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Shall we mount and go, Sirs? said Dafydd, almost sharply.
Mounting his roan as Jim and Brian also mounted, Dafydd led them inland from
the shore onto the greensward.
-Is this land all pastureland like this? Brian asked Dafydd.
No, said the archer. He had straightened somewhat since they had left their
wards behind; and seemed taller than Jim was used to seeing him. There are
clumps of trees, but no real forests. But farther in, the land becomes rugged
and rises to small mountains. As you start down the farther side of that you
enter the Borderland-Drowned Land country, but a wild place where rough forest
starts; and that forest becomes the forest of Lyonesse in no large distance.
Dafydd, as suited a prince in his own country-as he was here-now rode first,
followed by Jim and Brian-Brian on a Blanchard who, for a wonder, this one
time did not seem disposed to push himself ahead of Dafydd s roan. It was as
if even the destrier was recognizing the present difference in rank. Now it
was Brian who had tied to his saddle the lead rope of the sumpter horse that
carried their baggage.
It was the same sumpter horse that had carried their baggage on their earlier
trip through here to Gnarlyland. There had been a general feeling on the part
of the stable hands at Malencontri that it would be bad luck to take a
different horse if the original horse was still available
The horses, in fact, were all on their best manners. Jim had been half afraid
the sudden change of scene might at least have spooked Brian s Blanchard-who
could take offense at almost anything unexpected. But on this occasion, he had
accepted the magical shift in scene with indifference.
The roan himself, beautiful but lighter than the two destriers of Brian and
Jim, was typical of the horses they had seen on their previous trip through
the Drowned Land. He plainly loved the man he carried; as, for that matter,
did Blanchard love his own rider, Brian-once, Jim had seen the big destrier,
for all his usual tantrums and demands for first place, refuse to take shelter
one cold, rainy night, to stand in the open over his unconscious master. When
Gorp had long since taken shelter under one of the heavy-leafed surrounding
trees.
Dafydd, Jim and Brian had discovered, could ride, and ride well, when the
need was there, although he preferred under ordinary conditions to travel
afoot. In fact, Jim had never seen him on the roan until this last year; and
it was only a few months back that he spoke about it to Dafydd, when it
occurred to him to ask the name of the roan. The answer had been enlightening.
Owen? Jim had echoed the name-for Dafydd s life was spent among the English
nowadays; and Owen had been the name of a Welsh leader who had been a real
thorn in the side of those English trying to conquer and subdue Wales. You
named him Owen?
I did. He is named after Owen Glendower, Dafydd had replied.
I guessed as much. But why that particular name? asked Jim.
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I did that, so when, as has happened, some Englishman might ask me his name,
I could answer it was Owen. Then if the man should further ask how I should
give a horse such a strange-sounding name, I could reply he was named after
Owen Glendower; and if that same man should then wonder who Owen Glendower
might be-then, if need be, I could take him aside and explain it to his full
understanding.
Obviously, such an explanation might become a physically active one. Dafydd
continually spoke of himself as not a man of great dispute, but it was
remarkable the way dispute came and found him. He was, in truth, always
soft-voiced and polite to everyone. But even as an archer, he carried himself
like a prince; and this was more than enough to make him a walking challenge
to some other males.
Plainly, the name had been Dafydd s way of educating some of the English
about a Welsh hero, the leader of the uprising there earlier in this century.
It had been Wales s last strong bid to free itself from English rule, from
what Jim remembered from his history-which, admittedly, was not always a
perfect match for the history of this world.
Clearly, the horse Owen seemed to share much of the same attitude as his
rider. At no time when they had been together had he challenged the larger
Gorp or Blanchard, as stallions were sometimes prone to do-Blanchard very much
so. But once when Blanchard had moved to domineer over him, Owen had responded
like a screaming fury, attacking the heavier warhorse so swiftly he had
appeared to be the one who had started the fight. Luckily, on that one
occasion, the stable hands at Malencontri had got the two into separate stalls
before any real damage was done on either side.
At any rate, so far, things had gone well. Hopefully, the King of the Drowned
Land would be able to tell them more about the Dark Powers trying to take over
Lyonesse-and his Kingdom, as well-
Jim s thoughts broke off suddenly; for a rider was coming toward them at a
speed that raised a spreading cloud of dust from the unpaved road behind him.
Dafydd raised a hand and reined Owen to a stop. Jim and Brian both rode
forward a few steps to come up close to-but not quite level with-him, and also
reined in to await the coming of the approaching rider.
He was with them in moments, and hauled his sweating, pawing horse to a stop.
But the first words he spoke to Dafydd were in the language of the Drowned
Land, which neither Jim nor Brian understood. Jim could have used his magic to
interpret, but he felt vaguely that this might be a little like listening at
keyholes. He and Brian waited.
The conversation was brief. Dafydd listened to what the horseman had to say
and spoke to him briefly. Then he turned to Jim and Brian.
Madog, here, will stay with you and guide you safely to the border of
Lyonesse. He will take you to a different place on that border than the one we
crossed at before to get to the entrance of the Gnarly Kingdom. I must leave
you here.
But you said nothing of this earlier! said Brian. I thought we would all
pause while you saw your King-perhaps a day or two-and then you would go on
with us.
Matters have arisen, said Dafydd. In brief, the King is ill. Deathly ill;
and his one living son, who has been hidden for his own safety, for reasons
that are privy to those very close to the King-is now revealed. He is wise
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beyond his years, but still too young in my King s mind to take on the
responsibility of the Kingdom, with this threat heavy above us. I must go to
the King now, while he lives. Madog will see you well to the border and I will
join you there in Lyonesse as soon as I can. Farewell for now.
He lifted the reins, and Owen broke almost immediately into a gallop,
building to a swiftness that might well have given Blanchard a run for Brian s
money. Jim had little doubt of which horse would win over a distance, however.
Blanchard was so remarkable as to be almost a freak. In spite of his weight
and size, endless power seemed stored in his great-chested body. It was
almost visible, radiating from him, to any who saw him-the element that had
made Chandos and others speak of him so highly.
Jim sat Gorp now, feeling strangely deserted and exposed by Dafydd s sudden
leaving. He and Brian looked at Madog, sitting his wet horse and waiting for
their attention.
The man was dressed exactly as had been others of the King s personal guards
they had seen on their previous visit to the Drowned Land. In fact, he could
have been one of those they had seen then, an escort mounted on beautiful, but
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