For Camelot's Honor by Sarah Zettel

Author:Sarah Zettel [Zettel, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-4405-4368-5
Publisher: F+W Media
Published: 2005-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

As soon as Geraint rode past her, Elen let go of Calonnau’s jesses and grabbed up the spear. The fallen man had his knees bent and was struggling to rise. She shoved the spear at him until the point rested over his heart. Corslet or no, he had reason to fear the weapon held this close. For a wild moment, she had an urge to stab his chest, just to reach the heart that he did not deserve. She uttered no threat for she did not trust her voice. The hawk flapped awkwardly to the stone, and continued her frantic shaking and preening, and her complaining. Calonnau’s distress mixed with Elen’s fear for Geraint and the near-panic the battle raised. For all that, her hands and gaze held steady, and the man with the horse helm and the broken arm held still.

Calonnau shrieked. Elen heard the approach of a single horse. She did not let herself look up. Despite his injury, Horse Helm was watching her closely from where he sat, looking for his chance.

The horse stopped, and someone dismounted. She knew it was Geraint before he came into her field of view. He circled the captive until he stood opposite her.

“Who is your lord, villain?” he asked quietly.

Horse Helm turned his face away. Geraint knelt. He removed the captive’s helmet and tossed it aside. Underneath, their man had a thatch of brown hair and one eyebrow made ragged by an old scar. But that was not all. Someone had burned the man’s forehead with a brand, leaving behind a livid white scar shaped like a sealed knot.

Elen’s stomach turned at the thought of the pain such branding must have caused.

Geraint did not pause for such matters. He drew his knife and held it to the man’s cheek, right below his ear. “I have no time for quizzing. I know not whether you are mortal man, but I know you can be hurt. Tell me who you serve, or you will have much more to regret than the pain in your arm.”

There was no menace in Geraint as he spoke these words, only cold promise. Elen swallowed, but held the spear still. She thought she could feel the man’s heartbeat making the shaft quiver like a harpstring. She gripped it tight and grit her teeth.

The captive ran his tongue over his lips. “My king is the lord of the hidden country and the narrow way. If you know him not, you will soon. You should fear the Great King.”

“Names and riddles again,” muttered Geraint. He looked to Elen. “Whoever he is, their lord will soon know what has happened here. I lost this one’s captain.”

Elen could only shake her head. “He knew before we were coming Geraint. This was all a ruse.” She risked a glance away from their captive. The last of the fog had lifted, and now she could see the empty meadow. The cottages and burnt fields had vanished with the mists, leaving behind only the tall grass, the silent lake, and a fringe of young forest.

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