heavy object he could find, a brass paperweight thick enough to crush a man’s skull, and hurled it at Reave.
It struck Reave at the base of his neck so hard that he stumbled to his knees.
At once, Kelven flung himself past his desk and attacked his visitor. Catching one fist in Reave’s hair, he jerked Reave upright: with the other, he gave Reave a blow which might have killed any lesser man.
Blood burst from Reave’s mouth. He staggered away on legs that appeared spongy, too weak to hold him. His arms dangled at his sides as though he had no muscle or sinew with which to defend himself.
Transported by triumph and rage and stark terror, the Divestulata pursued his attack.
Blow after blow he rained upon Reave’s head: blow after blow he drove into Reave’s body. Pinned against one of the great bookcases which Rudolph Huchette had lovingly provided for the study, Reave flopped and lurched whenever he was struck, but he could not escape. He did not fight back; he made no effort to ward Kelven away. In moments, his face became a bleeding mass; his ribs cracked; his heart must surely have faltered.
But he did not fall.
The utter darkness in his eyes never wavered. It held Kelven and compromised nothing.
In the end, Reave’s undamaged and undaunted gaze seemed to drive Kelven past rage into madness. Immersed in ecstasy or delirium, he did not hear the door of the study slam open.
His victims were beyond stealth. In truth, neither the widow Huchette nor Jillet could have opened the door quietly. They lacked the strength. Every measure of will and force she possessed, she used to support him, to bear him forward when he clearly could not move or stand on his own. And every bit of resolve and desire that remained to him, he used to hold aloft the decorative halberd which was the only weapon he and the widow had been able to find in the halls of the manor house.
As weak as cripples, nearly dying from the strain of their exertions, they crossed the study behind Kelven’s back.
They were slow, desperate, and unsteady in their approach. Nevertheless, Reave stood patiently and let his antagonist hammer him until Jillet brought the halberd down upon Kelven Divestulata’s skull and killed him.
Then through the blood which drenched his face from a dozen wounds, Reave the Just smiled.
Unceremoniously, both Jillet and the widow collapsed.
Reave stooped and pulled a handkerchief from Kelven’s sleeve. Dabbing at his face, he went to the desk, where he found Kelven’s glass and the decanter of brandy. When he had discovered another glass, he filled it as well; then he carried the glasses to the man and woman who had rescued him. First one and then the other, he raised their heads and helped them to drink until they were able to sit and clutch the glasses and swallow without his support.
After that, he located a bellpull and rang for the Divestulata’s steward.
When the man arrived—flustered by the late summons, and astonished by the scene in the study—Reave announced, “I am Reave the Just. Before his death, Kelven Divestulata confessed his crimes to me, in particular that he obtained possession of this house by false means, that he exercised his lusts in violent and unlawful fashion upon the person of the widow Huchette, and that he imprisoned and tortured my kinsman, Jillet of Forebridge, without cause. I will state before the magistrates that I heard the Divestulata’s confession, and that he was slain in my aid, while he was attempting to kill me. From this moment, the widow is once again mistress of her house, with all its possessions and retainers. If you and all those under you do not serve her honorably, you will answer both to the magistrates and to me.
“Do you understand me?”
The steward understood. Kelven’s servants were silent and crafty men, and perhaps some of them were despicable; but none were stupid. When Reave
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