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The
sun’s rays flickered and died as dusk stepped confidently into the glade where
he rested. Only his eyes moved as he persisted there, cooled by the scented air
drawn down from the surrounding wooded slopes, his mind far away on matters of
great importance. He had recovered The Shintae. The long years of search and
hardship had not been in vain and now, finally, the end of his mission was
within his grasp. Allowing his mind to wander, he fingered the short sword at
his side, remembering deeds and enemies slain in the valleys and amongst the
mountains of Cantaé far to the west. Lying on the ground beside him was his
trusty longbow, an old and valued friend that had saved him on so many occasions
out beyond the edges of civilisation. Suddenly he stooped, gathered it from the
still warm ground and turned towards a solitary timber framed cabin standing
close by.
Although
the last faint glimmer of light had been extinguished long since, he had no
difficulty in picturing the building with its heavy planked wooden walls and
angular straw thatched roof supported by wooden cross-members. Narrow openings
cut into the outer walls were covered by shutters, which, when pulled back,
allowed light to enter. An arched doorway led into the first of three large
rooms, with several smaller chambers at the rear. Highly intricate carvings and
multi-coloured tapestries covered the internal walls, whilst a variety of woven
and deep furred rugs were scattered over the wooden floor. Most of all, however,
he recalled the stone fireplace in the main living area and how, on winter
days,
a roaring fire threw out its arms of all embracing
warmth. Even on a warm summer’s evening it felt good to be reminded again of
such protection.
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The Shintae
is
now available
to
purchase at the
following
online stores:
Amazon
UK
Amazon.Com
Amazon
Canada
Amazon
France
Amazon
Germany
WH
Smith.co.uk
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
Japan
Or
you can order
it
through your
local book store by
ISBN: 1-4137-8324-4
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With
this thought in mind, he moved around the house towards the doorway, which, to
his surprise, stood open. Running his fingers around the opening, he found the
shattered remains of the doorframe where the entrance had been forced. For a
moment he stood silently, listening intently to the sounds of the night.
Detecting nothing untoward and finally satisfied he was alone, he removed a
tallow lamp from his pack. Using his tinderbox to spark a flame, he succeeded in
lighting the lamp whereupon, shielding his eyes from the resultant glare, he
stepped carefully over the remains of the door. Halting abruptly he gazed numbly
around at the scene of destruction that greeted him. Wearily he moved from room
to room, but the whole building appeared to have been ransacked during his
lengthy absence.
A
native of the forest lands of Maraé, he was just short of six feet in height,
tall for his race, with long brown hair flowing over delicately pointed ears
down to broad shoulders. Brown, weather-beaten cheeks faded in to a wide and
hairless chin, while piercing blue eyes gazed out from beneath broad eyebrows
that angled down towards a finely chiselled nose. His clothes were old, faded
and stained with constant travel. A creased brown tunic covered the upper part
of his torso, hanging limply from a slightly hunched back. The garment was made
to blend into the surrounding woodland, as were his deerskin trousers. A pair of
stretched hide moccasins covered his feet, and a cloak the colour of grass was
tightly rolled within a small pack on the floor beside him. Exhausted, he leant
against a wall before sinking slowly to the floor, too tired to think clearly
any more. Had his instincts not been dulled by fatigue, he would have moved on
immediately; and then, perhaps, things might well have turned out so very
differently. Instead, his head nodded once, twice, three times, his eyes closed,
and he dropped into a deep but troubled sleep...
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