Thornspell Read Online Free Page A

your mother died, so that we could keep you safe. But this is a strange part of the world, and there are things that live and walk here that folk in the cities and the central provinces would scoff at. Not everything that’s strange is ill disposed, but you never know, and that’s why the gate is there—and why I want you to promise me to stay away from it. Even,” he added, “if there’s something out there that you feel you just have to investigate, or you think it’s Master Griff, or me, or someone else you know, calling to you from the other side.”
    Sigismund studied the back of his hand where it rested against the plastered wall. “You’re talking about magic,” he said, and his voice was small.
    “I’m talking about being careful, that’s all,” Sir Andreas replied. “It’s a strange part of the world, as I said, and we can’t afford to overlook that.”
    “No,” said Sigismund. He does mean magic, he thought, with a little thrill of excitement, but he doesn’t want to come right out and say so in case it alarms me—or because I might say something to Master Griff. He walked his hand up the wall again, studying it as though fascinated by the detail of muscle and skin.
    “It was a sad story though, about the sleeping princess. Do you think it could be true, perhaps even the reason for the interdict?”
    “No one knows the truth of the interdict and the Wood anymore,” Sir Andreas said, “not even me, and I am your father’s steward here in the west. It may be that my father knew, but if so he died without passing the information on.”
    Shortly after that, Sigismund dreamed of the enchanted palace for the first time. In the dream he was walking along silent corridors and halls, through courtyards where even the fountain water hung glittering in midair, and up long flights of stairs. As he walked he would open doors and peer into quiet rooms, and he had a sense of urgency, as though he was looking for someone or something just out of sight. The sleeping princess, he thought, when he woke and remembered the dream, but although he had the same dream several times after that, he never found her. Everyone else was there, exactly as he had imagined them after his illness, but the princess was always concealed, always just out of sight or hidden around the next corner.
    Sigismund never met anyone in these dreams or spoke with them, so he told himself that they were outside the scope of his promise to Sir Andreas. He repressed the suspicion that Sir Andreas might not agree, reassuring himself that they were only dreams and therefore harmless, spun out of the tale that the lady with the silver voice had told him.
    Then one night the dream changed. This time he was not inside the palace, but standing in the forest, staring at a vast, twisting hedge of thorns. The sky overhead was dark, and Sigismund was filled with doubt and a sense of danger. Thunder cracked in the distance and lightning severed the sky, illuminating the sword in his hand. It was long and straight, with a white gleam along the edge of the blade and a jewel, red as blood, set into the pommel. The sword was as compelling a presence as the hedge of thorns and Sigismund could sense its power, like lightning in his hand. It was important in some way, he knew that too: that was why it was in the dream.
    The next dream was dark as well, and the power of the storm and the brooding oppression of the forest had grown, but there was no red and white sword in his hand. Sigismund was shaking with cold and kept circling the hedge of thorns, looking for a way in, but there was none to be found. And this time there were voices in the darkness, shrieks amongst the treetops and slithering whispers in the hedge that made him start at every shadow. He wanted to escape from the dream and wake up safe in his own bed, with a candle close at hand, but he was trapped in the menacing dark.
    When light did come, it was in a blaze of carnelian and gold, like the