Free White Horse Talisman by Andrea Spalding

ponies,” chuckled Holly.
    Laughing, Adam hurried after them.

C HAPTER S IX
W AYLAND’S S ECRET
    The children rode uphill towards the Ridgeway and trotted through a gap in the bank. After passing the White Horse and Uffington Castle, they found themselves on a more sheltered track. It followed the flank of the downs and was edged by low banks and occasional clumps of trees. Gradu–ally it dropped closer to the valley, and soon the ponies were winding their way through a small wood.
    Holly pointed, and Adam glimpsed a squirrel scampering along a tree bough. Next Owen waved them all to a stop, and children and ponies watched as a fox, belly low to the ground, sped across the trail, through the trees and slipped out of sight along the edge of the field beyond.
    â€œI’ve never seen a real fox before,” Adam whispered.
    â€œWell, keep your eyes peeled. There are badgers here too,” Holly whispered back.
    Owen gave a muffled snort. ”You don’t see them in daylight. Only in the evenings.”
    â€œYou never know,” said Holly defensively. “We could be lucky. We don’t often see foxes either.”
    They rode on without incident for about a mile. The track rose and fell. Only once did they need to pull the ponies to the side to allow a string of eight exercising racehorses to trot past. The ponies whickered a greeting, but the thoroughbreds merely twitched their ears in reply.
    â€œHow far is Wayland’s Smithy?” asked Adam as they carried on.
    â€œYou can almost see it in the middle of the clump of trees ahead.” Holly pointed.
    Adam’s stomach cramped with unease. He was almost at Wayland’s Smithy, an old burial place said to be built by a blacksmith god. In a few minutes he’d find out if he and Chantel were crazy, or, worse still, if his dragon experience was real.
    Mischief tossed her head nervously as Adam jagged the bit in her mouth. “Sorry, Mischief,” he muttered, and slack–ened the reins. But his knuckles and face were white. It took courage to give her the signal to turn off the Ridgeway and follow the others through a gate into a small fenced wood.
    Mischief stepped delicately into the area known as Way–land’s Smithy. The trees thickened, then suddenly widened out. Adam found himself in a hidden clearing. He slid from Mischief’s back and gazed around.
    Holly slipped off her pony, looped Harlequin’s reins up over his neck and tied them in a loose knot so he wouldn’t trip on them. She gave him a friendly slap on the rear. “We can let the ponies roam. It’s fenced,” she called as she closed the gate. The two boys followed her example and the three ponies ambled into the shade of the trees.
    The soft leafy ground and springy turf muffled the chil–dren’s footsteps and the pony’s hooves. A circle of majestic beech trees ringed a clearing, standing guard over the bar–row and holding back the woodland. The children stepped between the beeches into the magic circle. No birds sang. No breeze stirred or leaves rustled. They had entered a bub–ble of silence.
    Adam stared.
    The barrow, a long, low, turf-covered mound, almost filled the beech-edged circle. The narrow end of the mound faced them, framed by two enormous stones. Beneath the lintel gaped a small dark hole.
    Adam gulped. He didn’t like small dark tunnels. No way was he going in there. He shuffled his feet. His skin prickled with fear.
    â€œHave you got Chantel’s talisman?” asked Owen.
    Adam’s hand slipped inside the pocket of his jeans. He nodded but did not bring it out.
    Owen held out his hand impatiently. “Let’s have it.”
    Adam drew the piece of gold from his pocket, but held on tight. “What are we supposed to do?” he asked quietly.
    Owen shrugged. “Guess we keep trying things till some–thing happens.”
    â€œLike what?” Adam’s voice