The Great Tree of Avalon by T. A. Barron Read Free Book Online Page A

shall not be long now.”
    “What sort o’ slave do ye be wantin’, then? I got plenty o’ four-leggeds, ’specially horses, does, an’ stags. Plus a bear er two, an’ jest last week I stole us a—”
    “Silence, you blithering fool! Right now, mmmyesss. Or I’ll see how you sound with no tongue in your empty head.”
    Harlech swallowed. “Aye, Master.”
    A shrieking gust of wind swept suddenly over the canyon. The sorcerer’s white hands grasped the neck of his cloak, holding tight as the wind tugged at the hood and slapped against the cloth. Higher shrieked the wind, and higher still, swirling the surface of the lake until the canyon seemed like an open mouth, frothing white, that cried out in torment. Only after several minutes did the air fall still, and the canyon grow silent, but for the sounds of forced labor that echoed rim to rim.
    The sorcerer lowered his hands at last. “Hear me well, my Harlech. I need a slave unusually smart, mmmyesss. Smarter than my ghoulacas—whom I have bred for obedience and ferocity, not cleverness.”
    Seasoned warrior though he was, the mention of those killer birds made Harlech wince. Two ghoulacas had attacked him once, just for sport, and he had scars on his jaw and both arms to prove it. With their nearly transparent wings and bodies, and their enormous bloodred talons and beaks, it had taken all his fighting skills—and all his weapons—just to escape alive.
    “Ah, I see you remember them, my Harlech. Then you might also recall that, for years, I have made them search the Seven Realms for something I want—the only thing I still need. But they have failed me time and again. Just as they have failed to kill my one great enemy . . . or to find my one great ally, the one I’ve been waiting for since I first heard the Prophecy. But none of that matters now. All that matters is what I want—my prize. And this time . . . there shall be no failure. Do you understand?”
    “Aye, Master.”
    “I could send you to do this task, couldn’t I, Harlech?”
    “Aye, Master.” Anxiously, he touched the scar on his jaw.
    “But no, I need you and all your men here to keep the slaves under control. We haven’t any time now for rebellion. But the slaves’ work is almost done. And when the dam is all finished—they will be finished, too.”
    Harlech allowed himself a slight grin. He understood perfectly.
    The white hands slashed the air. “So bring what I require! A slave who is smart enough to do my bidding. Who has some family or loved ones—so I can secure its loyalty. And who has some fight left, enough to survive a long journey, mmmyesss.”
    Harlech frowned. “Some fight left, eh? Not many o’ those, Master.” He fingered the hilt of his rapier. “Iffen a slave gits too, ah, feisty, I uses him fer sword practice, ye see? An’ then they can’t walk none too good. Er run. No escaped slaves, though, this past three months . . . at least none that’s alive.”
    The voice in the shadows merely grunted. “So long as most of them can still work, I don’t care what you do. But now, my Harlech, I need that slave.”
    The man shifted his weight, his broadsword clinking against one of the daggers. “Can ye tell me anythin’ more about this task, Master?”
    From the darkness came a low, mirthless laugh. “To bring me the prize. Mmmyesss! It is something very special, my Harlech. Something I once found, then lost—and have finally found again.”
    “What, Master?”
    Again came the laugh, merging with the swelling wind that battered against the stone tower. “Something that holds the power . . .” The pale hands squeezed the air as if they were strangling someone. “Of Merlin himself.”

4 • Hot Wax
    Claaaang!
    The great iron bell rang out, echoing all across the Drumadians’ compound. This was no small feat, since the compound covered several leagues of gardens, tree-lined walkways, monuments, meeting halls, dormitories, craft centers, shrines, and other