Voyage of the Fox Rider Read Online Free PDF Page A

one against the violet sky. Alamar plodded down the wending way, the lights of Kairn in the near distance. At his side rode Jinnarin upon Rux, the fox padding silently in the gloom.
    Earlier in the day they had gathered together a few supplies, Jinnarin replenishing her packs. During this time not much had been said between her and Alamar; the Mage for the most part had sat at his rolltop desk making notes in his journal. He had, though, asked Jinnarin to make a sketch of the black ship, and she had complied, the drawing a tiny one, though it seemed to satisfy the Mage. Rux as usual had gone foraging and had slaked his appetite afield. The day had worn on, Jinnarin resting, and when from afar the many bells of Kairn had at last announced sunset—just as they had announced dawn—Alamar had arisen and had taken up his knapsack and had impatiently demanded to know just what they were waiting for, and they had set forth for the city.
    And now they walked in the gathering gloom, each wrapped in his own thoughts.
    “Alamar,” asked Jinnarin, breaking the silence at last, “do you truly believe that we will discover aught of the black ship or the pale green sea or the crystal castle?”
    “Foolish Pysk,” gnarled the Mage, “of course we will. Did I not say that it was the finest library in all of Mithgar?”
    “I thought you said that it was but one of the finest.”
    “Don’t quibble! Quibbling is a sign of infancy.”
    Jinnarin’s jaw fell open.
Quibbling is a sign of
— She began to laugh.
    “What are you tittering at?” The elder’s words came sharp.
    “Nothing, Alamar. Nothing,” she replied, trying to smother her laughter, failing, looking up at the eld infant striding along beside her.
    They paced in silence for a while, and down and away from Alamar’s hill, Jinnarin could see the shining lights of Kairn some two or three miles afar. And as Mage and fox and Pysk descended the gentle grade, Jinnarin asked, “Just how do we get to the college if it’s on an island in the middle of the river?”
    “Ferry,” answered Alamar.
    “Oh.” And on they went.
    At last they came to the base of the slope, where the meandering path they followed joined an east-west tradeway, and leftward onto this road they fared, heading west toward Kairn. Behind, the road disappeared into the easterly darkness, threading the length of the narrow cape and toward the distant War wall—a defensive stone bulwark spanning the width of the strait, sheer-sided peninsula—beyond which lay the interior of the island.
    To the north, Jinnarin could hear the purl of the nearby River Kairn, the water flowing along a course which reached from the distant central tors to cross half the isle, running at last down the length of the promontory and through the city, where it tumbled across a high linn to thunder at last down into the sea.
    They came to a freshet babbling alongside the road, its clear water flowing out from a small stonework structureand running down to join the river. “We stop here, Pysk,” said Alamar, the elder settling down on a long length of cut log. “My legs tell me I must rest.”
    Jinnarin dismounted from Rux and approached the spring. As the fox lapped water, Jinnarin gazed at the arc of mortared stone cupping a large flat rock through which the rivulet burbled. “What is this place, Alamar?”
    “Eh, they call it Elwydd’s Spring. It’s a roadside shrine.”
    “Oh my,” exclaimed Jinnarin. “Why, it looks as if it hasn’t been kept. Adon’s daughter deserves better.” The tiny Pysk began gathering up scattered leaves that lay upon the wide flat rock. With handfuls, she swept the springstone clean. Stepping back, Jinnarin surveyed her work. Looking about, she plucked a tiny blue springtime flower and laid it at the bow of the arch. “There now, it’s set right.”
    “Do you do this often?” asked Alamar.
    “Do what?”
    “Sweep out shrines,” answered the Mage.
    Jinnarin shook her head. “Oh no. We