Free The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) by Jeff Wheeler Page A

country, Owen felt the unmistakable sensation of the Fountain all around him, but there was no obvious source. There were none of the massive rivers and waterfalls that marked Ceredigion, and while each villa appeared to have a fountain in the courtyard, they were too distant to be heard. The lapping of the canals was so gentle it was almost unnoticeable. The gentle murmur of the Fountain seemed to be coming from the land itself, which he had never experienced before. He sensed it in the peasant farmers working joyfully in their gardens. He heard it in the air of music coming from the small villages. He saw maypoles and flowered garlands. There were many children dashing around, playing games. Their voices seemed to conjure the magic of the Fountain. In his mind’s eye, he imagined what it would have been like to grow up here, playing in such a carefree way, basking in the magic of this land.
    Owen turned to look at Etayne, only to catch her gazing longingly at the scene.
    “Do you feel it?” he whispered to her.
    Her eyes were serious, almost sad. “I feel it everywhere,” she answered softly. “What is this place?”
    Owen shook his head, not certain what to make of it—a sensation that only heightened as they continued to ride into the land, intent on reaching the capital of Brythonica by nightfall. The valleys and hills were so idyllic it almost felt sacrilegious to ride hastily past them. Peasants working near the roads lifted their caps and waved at the strangers, as if totally unconcerned by the foreign soldiers in their midst. Owen spied an old man resting against the trunk of a eucalyptus, surrounded by sunny-haired grandchildren, one of whom was peeling long strips of bark from the tree. The grandfather tickled a squealing girl, which made Owen smile despite his desire to appear stern.
    The peasants weren’t dirty and unkempt. They were cheerful, hardworking, and exuded a sense of calm and safety that didn’t make sense considering the apparent lack of protection.
    Ahead loomed another wood, but this time, the road went through the middle of it. It would be an ideal place for a trap, and Owen’s gut began to clench with wariness. He gave orders for ten men to ride on ahead and ten to remain at the edge of the woods to alert them of an ambush. There were ravens in the trees, their black plumage stark against the silver bark and green glossy leaves. Several cawed and fluttered from branch to branch. Owen had the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
    “So many ravens,” Etayne muttered curiously. At her words, about a dozen lifted into the air simultaneously. Owen felt a sudden, piercing dread that the birds would attack them, but they flew away instead, their path hidden by the upper boughs.
    As Owen entered the woods, he felt a shudder pass through him. The sense of the Fountain was incredibly strong in the woods. The feeling was ancient, implacable, powerful. It was like being in the grip of a shadow. The hair on the back of his neck and arms stood up with pronounced gooseflesh. His men seemed to be infected by his mood, their eyebrows scowling as they began searching the trees on each side of them.
    “The feeling is thicker in here,” Etayne said with worry. “But it’s even stronger that way.” She nodded toward the left side of the road, the woods so dense they couldn’t see far.
    Owen gave her a short nod. While the presence of the Fountain was overpowering, it was particularly strong to their left. He felt it drawing him, beckoning him to leave the road, to learn its secrets.
    Etayne looked in that direction as well, then glanced back at him with a quirked brow. She was offering to explore it.
    Owen shook his head no. But he fully intended to go there on his way out. Something was hidden in the woods. Something he didn’t understand and craved to. Something that might help him in his rebellion.
    One of the advance scouts came riding back around the bend, his face flushed. He reined in hard