The Black Beast by Nancy Springer Read Free Book Online Page A

at the Wall.…
    I joined Tirell, lifting stones until we had cleared a narrow path for the horses. By the time we were finished the sky had turned from black to gray. I could see the shapes of the mountains looking down on us. Grandfather had long since disappeared—into his hut, I supposed. We led the horses through to the far side of the ruined Wall. But before I could mount, Tirell took my arm with no gentle hand.
    â€œNow,” he said, facing me to the south, “make your way between the river and the mountains until you come to Vaire. There is plenty of cover, and it is not too far. Fabron will give you aid, if only secretly. I am sure of it.” His voice was hard. I shook off his hand.
    â€œI go with you,” I told him.
    â€œNo good will come to you with me, princeling. I am a shadowed thing. Choose your path more wisely.” Tirell’s eyes looked like blue jewels, hard and fixed in their sockets.
    â€œIf you go to Acheron, I go there too,” I said.
    He shrugged coldly and mounted his black. He set off silently and I followed without a word. In a moment we rode into the shadows of strange, twisted trees. But before we had gone far, hoofbeats sounded behind us. I whirled to face the pursuit, but Tirell scarcely moved his head. “What is it?” he asked indifferently.
    â€œIt’s the black beast,” I told him.

Chapter Four
    We rode all day without speaking another word. Tirell led, looking like the raven of war in his black cape and on his black steed. I followed on the white mare, and the black beast paced close behind me, restlessly tossing its head. Arrows of fear shot through me all that day; I believed that at any moment I was likely to feel that knifelike horn in my back. But I was too proud even to turn and look at the baleful thing, since Tirell was in such a harsh and desperate mood.
    We made our way up the foothills of Lore Acheron, between ancient, gnarled trees that stooped over us like old, old women puttering at a loom. The ground and tree trunks were covered with shaggy gray moss, and the silence was profound, like the silence after a snowfall. I did not hear even a bird or a rabbit—only the hot breath of that black-horned monster behind me. As the day wore on I forgot my fear in tiredness, for I had not slept the night before. The day was gray—all days might be gray in those woods—and I nodded as I rode. By the time the gray turned to black, even Tirell was willing to sleep. We stumbled off our horses, stupid with fatigue, and sank down into the soft, deep moss. I was sound asleep within minutes.
    In the dead of night I dreamed that the trees were moving. They crooked their branches and beckoned one another, and their long leaves clustered like greenish hair around their knobby heads. They gathered around Tirell and me, peering.
    â€œSuch bold duckies to come to Acheron!” said one in a high, creaky old woman’s voice.
    â€œBold or fools,” said another, sounding puzzled. “Have men forgotten in Vale what Acheron is?”
    â€œThey know well enough, though they will not say it,” the first replied. “Such bold ducks! Shall we take them now, when they will mind it least?”
    â€œNo!” said a voice deeper than the rest. “Bide a bit and see what the lady says. I sense a mistake here. The littler one is full of life.”
    â€œAnd there is the beast, too,” another added. “That is odd.”
    â€œYes, it should be skulking about Melior. How Abas hates the night, and how he hates the beast!” The trees joined in high, creaking laughter, like the tinkling of twigs in a breeze. “Hates it and fears it, poor thing! But is this not Abas’s son?”
    â€œThe black-haired one, yes. It is he that the beast follows. He is a scion of Aftalun.”
    â€œBut what of the other, the russet-haired one? They both wear torques.”
    â€œSpeak no more of that,” said the