Crewel Lye by Piers Anthony Read Free Book Online Page B

saved you from the fins. I helped you escape the roc and the griffin before. Now I've got to get you out of here--but I don't know how. So I'll try to find a way. You just hang on here. I'll be back as soon as I can; keep your chin up.” I dismounted and stood in the muck beside him.
    Well, could I pull his feet out, one by one? I reached down along one hind leg, gripped it as deep as I could, and hauled. It did not come up; I sank down. That was no good.
    I looked at the firewall. It was not as hot as I had first thought, and I could see vague shapes through it. Was it thin? I decided to find out.
    I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, ducked under the bloodwater, and pushed toward the firewall. When I hoped I had gone far enough, I came up--and found myself in a burned-out forest. The firewall was behind me, and evidently the fire had recently left this spot. But, strangely, green shoots were already appearing on the charred trees. They were burned but not dead.
    To the west, the muck soon dehydrated into a baked flat, dried out by the fire. The pooka would be able to walk here--if he could get across the firewall. Well, I had done it; he could use the same device, ducking under the water. If he could unmuck enough to move.
    He would need help. I contemplated the smoldering, sprouting trunks and had a notion. I could haul him under!
    I ducked under the firewall again and came up in the bloodbath. There was the pooka, unchanged, except a little deeper mired. He was keeping his chin up; he had to, to keep his nose clear of the bloodstream that surrounded him.
    “I need a chain,” I said. I put my hands on one of the chains that wrapped him and tugged at it. The thing was tied in, with no free end. I wondered who had fastened these chains on him and why, but this was not the time for idle speculation. Many things in Xanth don't have sensible explanations anyway; they just are.
    “I'll have to do this the hard way,” I said. “Steady, now.” I stretched out a loop of chain so that it projected into the water beside him, then hefted my sword, lifting it above my head with both hands and bringing it down ferociously.
    The pooka neighed with terror, but was unable to flinch away. Then the blade caught the loop of chain and sliced through it. I had a good sword; it had been dipped in dragon's blood, and so the blade was magically hard and sharp and could cut through almost anything.
    I took one of the severed ends, passed it down around the muck-buried barrel of the ghost horse, and drew it up on the other side. I kept working, unraveling the chain until I had what I needed. Then I made sure the rest was securely anchored about the barrel and forelimbs of the animal, so it could not slip free.
    “Now, Pook, I'm going to haul you under the firewall,” I said. “To get you out of this mess. But you'll have to help. When you feel the pull, try to walk with it; you should be able to, with that help. When you reach the firewall, get your body as close to it as possible, duck your head down under it so you won't get burned, and I'll haul you across. Got that?”
    The pooka did not react. I couldn't tell whether he understood. Well, no help for it; I had to do it. If this worked, I would save the ghost horse; if not--
    I slogged back to the firewall, hauling the chain. I dived under. On the other side, I picked a suitable scorched tree and strung the chain over a low, horizontal branch.
    Then I hauled on the end.
    There was resistance, of course. That muck didn't want to let go of its prey. I hauled harder, hanging my whole weight on it. Gradually there was give; slowly the chain moved. I took a new grip and hauled some more, and more came. Now it got easier; the pooka was helping. Heave by heave and step by step, I hauled the animal toward the firewall, though I could not see him on the other side. If he failed to duck his head at the critical moment--
    Then the taut chain dipped into the muck, and I knew the ghost horse was