The Chronicles of Shaan -

The Chronicles of Shaan - The Hounds Of War

The Hounds Of War

The blood ran along the edge of the blade, it glistened in the sun then dripped onto the floor. Three now lay on the flagstones. Three who had deserved their fate. Scooping down, the gloved hand retrieved the medallion and placed it into the darkness of a leather clad pocket. From behind came a whistling of sword through the air, a quick turn and a flash of knife had been all that was needed. Shaan ran the knife across Tia's neck, the blood forming a living necklace as it seeped from the wound. He pulled on her hair, yanking her head back so that the wound gapped and allowed blood to flow into her windpipe and down to her lungs. A low gurgling sound issued from within as slowly her grip released from Shaan's forearm and she slumped to the floor.

Beads of sweat now formed on Shaan's brow. What had he done? He remembered the drinking, oh yes, the sweet taste of whisky still on his breath. He remembered the dancing, oh how he could dance especially after drinking. He remembered the food, the honey baked pork, the fresh green vegetables, the sauces, the deserts.

And then he remembered blood, lots of blood. He rolled over and looked at his hands. Red-brown stains, that were dry and crusty.

upon rising, without even putting on clothes, he walked outside and dove into the river. The ice-cold water cleared his head and removed the blood but the memories remained.

The hollow echo of hooves on stone alerted Shaan and he swam to the shore. Rushing inside he dressed and strapped a sword to his belt but before he had finished strapping up his boots there was a low thud on the door. Shaan ignored it and carried on with his task. The thuds grew louder. Opening the door revealed four uniformed guardsmen for the local town.

Shaan knew he could easily escape but then what? Hunted down like a common criminal? Cut down like a piece of meat to be sold off to the highest bidder? No one would be able to capture him is he did make a run for it but he had to prove his innocence in this matter. He knew that what he had done was for justice and peace. He had only done what any other loyal citizen would have done. Unbuckling his belt, he let his sword slip to the floor and did not resist his arrest. Justice would prevail, he was sure.

Twelve men and true, so was the saying. These twelve were certainly true for the amount paid, and loyal to their employers. They connived and conceived evidence, falsified documents, made up a story that would have been hard to believe in a book of fiction save in a court of law. Shaan was apparently guilty of everything from horse thievery to murder.

Malavich stood, pointing, and wagging his finger. This man had attacked four of his finest. All four had died bringing vital information to this land. This murderer had gone against all the treaties and had attempted to destroy the alliance before it had begun.

The judge took such a short time to deliver a guilty verdict it would have been considered a forgone conclusion by any outsiders witnessing the event, which in fact it was. Gold was always a great provider and attraction to men who cared for nothing more. Justice in this town was bought and sold to the highest bidder.

The cell he was dragged into was little more than a cupboard but the stone walls would prove impossible difficult to break through. Chained at the wrists, his back aching, arms in torturous pain, but at least his feet were on the floor and could take some of the weight.

At dawn the gallows would bend with the weight of the murderer Shaan. There were to be no last requests, no special last meal, no priestly confessions and absolution, and no chance of escape.

The chains binding Shaan to the cell wall were strong enough, and the five guards outside the door handpicked, he was going nowhere. Shaan closed his eyes and drifted off into the memories of recent events.