The Knight and the Seer Read Free

the others.”
    “Now you sound like Gram.” Laughing, Gwenellen got to her feet and began to pick once more. “She says I can talk to the dead. That may be a fine gift, except that there are no dead here in our kingdom.” She stood on tiptoe to reach a cluster of perfect berries. “Gram says I must keep on trying to find my other gifts, because each failure is simply another lesson to be learned.”
    “If that’s so, you should be just about perfect by now.”
    “Aye.” As she enjoyed his joke, Gwenellen’s laughter rang on the air, as clear as a bell. Then she stood back, considering. “Maybe I am trying too hard. Perhaps the answer is to just relax a bit more, and play with a variety of spells, without regard to the outcome.”
    “Why not?” The little troll shrugged. “It’s worth a try. Want to start with something simple now?”
    Gwenellen looked around. Spying the juiciest berries at the very top of the bushes, she smiled. “I believe I’ll try that flying spell again. Only this time if it fails, I won’t have so far to fall.”
    Slipping the handle of the bucket over her wrist, she extended her arms and closed her eyes as she began to chant the ancient words. With each phrase the air grew softer, warmer. The birds and insects fell silent as clouds gathered overhead.
    She could feel the sudden rush of air, billowing her skirts about her ankles as she became airborne. Oh, it was just the nicest feeling in the world when a spell went the way it ought.
    She opened her eyes, determined to pick the berries at the top of the bushes. To her horror she discovered that she was so high in the air, the Mystical Kingdom was little more than a dot on the landscape far below.
    “Oh, no. This will never do.” She closed her eyes and repeated the chant, reversing the words in the hope that it would take her back to the beginning. But when she opened her eyes she saw fields and forests, mountains and rivers, moving below her in a blur of dizzying movement that had her feeling more than a little light-headed.
    Where had she gone wrong? She went over the chant in her mind, hoping to speak the words that would break this spell.
    Home. She needed to get back home.
    To keep from being sick she closed her eyes and concentrated all her energy on her home, her family. She visualized each of them in her mind. Mum, at her loom, weaving the beautiful cloth that was unlike any seen by mortals. So soft, so fine, it could have been spun by angels. Gram, taking perfectly-browned biscuits from the hearth, and slathering them with freshly-churned butter, and honey fresh from the comb. Old Bessie, a soiled apron tied around her ample middle, wooden spoon in hand, stirring the most fragrant stew in her blackened kettle. And Jeremy, probably running as fast as his little legs could carry him back to their cottage, to relay news of her latest blunder.
    Oh dear, she thought. Now they would all know that she had once again failed.
    Perhaps, if she concentrated very hard, she could make it back before Mum had time to worry.
    As if by magic she could feel herself descending. With a smile she opened her eyes just in time to see the ground coming up toward her. This time, instead of crashing into a meadow of heather, she drifted to earth and landed without mishap.
    “Well, that’s better.” She looked around for Jeremy.
    But instead of the roseberry bushes, she found herself standing amid the smoldering rubble inside some sort of fortress. The space around her was littered with charred timbers and bits and pieces of furniture and tapestries.
    The stench of smoke and death was all around her, filling her lungs until she found herself coughing and retching. When the fit of coughing passed, she straightened. Hearing a footfall she turned.
    And found herself looking into the eyes of a man whose features were twisted into a mask of fury.
    In his hand was a sword which he lifted until it was pointed directly at her heart.
    “So. They left one of