The Witch's Daughter by R. A. Salvatore Read Free Book Online Page A

under the shadow of that most marvelous, most simply marvelous, forest! The daughter of Brielle would not miss a wildflower beside the road because her eyes were looking farther down it! No no no! Weall know better, that we do. We know to enjoy what we might when we might.”
    True enough. It was exactly these lands “in between” that came to thrill Rhiannon and the rangers. They became great friends on the empty road, particularly Andovar and the young woman, the ranger trading tales to Rhiannon in exchange for the secrets she knew about the ways of the plants and animals they passed. Ardaz, too, grew especially interested when Rhiannon shared those bits of her understanding of nature, knowledge too vast for her young years. She was indeed the daughter of the Emerald Witch, though the wizard suspected that she might claim a similar title for herself in the near future.
    And Andovar was interested in everything Rhiannon did, in every graceful move, in every wood she spoke, and in every one of the countless careless laughs that came so naturally from her.
    “It seems that I might be protecting the lass from me own companion,” Belexus remarked to Ardaz one sunset as Andovar and Rhiannon walked off toward a high ridge together, hand in hand.
    “Protecting?” laughed Ardaz. “Oh, no no no!” The wizard watched as Andovar draped an arm comfortably across the young woman’s shoulders, and she willingly snuggled up to him.
    “Well, maybe watching,” the wizard conceded.
        The next day, they passed another of the common villages, little more than a cluster of farmhouses surrounded by a low wall. Belexus kept them close to the great River Ne’er Ending, thinking it was wise to travel the less populated western fields first before springing the grandeur of mighty Pallendara on his newest traveling companion. Ardaz readily agreed with the course, as did Andovar, knowingthat the smaller villages would be less imposing to Rhiannon until she became more familiar with the ways of the settlements.
    “Donnings Down,” Ardaz said, recognizing the next town they crossed through. “And after Donnings Down is Torthenberry.”
    “Where ye leave us?” Belexus asked, obviously disappointed. The wizard’s tales had been the best of the lot, and few could steal the tedium from a long road as well as Ardaz.
    “I meant to go there, I think I did,” Ardaz replied. “But too long we’ve wandered. Too, too long, I do dare say. Why, May is blooming upon us. No, I have to go now, straightaway.”
    “What could be so important in the empty east?” Andovar asked, obviously as unhappy about the parting as the others.
    “The east?” Ardaz echoed, not seeming to understand.
    Rhiannon smiled at his expression, recognizing the fairly common glazed look in the wizard’s eye.
    “Ye’re going to the east, so ye said,” Andovar tried to explain.
    “Who said?” the wizard demanded.
    “Ye did yerself,” said Andovar. “To some ruins. The meat of a farmer’s tale.”
    “I did?” Ardaz’s face crinkled in confusion. “Of course I did not! Oh, why do you try to confuse me, you nasty boy? But why would I want to go there, if it is so empty, after all? Or are you just trying to get rid of me?”
    “No, never that,” laughed Andovar, familiar enough with the wizard’s forgetfulness to let the issue drop. “Ride along with us, then, for as long as ye wish.”
    “Well, how can I do that?” Ardaz demanded. He lookedat Belexus in sincere concern. “The boy’s bitten,” he said with a sly nod at Rhiannon.
    “But enough,” the wizard said, rising straight in his saddle and pulling out a long oaken staff. “I’ve business in the east, of course—and no tricks by you!” he added quickly before the flustered Andovar could put his thoughts in. Ardaz mumbled some arcane chants into his horse’s ear, and the beast perked up, snorting anxiously to be off at a gallop.
    “Good-bye and farewell!” Ardaz said to the three. “A