The Blood of Kings by Kyle Alexander Romines

Author:Kyle Alexander Romines [Romines, Kyle Alexander]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The world spun around him. There was a rush of wind, he felt a sensation of falling through the air, and suddenly everything stopped. Berengar landed on his back, staring up at the sky. He sat up and looked around. His axe lay beside him in the grass. Morwen’s spell had dumped him in an open field, with no signs of human civilization within view. As far as he could tell, he was in the middle of nowhere.

“Magic,” he muttered with considerable disdain. As far as he was concerned, the whole unpleasant business was further proof that no good ever came from mixing with witches, not that he needed the reminder. Mór should have known better.

He didn’t see Morwen anywhere nearby. Faolán too was gone. Berengar called once for the magician, and again more loudly. There was no response. He wasn’t sure if that meant she simply landed elsewhere, or if she hadn’t made it out of the witches’ abode. In either case, she was alone. He glanced up at the sun. There was still plenty of light, but sunset was only hours away. He needed to find her, and fast.

The warden climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. He stooped to retrieve his bow and a map of Munster, which had landed several feet away, before setting off in search of Morwen. The peaceful meadow seemed to go on for miles. There were no distant mountains looming overhead, which suggested he was far removed from the Glen of Aherlow, though still somewhere within the Golden Vale. He might reach the castle by heading east, but that wouldn’t bring him any closer to finding Morwen. Instead he decided to search for higher ground.

After an hour or so, Berengar came across a stream and took the opportunity to fill the drinking horn he kept with him. When he knelt beside the running water and lifted a mouthful to his lips, he noticed movement at the edge of the forest. Just as he started to reach for his axe, Faolán came sprinting out of the trees. Despite her size, she crossed the space between them in moments. Berengar barely had time to return the lid to his horn before the wolfhound leapt to meet him, wagging her tail with unbridled affection. The blood on her muzzle from their battle with the witches disappeared as she dipped her face into the stream and lapped up water.

Berengar scratched her behind the ears and climbed to his feet. “Come along now, girl.” He started up a hill to get a better sense of the lay of the land.

Faolán didn’t budge. Berengar whistled, expecting her to follow, and still she remained where she was. He glanced over his shoulder with a perturbed expression, unaccustomed to having his commands disobeyed. The wolfhound barked and retreated to the border of the woods.

“Not that way.”

Faolán would not be swayed. She barked again, signaling him to follow. Berengar stopped cold. Maybe she knew something he didn’t. The warden left the grassy field behind and stalked after her.

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