The Ballad of Rosamunde Read Online Free PDF Page A

put a spring in his step.

    *

    “ But Rosamunde, she had not died
    In truth she breathed still.
    She was a captive of the fey
    And lost beneath the hill.
    Such marvels she did see while there
    Such beauty, wondrous still
    Still Rosamunde did not wish to be
    Captive beneath the hill.”

    *

    The spriggan Darg was not a creature
Rosamunde was glad to see.
    Solitude was better than the company of this thing .
    That the small fairy had a red cord knotted
around its waist was curious, and surely did not improve the
creature’s mood. It hissed and spat, pinching her to wake her up
then nipping at her heels to hurry her along.
    “Make haste, make haste, the king is not
inclined to wait.”
    “Where are we going? I thought Faerie was
like limbo.”
    Darg chattered unintelligibly, as was its
tendency when it was annoyed. The creature led her more deeply into
the caverns beneath Ravensmuir and Rosamunde was glad to leave her
past behind.
    It wasn’t truly the caverns beneath
Ravensmuir, though. Those caves and their pathways were well-known
to Rosamunde, having been her secret passage to the keep for
decades. As a child, she had played in them, learning their
labyrinth, delighting in their secret corners. But they were dank
and made of grey stone, dark and filled with the distant tinkle of
running water.
    She did not know the passageways that Darg
followed. Rosamunde had never spied that entry lit with golden
light until the collapse of the cavern and the death of Tynan. She
suspected that Darg had opened a portal for her, but knew not where
it truly was.
    This cavern could not be fairly called a
cave or even a labyrinth. Indeed, Rosamunde did not feel as if she
was underground at all. There was brilliant golden sunlight, the
light that had spilled from that unexpected portal. The sky arched
high, clear and blue, over verdant fields. The air was filled with
music and fine singing, and every soul she saw was beautiful.
    It took Rosamunde a while to realize that
she only saw nobility. There were aristocrats riding and hunting,
borne by finely draped steeds so majestic in stature that the
beasts rivaled the famed destriers of Ravensmuir. The women were
dressed in silk and samite, their garb of every hue, their long
hair flowing over their shoulders or braided into plaits. They wore
coronets of flowers, and gems were plentiful on their clothing,
even wound into their hair. Many played instruments as they rode.
Golden flutes and silver lyres abounded in this strange country.
The womens’ laughter sounded like music as well.
    The men were just as well wrought, tall and
slim, muscular. There was a glint of mischief in every eye. Their
armor shone as if it was made of silver, their banners were
beautifully embroidered and their steeds galloped with proudly
arched necks. Silver bells hung from every bridle.
    The land itself was bountiful, the trees
lush with fruit and flowers blooming on every side. Rosamunde
thought she saw fruit of gold and silver, and flowers wrought of
precious jewels, but Darg did not delay their passage so she could
look more closely. Birds sang from every tree, their song blending
so beautifully with the ladies’ tunes that Rosamunde felt they made
music together.
    Just passing through the beauty of this
realm, even at Darg’s killing pace, lightened Rosamunde’s heart. It
healed her wounds and made her believe that she might live on, even
without love. It made her think of the future with an optimism that
she had believed lost.
    It made her wonder where Padraig was.
    It made her wonder how she might get from
here to there.
    “Where are we?” she shouted to Darg, who
hastened ahead of her, muttering all the while.
    “A foolish mortal you must be, to not know
the land of Faerie.”
    Faerie. Rosamunde was a pragmatic
woman, one who had never believed in matters unseen or places to
which she could not navigate. Was she dreaming?
    A butterfly lit on her shoulder, its wings
fairly dripping with color, its beauty