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

smaller, his breast and shoulders sheathed in gold. An imperious gesture summoned Artor, and the people drew back, pointing at his mail shirt and his sword.
    At the back of the cave a woman sat throned on an outcropping of stone. There were carvings on it; he realized that the entire cavern was carved in spirals so that its contours blurred. But he had no attention to spare for them now. Those same spirals twined across the ivory flesh of the woman’s bare torso—no, not merely a woman, he thought as he noted the diadem of gold that gleamed from the cloud of dark hair—a queen. She was very like Drest Gurthinmoch’s woman whom the Picts called the Great Mare. A skirt of painted linen fell in stiff folds beneath her belly; for mantle she had the thick furs of forest cats, the wicked heads drawn over her shoulders. Cairngorms glinted from their slanted eyes.
    â€œDefender. . . .”
    Unbidden, Artor fell to his knees. Her eyes, too, were like those of the Pictish queen.
    â€œWhat do you want of me?” His voice was harsh in his own ears.
    â€œDefend this land—”
    â€œI have done so since I was fifteen winters old.”
    â€œDefend your people,” the queen said then. “All of them— the children of the earth-folk as well as the children of the sun.”
    Artor set his hand on the pommel of his sword. “I am pledged to deal justly with all those who dwell in this hallowed isle.”
    â€œMen need not justice only, but hope, and a dream.” Her voice was harsh honey.
    Artor shook his head. “How can I give them that, Lady? I am only a man. . . .”
    â€œYou are the child of the Bear, you are the Raven of Britannia,” she continued implacably. “Are you willing to become her eternal king?”
    Artor remembered the oaths he had sworn at his anointing. But this was something different, a bright shadow on the soul. As he hesitated, she spoke again.
    â€œThere is a price to be paid.”
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    â€œTouch the Stone, and you will understand.”
    For a long moment he stared at her. “Where shall I find it?” he whispered at last.
    Her eyes held his, and his head began to swim. “It is here . . .” The stone on which she was sitting began to glow. As Artor reached towards it her words were echoed from all around him: “Here . . . here . . . HERE !”
    The blaze became blinding and he fell into light.
    Artor awakened to a sharp and localized pain just above his breastbone. His eyes opened, and he became very still. Beneath his nose he glimpsed the dull gleam of a flint spearhead. His gaze followed the shaft to the man who held it. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming, for the spearman was stocky, with a brown bush of hair like the warriors he had seen in the cavern. Then he realized that this man was weathered, his hide cape tattered with wear. He was not alone.
    â€œWho are you?” one of the other men asked in guttural Brythonic. He was a little better dressed than the others, but Artor recognized his captors as the people of the hills against whom the Pict-lords had warned him. But he knew them now for the first inhabitants of this land. One of the strangers held Raven by the bridle. The black horse stamped and shook his head, but did not try to get away.
    Moving very slowly, the king edged away from under the spear and sat up, brushing more potsherds away as he set down his hand. Someone gasped and made a sign of warding.
    â€œI am the Defender of Britannia . . .” he answered, his mind still filled with echoes of his dream.
    â€œYou are here all night?”
    Artor nodded. The sky was still grey, but the mist no longer hugged the hills. A light wind gave hope that it might clear later in the day.
    â€œI was lost in the mist.” He looked around him, only now appreciating the strangeness of his refuge. “This place seemed . . .