The Hallowed Isle Book Four by Diana L. Paxson Read Free Book Online Page A

year, but how much time together had they really had?
    After a moment, Medraut looked down.
    â€œIt was dark and raining . . . I thought there was someone, but I could not really see. I will tell you this, though. The arrow that wounded me in the south came from behind.”
    â€œYou did not tell me!” Artor took a step forward, frowning, but Medraut’s eyes were limpid as the sea.
    â€œI had no proof, my lord, nor do I now. . . .”
    Artor stood over him, fists clenching. What are you hiding? he thought, and then, What am I? He felt a vast weariness as his anger drained away.
    â€œI will send you to the Saxons. Here, I cannot guarantee your safety, but Cynric will guard you like a she-wolf her last cub.” Against his own people, and mine , his thought went on, and perhaps against me. . . .
    â€œIf you wish it, I will obey,” answered Medraut, looking away.
    Artor eyed at him narrowly, hearing in the boy’s voice something almost like satisfaction, and wondered why.

III
IN THE PLACE OF STONES
    A.D. 503
    T O TRAVEL ACROSS THE NECK OF A LBA IN HIGH SUMMER, NEITHER pursued nor pursuing, was pure pleasure. The Roman forts that had once defended the Antonine Wall were now no more than dimpled mounds, but the road that connected them was still passable. To the north rose the outriders of the highlands, blue with distance, the nearer slopes cloaked like an emperor in heather. Alba was all purple and gold beneath a pale northern sky, and the air had the same sweet tang as the peat-brown waters that rippled down from the hills.
    Artor breathed deeply and sat straighter, as cares he had not known he carried fell away. Even the weather held fair, as if to welcome him.
    â€œIt won’t last,” said Goriat. “A week, or two, and we’ll see fog and rain so thick you’d think it was winter in the southern lands.”
    â€œAll the more reason to enjoy it now!” Artor grinned back at him, and Raven, sensing his rider’s mood, pranced and pulled at the rein. “By the time the weather changes, we’ll be safe at Fodreu.”
    Cai, who was riding on his other side, made a sound halfwaybetween a grunt and a growl. “If we can trust them—I still say you’re a fool to put yourself in their power!”
    Goriat opened his eyes at the language, but Artor only smiled. There were times when Cai forgot the king was not still the little foster-brother who had followed him about when they were young. But the blood Cai had shed in his service since then, thought Artor, entitled him to a few blunt words. He was only four years older than the king, but he looked ten, the dark hair grizzled, and his face weathered and lined.
    â€œMaybe so,” Artor answered mildly, “but if they can’t be trusted, better to find out now than have them break the border while I’m in Gallia!”
    â€œHmph!” Cai replied. “Or else you just enjoy the risk. I remember how it was when we were boys . . .”
    Goriat kicked his horse in the ribs and drew level, brows quirked enquiringly.
    â€œWhenever things got too quiet, Artor would find some fool thing to do. . . .” Cai exchanged rueful smiles with the king.
    â€œWas I that bad?” asked Artor.
    â€œRemember the miller’s donkey?”
    Artor’s grin grew broader.
    â€œWhat did he do?” asked Goriat in an awed voice.
    â€œTied the donkey to a threshing flail—”
    â€œIt could have worked,” protested the king. “We use oxen to grind the corn, after all.”
    â€œWhat happened?” Goriat persisted, obviously delighted to be let in on this secret history.
    â€œThe donkey ate the grain and both Artor and I got a beating. They said I should have stopped him, but I knew even then the futility of trying to change Artor’s mind when he gets that look in his eye,” Cai answered resignedly.
    â€œI learned something, though