Author: Hob Goodfellowe

In the morning, Caewen dragged herself out of the warm, if slightly scratchy, bed linens with profound reluctance. She had given up counting the cockerel crows. Somewhere outside the bird had been blustering away with its little lungs for what seemed like hours. It was with a groggy, half-aware, sleep-gritty vagueness that Caewen went about…

Caewen took her time enjoying the hot water. It felt like an age since she was last able to get really clean. No one else seemed to want to make use of the bath house, which was fine by her. It was a very old building, possibly predating the inn itself, and constructed in the…

She walked until her calves hurt. And then she walked some more. The rhythm of walking left her keenly aware of her own movement, the twinges of tendons and the flat dull ache that accompanied each stride. Her feet felt hot and sweaty and unpleasant inside their stockings. The boots were rubbing and pinching in…

It was getting towards evening now. The day had been bright, the clouds sun-smeared, the air crisp and cool and full of the last rays of fading autumnal half-warmth. The dark green leaves of oaks were all gone: long since blown away to form their crisp, dry flaky heaps on the ground. Only a few…

“What have we here?” said the red-haired man. “Thegns and knights, lairds and retainers, all standing about, tittering their tongues, clutching their pale hands in knots. Well, I see fools and idiots, all of you. Waiting and mumbling and making plans that will never come to fruit.” He very nearly snarled what he said next….

The interior of the castle was surprisingly warm. Samakarantha had not realised how cold he had been outside. The blush of heat put a tingling into his chill cheeks, lips and nose. After a time, Samakarantha even started to feel a touch suffocated in the warmth. Every room had its own well-stoked hearth. The castle…

A little over an hour later, and Samakarantha stepped out the front door of Hissocking Sprent. He self-consciously avoided stepping on the threshold stone, choosing to stride across it, and avoiding the bones that lay somewhere down in the earth beneath. The gloomy watchfulness of the house fell away behind him as he crossed the…

The question shook the creature and made it choke, until it spluttered, “Kill her? Kill her? The lass. No. No. She was an innocent. A charming innocent of a girl. A beautiful song about the house. She left me my bowl of porridge with a wee lump of butter every night. She put out cream…