Read Online Isle of Glass by Judith Tarr - Free Book Online Page B

I’d know if we weren’t.”
    That was not particularly comforting. But they rode on in
peace, disturbed only by a pair of ravens that followed them for a while,
calling to them. Alf called back in a raven’s voice.
    “What did they say?” Jehan wondered aloud when they had
flapped away.
    “That we make enough noise to rouse every hunter but a human
one.” Alf bent under a low branch. The way was clear beyond; he touched the
mare into a canter. Over his shoulder he added, “We should leave the trees by
tomorrow. There’s a village beyond; we’ll sleep tomorrow night under a roof.”
    “Is that a solemn promise?”
    “On my soul,” Alf replied.
    Which could be ironic, Jehan reflected darkly. His gelding
stumbled over a tree root; he steadied it with legs and hands. Ahead of him,
Alf rode lightly on a mount that never stumbled or even seemed to tire.
    Elf-man, elf-horse. Maybe this was all part of a spell, and
he was doomed to ride under trees forever and never see the open fields again.
    He was dreaming awake. His hands were numb; the sun hung
low, and it was growing dark under the trees. He would be glad to stop.
    Alf had begun to sing softly. “Nudam fovet Flaram lectus; Caro candet tenera...”
    He stopped, as he often did when he caught himself singing
something secular. And that one, Jehan thought, was more secular than most.
    “‘Naked Flora lies a-sleeping; whitely shines her tender
body...’ ”
    When he began again, it was another melody altogether, a
hymn to the Virgin.
    o0o
    That night, as before, Alf took the first watch. The air was
cold and still; no stars shone. Nothing moved save the flames of the fire.
    He huddled into his cloak. He heard nothing, sensed nothing.
    Perhaps he was a fool; perhaps he was going mad, to watch so
when no danger threatened.
    Sleep stole over him. He had had little since he left St.
Ruan’s, and his body was beginning to rebel. He should wake Jehan, set him to
watch. If anything came upon them—
    o0o
    Alf started out of a dim dream. It was dark, quiet.
    Very close to him, something breathed. Not Jehan, across the
long-dead fire. Not the horses. A presence stood over him.
    He blinked.
    It remained. A white wolf, sitting on its haunches, glaring
at him with burning bronze-gold eyes.
    A white girl, all bare, glaring through a curtain of
bronze-gold hair.
    “What,” she demanded in a cold clear voice, “are you doing
here?”
    He sat up, his hood falling back from a startled face. Her
eyes ran over him; her thought was as clear as her voice, and as cold. God’s
bones! A monk’s cub. Who gave him leave to play at knights and squires?
    His cheeks burned. Unclasping his cloak, he held it out to
her.
    She ignored it. “What are you doing here?” she repeated.
    Suddenly he wanted to laugh. It was impossible, to be
sitting here in the icy dark with a girl who wore nothing but her hair.
    And who was most certainly of his own kind.
    “I was sleeping,” he answered her, “until you woke me."
Again he held out his cloak. “Will you please put this on?”
    She took the garment blindly and flung it over her
shoulders. It did not cover much of consequence. “This is his cloak. His mare.
His very undertunic. Damn you, where is he?”
    Alf stared at her. “Alun?”
    “Alun,” she repeated as if the name meant nothing to her.
    Her mind touched his, a swift stabbing probe. “Yes. Alun. Where
is he ?”
    “Who are you?” he countered.
    She looked as if she would strike him. “Thea,” she snapped.
“Where—”
    “I’m called Alf.”
    She seized him. Her hands were slender and strong, not at
all as he had thought a woman’s must be. Her body—
    The night had been cold, but now he burned. Abruptly,
fiercely, he pulled away. “Cover yourself,” he commanded in his coldest voice.
    His tone touched her beneath her anger. Somewhat more
carefully, she wrapped the cloak about her. “Brother, if that indeed you are,
I’ll ask only once more. Then I’ll force you to