Medieval 02 - Forbidden

Duncan lifted his head and looked to the north. A thick line of clouds loomed there, held back by a southerly wind. Overhead, the sky was a sapphire bowl arching above fells whose rocky peaks wore a pearly cowl of cloud.
    “It won’t storm by sunset,” Duncan said.
    Amber said nothing.
    “Perhaps by moonrise,” he added, “but I think not.”
    Duncan looked over his shoulder once more. Behind them a narrow crease cut into the rugged highlands that rose between Sea Home and Stone Ring Keep. The crease was the beginning of Ghost Glen, named for the pale-barked trees clinging to its steep sides, and for the haunting wail of autumnal winds.
    No other rider was following Duncan and Amber down the ridge they had just descended. No other rider was visible ahead, where land and sea mingled to make Whispering Fen. The way they would take to the fen was unmarked, known only to the amber girl who fitted so perfectly in Duncan’s arms.
    There had been no sign of habitation at all on this side of the ridge. No cart road, no smoke lifting above a clearing, no plowed fields, no drystone fences, no deer parks, no mark of axe on trees. Small, steep-sided, stitched together by the fey conversations of a brook, Ghost Glen held neither hamlet nor farm nor walking paths. It was a place of ancient forest and primeval silence.
    The land was both savage and oddly innocent, removed from the strife of the Disputed Lands. Had Duncan not seen standing stones grouped insolitary glades, he would have sworn no other person had ever passed this way.
    Yet people had lived here once. Some named them Druids. Some named them sorcerers. Some named them not men at all, but devils or gods.
    And some—the few who might know—called those vanished people Learned.
    “Egbert won’t follow us,” Amber said as she felt Duncan twist to look behind once more.
    “How can you be sure? He is lazy, but not blind. We left a trail.”
    She hesitated, wondering how to explain to Duncan the combination of knowledge and instinct that made her so certain they were safe from intrusion here.
    “Egbert can’t follow us,” Amber said. “Even if he weren’t afraid, he wouldn’t be able to see where we went.”
    “Why not?”
    “He isn’t Learned,” she said simply.
    “What does that have to do with it?”
    “Egbert would see obstacles and turn aside, certain that no one could pass the way we did.”
    A cool breath blew down Duncan’s spine as he remembered how impassable parts of the trail had looked…at first.
    “That’s why I made you leave your horse,” Amber added.
    “It wasn’t Learned?” Duncan retorted dryly.
    She laughed and shook her head, making sunlight gleam and run like liquid amber through her hair.
    “Whitefoot is used to my ways,” Amber said. “She goes where I guide her.”
    “You see a path,” Duncan said.
    It wasn’t quite a question, but Amber answered anyway, shrugging.
    “I’m Learned.” Then she added with a sigh, “But, according to Cassandra, I’m not very Learned andnever will be unless I settle to it and stop roaming the wild places.”
    “Like this one?”
    “Aye.”
    Duncan looked at the smooth curve of Amber’s cheek and wondered how he, who had never been taught, had managed to see both obstacle and trail. Before he could ask Amber, she was talking again.
    “Despite my failings as a student, I have absorbed enough Learning to walk a few of the ancient trails. Ghost Glen is my special place. I’ve never shared it with anyone. Until now.”
    Her quiet words went through Duncan like distant thunder, as much felt as heard, a tremor of the earth itself.
    “Amber?”
    Duncan’s voice was low, aching, nearly rough. She sensed the leap of sensual hunger in him. She also sensed a nameless yearning that pervaded him as surely as sun pervaded the day.
    “What is it?” she whispered, turning to Duncan.
    “Why did you bring me here?”
    “To count Cassandra’s geese.”
    Hazel eyes searched Amber’s face.
    “Geese?” he asked.
    “Aye. They come here from the north in the autumn, pulling winter behind them like a bleak banner.”
    “’Tis early for geese, isn’t it?”
    “Yes,” Amber said.
    “Then why are you looking for them?”
    “Cassandra asked me to. The rune stones foretold an early, harsh winter. If the geese are here, we’ll know Cassandra cast the stones correctly.”
    “What do your serfs say?” Duncan asked.
    “They say the signs are mixed.”
    “How so?”
    “The sheep are