The Ragwitch Read Online Free PDF Page B

Malgar, commonly known as Malgar the shepherd, as there were two other (unrelated) Malgars in the village of Awginn-on-Awgaer.
    Paul listened carefully, and asked several questions about the village and the surrounding lands. Malgar answered easily, and gave no sign that he knew Paul was a stranger, not only to the village, but to the whole country.
    He explained that Awginn lay in the Canton of Sasterisk, a large town to the northeast. This, with twelve other Cantons, made up the Kingdom of Yendre. It was more a loose collection of states than a Kingdom, except in times of war and trouble, of which the country had been free for many years. Malgar knew of no other lands, except for the wild country to the north, in which no people dwelt.
    Paul had already guessed that he had been taken to another world by the Ragwitch’s fire, and was now completely sure he wasn’t anywhere on Earth. He had never heard of the places Malgar talked of, and the May Dancers were obviously not something he had dreamed up, since Malgar knew they lived in the forest. Paul felt sick at the thought that he was impossibly far from home. Running off to rescue Julia seemed like the dumbest thing he’d ever done.
    It took several hours to walk down the gently sloping fields, and through countless gates in the low stone fences. They saw a few other shepherds and their flocks, but Malgar took paths awayfrom them, as if he didn’t want Paul to meet them. And still they kept on walking, till Paul was staggering along behind, despairing of ever reaching the village, having a rest and getting something to eat beyond a piece of Malgar’s bread and cheese. He was half dreaming of water beds and roast chicken, when Malgar stopped, and pointed out a stand of oaks ahead. Between them, and some distance away, Paul saw the dark blue strip of a river.
    “The Awgaer,” said Malgar. “Many boats pass along it, from Sasterisk down to the sea.”
    “It doesn’t look wide enough for boats,” said Paul in a small, worn-out voice. “It must only be ten meters wide at the most. You couldn’t get much of a boat down that, surely?”
    “This is one of the narrow sections, lad. It widens out before and after this point. But you are right. The river folk use special craft of narrow beam and shallow draught, which they pole along at a great pace. Strange people, but kindly enough. Come—the village is only a little way along the river.”
    In fact, Malgar’s “little way” was still at least a kilometer. Despite his hunger pangs, Paul was half-asleep by the time they got there—so much so that he hardly looked at the neat, whitewashed stone cottages, with their yellow thatched roofs. It wasn’t until they stood in the village square that he lifted his head to gaze about through eyes heavy with exhaustion.
    In front of him, Malgar stood frowning, obviously in deep thought. Past Malgar stood a large building with a faded inn sign hanging above the door—a green head, garlanded with yellow flowers.
    “Now we’re here,” said Malgar, “I don’t rightly know what to do with you. I have to get these sheep home, but it’s still half a league to my stead.” He scratched his head again, and cast a slightly wistful glance at the inn, before deciding. “Well, best you come with me, lad. Can you still walk?”
    Paul nodded, unenthusiastic about the prospect of walking farther, and started to stand up, when a man stepped up from behind him, and laid a hand on Malgar’s shoulder.
    “Going where, Malgar Sheep-herder?”
    Malgar turned to face the man, and inclined his head in a sort of half-bow. Paul wondered why he did that—the other man didn’t look much different. He was dressed in much the same way as Malgar, except he had a short dagger hanging from his belt rather than a bog-oak cudgel. He was younger too, black-haired, with a long drooping mustache and sharp blue eyes.
    “To tell you the truth, Sir Aleyne,” said Malgar, with some relief, “I’m glad