Triskelion by Avril Borthiry

Author:Avril Borthiry [Borthiry, Avril]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-09-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Owned by the Cistercian monks of Furness abbey, the tiny isle of Fowdray functioned as a stepping stone between the shallow waters of the coastal shelf to the temperamental Irish Sea. The enterprising monks had developed the island into a busy harbour, catering to ships from Ireland and Mann. Access to Fowdray's harbour was possible on foot at low tide, or by ferry from the mainland at high tide.

Despite the late hour, the ferry port hummed with a diversity of folks waiting to make the short crossing. Nobles rubbed shoulders with tradesman. Persistent beggars pestered and pleaded for spare coin. Pack-mules and horses, laden with all manner of goods from fleece to sacks of grain, snoozed at their tethering posts. Barrels of wine and mead formed bevelled wooden walls along the shore. Money or bartering dictated priority of travel – the wealthy were always given priority.

Darkness had all but descended when John and Owen arrived on the outskirts of the ferry port. John reined in, holding up a hand to indicate Owen do the same.

“I'm concerned,” he said, nodding at Lio, who had also paused, “about him.”

Owen frowned. “Why?”

“That's quite the crowd.” John grimaced. “The wolf's presence may well be seen as a threat. Plus, there's a bounty on his kind. What if someone tries to hurt him?”

Owen feigned a scowl to hide his amusement at John's unexpected concern for Lio.

“You have a point.” He twisted in the saddle and patted Arrio's rump. “Lio, up.”

In one effortless leap, the wolf landed square behind Owen and sat down. Arrio snorted and shook his great head.

John huffed and rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

“What about him?” Owen gestured to Crovan's horse, who stood just beyond the reach of Arrio's back hooves. “Do we leave him here?”

As if he understood he was the topic of conversation, the big horse lifted his chin and pulled back his lips in the semblance of a grin.

“The witless beast will attempt to swim the channel if we do,” said John. “Nay, I'm not of a mind to leave him. His strange loyalty merits some reward, and a third horse might be useful to us.”

As they approached the docking area – a raised section of the beach paved with planks of thick oak – their presence drew immediate attention. With something akin to reverence, the crowd parted to let them pass. A murmur of hushed voices arose, spiralling out like a ripple. Owen, aware of a hundred pairs of eyes on him, cleared his throat.

“You'd think they'd never seen a wolf on horseback before,” he muttered, which brought a chuckle from John.

Night had brought with it a cool wind that brushed the sea into white curls and sent clouds skidding across the darkening sky. Braziers burned at the water's edge, their light mirrored by fires burning on the opposite shore. The dark shape of the ferry shuddered through the waves as it approached. Although a decent size, the boat seemed inadequate in contrast to the waiting crowd.

Owen, his body aching with fatigue, released a frustrated sigh.

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