The Path of Anger by Antoine Rouaud Page A

said too much to this Viola without knowing anything about her or her real intentions, if she were concealing any. It was the first time he had told anyone the truth during his alcoholic ramblings. If she were actually seeking Eraëd, would she accept his refusal to tell her where it was, or would she threaten to denounce him? And would the name Dun-Cadal Daermon be of any interest to the august councillors of the young Republic?
    He was not even a shadow of his former self. The Knighthood had been dissolved along with the Empire. The animus had been forgotten. And still more serious in Dun-Cadal’s eyes, it seemed peopleno longer believed in the Book of Destiny and had little by little abandoned the old gods. Times were changing, as his aching body reminded him constantly. And, more forcefully, the sharp pains that ran down his right leg. He placed a trembling hand there as if hoping to calm them but it had no effect. He exchanged a glance with his reflection in the cheval glass.
    ‘Azdeki!!! You filthy piece of shit! Come back!’
    The pain was not merely physical. No, the real wound was located elsewhere, hidden deep inside.
    ‘Azdeki!’
    He bore a scar of the worst kind, one which could not be seen but would be felt, burning and sharp, as long as his heart was still beating.
    ‘Azdeki! Tomlinn!’
    ‘Azdeki!’ he screamed as he lay in the swamp.
    At that moment, the thought that Azdeki might abandon him to his fate was only a vague, farfetched hypothesis. Stunned by the fall and pinned by the weight of the horse crushing his leg, he wasn’t capable of reason. He was lost, with his body pressed into the thick Saltmarsh mud. Attracted by his cries, the rouarg appeared above his horse’s carcass, its maw smeared with blood and its large nostrils flaring in time with its heavy breathing.
    ‘Come on . . .!’ snarled Dun-Cadal, adrenaline masking any pain . . . adrenaline and a sudden fever. Standing on the horse’s remains, the rouarg towered over the injured knight, its muscles bulging beneath skin covered with patches of long green-and-black fur. Keeping a wary eye on the beast, Dun-Cadal searched the mud for his sword. The rouarg’s eyes narrowed, slowly opening its maw to release a putrid breath and a low growl. In the tall grasses, the knight heard the sound of two more monsters gradually approaching, drawn by his sweat and blood. His hand sank into the muck without finding any trace of his weapon.
    ‘Godsfuck!’ he cursed.
    Pain shot up his broken leg, pinned and slowly crushed beneath the combined weight of the horse and the rouarg. The beast roared, stretching its neck in challenge towards its imprisoned prey. Any hope of locating his sword and slashing at its maw was vain. Only one solution remained before the suffering became unbearable andhe fainted. Inhaling deeply, he drew in his arms, a grimace of pain twisting his sweat-and-mud-stained face. He needed to focus his entire being on listening to the world, feeling every vibration around him, rising above the pain and melting into the air, becoming one with everything around him . . . He felt the animus , he became the animus . His leg awoke with agony, broken bones rending his flesh like razor blades.
    The rouarg reared over him, ready to rip his head off with a swift snap of its teeth. Yet something prevented it. The monster stared at the trapped man with an air of disbelief; his hair was immersed in the stagnant water, his eyes half-closed, his features drawn with pain and fatigue. He stretched his hands forward, and the furious beast opened its jaws to reveal its steely fangs. The man had no means of reaching it and still less any hope of wounding it with his bare hands. And yet . . . an overpowering force propelled the rouarg, and the horse’s gutted carcass, far into the air.
    At that instant, Dun-Cadal felt a sickening dropping sensation, every part of him jolting with the violent impact of a fall. He screamed to the point of dislocating his