Fire Dance Read Online Free PDF Page B

hurt."
    "Then, Thomas, do we return the way we came, or have we more surprises ahead of us?"
    "As you wish, lord. The way before us returns us sooner. But if you fear ambush, more chances lie in the wood ahead."
    "Ahead, then."
    Alain signaled for his knights to mount. He regretted that his awed gaze of his new land had distracted him from his usual caution. But he would not make the same mistake again.
    Thomas led the twenty iron-mailed knights down the steep slope, through the shaded canopy of evergreens and ash. More alert now and less enthralled by the land's beauty, the Normans scanned the underbrush for movement or odd color. They chuckled when despite their caution a hart leapt up within feet of the lead riders, startling the horses.
    They rode on, reaching lower slopes where the ash trees now showed their first color of the year, and continued farther down to the treeless moors of bracken and heather.
    In the valley, they slowed and followed another rushing beck. Alain reined in his bay to watch in astonishment as the stream tumbled into a jagged hole of grey stone and vanished beneath the rock.
    "What manner of stream is this?" Alain asked, for he had never seen a stream disappear.
    "It is a common thing here, lord," Thomas replied. "This is a land of many caverns, and sometimes the becks fall into them."
    "Then what happens to them?"
    "There are becks coming out of caves, too. Mayhap they are the same."
    "You do not know?"
    "The caves are enchanted. One dares not go in, save for the proper reason."
    "And what would be the proper reason?"
    The blocky, silver-haired man shrugged his shoulders. "It would be what the hob wants. It is said of one in the Deep Dale, the hob will cure the ills of those who enter, but those who have no ills will never come out again. Some others, no one knows what the hob desires, as none have ever come back out."
    Alain frowned. Hobs. Another strange word. "Then some also go in, yet come out alive, is it not so?"
    "Aye, it is so. But I do not want to be the man who does not. I'd see my enemy, face to face."
    "I cannot quarrel with that." Alain signaled to the man to continue onward, and the big horses resumed their trot.
    Farther down the dale, the harsh fells gentled into the broad, green valley that was more familiar. Scattered cottages marked small homesteads, a pattern that seemed to be more common to the area than villages. They would be harder to defend. Yet, they also might present more of a problem for a scavenging army.
    Ahead lay the castle on its craggy grey knoll, its limestone curtain wall seeming to blend and grow from the native stone. The hall's yellow sandstone walls gleamed like sunshine itself in the bright daylight. Beside the hall rose the jagged top of the new tower's construction, already almost as tall as the old hall. Riding up, Alain could see the castle's weaknesses. It was wrongly sited. The curtain wall along its back could never be built high enough to protect it from the higher slopes beyond, and he would have to reinforce that side with high towers and clear the ground for a ways uphill.
    Why would Fyren make such a mistake? Just to make use of existing buildings? Had he meant to increase the castle's size later on, extending it even farther up the hill? But why not start with the most impregnable site?
    Alain glanced sidelong at his injured friend as they rode. He could see the pallor collecting on Chrétien's face, although the man would never admit to weakness. Alain spurred his tired charger to a gallop for the journey's last leg.
    The cross-braced wooden gate was already creaking open, for their raised pennon had been spotted, and Alain urged his stallion across the wooden bridge. His feet lit on the bailey's hard-packed ground even before the squires rushed up to help their knights.
    "Come now, Chrétien, into the hall, and let's have a good look at it."
    "'Tis no more than a scratch. My squire can tend it."
    "I agree, it is probably naught to speak of.