Read Online The Hallowed Isle Book Four by Diana L. Paxson - Free Book Online

“Then I will guard your back.”
    Artor sat up, skin flushing with the release from tension he had not known he carried until now.
    â€œBlood seals an alliance better than breath,” Drest said then. “It is a pity that you have no child.”
    I have a son . . . . Medraut’s face sprang suddenly to mind, but Artor kept silent.
    â€œOne of your sister’s sons will be your heir, as is right, but she bore several. It would be well if one of them could be sent here to wed one of our royal women.” He looked at Artor slyly. “One day your blood might rule the Pretani after all . . .”
    Artor licked dry lips. “They are grown men. I . . . cannot choose for them. But I will ask.”
    â€œOr a man of your Companions, though my people will not see that as so binding. Still, they would value for his own sake any man trained in your war-band.”
    Artor’s lips twitched at the compliment. “I will ask.”
    The Britons took care to delay their departure until the sun returned, but Artor was fast learning that the weather this far north could never be relied on. By the time they reached the firth, a chill wind was gusting in from the sea, driving dark clouds that trailed veils of rain. He only hoped that the Picts were more trustworthy than the sky.
    Across the firth he could see in silhouette the Rock of Dun Eidyn, stark against the clouds. But the water between frothed with foam. Clearly no boat would ply those seas until the wind died down. The king halted his black horse at the edge of the sand, gazing across the heaving waves with a longing that surprised him. He wanted to be back in his own country!
    Cai was saying something about a wood in whose shelter they could wait out the storm, but Artor shook his head.
    â€œI’ve never liked boats anyway,” he said crossly. “We’ll ride east, go around.”
    Cai shook his head gloomily, but he turned away and began to give the necessary orders all the same. The king felt a moment’s compunction—he knew that the knee his foster-brother had injured at Mons Badonicus gave him trouble in wet weather, but no doubt it would ache as much sitting still in a damp forest as on the trail.
    Yet for a time it seemed that Artor’s decision had been a good one. Away from the sea the storm’s strength lessened, and the rain diminished to a drizzle as night drew near. Their campsite was damp, but even when wet, the lengths of tightly woven natural wool that King Drest had given them to use as riding cloaks stayed warm.
    In the morning the air seemed warmer, and the rain had almost ceased, but before they had been an hour on the trail they wished it back again, for the rain-soaked earth was giving up its moisture in the form of fog. Heavy and clinging, it weighted the lungs and penetrated to the bone. A trackway seemed to lead away to the right; they turned their mounts uphill, hoping to get above the fog and find shelter. The Picts who had escorted them knew the lay of the land, but none had the intimate local knowledge of each rock and tree that could have guided them now.
    The mist deadened sound. They had dismounted, and Artor could hear the clop and scrape behind him as Raven picked his way over mud and stone. The sounds of the other horses came faintly, and as darkness fell, their shapes faded to shadows more sensed than seen. Something loomed ahead and the black horse threw up his head, snorting in alarm.Artor pulled him down, stroking the sweated neck to soothe him. It was only a big boulder, though in the half-dark it humped like a crouching beast. He led Raven around it, and pulled him gently after the receding shape of the horse ahead of him.
    Or at least that was what he thought he was doing. He had walked for perhaps as long as it takes to boil an egg before he realized that the figure he thought he was following was another boulder. He paused, listening. The heavy whuff of