Isle of Glass Read Online Free PDF

six
times that, and a minor miracle, to undo the damage. Unless you’d prefer to
live a cripple.”
    “I could live lame if there was peace in Gwynedd and Anglia
and Rhiyana, and three kings safe on their thrones, and Rhydderch rendered
powerless.”
    “Lame and twisted and racked with pain, and bereft of your
sword hand. A cause for war even if you put down Rhydderch, if knights in
Rhiyana are as mindful of their honor as those in Anglia.”
    Alun drew a breath, ragged with pain. “Knights in Rhiyana
pay heed to their King. Who will let no war begin over one man’s folly. I will
need a horse-litter, Brother, and perhaps an escort, for as soon as may be.
Will you pass my request to your Abbot?”
    “I can give you his answer now,” Alf replied. “No. The
Church frowns on suicide.”
    “I won’t die. Tell your Abbot, Brother. The storm is about
to break. I must go before it destroys us all.”
    o0o
    Dom Morwin was in the orchard under a grey sky, among trees
as old as the abbey itself. As Alf came to walk with him, he stooped stiffly,
found two sound windfalls, and tossed one to his friend.
    Alf caught it and polished it on his sleeve. As he bit into
it, Morwin asked, “How is your nurseling?”
    “Lively,” Alf answered. “He came to this morning, looked
about, and ordered a horse-litter.”
    The Abbot lifted an eyebrow. “I would have thought that he
was on his deathbed. He certainly looked it yesterevening when I glanced in.”
    “He won’t die. He won’t be riding about for a while yet,
either. Whatever he may think.”
    “He sounds imperious, for a foundling.”
    “That, he’s not. Look.” Alf reached into the depths of his
habit and drew out the signet in its pouch.
    Morwin examined the ring for a long moment. “It’s his?”
    “He carried it. He wanted you to see it.”
    The other turned it in his hands. “So—he’s one of Gwydion’s
elven-folk. I’d wondered if the tales were true.”
    “Truer than you thought before, at least.”
    Morwin’s glance was sharp. “Doubts, Alf?”
    “No.” Alf sat on a fallen trunk. “We’re alike. When he woke,
we met, eye, mind. It was painful to draw back and to talk as humans talk. He
was...very calm about it.”
    “How did he get here, as he was, with his King’s signet in
his pocket?”
    “He rode. He was peacemaking for Gwydion, but he ran afoul
of a lord he couldn’t bewitch. He escaped toward the only help his mind could
see. He wasn’t looking for human help by then. I was the closest one of his
kind. And St. Ruan’s is...St. Ruan’s.”
    “He’s failed in his errand, then. Unless war will wait for
the winter to end and for him to heal.”
    “He says it won’t. I know it won’t. That’s why he ordered
the horse-litter. I refused, in your name. He wanted something more direct.”
    “Imperious.” The Abbot contemplated his half-eaten apple.
“The border of Gwynedd is dry tinder waiting for a spark. There are barons on
both sides who’d be delighted to strike one. And Richard would egg them on.”
    “Exactly. Gwydion, through Alun, was trying to prevent
that.”
    “ Was ? Your Alun’s lost, then?”
    “For Gwydion’s purposes. Though he’d have me think otherwise.”
    “Exactly how bad is it?”
    “Bad,” Alf answered. “Not deadly, but bad. If he’s careful,
he’ll ride again, even walk. I don’t know if he’ll ever wield a sword. And that
is if he does exactly as I tell him. If he gets up and tries to run his King’s
errands, he’ll end a cripple. I told him so. He told me to get a litter.”
    “Does he think he can do any better now than he did before?”
    “I don’t know what he thinks!” Alf took a deep breath. More
quietly he said, “Maybe you can talk to him. I’m only a monk. You’re the Lord
Abbot.”
    Morwin’s eyes narrowed. “Alf. How urgent is this? Is it just
a loyal man and a foster father looking out for his ward, and a general desire
for peace? Or does it go deeper? What will happen if