Arden (Mages of the Flame #1) FIRST DRAFT

Part 3: Into Ashdown

The next morning found Bronwyn setting out for Ashdown under another clear sky. The first hints of yellow were creeping into the leafy canopy overhead, and the morning sun sparkled through the lattice of dewy branches to kiss Bronwyn and her mount as they took the eastern path to the coast.

Once out of the trees they were warmed by the unshaded sunlight and cooled by the fresher air blowing inland from the ocean. It wasn't long before they saw the first blinding flashes of the sun on the sea.

Shanks, who had taken this path many times, automatically took the southern path into the village, but Bronwyn eschewed their usual route and instead pushed farther east. She missed the sea and sand and had not forgotten her promise to Shanks of a walk along the beach. Besides, the soft sand would be easier on her than the rocky coastal path, at least until she had that shoe replaced.

Coarse grass lined the path to the beach and soil gradually gave way to sand as they descended. The coastline here had been formed by the gradual erosion of ancient cliffs so they had to cross an expanse of stones before stepping onto rough sand. The early tide was receding and the wet sand was already peppered with the footprints of black-tipped gulls and other seabirds looking for an easy breakfast. A ragged line of seaweed, shells and dead crabs marked the high point of the tide, and there was no escaping the strong smell of dead sea-life as Shanks stepped over the line on to the flat, damp sand.

Shank's hooves crunched rhythmically as she trotted toward the shallow water, and Bronwyn wished she had muffled the pans and tools and other paraphernalia of her nomadic lifestyle so she could enjoy alone the sounds of the waves breaking slowly on the shore, and the morning calls of the seabirds and the sound of Shanks footsteps.

The cold surf splashed against the horse's legs, releasing a spray of fine mist into the air which made Bronwyn shiver happily

They stepped over the little streams caused by rainwater seeping through the ground and out of the cliff face and turned away from the brilliant silver sea toward the path up Ashdown. Here there were no rocks and Shank's feet sighed and whispered through the high, dry sand above the tide mark.

To their left the tumbling waters of the River Ash bounced and splashed and laughed their way down to the sea in two small waterfalls. By the upper escarpment two figures worked on the nets strung between two poles near the crest to catch any fish unlucky enough to wander past the point of no return.

Bronwyn nudged Shanks in the direction of the sandy path to the village and her faithful horse dutifully began the ascent. At the top she paused by a thicket to look back once more at the calm morning sea and the quiet sands.

She felt Shanks tense between her legs before she saw and heard the attack. A hooded figure, small for a man, rushed at her from behind the bushes waving a weapon. Shanks reared back with an anxious whinnying. Bronwyn held tight and reached for the knife sheathed under her mailbag while looking for a way to escape. The highwayman had blocked the path in front of her, and Shanks, despite her excellent training, was no warhorse.

Bronwyn flourished the knife and backed Shanks away.

"What do you want?"

The figure waved his weapon and roared at her. A roar which devolved into hysterical laughter. He removed his hood.

"Will!"

"You should have seen your face!"

Bronwyn's fear vanished and in its place came anger.

"William Fletcher, is there no end to the trouble you can cause? I should have you taken before the village magistrate."

The boy was still laughing at her. "You were so scared! And your horse."