The Wolf King by Alice Borchardt Read Free Book Online

the horse’s hindquarters. They both suffered, fearful one leg would turn out to be broken. Then neither one of them would have known what to do.
    The gray wolf didn’t know how he could bring himself to kill a friend—even to save him terrible suffering. And the horse knew a shattered leg would be the end of him. Even a human with such an injury stood little chance of recovery. Blood loss and infection took a terrible toll even among those lightly injured. But as luck would have it, when the wolf had freed all four legs, Audovald found himself able to stand comfortably.
    I cannot think
, he told the wolf as he tested each leg by stamping and bending,
how I did not take mortal injury. But it appears I didn’t. Now let’s see if we can make it down into the valley. I must search for the rest
.
    They were both balanced on the steep fanlike surface of the slide. By now the snow had stopped and the sky was clearing. The moon shone brightly. Both horse and wolf had no more trouble seeing than they would have at midday.
    They may be miles from here or buried deep,
Audovald said.
    Horses are pessimists,
the gray wolf thought again. He was about to begin circling when he heard a sharp yip from above.
    Here and there some small bits of the trail remained. A black wolf was on one of them. Her tail waved back and forth in a graceful gesture, not an enthusiastic one.
    l am alive, come.
    He did. They were in a shallow cave, a natural grotto. Antonius was lying down, his head pillowed on a saddle. Gavin was tending a small fire. The black wolf—Matrona—and Maeniel both turned human. Maeniel borrowed some of Gavin’s clothes, a heavy wool tunic and trousers. Gavin looked guilty and miserable at the same time.
    “We lost her,” he said, and began to weep.
    Antonius opened his eyes once, shook his head, then closed them again. Matrona dressed in a white silk dalmatic and brown suede divided riding skirt.
    “We will mourn later,” Maeniel said firmly. “When we are sure. She is one of us, and we are difficult to kill.”
    Antonius’s eyes opened. “You mean you think she might still be alive? But did you see what a drop—”
    “As I said,” Maeniel repeated. “When we are sure one way or the other, there will be time enough for grief and recriminations. In the meantime, we search. Antonius, can you ride?”
    “Yes.” Antonius was on his feet in a moment.
    “Good,” Maeniel said. “Audovald is making his way here.”
    “The horse survived?”
    “Yes, I freed him. We—”
    “He indicated Gavin and Matrona.”—will go as wolves.“ They dropped their clothing.
    Moon dazzle filled Antonius’s eyes, then they were gone into the night.
    A nightmare. This was a nightmare, Regeane thought as she brushed her hand over her eyes. “Might we be dead?” she asked the Saxon.
    He nodded. “I have thought so myself. Dead in the wilderness without offerings and unmourned by kin. Without the proper sacrifices and lauds to tell the gods we were both noble and well conducted, we have been consigned to the wilderness as outcasts.”
    “I have always been an outcast,” Regeane said. “I am not afraid.”
    “As it happens, so have I,” the Saxon answered. “Being reduced to the lowest slavery possible, sold only for my bodily strength, working chained in the Lombard wheat fields, I once took the part of a horse and drew a plow.”
    The conversation was very calm.
    Blank-faced, jerking like a marionette, the first of the corpses, the one whose face was a mask of terror, began coming toward them. Meanwhile, the flames that had, at first, seemed to be confined to the altar screen and the cupola above it began slowly creeping over the beamed ceiling above.
    “We should be having trouble breathing,” Regeane said. “Instead, the smoke is being drawn out of the room.”
    They were both backing away from the oncoming dead man.
    “I imagine there are holes in the roof,” the Saxon said. Then he cried out in terror and disgust