“3. At first the boy thought he must have fallen into the hands of a Saxon war band. But why had they not slain him out of hand? Then, as he tried to order his wits, the words he had heard spoken in his own tongue came clearly to mind. He was “the brat” of whom they had plainly been in search. But why was he of any importance to strangers? Myrddin fought for breath in the stifling folds of the cloak and struggled within himself for courage. Obviously he was of value . . . as a slave? No, there w...ere slaves in plenty. Because he was who he was, the close kin of Nyren? But Gwyn was the lord of the clan. . . . His head hanging against the horse’s flank throbbed from the awkwardness of his position and he began to feel queasy. Besides, it was very hard to hold to any defense against fear. How long his ordeal lasted Myrddin did not know. He was only half conscious when he was lifted from the horse and thrown without ceremony and with bruising force to the ground. “Mind yourself!” ordered another voice.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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