In The Shadow Of The Beast Read Online Free PDF

school of fish moving in synchronized unison to avoid
some oceanic predator.
    Mortaron came to a stop before The Regent,
bowing his head in deference to his liege lord.
    His voice came in a rough bark as he spoke,
‘My lord, your wisdom is required at council. This matter with the
Morays will not rest.’
    ‘ Brother’ sighed Veronique,
‘The Regent is enjoying the company of his court. Won’t the council
give him leave to relax amongst his subjects for just one
day?’
    ‘ The court be damned!’ shot
back Mortaron with a vehemence that left little doubt as to his
contempt for the other nobles of the kingdom. ‘War looms, and its
advance will not be delayed in the face of these fops falling about
trying to impress their betters.’
    ‘ There is word from the
border?’ asked The Regent, all trace of the smile he wore only
moments ago now long gone, replaced by his more usual stoic
demeanor.
    ‘ We have had word from the
barracks at Daros. There are indications of troop movements from
across the river there.’
    The Regent breathed deeply, ‘Excuse me my
dear, this cannot wait.’
    With that, he kissed Veronique lightly upon
the forehead before turning to stride away across the throne room,
the celebrants in attendance respectfully bowing their heads in the
wake of their departing lord.
    Veronique watched him leave, before looking
up to notice her brother watching her with obvious distaste. He
spoke not another word, merely content to study his sister for a
moment longer, as she in turn coolly met his gaze without comment.
An instant later Mortaron turned to follow his master from the
chamber, leaving Veronique standing by herself.
    She was not alone for more than a few
moments as well-wishers from the court, craving the indulgence of
their lady, moved to engage Veronique.
    It was while being addressed by a
particularly fat officer of the household guard, who talked at some
length about his penchant for the cultivation of the Horsethorn
rose, his ladyship’s favorite according to popular consensus, that
Veronique became aware of an odd feeling. Some unsettling sixth
sense gave her cause to turn and catch a glimpse of a face in the
crowd, only a fleeting glance really, of a man presented in the
attire of a visiting dignitary, but with a bearing that seemed too
coarse, too craggy for his immaculate garb, posing an image
entirely at odds with itself.
    But the thing that struck Veronique more
than the fellow’s strange appearance was the note of recognition
that rang within her, like the sound of a ship’s bell tolling
distantly through the mist. It was a feeling that filled her with
unease.
    Veronique reached out to one of her nearby
ladies in waiting, took her in a not so gentle fashion by the arm,
‘Raquel, who is that man?’
    Surprised by the uncharacteristic note of
desperation in her lady’s manner, the serving girl looked in the
direction Veronique had indicated, through the crowd of well
wishers and drinkers and dancers, but she could see no one there
that her ladyship might be referring to, ‘Whom are you speaking of
my lady?’
    Exasperated, Veronique craned her neck to
peer more clearly through the crowd. But much to her dismay the
mysterious dignitary had disappeared.
     
    Sigourd threw open the door to his
bedchamber, striding into the room he cast off his ceremonial dress
as he went, throwing the elaborate clothing here and there about
the chamber not caring a jot wherever it did land, desperate to
shed the accoutrements of his royal status, to be free of that
responsibility.
    Lastly, he reached up to the brooch attached
to his chest, that silver bauble that bore the Fellhammer family
crest, gripped it tightly in his clenched fist and tugged at it
almost without thinking.
    But it would not come loose. It was fastened
deep into the leather of his enameled leather bodice and wouldn’t
budge matter how hard he tugged at it.
    Building like the over-pressure from a
kettle too long on the boil,