The Silver Girl: Tales of Tormay

By Christopher Bunn

A Tale from the Land of Tormay

The horseman was riding north when the storm caught him by surprise, blowing out of the sky in sudden fury. The village of Brean was the nearest refuge. The only problem was that the village had secrets. Dangerous secrets, particularly for a stranger.

The Silver Girl takes place in the land of Tormay, not long after the end of the Tormay Trilogy. However, even though the Darkness was defeated at the end of the trilogy, the shadows will always come again, as long as there is night...

This is a short story of 10,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Bunn
• Release date: Feb 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507027936

Book preview

The Silver Girl

A Tale of Tormay

by Christopher Bunn

Foreword

The events of this story take place not long after the end of the last book in the Tormay Trilogy, The Wicked Day (or the end of A Storm in Tormay, if you choose to read the trilogy in its single-book compilation). While it is not necessary to have read the trilogy to enjoy this story, those who have read it will recognize the main character, as well as a great many of the references. The first book of the trilogy, The Hawk and His Boy, is available for free at most ebook vendors.

The Silver Girl

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The storm rumbled louder on the horizon. Another white flash of lightning flickered in the darkness. The man urged his horse on, but the beast was already tired from the long day. The man glanced back over his shoulder. His face was weathered and tanned from the sun, a thin, angular face, scarred along one side. His grey eyes studied the sky, expressionless. They were the kind of eyes that didn’t miss much, but this day was his own fault. He had grown careless. He knew that and accepted it. His mouth tightened. The hills were already dark with rain. He had misjudged their travel, dreaming through the afternoon, lulled by the easy gait of the horse and the thin, deceptive warmth of the sun. This far north, he had forgotten how fast the weather could change.

Come on, love, he said, his voice easy. He patted her flank. Two hours and you’ll have a warm stable and oats.

The mare’s ears twitched. She quickened her pace. She understood. But the storm was faster than any horse. Particularly a tired horse. The rain lashed down with a hissing, angry blast of wind, fast and hard and blotting out the last afternoon sun. The man hunched over in the saddle. His dark hair was already plastered to his head.

The muddy track led up over a rise and then descended through a stand of oak trees. The rain fell harder. The horse slowed, picking her way down the rocky slope to the narrow ravine. She slipped on a slick patch of clay and then quickly regained her footing. At the bottom of the ravine a creek slid across a bed of stones, mossed over in greens and purples.

He didn’t even hear the surge of the water until seconds before it hit them. It came down the ravine fast, a dirty grey wall of water hurtling around the corner of a rocky outcropping, a flood of rain innocent enough minutes before, falling from the sky drop by drop, but lethal now. Sluiced together on the rocky ground of the gully he was caught in. He didn’t have time to kick free from the stirrups. It hit them hard. The horse staggered and then went over. The man tried to jump free. Water surged over him, tumbled him upside down. He couldn’t see. He felt the bulk of the horse slam against him, smashing him to the ground. Something twisted in his leg. He choked, trying not to breathe, spinning in that watery darkness, and then he knew no more.

It was still raining when the man came back to consciousness. A lighter rain. He was face down in the