Warriors of Ethandun by N. M. Browne Read Free Book Online Page B

had of getting home. He swore savagely under his breath, soldier’s oaths in Latin that would have made his Latin teacher turn pale if he’d known what they meant. He hauled himself up to rest under his sword.Fan-bloody-tastic. There was still no sign of Ursula. He hugged his knees in an effort to get warm and then did what he had wanted to do for a long time.
    He hadn’t opened the wrapped sword since he’d found it in his locker. He had been shocked to see it there that first day he’d been allowed back at school once the charges against him had been dropped. It made a kind of crazy sense, he supposed. He would not have wanted his sister or his father to come across it at home, and at least his locker had a combination lock. Now he finally unwrapped the sword, his sword. He was surprised to see that it had a new belt and scabbard – fine work too, though neither Celtic nor Roman. He fastened it over his hip where it fitted easily. He would have been lying to himself if he didn’t admit that it felt good to have it there again.
    He perched on the almost-dry ground and listened hard, sniffing the air for clues. It was very quiet. The wind was cold and it rustled through the reeds. Overhead a bird called. The air smelled of mud and stagnant water, of wet grasses and distant woodsmoke. That was it then. There was no smoke without fire and he needed a fire before he developed hypothermia. He was shivering very badly and his teeth were chattering. His trainers were sodden, so he took them off and wrapped them round his neck by their laces. His socks were horrible too, so he stuffed them in his pocket. Then he began to pick his way carefully across the marshland, through the thick mist, following the elusive smell of woodsmoke and baking; he was almost sure he could smell baking.
    In the poor light he fell into further bogs and twisted his ankle so that he had to rest and catch his breath. He had no great instinct for magic, unlike Ursula, who had known at once that she had no magic in Arturus’s land. He could not sense any human thoughts, which was a great relief to him. He knew himself to be tough – tougher than most boys his age – but he couldn’t stand to experience that again. He didn’t
feel
magical in this world; all he felt was cold and wet. He didn’t want anything to do with magic – it brought only trouble – but, on the other hand, it would be good to know if that magical bond he had with Ursula still persisted. He shut his eyes and tried to think of her. It wasn’t difficult. His memory was full of her: the time she conjured an eagle, the time she turned herself into a man, the time she wore the mask of Arturus, and all the many times when she was just herself. They had been so close in those other worlds, and in their own they had become like strangers again. He tried to search her out with his mind; he willed it, but it didn’t work … He had no idea where she might be.
    He was worried about her but he knew he was being stupid. If one thing had been proved time and again, it was that Ursula could take care of herself. The landscape gave him no clues as to his location. He was in marshland, that was all. He could be back in the land of the Celtic leader, Macsen, when most of Britain was wild and untamed – but a bit of him hoped that he wasn’t. Much though he admired Macsen for his skill in battle and his courage and decisiveness in fighting the Ravens, he wasaltogether too handsome and perfect a specimen of manhood for Dan to be happy for Ursula to see him again. He wasn’t surprised that she was so keen to come back through the Veil, and it wasn’t just about the magic. Ursula had always had a bit of a thing for Macsen. He knew he was being stupid and that concerns about Ursula falling in love with a Celtic king ought not to be top of his priority list at that moment, but he couldn’t help but hope that Ursula had not