myself was striding the heavens in his sparkling boots. Invincible! With such an ally I was ready to take on the whole world.
There was blood all over me, my own and Fletch’s. The entry of my sword had released a warm gush of it over my face and torso. I did not wait to cleanse myself, but rode away fast, and soon branched off the London Road for the byways that would bring me to my destination with less risk of arrest by Naaman’s armed retainers. He had an army of them.
Cedric’s news and the gruesome scene I left, where reddened grass spread beneath the oaks, would bring them after me like furious hornets.
I felt no remorse, telling myself over and over: “They asked for what they got. They deserved to die. They murdered Old Tom.”
So now I had become a killer. Shame, shame? No, never. Bloodlust had me singing: Orion the heavenly hero, that’s me. Starry sword, crusader unstopable.
Before many miles I was marvelling, over and over, at my amazing skill with pistol and sword. Tom was right, I had rare talent.
Three against one! My blood stirred as I relived the moments of grim action and refought my glorious victory.
Also, I sensed a new element within myself. It was a rather pleasant wellbeing that was more than simple relief at being alive. I could not fool myself: I had enjoyed the slaughter.
I cashed in the boat ticket and hid in Southampton’s dock alleys until I was able to purchase passage on a different vessel. As the days passed and the ocean beckoned, I knew that I looked forward to killing again.
I had avenged the death of Old Tom. Next I would take terrible revenge, a sacred task, on the black savages who had murdered my father.
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Cover image features a detail from "Salisbury Cathedral Meadows" by John Constable (1776-1837).
First published by Darling Newspaper Press as Book One of The Dream Chasers, hardback print 2001.
First digital edition Mobipocket 2008.
This extract 2012.
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