First Knight [antikvár]

Clidpter 1 L t was midmoming when Lancelot drew rein on the crest of the hill and, gazing out over tawny fields of ripe hay, saw the village nestling in the valley beyond. His stallion, Jupiter, took the opportunity to graze, his bit making a musical jingle as he tore at the lush grass. The sun warmed Lancelot's skin, the air carried the meadow scents of summer, and for a moment his eyes took on a faraway look and a half smile almost curved his lips. Then his thoughts changed direction. He stiffened and his right hand reached to the hilt of the sword at his hip. The grazing horse jerked up its head and sidled. "Easy," he murmured softly and took his hand from the weapon to pat his mount's satin dark neck. "Easy, boy." And now his lips were grimly set. It had been so many years ago, so far away, and yet no matter how he tried to put distance between himself and the ghosts of his past, they still kept pace with him.