Read Online The Bloody North (The Fallen Crown) by Tony Healey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tony Healey
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pushing it on with the rest of the river.
"Fuck!" he shouted in temper. His eyes glared. "And fuck you! "
Rowan waved at him . "No, but thanks anyway!"
On the far side Lieutenant Vrand stood with his arms folded, looking at him with pure hatred as Rowan set off up the bank, safe in the knowledge it would take them hours to find a suitable crossing point. And by then he would be long gone.
Ten
Back in the day, Rowan had often found himself in the wild, travelling on foot with nothing but the gear he carried with him. It had not been unusual to find him playing the part of the pursued as much as the pursuer, either. More often than not, jobs worked out opposite to the way he planned them – though they always worked out in the end. Forming their partnership, both Bonnet and Black had agreed on several principles by which to conduct their business, one of those being the completion of every job they were paid to do. No matter what the job was, who it was for, whether or not it went south . . . it had to be seen through to the end, with the job completed as agreed. They demanded their money in advance and they got it because they were worth the risk. However it didn't mean there'd not been some close calls from time to time . . .
Rowan had had no sign of Breaker soldiers or Lieutenant Vrand. As he'd done in the old days, when as a mercenary his fortune could turn at the flip of a coin, he found a hollow beneath the roots of a large tree, wide enough to admit one person. It was snug under there, and it would keep him obscured from searching eyes. He had hoped for a fire that night, but it wasn't worth the risk. At the moment he seemed to be leaving them in his wake. The most he could do was press northward to Greyside. It was going to be a long journey, especially on foot if he didn't manage to replace the horse he'd lost. And if he could leave Vrand and his men behind, so much the better.
Rowan looked out at the sparse wood, nothing moving but the creak of the branches in the frosty breeze. All the trees just black shapes against the darkness.
His eyes felt heavy, weighed down. He pulled the blanket up to his neck, curled up to conserve heat against the cold night air. At least he was out of the wind. The snows would be on their way soon. What they'd had so far was just a precursor to what the winter was truly like. No doubt the worst time to be a hunted fugitive but that was his lot. Sometimes you took what was thrown at you and just kept on going.
My journey hasn't ended, not by a long shot. The end result is still the same. Find that fucker. He gave the order for them to do what they did. He watched them. He was to blame. Find him, kill him. Only then can I move on. Only then can I bear to let their faces, their names, their memory to fade into the past.
He closed his eyes, felt exhaustion wash over him, the dark embrace of sleep enfolding him in its forgiving embrace . . .
* * *
"Yes my son?" the Father asks him.
Rowan is seated on a pew, two sacks next to him, along with a long item wrapped in cloth. "Tasker?"
"Yes, that's me," the Father says, frowning. "What can I do for you?"
Rowan looks up at the patch of blue sky showing through the hole in the church roof. "The house of God is in need of repair, Father."
"It always is."
"Perhaps a kindly patron might offer to fund such a repair. And any others a man such as yourself might feel are required."
"Who are you?"
" My name is Rowan Black," he says. "I was once a mercenary for hire. Quite well known, in fact. I've been a protector, an assassin, a keeper of the peace, a tyrant who burnt whole villages to the ground after looting everything there was worth taking."
The Father swallows . "And now?"
"I'm not that person anymore."
"I see."
"I've changed."
Father Tasker sits on the other side of the aisle, settles onto the edge of a pew, his hands pressed together. "It is in our capacity as men to change, to bend like corn in the
"Fuck!" he shouted in temper. His eyes glared. "And fuck you! "
Rowan waved at him . "No, but thanks anyway!"
On the far side Lieutenant Vrand stood with his arms folded, looking at him with pure hatred as Rowan set off up the bank, safe in the knowledge it would take them hours to find a suitable crossing point. And by then he would be long gone.
Ten
Back in the day, Rowan had often found himself in the wild, travelling on foot with nothing but the gear he carried with him. It had not been unusual to find him playing the part of the pursued as much as the pursuer, either. More often than not, jobs worked out opposite to the way he planned them – though they always worked out in the end. Forming their partnership, both Bonnet and Black had agreed on several principles by which to conduct their business, one of those being the completion of every job they were paid to do. No matter what the job was, who it was for, whether or not it went south . . . it had to be seen through to the end, with the job completed as agreed. They demanded their money in advance and they got it because they were worth the risk. However it didn't mean there'd not been some close calls from time to time . . .
Rowan had had no sign of Breaker soldiers or Lieutenant Vrand. As he'd done in the old days, when as a mercenary his fortune could turn at the flip of a coin, he found a hollow beneath the roots of a large tree, wide enough to admit one person. It was snug under there, and it would keep him obscured from searching eyes. He had hoped for a fire that night, but it wasn't worth the risk. At the moment he seemed to be leaving them in his wake. The most he could do was press northward to Greyside. It was going to be a long journey, especially on foot if he didn't manage to replace the horse he'd lost. And if he could leave Vrand and his men behind, so much the better.
Rowan looked out at the sparse wood, nothing moving but the creak of the branches in the frosty breeze. All the trees just black shapes against the darkness.
His eyes felt heavy, weighed down. He pulled the blanket up to his neck, curled up to conserve heat against the cold night air. At least he was out of the wind. The snows would be on their way soon. What they'd had so far was just a precursor to what the winter was truly like. No doubt the worst time to be a hunted fugitive but that was his lot. Sometimes you took what was thrown at you and just kept on going.
My journey hasn't ended, not by a long shot. The end result is still the same. Find that fucker. He gave the order for them to do what they did. He watched them. He was to blame. Find him, kill him. Only then can I move on. Only then can I bear to let their faces, their names, their memory to fade into the past.
He closed his eyes, felt exhaustion wash over him, the dark embrace of sleep enfolding him in its forgiving embrace . . .
* * *
"Yes my son?" the Father asks him.
Rowan is seated on a pew, two sacks next to him, along with a long item wrapped in cloth. "Tasker?"
"Yes, that's me," the Father says, frowning. "What can I do for you?"
Rowan looks up at the patch of blue sky showing through the hole in the church roof. "The house of God is in need of repair, Father."
"It always is."
"Perhaps a kindly patron might offer to fund such a repair. And any others a man such as yourself might feel are required."
"Who are you?"
" My name is Rowan Black," he says. "I was once a mercenary for hire. Quite well known, in fact. I've been a protector, an assassin, a keeper of the peace, a tyrant who burnt whole villages to the ground after looting everything there was worth taking."
The Father swallows . "And now?"
"I'm not that person anymore."
"I see."
"I've changed."
Father Tasker sits on the other side of the aisle, settles onto the edge of a pew, his hands pressed together. "It is in our capacity as men to change, to bend like corn in the
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