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A faint chill washed over her as she focused on her own thought. For the first time she understood what she intended to do. Not that she was shocked by the idea that she intended to follow Simon wherever he went, but Simon might be. Then another thrill passed up and down her spine. How had Math known she did not intend to return to Angharad's Hall until Simon came with her? Rhiannon shook the thought away. If Math was more than a large, beautiful cat, he meant well for her and for Simon. It was as unwise to look too closely into the kindly doings of the old gods as it was to look at the teeth of a gift-horse. |
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An hour after the messenger arrived, Rhiannon was mounted and ready to leave. Four menstrong, devoted, clever, and fiercerode with her, and in spite of the horses they did not take the roads. Still, even as a bird flies, it was more than seventy miles from Angharad's Hall to Builth, and birds do not have to backtrack to avoid chasms or to ford rivers or to pick their way along goat trails over precipitous mountains. Rhiannon might have ridden through the night if the ground was reasonable, but even she was not so eager as to try to ford an overfull river that sounded angry in the dark. |
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Simon settled down to catch some sleep at just about the same time Rhiannon did. He had had a pleasant and satisfactory day. He had established most of his troop and all the horses on Orcop Hill while small detachments, including himself, scouted west and south on foot. Pembroke had told the truth when he said there was nothing left for the king's army around Clifford and southeast of Hereford. You could tell which lands were beholden to which side. Pembroke's were stripped bare, but neatly and cleanly. Hereford's were blackened, and one could smell the dead serfs as one passed. |
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There had been no sign of the king's army yet, except one patrol, and they had seemed more interested in |
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