Through By Stephen R Donaldson.pdf | A Man Rides

“You burned my village,” Herric said. His voice was flat. Not angry. Angry was for men who still had hope.

He had been fourteen when they gave him that brand. A page in the Duke’s household, eager and stupid, believing that service to power was the same as service to justice. He had learned otherwise the night the Duke ordered him to hold a torch while a debtor’s hands were broken, finger by finger. Herric had dropped the torch. The Duke had smiled and said, “You’ll learn, boy. Pain is the only teacher that never lies.” a man rides through by stephen r donaldson.pdf

“You’ll die for this,” the Duke said quietly. “Even if you kill me. My captains will hunt you. My allies will curse your name. You’ll die alone, in the cold, with no one to remember you.” “You burned my village,” Herric said

The Duke tilted his head. “I burned a village. The fact that it was yours is incidental. You swore an oath to me, Herric. You broke it when you rode away. The punishment for desertion is death. The punishment for those who harbor a deserter is—well. You saw.” Angry was for men who still had hope

Herric stood in the silence. The brazier hissed. The snow fell beyond the high windows. He looked down at the body of the man who had made him, broken him, and finally released him.

The citadel of Cinderfell rose from the mountain’s spine like a black tooth. Its walls were sheer basalt, slick with frost. Its gates were iron-bound oak, reinforced with spells of warding that Herric had helped design a decade ago, when he still believed he could change the Duke from within. He knew three ways in: the main gate, the postern door behind the kitchens, and the drainage sluice that emptied into the river gorge.

The stairs to the great hall were unguarded. The Duke had grown complacent, believing that fear was a wall stronger than any stone. Perhaps it was. But fear did not stop a man who had already lost everything he loved.