Author: Hob Goodfellowe

Once they were past the two low hills with their masses of relics and oblations, Dapplegrim came to full halt. “It is close,” he said. Another long draw of air through his nostrils. “It descends. Hurm. It wheels down upon us.” Caewen looked up, but she could see nothing against the inky clouds and few…

“Shouldn’t we come with you?” asked Keri. But Caewen shook her head. “What point would there be in that? One person, or three or a hundred will not make any difference, surely. Not against a dragon.” “Perhaps not.” Though even as Keri conceded the point, she still had a look in her eyes that made…

A short time later, the two of them, Caewen and Sgeirr, were pushing through the crowd together. Behind them came a small band of Sgeirr’s retainers, some in armour, hands listlessly on their swords, a couple in drab robes, a few more in the rough linens of work-a-day serfs. Caewen was conspicuous among them as…

With a wide, friendly smile, Caewen plonked herself down on the seat right next to Sgeirr. “Hello!” she said cheerily. Sgeirr looked as if she had just seen a dog get up on its hind legs and perform a jig while reciting a line of poetry. She blinked a few times, apparently lost for words,…

Soon enough, they started to pass small knots of people talking together, then a few more, and then suddenly they were deep in a crowd. All around them people were eating and drinking. Conversation and half-halting songs lilted and drifted. Caewen almost wanted to scream at them all, run, run for your lives, but she…

In sight of Samarkarantha’s tent now, they could see that it was lit from within. The glow through the cream and light red-brown canvas made it stand out against its neighbours, which were all darkening as the dusk was coming down. Overhead, the sky was still full of a deep luminous light. A few tattered…

They stepped gingerly between the sleeping men and women, at the same time doing their best not to get caught on the thorns of the briar tangle. The leaves and stem of the plant were a strange mottle of emerald and grey, and the spines were not the small hooked jabs, like on a natural…

Caewen did. The creature’s breath smelled like wet moss and heather on a winter’s morning, when the frost was just lifting. She dashed her lips with a touch of wet tongue and said words into Caewen’s ear. Strange words. Old words. And true. So very true. Caewen felt her eyes widen. She heard the ancient…