truly on top of the hill, for below them the forest thinned out to nothing, to be replaced by green fields which stretched down to a narrow river spanned by a wooden bridge.
On the other side of the river, the land stretched up again, turning from lush farmland to yellow heather, which grew up and up, along the slopes of a mountain that disappeared into mist.
“Rhysamarn,” said Aleyne, in a sort of deep,polite tone. Just like he was talking about a church, thought Paul, who was busy looking for the inn. Then he saw it—a large, yellow house, with several red-brick chimneys, the whole place nestled in the folds of the heather, just a little way up the Mountain of the Wise.
“Let’s go,” said Aleyne, looking back from the mountain to see the boy several meters below him. Aleyne noted with amusement that Paul was not slow going down hills—at least those with the prospect of food and shelter at the end. But then, neither was Sir Aleyne, sometime Knight, and watcher of events on the River Awgaer.
5
Rhysamarn/The Mountain of the Wise
T HREE DAYS LATER , Paul was looking down on the Ascendant’s Inn again, but this time he was standing amidst luxuriant yellow heather, headed for the secret heights of Rhysamarn. And this time he was alone.
The Ascendant’s Inn had provided a very welcome rest. The innkeeper, Master Aran, had welcomed them with foaming pints of a heady beer, of which half a pint was sufficient to stun Paul. Then they enjoyed three days of idling around the fire, fishing in the river Rhysamarn, and best of all, sleeping on the goose-feather beds under heavy eiderdowns.
Then on the morning of the fourth day, Master Aran had said that Paul should go up—alone. How he knew, he didn’t say, but Aleyne said thatthis was the normal practice, and Paul must go if Aran said so.
It’s all very well for him, thought Paul crossly, looking down at the distant figure of Aleyne, standing outside the inn. He doesn’t have to struggle up this mountain where it’s all cold and damp.
It was cold and damp, but to tell the truth Paul hadn’t really been bothered by it. Aleyne had bought him good woollen clothes from Aran, and roughly cut them down to size. With a sheepskin coat, soft doeskin boots, and a broad-brimmed hat, Paul didn’t feel the cold at all.
All I need is a sword, thought Paul, or a short-sword anyway. He practiced a few film-style lunges and slashes, and thought swashbuckling thoughts, till it occurred to him that he might really need a sword—and if he were attacked by things like the Gwarulch it wouldn’t make much difference anyway.
“Just let me find Julia,” he whispered up at the mountain. “And get us back to where it’s safe.”
Suddenly, the mountain looked like less of an obstacle, compared to the problems he might have to overcome to get home—the Ragwitch, and all her powers, for one. Setting his hat firmly on his small head, Paul set off, up into the mist that shrouded the Mountain of the Wise.
There was a sort of path up through the heather, which wound its way between the large rocky outcrops that occasionally loomed up out of the mist.Paul took care to follow the path—the mist had become much thicker, and he knew that getting lost here would mean certain death, as no rescue teams or helicopters would be around to find him.
The mountain grew steeper, and the rocky parts more numerous, and Paul was forced to use his hands to scramble up. The path became less distinct among the rocks, and he had to stop and look for it several times. Hours passed in this stop-start way, and Paul began to feel less confident. Suddenly climbing a mountain all by himself seemed incredibly stupid. He wouldn’t have done it at home, after all. And looking for “the Wise” didn’t seem very sensible—he didn’t even know what they looked like!
Aleyne had said to keep to the path, and not to stop for too long, thought Paul. He started up the mountain again, then he suddenly remembered
On the other side of the river, the land stretched up again, turning from lush farmland to yellow heather, which grew up and up, along the slopes of a mountain that disappeared into mist.
“Rhysamarn,” said Aleyne, in a sort of deep,polite tone. Just like he was talking about a church, thought Paul, who was busy looking for the inn. Then he saw it—a large, yellow house, with several red-brick chimneys, the whole place nestled in the folds of the heather, just a little way up the Mountain of the Wise.
“Let’s go,” said Aleyne, looking back from the mountain to see the boy several meters below him. Aleyne noted with amusement that Paul was not slow going down hills—at least those with the prospect of food and shelter at the end. But then, neither was Sir Aleyne, sometime Knight, and watcher of events on the River Awgaer.
5
Rhysamarn/The Mountain of the Wise
T HREE DAYS LATER , Paul was looking down on the Ascendant’s Inn again, but this time he was standing amidst luxuriant yellow heather, headed for the secret heights of Rhysamarn. And this time he was alone.
The Ascendant’s Inn had provided a very welcome rest. The innkeeper, Master Aran, had welcomed them with foaming pints of a heady beer, of which half a pint was sufficient to stun Paul. Then they enjoyed three days of idling around the fire, fishing in the river Rhysamarn, and best of all, sleeping on the goose-feather beds under heavy eiderdowns.
Then on the morning of the fourth day, Master Aran had said that Paul should go up—alone. How he knew, he didn’t say, but Aleyne said thatthis was the normal practice, and Paul must go if Aran said so.
It’s all very well for him, thought Paul crossly, looking down at the distant figure of Aleyne, standing outside the inn. He doesn’t have to struggle up this mountain where it’s all cold and damp.
It was cold and damp, but to tell the truth Paul hadn’t really been bothered by it. Aleyne had bought him good woollen clothes from Aran, and roughly cut them down to size. With a sheepskin coat, soft doeskin boots, and a broad-brimmed hat, Paul didn’t feel the cold at all.
All I need is a sword, thought Paul, or a short-sword anyway. He practiced a few film-style lunges and slashes, and thought swashbuckling thoughts, till it occurred to him that he might really need a sword—and if he were attacked by things like the Gwarulch it wouldn’t make much difference anyway.
“Just let me find Julia,” he whispered up at the mountain. “And get us back to where it’s safe.”
Suddenly, the mountain looked like less of an obstacle, compared to the problems he might have to overcome to get home—the Ragwitch, and all her powers, for one. Setting his hat firmly on his small head, Paul set off, up into the mist that shrouded the Mountain of the Wise.
There was a sort of path up through the heather, which wound its way between the large rocky outcrops that occasionally loomed up out of the mist.Paul took care to follow the path—the mist had become much thicker, and he knew that getting lost here would mean certain death, as no rescue teams or helicopters would be around to find him.
The mountain grew steeper, and the rocky parts more numerous, and Paul was forced to use his hands to scramble up. The path became less distinct among the rocks, and he had to stop and look for it several times. Hours passed in this stop-start way, and Paul began to feel less confident. Suddenly climbing a mountain all by himself seemed incredibly stupid. He wouldn’t have done it at home, after all. And looking for “the Wise” didn’t seem very sensible—he didn’t even know what they looked like!
Aleyne had said to keep to the path, and not to stop for too long, thought Paul. He started up the mountain again, then he suddenly remembered
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