Read In The Grip Of Old Winter for Free Online Page B

Eorl’s wish that all who desire to pass
through his lands announce their purpose. These are strange times.” He gestured
towards the barn. “Eorl Oswald waits within.” He led the horse around the
corner of the barn and out of sight.
    The rider glanced at the
tower and then with a rough shove, pushed past the curtain.
    Peter’s heart thumped. A
different time, so very different from his own, yet the barn, that might be a
house - what did it look like inside? Who lived here with an archer to keep
people away?
    He needed to divert Tobias’s
attention.
     
    ***
     
    There might be another
entrance, like the kitchen door in granddad’s house. The trees thinned the
nearer he came to the barn, or as the rider called it, the manor.
    Tobias, the archer, walked
with a slow tread around the tower. Whenever he faced his direction, Peter
crouched and waited for him to turn before he set off through the trees again.
    A diversion might not be
necessary, for Tobias completed a circuit of the tower much slower than it took
Peter to dart from tree to tree. If he timed it right, Tobias’s patrol at the
front of the tower should coincide with his arrival at the back of the manor.
    Peter ducked behind a tree as
Tobias appeared once more and as he waited, he leaned back against the trunk.
The excitement made him breathless, the difference of time and the changes to
the house made everything unreal. He didn’t want to go back, not yet, for
decisions here and now were for him to make and this new experience made him
confident enough to want to find out more.
    He counted a slow ten. Tobias
must be out of sight and he edged around the trunk, then stopped and held his
breath. Away to his right, close to where the track must be, a man ran from
tree to tree, his stare fixed on the tower and Tobias.
    A round shield hung across
his back and he carried a sword, the blade shorter than the rider’s, its sheen
dull, almost black, the same man that yesterday, Peter saw from the car.
    He let out his breath in a
long slow sigh. Had the man touched the branch, like him? Why had neither of
them heard the other? What was he doing here?
    The man crept closer to the
tower. He, like Peter, moved when Tobias’ patrol took him out of sight. At the
last tree, that stood about ten yards from the tower, the man sheathed his
sword and reached inside his shirt.
    Tobias re-appeared and the
man stepped out from hiding, whirled his arm round and round above his head and
with a great cry, stretched out his hand and aimed it straight at Tobias.
    A black stone or rock flew
towards the tower. Tobias yelled and ducked and a puff of wood-dust erupted
where the projectile slammed into a stout upright.
    The man’s arm whirled again
and Peter saw the black sling he held, but Tobias notched his bow before the
man released his missile and an arrow sped down faster than Peter’s sight
followed.
    The man dived sideways and
his hand shot up, so that he released the rock straight into a branch where a
large ball of snow dislodged in a flurry of white powder. The arrow hit the
tree with a loud thunk and quivered from the impact.
    Tobias yelled. “To arms! To
arms!” His cry echoed through the wood.
    The man sprang to his feet
and ran, not in a straight line, but first one way and then the other, then
another, as he zigzagged between the trees.
    The curtain that covered the
manor’s doorway billowed and out sprang the rider, sword drawn, followed by
another man and a very fat lady, who carried a long knife which she held high
above her head, ready to strike.
    They gave chase, but the man,
already far ahead, sprinted faster. Peter lost sight of him, only the split and
crack of undergrowth as he escaped carried on the cold air.
    He shivered, if that arrow
struck, then that man died. This place didn’t pretend to be fantasy, like a
computer game, even though he might wish it. Here danger and death existed for
real.
    His fear tingled, for he had
strayed too far from the charred