“We fled downstream. The tide was almost on the turn, but the last of the ebb took us fast. The air freshened, and the boat began to rock. The knife withdrew from my flesh. Across me Marric said: "Well, so far so good. The brat did us a good turn with his fire. No one was watching the river to see a boat slip under the bridge. Now, boy, let's hear what you have to tell us. What's your name?" "Myrddin Emrys." "And you say you were — hey, wait a minute! Did you say Myrddin? Not the bastard?" "...Yes." He let out a long whistling breath, and Hanno's paddle checked, to dip again hurriedly as the coracle swung and rocked across the current. "You heard that, Hanno? It's the bastard. Then why in the name of the spirits of lower earth did you tell us you were a slave?" "I didn't know who you were. You hadn't recognized me, so I thought if you were thieves yourselves, or Vortigern's men, you'd let me go." "Bag, pony, and all...So it was true you were running away? Well," he added thoughtfully, "if all tales be true, you're not much to be blamed for that.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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