Read Online Pendragon's Heir by Suzannah Rowntree - Free Book Online Page B

hindquarters away from the stone circle on the ground. This she unmade, moving with an queer and wordless vehemence. One by one she tore the stones out of the turf and flung them like missiles into the undergrowth. She was finished in a matter of moments and straightened, catching her breath. Then she swung into the saddle and led the way south through the soft murmur of rain.
    Neither spoke until the castle was out of earshot. At last Nerys said:
    “A raven was watching us as we came through.”
    “Yes, I saw.”
    Nerys pushed hair out of her eyes. “You saw, but did you understand? Some of the ravens are her creatures. In any case she will be on our trail by morning.”
    No need to ask who she was. But in a country where legends walked, what could go wrong?
    “If she waits until morning to follow us, we’ll leave her far behind.”
    “Unless she left a guard,” said Nerys. “When she sees that the stone ring was destroyed, she will know we used her passage.”
    “Then why did you destroy it?”
    “The keys to the doors between the worlds are ours to use—I and my people,” Nerys said. “But Morgan le Fay is a mortal, and has no right to them. She must use unnatural force. Magic which I will have nothing to do with and destroy when I find it.”
    “You and your people?”
    “The Fair Folk.”
    “You mean—fairies. Immortals like you.” Blanche glanced sidelong at her companion, her fancy kindling. “Are there many of you in Britain?”
    “Two or three, perhaps.”
    “So few?”
    “My people are not of Logres. They have no concern here.”
    “But you do?” Blanche was puzzled.
    Nerys was quiet for a time before replying. “All mortals die,” she said at last. “All take the broad road to Hell, or the narrow road to Heaven. But my people do not die while the world endures. Therefore they spend their time doing what pleases themselves. They have no stake in the struggle between Logres and darkness.”
    “And you?”
    “I cannot tell,” she said with a sigh. “In the lore of my people it is said that we are outside salvation. But within the last hundred years I have heard differently. It was a wandering saint who told me that even the bonny road to Elfland comes to a fork in the end. If only it were true! If only there were hope for us.”
    Far in the distance behind them, a horn blew, a sound so lovely in the moonlight that a chill ran down Blanche’s spine. Then came the bell of hounds and the cold settled lead-heavy in her stomach.
    Nerys stiffened in the saddle. “The dogs. She knows.”
    Blanche glanced back. It was full night, now, and the rain had stopped, leaving the moon swimming through cloud. Only a weak and fitful light filtered through the arching branches overhead. “We can ride faster, even in this dark.”
    “A little.”
    Nerys led them now slightly to the right and they pressed on into rough hill-country. Behind, at intervals, they heard the horn, and each time it drew closer. This slow cold hunt across the hills in fainting moonlight was worse even than the terror of the Blue Boar, Blanche thought, as they went down a rocky slope with the horses stumbling and slipping beneath them. And for one impious moment she wished to stand again in the shattered calm of the hallway at home with nowhere to run and the door splintering beneath the enemy’s blows.
    The moon was low in the sky when they stumbled into a bog between two towering hills.
    Malaventure found ground on the other side of the slough, but Florence stuck fast, too weary to fight. Blanche dismounted and sank up to her knees in scummed water as cold as conceit. At that moment a breeze gusted from the north, carrying the noise of the hunt.
    “Come on ,” Blanche begged. Florence wallowed and plunged, and Blanche lost her balance, stumbling into softer mud and deeper water. The cold gripped her thighs. She struggled back to higher ground with her skirt clinging to her legs, and began to rattle in the icy wind. Chill