City of Demons Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Kevin Harkness
giantâs table. At other times, when the swaying of the horse lulled him into drowsiness, he felt his spirit flow out over the plains, bending and swaying on the endless grass, and then something like peace came into his heart. Most of his time, however, was not spent in contemplation of the landscape, but on more immediate, personal concerns.
It was two days since he had left his home, and all the day dreams he had spun of riding away to adventure and independence had not prepared him for the two things most on his mind: his loneliness and the pain in his backside.
Although all the boys had tried riding neighboursâ horses at Three Roads, Garet had never ridden for more than a few minutes. Now, after two days of riding, the chafing of the saddle on his bottom and thighs had made life miserable and walking almost impossible. The night before, Salick had been forced to steady him as he hobbled from his mount to the camp they had made. It had taken over an hour for him to recover and walk downwind far enough to attend to his bodyâs needs. Salick had haughtily informed him that the discomfort would disappear as soon he became used to riding. Garet, after another full day in the saddle, felt that becoming used to riding might take the rest of his life.
Mandarack signalled to Salick and pointed over to their right. In the distance, a line of trees seemed to magically appear out of the dry grass of the prairie. The elderly man, relaxed and seemingly immune to saddle sores, turned the head of his lean, black mare and trotted towards the distant trees. Salick signalled the younger boys, Dorict and Marick. Both rode the same horse, a brown plough horse that Marick claimed was the stupidest animal he had ever seen. Dorict pulled its blocky head to follow Salickâs lead. The mare placidly obeyed. Stupid or not, the animal was the only one of the four that could bear to drag, although on a very long rope, the corpse of the demon. The two Banes, perhaps two or three years younger than Garet, had somehow found the corpse and prepared it while he talked with Mandarack and Salick. The other horses, the two ridden by Mandarack and Salick and the pert brown pony from Three Roads that Garet suffered on, stayed far ahead of the mare as Marick yipped in his high voice and jammed his heels into its barrel ribs to urge it to a reluctant trot. The bundled corpse bounced and swung behind them, knocking down great swaths of the tall grass.
Garet turned the head of his pony to jolt after Salickâs mount. An hour passed before the trees grew near. The sun would soon be resting on the clouds lining the horizon. Now he could see that the trees grew out of a river valley that cut a curved line through the plains. The banks of the river slumped down from the flatlands at a steep angle and they had to ride a good mile before they found a path gentle enough for the horses to manage. The other side of the river boasted a small farmstead, but no smoke rose from its clay and stick chimney, and no animals sheltered in the large corral. Like all the farms they had passed, this one was deserted. Where have all the people gone , he wondered. Had the demons killed them all? He desperately wanted to know this and a thousand other things. What would happen to him in Shirath? Why did Mandarack, Salick, and the two boys all wear different coloured sashes? And just who was Mandarack? How could he ride up to Pranix, himself just returned from the Rivermeet, point to a horse and take it without paying? The tavern keeper, who could blister skin with his curses, had merely grumbled under his breath and saddled the mount for Garetâs use. Everything that was happening around him grew out of some mystery that no one would bother to explain!
His loneliness rose up and, for a moment, he forgot the pain of riding. He bent over the horseâs neck and felt a knife-sharp longing for the simple, reassuring threads of his lost life: his mother putting
It was two days since he had left his home, and all the day dreams he had spun of riding away to adventure and independence had not prepared him for the two things most on his mind: his loneliness and the pain in his backside.
Although all the boys had tried riding neighboursâ horses at Three Roads, Garet had never ridden for more than a few minutes. Now, after two days of riding, the chafing of the saddle on his bottom and thighs had made life miserable and walking almost impossible. The night before, Salick had been forced to steady him as he hobbled from his mount to the camp they had made. It had taken over an hour for him to recover and walk downwind far enough to attend to his bodyâs needs. Salick had haughtily informed him that the discomfort would disappear as soon he became used to riding. Garet, after another full day in the saddle, felt that becoming used to riding might take the rest of his life.
Mandarack signalled to Salick and pointed over to their right. In the distance, a line of trees seemed to magically appear out of the dry grass of the prairie. The elderly man, relaxed and seemingly immune to saddle sores, turned the head of his lean, black mare and trotted towards the distant trees. Salick signalled the younger boys, Dorict and Marick. Both rode the same horse, a brown plough horse that Marick claimed was the stupidest animal he had ever seen. Dorict pulled its blocky head to follow Salickâs lead. The mare placidly obeyed. Stupid or not, the animal was the only one of the four that could bear to drag, although on a very long rope, the corpse of the demon. The two Banes, perhaps two or three years younger than Garet, had somehow found the corpse and prepared it while he talked with Mandarack and Salick. The other horses, the two ridden by Mandarack and Salick and the pert brown pony from Three Roads that Garet suffered on, stayed far ahead of the mare as Marick yipped in his high voice and jammed his heels into its barrel ribs to urge it to a reluctant trot. The bundled corpse bounced and swung behind them, knocking down great swaths of the tall grass.
Garet turned the head of his pony to jolt after Salickâs mount. An hour passed before the trees grew near. The sun would soon be resting on the clouds lining the horizon. Now he could see that the trees grew out of a river valley that cut a curved line through the plains. The banks of the river slumped down from the flatlands at a steep angle and they had to ride a good mile before they found a path gentle enough for the horses to manage. The other side of the river boasted a small farmstead, but no smoke rose from its clay and stick chimney, and no animals sheltered in the large corral. Like all the farms they had passed, this one was deserted. Where have all the people gone , he wondered. Had the demons killed them all? He desperately wanted to know this and a thousand other things. What would happen to him in Shirath? Why did Mandarack, Salick, and the two boys all wear different coloured sashes? And just who was Mandarack? How could he ride up to Pranix, himself just returned from the Rivermeet, point to a horse and take it without paying? The tavern keeper, who could blister skin with his curses, had merely grumbled under his breath and saddled the mount for Garetâs use. Everything that was happening around him grew out of some mystery that no one would bother to explain!
His loneliness rose up and, for a moment, he forgot the pain of riding. He bent over the horseâs neck and felt a knife-sharp longing for the simple, reassuring threads of his lost life: his mother putting