Read Online Pendragon's Heir by Suzannah Rowntree - Free Book Online
Authors: Suzannah Rowntree
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to heaven.
The Queen of Elfland’s Nourice
I N THE SILENCE AFTER B LANCHE ’ S WORDS Nerys went down the hallway to the smashed door and stood silhouetted against the last purple and yellow streaks of sunset, risen up on tiptoe with her chin lifted as though sniffing or listening. At last she turned.
“Come with me.”
She plunged out the door and Blanche ran to catch up with her. Outside, a cold gale whipped through the trees, tumbling leaves and twigs across the lawn toward the house. Already the rose-bushes by the hammock were stripped of their petals. Beyond, in the orchard, the apple-trees creaked and groaned: the blast almost seemed stronger here. It whipped hair into her face and blinded her, and in that dizzy moment the gale seemed the wind of an incredible speed, as though she was rushing through a tunnel on the viewing-platform of a train. Then, unsettled and breathless, she pushed her hair back and struggled after Nerys.
The gate at the end of the orchard was open, with a snapped latch and one broken hinge. Nerys wrestled it upright and flung all her weight against it.
“Help me,” she called back. The wind snatched the words from her mouth, but Blanche understood the sense, if not the purpose, and threw herself against the gate. They strained in the teeth of the wind for a few gasping seconds. Then the gate closed, and the wind was gone.
Nerys, catlike, smoothed hair and skirts before gesturing to the gate.
“Look at this. Brute force. A hole blown open between the worlds.”
Blanche stared. “Is that where he got in?”
“Yes,” said Nerys. “Feel it.” She took Blanche’s hand and held it to the broken latch of the gate where a cold jet of air still whistled through. “That woman has done damage to the very weft of the world. If you opened that gate and walked through, you would be in Logres. And if anyone there knows about this…”
“Morgan knows,” Blanche whispered. “What are we going to do?”
Again Nerys looked at her with inexpressible sympathy. “It might frighten you to think of living in Logres, Blanche, but all our defences are thrown down in this world. Logres is the safest place for you now.”
She turned back to the house, walking quickly, and continued.
“They won’t think to look for you in Britain. We’ll telegraph Sir Ector and tell the servants you’ve been called suddenly away. Pack light, for we haven’t a moment to spare, and we may have far to travel. I don’t know how far it is to Camelot from the Castle Gornemant.”
ToCamelot. Now. Already. Blanche, choking down her dismay, caught Nerys’s arm. “But we’ll come back, won’t we?”
Nerys sighed and shook her head. “I know this is sudden, Blanche. Only believe me when I say that you are in deadly danger now, every moment, until we have you back in Camelot. Sir Ector and I can close up the house, mend the rift, and say goodbye to the neighbours. There is no point in exposing you to the danger of another journey.”
Blanche felt helpless—a cold dull panic which she was beginning to recognise. “Mr Corbin,” she said. “I want to say goodbye. Kitty, too, and Emmeline. I can’t just disappear. How will you explain it to them if I do? They’ll have to be told something .”
Nerys stopped walking and looked at her. “Blanche,” she said, and despite the gentleness of her words Blanche knew she was vexed, “do you really mean to put your friends above your own safety and the future of Logres?” A pause. “The decision does not rest with me, at any rate. Gather your things.”
When Blanche came downstairs with her bag she found Nerys already waiting by the wardrobe, key in hand. She had thought of another objection.
“What if that knight is still on the other side? The one with the Blue Boar?”
“Odiar loves not the company of true and faithful men like Gornemant,” Nerys said. “He will be fled or captured by now. Stand back.”
But when she fitted the key to the lock and
The Queen of Elfland’s Nourice
I N THE SILENCE AFTER B LANCHE ’ S WORDS Nerys went down the hallway to the smashed door and stood silhouetted against the last purple and yellow streaks of sunset, risen up on tiptoe with her chin lifted as though sniffing or listening. At last she turned.
“Come with me.”
She plunged out the door and Blanche ran to catch up with her. Outside, a cold gale whipped through the trees, tumbling leaves and twigs across the lawn toward the house. Already the rose-bushes by the hammock were stripped of their petals. Beyond, in the orchard, the apple-trees creaked and groaned: the blast almost seemed stronger here. It whipped hair into her face and blinded her, and in that dizzy moment the gale seemed the wind of an incredible speed, as though she was rushing through a tunnel on the viewing-platform of a train. Then, unsettled and breathless, she pushed her hair back and struggled after Nerys.
The gate at the end of the orchard was open, with a snapped latch and one broken hinge. Nerys wrestled it upright and flung all her weight against it.
“Help me,” she called back. The wind snatched the words from her mouth, but Blanche understood the sense, if not the purpose, and threw herself against the gate. They strained in the teeth of the wind for a few gasping seconds. Then the gate closed, and the wind was gone.
Nerys, catlike, smoothed hair and skirts before gesturing to the gate.
“Look at this. Brute force. A hole blown open between the worlds.”
Blanche stared. “Is that where he got in?”
“Yes,” said Nerys. “Feel it.” She took Blanche’s hand and held it to the broken latch of the gate where a cold jet of air still whistled through. “That woman has done damage to the very weft of the world. If you opened that gate and walked through, you would be in Logres. And if anyone there knows about this…”
“Morgan knows,” Blanche whispered. “What are we going to do?”
Again Nerys looked at her with inexpressible sympathy. “It might frighten you to think of living in Logres, Blanche, but all our defences are thrown down in this world. Logres is the safest place for you now.”
She turned back to the house, walking quickly, and continued.
“They won’t think to look for you in Britain. We’ll telegraph Sir Ector and tell the servants you’ve been called suddenly away. Pack light, for we haven’t a moment to spare, and we may have far to travel. I don’t know how far it is to Camelot from the Castle Gornemant.”
ToCamelot. Now. Already. Blanche, choking down her dismay, caught Nerys’s arm. “But we’ll come back, won’t we?”
Nerys sighed and shook her head. “I know this is sudden, Blanche. Only believe me when I say that you are in deadly danger now, every moment, until we have you back in Camelot. Sir Ector and I can close up the house, mend the rift, and say goodbye to the neighbours. There is no point in exposing you to the danger of another journey.”
Blanche felt helpless—a cold dull panic which she was beginning to recognise. “Mr Corbin,” she said. “I want to say goodbye. Kitty, too, and Emmeline. I can’t just disappear. How will you explain it to them if I do? They’ll have to be told something .”
Nerys stopped walking and looked at her. “Blanche,” she said, and despite the gentleness of her words Blanche knew she was vexed, “do you really mean to put your friends above your own safety and the future of Logres?” A pause. “The decision does not rest with me, at any rate. Gather your things.”
When Blanche came downstairs with her bag she found Nerys already waiting by the wardrobe, key in hand. She had thought of another objection.
“What if that knight is still on the other side? The one with the Blue Boar?”
“Odiar loves not the company of true and faithful men like Gornemant,” Nerys said. “He will be fled or captured by now. Stand back.”
But when she fitted the key to the lock and
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