Read Online Power of Three by Diana Wynne Jones - Free Book Online

been furious to find any son of his did not love to hunt. Gair’s heart sank, because he would be responsible for Ceri. They would be out two days, too, for the great midsummer Feast of the Sun was near and had to be provided for. Ayna had been consulted, and she had said there would be deer again, in the Northeast of the Moor. Gair thought he would be lucky to get Ceri all that way without some kind of trouble.
    There was every kind of trouble. Ceri made every possible mistake and contrived to get left behind whenever he could. He hated every minute, and said so. By dawn on the second day, Gair was thinking that it was rather to his credit that he had only hit Ceri nine times in all: six times when he richly deserved it, and three times to stop him complaining in Gest’s hearing. They trailed through a rushy meadow hung with mist. The coming dawn made the grass as white as the mist, and the chill struck through to their bones. They were behind as usual. Ceri was wailing that he needed a rest or he would die, and Gair, knowing everyone else was in the next meadow already, took Ceri’s arm and dragged him along.
    There was a pool of water in their way, edged with stiff rushes. Because of the whiteness of everything, Gair did not see it until he was in it. They splashed round one end of it and Ceri complained bitterly that his feet were wet now.
    A dark shape about the size of Gair loomed at them through the mist. Ceri’s whine stopped in a squeak. Gair jumped. But the shape was only a red stag, about to make off across the meadow.
    â€œ Quick! ” Gair shouted to Ceri. In great excitement, he leveled his spear and ran through the whiteness to head the stag off. “Quick! Or I’ll hit you again.”
    â€œThat’ll be ten times. And I’m cold,” Ceri said sullenly. But when Gair glanced back to see, he found Ceri had stopped using his spear as a walking stick and was pointing it in the general direction of the stag. If Ceri stood firm—a thing not altogether to be relied on—they could pin the stag between them.
    Gair circled quickly beside the pool, trying to drive the stag toward Ceri. But the beast circled with him, keeping its horns lowered. It seemed they had found a crafty one. Gair could not see it very well in the swirling whiteness, but it looked larger than he had thought. Some trick of the mist and the dawn light made its head look higher than his own. The antlers looked wicked. Gair advanced behind his spear, wondering why he felt so cold. And the stag grew again, until it towered over him.
    â€œGair!” said Ceri, in the squeaky voice of real terror. “Gair, that’s standing water!”
    So it was, Gair realized. He had made poor work of looking after Ceri. He thrust at the stag with all his strength, but the spearhead met nothing. The huge antlered shape wavered and swirled into mist, darker and grayer than the white mist around. There was a blast of cold air. Gair backed hurriedly round the pool toward Ceri, water squirting in sheets from under his feet, until they stood shoulder to shoulder. There they watched in fascinated horror the gray mist harden into a tall, tall shape covered in dim silvery scales like armor, a pointed head solidify, a pale face with queer yellow eyes, a round shield and a sharp, bent scimitar. Gair could have kicked himself. He had been told often enough that Dorig were shape-shifters. But he had had no idea they looked so dangerous. He hoped it would not notice how both their spearpoints were juddering.
    It came toward them in a wafting, gliding way that had both of them sick with terror. “Keep back!” Gair said to it. It took no notice. Gair wondered if it spoke some other language.
    Before he could speak again, Gest’s voice barked, “Stop that, you!”
    The Dorig jumped. Gair, feeling weak and bewildered, found that the entire hunt was back, and surrounding the pond in the mist. As soon as Gest spoke,