Paladins II by Joel Rosenberg

Author:Joel Rosenberg [Rosenberg, Joel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Fiction, Fantasy, Epic, Fantasy Fiction, Historical, Alternative History, Knights and Knighthood, Arthurian romances, Imperialism, Great Britain - Colonies
ISBN: 9781416555629
Publisher: Baen
Published: 2008-06-24T00:00:00+00:00

Giscard led the way, under the light of the flickering torch.

The road up into the hills and then down to the lake was rough and ill-traveled, as were all three of the roads coming into Kiloran. Truth to tell, on the rare occasions when Giscard wanted to or had to go somewhere else on Colonsay, he tended to use the launch, over Grace’s protests.

Surely, a man who had taken the deck of the Gaheris herself could, with a little help, manage a single-masted launch beyond the edge of the cove, and if he would head perhaps a touch too far into the Firth of Lorn than was strictly necessary to make his way out past the shoal waters around the point on his way to Scalasaig, it was decidedly more pleasant to have a few hours out on the water than to go tramping through damp heather and the peat. And it was probably quicker, all in all.

But there would be no skiff tonight; the distance was small, and the destination uphill, not shoreside.

The moon was full enough that they needed no light after their eyes had adjusted from inside, and he carefully extinguished the torch in a boggy spot by the side of the road before throwing it off into the heather.

“It’s just over the next hill,” he said.

“The lake?”

“Yes. The lake. What there is of it. I’d call it little more than a pond, mind you, but Loch an Sgoltaire is what it’s named. Ever pond, every hill, cleft, valley, cave, and half the rocks have a name hereabouts. At least we’re not up in the hills, where the cattle browse, where half the stones seem to be named after a gruagach.” He forced himself to chuckled. “And if you’re up near Garvard, don’t be surprised if you find that most of them have spoiled milk in them.”

“Grugrach?”

“Grugrach. One of the Old Ones. Well, one of many; each to her own place. She watched over the cattle, and the milk, and if you didn’t leave her an offering of milk, all of your milk would spoil, and your best cow would be found dead in the morning. I’m sure that there’s much the same sort of thing in Pironesia, even these days — didn’t you tell me about some goat sacrificers on one of the islands?”

Niko nodded. “Yes.”

He looked like he was going to say something more, but stopped himself.

Just was well. Giscard didn’t want to know if, back on his island, they’d still sacrificed bulls to Jupiter or the like.

But most of the Old Ones had gone with the end of the Age, and the rest were quieter; and it was a far tamer world, now, thankfully, than just a few hundreds of years ago, a man might worry that if he walked the Scottish lowlands, he might find an old woman at a ford, washing a shirt, and have to forebear asking whose shirt it was, lest she answer, Se do leine, se do leine ga mi nigheadh; it is your shirt, your shirt that I am washing.

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