Read In Camelot’s Shadow: Book One of The Paths to Camelot Series (Prologue Fantasy) for Free Online

enough to turn spy on your own people?
    Apparently, it was, because he lay prostrate on the ground with fern leaves tickling his brow and nose, watching the camp carefully.
    And we’ll see who stays and goes, and when and how. If I am wrong about how it will go, so much the better. But if I am right …
    He composed himself to patience. To keep his mind from the incessant itch of the ferns, he set about studying the sentries, thinking how he would have posted and armed them in Wolfget’s place.
    Men came and went. Servants brought wine and meat into the tent. The guests came out to relieve themselves or check on their horses. The sentries paced, or lounged about. The lounging became more frequent as the time wore on. Harrik shook his head minutely. Wolfget was not well served.
    The tent’s flap lifted again. This time, it was the woman who came out. In the full daylight she was even more shatteringly lovely than he had thought. His heart and loins both began to ache with an urgency he had thought himself past.
    The woman looked about her. Evidently, she saw nothing that displeased her. She raised one hand and spoke a word Harrik could not understand. In the next breath, he heard the flapping of heavy wings. A raven glided down from the trees and came to rest on the woman’s waiting wrist.
    She brought her wrist down until the bird’s eyes were level with her own. She contemplated the raven for a long time, and it stared back unwinking, which a beast should not have been able to do. At last, the woman opened her mouth.
    The raven thrust beak, head, and neck well down her throat.
    Harrik jerked backward, forgetting the need for silence. The woman and the bird stood still, its head in her mouth, like some foul statuary. He realized the muscles of her throat swelled and contracted. Not swallowing, but pushing something out.
    Harrik’s own throat clamped down around his breath.
    The raven pulled its head free of the beauty’s mouth. She smiled broadly and lifted her wrist again. The bird spread its shining wings and flew away.
    She watched her pet vanish into the sky, turned, and went back inside the tent.
    Harrik, struggling to keep his breathing under control, crawled back into the woods on his hands and knees. He moved as far and as fast as he could, but finally, he had to stop and vomit at the roots of a birch tree.
    What manner of secret friends have you, Wolfget?
He raised his head and wiped a shaking hand across his mouth.
What alliances have you made for us?
    He sat and listened for a moment. No sound of pursuit cut through the small rustles of wind and the forest life. Harrik forced himself to get to his feet and take his bearings. As soon as his knees had stopped shaking enough that he could be sure of his footing, he made his way back to his horse.
    The animal was still there, chewing thoughtfully at the undergrowth. Harrik led it back to the road and slung himself into the saddle. To his shame, he found he had to work to keep himself from taking the horse to a gallop to escape as quickly as possible from what he had seen.
    You are a fool. A fool!
He admonished himself.
You have seen far worse things in battle
.
    But the truth was, he had not. He had heard stories of such horrors, of course, and told a few himself, with great relish. Witches and wizards had their ways and everyone knew it. Did not Arthur have Merlin to advise him and keep watch over his captains and capital? But to see so unnatural a thing …
    I grow old. I grow dull. Perhaps this role of spy and traitor is all I am fit for anymore.
    The forest thickened around him. The sound of his horse’s hooves became muffled by the unbroken carpet of leaves. The wind freshened and Harrik tried to catch a glimpse of sky between the leafy branches overhead. There might be rain before long, but without a clear view of sky there was no telling. The prospect of concluding his business in a downpour, further darkened his mood, but he rode on.
    Up ahead, the road