Page 40 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)
“What?” he demands, his voice raising now. “Look around. Do you see what we have? We have miserable, useless dragons.”
“That can’t be all—”
He leans forward and cuts me off, “And when we venture lower, like vermin escaping a sinking ship, we are chased back to drown. You think we don’t know how the lower kingdoms feel about us? What you all say?”
“But it’s true!” I burst out, unable to hold my tongue. I’m not sure why Edmund hasn’t shown himself yet, but I no longer care. “Look what you were planning to do to us!”
“Were?” he asks .
He’s on his feet now. I step back only to walk into the rock wall behind me.
“Edmund, you can come out now,” Penrith calls as he stalks toward me.
My heart races in my chest, and my throat constricts with fear. What good was it to provoke him? Now I’ve only made him angry.
Penrith slides his hunting knife out of its sheath, and he runs it down my cheek. “I was going to spare your life,” he says. “But you are ungrateful.”
Behind Penrith, Galinor steps from the tent, his sword already in hand. “Let her go, Penrith.”
Penrith tenses, but he doesn’t move his knife. “Toss me your gold, and I will free her.”
Galinor loosens the pouch at his side, but before he can toss it, Pika strides into the camp, dragging an unconscious Edmund behind her. I gasp when I see them, and Penrith turns his head.
Surprised by both the glasseln and her captive, Penrith doesn’t stop me when I duck away from his knife and knee him with all my might. When he doubles over, I kick him in the knee for good measure. He stumbles and makes a grab for me, only narrowly missing.
I rush into Galinor’s arms and take a deep breath. We’re safe now that he’s awake.
“Is he dead?” I ask Galinor as I look at Edmund.
The man in question groans.
“Not yet,” Galinor answers.
Pika comes to me. She sits at my feet and lays her head against my side so I may pet her .
Penrith hops to the rock wall and leans against it, clutching his knee. “You have a glasseln.”
I nod.
“If you’re going to kill me, then get it over with.”
Galinor wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You want to feed your family?”
Penrith sets his jaw, glaring at us.
“Go find Lord Rigel and tell him you wish to work. He will find you something.”
Penrith narrows his eyes. “He’s one of the king’s pets.”
“He’s a good man.” The way Galinor says it, it sounds as if the words pain him, and I wonder at their history.
I don’t have time to ponder it. The sun is just beginning to peek over the mountains, and the sky is lightening.
“Where can we truly find an iktar beast?” I demand.
Penrith laughs without humor. “In the valleys.” He raises an eyebrow. “They move lower when winter comes.”
We have wasted two days on this mountain. Unfortunately, once we reach the valley, it’s evening again. Gelminshard is the only town near.
We pass once more through its gates, leaving Pika and Danver to hide.
Galinor doesn’t have the look of a friendly traveler tonight, and very few watch us ride through the streets.
We stop at the first inn. It is a warm, friendly establishment with few patrons.
Confident we are far safer here than we were the first night we spent in Errinton, Galinor buys two rooms. We wake more well rested than we’ve been in days.
In the morning, we travel west, leaving Gelminshard well behind.
As we ride, we exchange stories from our childhoods.
I laugh at the antics of Galinor and his brother, and he listens, disbelieving, as I give him a list of the woodland pets I’ve kept.
We ride until almost dark, and yet we still haven’t come across another village.
I’m beginning to feel very weary when we cross a hill, and there, on the other side of the valley, is a castle. It’s large, and like the entrance of Gelminshard, there are stone dragons standing guard at the gates.
Galinor looks relieved. “We will beg their hospitality.”
I’ve heard nothing but horrible things about Errintonians—especially the kingdom’s nobility. I’m not sure we want to be at their mercy.
There are a few cottages near the gates.
None have attempted to farm the land around them, though a few have small vegetable patches, most bare now that the weather has turned.
More shaggy cows graze some ways off, and there are chicken coops near the homes, no doubt harboring their feathered occupants for the night.
We stop at the gates.
“State your name and your business,” a guard calls out.
“I am Prince Galinor of Glendon and traveling with me is the Lady Anwen of Primewood. We beseech the lord of this fine castle to allow us rest for the evening.”
The guard nods and passes the message to a runner next to him. Our horses shift under us as we wait for the reply. They too are weary.
Soon the gates open, allowing us entry. We ride in and hand our horses to a groom. I’m just taking in the tall, lonely castle when a woman throws open the doors and comes racing for Galinor. Her red hair flies behind her in a cascade of waves.
I stare, dumbstruck, as she jumps up to embrace him, laughing and chattering like a wild thing. At first, Galinor’s shocked, but then he laughs with her, asking questions and answering her own.
“Pippa, this is Anwen,” he finally says, and then he turns to me. “Anwen, this is Pippa .”