The Black Beast Read Online Free Page B

have returned in my lifetime.”
    â€œAnd to the west?” Tirell prompted, to my surprise.
    â€œThere, I think, is fear.” We all looked up at the jagged hulks that loomed over us.
    â€œThough I had a dream, once, that Ogygia lay to the west,” Daymon added. “And it was no sky realm, but lay on the water, amid vast water, and there were people riding on the surface of the water in vessels called boats.”
    Ogygia was another name for Ascalonia, the realm of the gods. But boats! It was a word I did not then know the meaning of. We had no boats in Vale, and no water broader than one could throw a stone across.
    â€œBut even that is fearsome,” Grandfather mused. “Why, I wonder, when a little water is a blessing, does a world of water become a nightmare of terror? Still, it is so.”
    â€œThe main fear must lie closer at hand. Who built this wall?” It was Tirell again, he who usually sat silent. Grandfather turned slowly to face him with expressionless eyes.
    â€œI don’t know. But you are right. There are fell folk on the other side. I hear them sometimes, living here. Theirs are awesome voices.” He did not shudder, as another man might; he needed no such devices to impress us. We knew he never spoke more than he meant.
    â€œVoices of what? Men?” Tirell demanded, but Daymon shook his head. He had said all that he would.
    We ate our noonday meal in silence. It was bread and cheese and such simple stuff as the peasants brought Grandfather in thanks for his help. I liked it better than our fancy fare at home. After we had finished, Grandfather spoke to us, casually enough.
    â€œSo, lads, what is your trouble?”
    I guess I gaped, but Tirell retorted coolly enough, “Trouble? I was aware of none.”
    â€œWhen a man is troubled, always he will turn to examine his roots. Tell me, Tirell—” Grandfather’s eyes grew suddenly as sharp as swords. “Why has your father not yet been killed? His twenty years are gone, and there has been drought in the land these two summers past.”
    Tirell barked out a laugh. “Killed? Because he would take some killing, that is why! He has an army waiting for those who would come to slay him.”
    â€œEven so. But it was not always thus. In past times the Sacred Kings walked tamely to their slaughter. Abas is not one of those. Though he is mad and cruel, he is also clever and bold and proud—it is for that, I think, that my daughter cleaves to him. He is not one to let harm come to himself or his sons.” Grandfather turned his piercing eyes to me. “You fear too much for Tirell, Frain. There is no need yet to flee beyond the mountains.”
    â€œIt can scarcely be said that our father loves us,” I mumbled resentfully.
    â€œWho is to measure the love hidden beneath his hatred? But his pride will serve to preserve you two. Turn elsewhere for love.” The old man rose stiffly to his feet, our signal that the visit was ended. “Go with all blessing,” he said.
    So we went, up the bare grassy Hill and past the altar and the glares of the priestesses and down the slope to the shade of the sacred grove. But I for one was not feeling particularly blessed.

Chapter Two
    â€œLet us go”—Tirell broke silence—“and visit Mylitta, since you wish to see her.” He was quiet, his bearing as quiet as I had ever seen it, and his face unreadable.
    So we turned aside from the track and rode northward into the grove that ringed the Hill. The trees stretched straight and tall; it seemed that the sunlight never quite reached the soft soil beneath them, and there was no young growth. There was scarcely a noise, even of birds, in the greenish twilight between those trunks. I kept looking about me nervously.
    â€œShe lives where the grove meets the river,” Tirell said, his voice sounding much too loud in that stillness. “It is a little place, a few fields,