The Lair of Bones Read Online Free Page B

while stone fences that had stood for longer than men could remember neatly parceled out the quiet farmland. But when she rounded the next corner, she'd see another quaint stone house beneath a sprawling elm, with the milk cow's sister cropping the grass by the barn, and another endless stone fence parceling out the squares of dirt, and on and on and on it went until Erin thought that she would never again admire another cottage or cow or meadow or tree.
    So she closed her burning eyes. “I'll only let my eyes rest,” she told her-self. “I won't sleep.”
    Erin feared that she would lose her mind. The dreams that came every time she succumbed to sleep were so vivid that she felt that now her horse was galloping through a dream, and when she slept, she would awaken to some truer world.
    She dreamt. Only a vague flash of vision, an image of the great owl in its dark burrow. It had moved from its previous roost, and now huddled farther in the shadows. The gray-and-white pattern of its feathers looked like dead leaves plastered above bones.
    Erin peered into its unblinking golden eyes, and said, “Leave me alone. I don't want to speak to you.”
    â€œYou fear me,” the owl said, its thoughts piercing her mind with more shades of emotion and insight than mere words could convey. “You need not fear me. I am not your enemy.”
    â€œYou are madness,” Erin said, willing herself to wake. The image faded.
    The horses rounded a bend just at sunrise, and Captain Gantrell called, “Troo-oops, haw-aalt!”
    Erin opened her eyes, imagining that they were stopping to let another wagon train pass.
    Instead, near the road ahead lay a serene little pond covered in morning mist, and above it loomed a purple pavilion with gold trim: royal colors.
    King Anders himself knelt beside the pool, his shirt off, washing himself in the cool morning air. He stood tall, lean, almost haggard in appearance, with a skeletal head and only a wisp of beard.
    His Days, a historian who chronicled his life, brushed down a horse nearby, preparing to ride.
    Near the king a plump old woman dressed in grayish rags squatted on a large rock, while squirrels darted around her in play. She would crack a hazelnut between her tough fingers and then toss it in the air. The squirrels made a game of racing over her shoulders or leaping into her lap to catch the nut before it touched ground.
    Celinor nudged Erin, nodded toward the woman. “The Nut Woman, an Earth Warden from Elyan Wood.”
    In her dreamlike fog, Erin thought it to be one of the strangest scenes in her life.
    So, this is mad King Anders, she thought, looking back at the pasty old lord with his sagging breasts—the man I may have to kill.
    He didn't look frightening at all.
    The king half turned, peering up from his morning ablutions with a frown, as if worried to hear the approach of troops. Yet he spotted Celinor and the frown disintegrated, blossoming into a heartfelt smile.
    â€œMy son,” King Anders called, his tone conveying only solemn joy. “You've come home!” He grabbed a towel that lay draped over a nearbybush and dried himself as he rushed forward. Celinor leapt from his saddle, and hugged the old man as they met.
    The hug was short-lived. Celinor pushed his father away. “What's the meaning of all these troops on the border, Father? Are you going to start a war?”
    King Anders managed to look hurt as he answered,
“Start
a war? My dear lad, I may finish a war, but I've never been known to start one.” Anders held his son's hands, but peered over Celinor's shoulder at Erin.
    â€œAnd who have we here?” he asked. “Erin Connal? Your picture doesn't do you justice, fair lady.”
    â€œThank you,” Erin answered, surprised that he would recognize her face from a tiny picture painted on a promise locket nearly a decade past.
    King Anders smiled a genuine smile, a smile of welcome and warmth and