The Fragile Fall At Tallow Bridge (The White Blood Chronicles Book 1) by Mark G Heath Page A

the sky, the rays shifting their golden hues across his room until dusk came and Kathryn appeared to light the candles on the mantelpiece. As ever her entrance into the room was trumpeted by the burst of scent, which he was now finding intoxicating, the heady vapours almost overwhelming. Her every movement about the room released another torrent of perfume. He cautioned himself against breathing too deeply of the scent, wary that the landlord’s daughter was trying to lessen his resistance and enchant him. He had known attractive and even unattractive women; attempt this against his will in the past. He had to remain strong and free from her wiles. It was clear to him that she was seeking to use a forbidden craft to have him do her bidding. Notwithstanding her nursing of him, this was surely a ruse, an attempt to ensnare him. She would face judgement for her attempted corruption of him. Despite his vigilance and resolve, on her final appearance of the day, to clear away his dinner platter, he found himself overtaken by the scent and drifting into sleep, no matter how much he tried to fight against it. The perfume had a most settling effect on him, cosseting him and causing him to relax and sleep. Her tendrils were coiling about the witch hunter.
     
     
     

Chapter Five
     
    Thaindire woke with a start. His eyes opened immediately. At first all he saw was darkness until his eyes adjusted and the room was lit by strong moonlight. The white light caused everything in the room to glow, its silvery caress a marked contrast to the gold of the sun and the warm yellows of the candlelight that he was used to. He did not know what had caused him to start and he lay still listening for any kind of sign as to what had awoken him, but there came nothing but silence. There was no general hubbub of revelry from the tavern below and he realised that it was clearly late at night. Nothing stirred and he lay savouring the silence for a few moments. He closed his eyes in the expectation of sleep returning but he felt wide-awake. He was minded to ascertain what lay beyond the door and within the tavern but the prospect of creeping about the inn did not appeal and instead he made his way again to the window.
    The square was still. The moonlight drenched the scene before him, illuminating it with sufficient clarity that he could make out the features on the dwellings across the square from him, the bucketed well and the gleaming cobblestones. He was uncertain what time of night it was but reckoned that it must be beyond midnight. There was no breeze, the thinning treetops were unmoving and high above him in the dark canopy of sky a swirling array of stars glittered and gleamed, outshone by the round, full moon, which sat, bloated above. Thaindire pressed his ear to the pane of glass, it was cool against him and he wondered if a frost would soon be forming as the blanket of cold spread over the land. He heard the call of some night bird from far off and then the response from some other nocturnal creature but the village of Aftlain lay quiet, its denizens no doubt sleeping by the score. Thaindire looked left and right hoping almost to catch a glimpse of night time activity that was in keeping with the village’s reputation but nothing moved, no person, no animal, nothing.
                  He moved his gaze to the properties across from him and observed the moonlight reflecting off those houses that had tiled roofs, others having the more traditional thatch. The gleaming white light adorned the brickwork of chimneys and the slivers of slate. Upwards continued his gaze until the skyline of houses ended and instead he looked upon the illuminated branches and leaves of the forest. Although still and peaceful, the highlighting of the tangle of branches and jutting twigs gave the forest a more barbed appearance as if one would be cut by merely standing close to the trees. He could see that Dromgoole was right; there was no welcome in that