The Black Beast Read Online Free PDF Page A

quite by itself. I have never come at it from this direction, but—”
    I screamed and flung up my hands. A black shape was hurtling at us from the gloom beneath the trees, a shape of no creature that I had ever seen. It looked like a horse, but a grotesque horse with flaring nostrils and pale, flashing eyes. Black feathered wings rose from its shoulders, and from its forehead jutted a horn like a black dagger. And the noise! Thunder drumming and wind whipping in those wings—Tirell was in the lead, and the thing was on him before he could do more than stare. His white mare shied and bolted, throwing him to the ground. He lay there, winded, and the black beast reared above him, beating those monstrous wings.
    I had stayed on my horse somehow, but it wouldn’t obey me. So I sprang down and ran forward, yelling like an idiot and waving my fists; I was half mad with fear for Tirell. The weird horselike thing threw me a glance of utter, withering scorn and struck me with a wingtip; even that slight blow was enough to send me sprawling. Then it turned and leaped away. It was gone as suddenly as it had come, and the thunder sound of its hooves faded away. Tirell and I sat on the dirt, staring at each other and gulping for breath.
    â€œAre you all right?” he exclaimed.
    â€œYou should ask!” I retorted. “Can you get up?”
    We both struggled to our feet and discovered that we were not hurt. I tried to brush the loam off of Tirell’s fine blue cloak. “That was quite a fright you gave the thing, brother,” he remarked. He was often ironical. I ignored him.
    â€œWhat was it?” I asked. “Have you seen it before?”
    â€œOnly in dreams,” he answered, and I saw then that he hid something with the irony. He had the bleak look that presaged a sleepless night, and he quickly turned away.
    It took us quite a while to catch the horses. I was jumping and glancing about the whole time, but we did not see the beast again. Finally we got on our way once more.
    â€œWe had better try a little circuit,” Tirell said with just a hint of a smile.
    We left the sacred grove briskly and rode down through the cultivated land of the valley. Farmers at their spring planting straightened to give us a courtesy and then stared after us. They learned nothing. The homestead where Mylitta lived, as Tirell had said, was far apart from the rest, halfway down the river slope and beside the sacred trees.
    â€œHow did you ever meet her?” I asked curiously.
    â€œWandering. This is the sort of lonely spot that suits my fancy well. There she is.”
    I could scarcely see her at first, in her brown homespun against the freshly tilled brown earth. She was sowing grain. She carried the seed in a girdle at her waist as she stepped barefoot over the warm soil to meet us. Like most women in Vale she was named after one of the many names; “Mylitta” was a name of the goddess in fair maiden form. But Tirell had spoken truth when he said she was not so very pretty. Her skin was tawny from sun and weather, her mouth wide, and her nose a bit upturned. Yet I watched her as if I had never seen a woman before.
    It was her grace, I decided, that drew the eye. Or something less courtly than grace. Her movements were effortless, unstudied, her body strong and thoughtlessly lithe, like the body of a wild creature. She came to Tirell and met his eyes with such love that I felt my jaw sag in astonishment. She took no notice of me at all. Rites of courtesy would be lost on this one. Words like pride, rank, honor would mean nothing to her. The workings of her mind were like the rhythms of days and seasons; she loved Tirell, I believe, because he was young, and manly, and hers. She was a simpleton, but I felt no inclination to laugh at her. I felt awed.
    â€œI was kept from you last night, lass,” Tirell said, “but surely this night I will come.”
    She nodded, accepting his assurance as