The Luck of Brin's Five Read Online Free PDF Page A

omen, stood outside our tent.
    â€œPeace to Brin’s Five from Hunter Geer, their glebe neighbor.”
    â€œPeace in sad time,” replied Harper Roy, lounging at the open flap with a bunch of red mourning threads.
    â€œSadness?” The albino peered boldly into the dark recesses of our tent.
    â€œOdd-Eye is gone,” said the Harper, making an averting sign.
    â€œMay his soul-bird fly far,” murmured Whitewing, running a thin, blue-veined claw down the tent fabric so that the dry skin rasped against the coarse cloth. “Have you heard of the fire-ship in the lake?”
    â€œI have seen comings and goings,” said Roy cautiously. “A fire-ship?”
    Whitewing hissed with pleasure. “There is a great reward for catching its devil!”
    â€œA devil!” Harper Roy made an averting sign. “There was a devil in the fire-ship?”
    â€œA devil . . .” said Whitewing, “. . . and Tiath Gargan will have it for his own.”
    â€œGreat North Wind . . .” said Roy. “Is our Great Elder come to Hingstull as well as a flying devil?”
    â€œHe lies down river at Otolor; he has flown in a party of vassals to scour the mountains.”
    We shuddered now at Whitewing’s story; Tiath Gargan had never come so close.
    Roy probed a little. “Is it certain this devil did not . . . drown?”
    â€œTiath’s hunters saw it flying down,” said Whitewing eagerly. “The Great Elder will give land-title to any Family that delivers up the flying goblin, dead or alive.”
    â€œThat is a great reward.” Roy was cunning. “Perhaps Mamor and I might try . . .”
    â€œWhat?” creaked Whitewing. “With no Luck in your house? Hunt a devil?”
    â€œWhy do you tell us then?”
    â€œOut of friendship.” Whitewing grinned like a wolf. “Hunter Geer will catch the devil. Tell us if you see any prowling thing.”
    â€œNone,” said Roy, “before you came.”
    Whitewing’s pink eyes blazed. “Take care! If the devil is not found . . . who knows what Strangler Tiath might do in his wrath?”
    â€œWe need not fear him!”
    â€œYou must!” Whitewing took a step into our tent, but the Harper blocked his way. “Your Luck has died. You are accursed. If the devil is loose, your ill-fortune will keep us from finding it. Tiath Pentroy is a devout follower of the old threads.”
    â€œOur prayers for Odd-Eye’s journey are not ended!” growled Roy, “leave us in peace . . . or you blaspheme against our Mother, the North Wind.”
    â€œRemember my warning . . .” Whitewing drew back, hovering for a moment outside our tent. Then through slits and watch-holes we all saw the creature run flapping through the snow towards Hunter Geer’s tent, under the rock wall.
    We doused our candlecones and talked in the dark. Poor Diver came out from the covers confused and still more confused by the way we clapped hands over his mouth to silence him. There was a terrible struggle to communicate, but he accepted that danger was about and sat mute.
    â€œWe must leave!” said Mamor. “This night, rain or snow. Our good fortune depends on it.” He dug me in the ribs and rattled the mat-loom; I went on taking it to pieces. Brin was already packing her scrolls and skeins into one of the hide bags.
    â€œStrangler Tiath . . .” quavered old Gwin, “will he come after us?”
    â€œNot likely,” said Brin. “We have more to fear from the weather.”
    â€œYou don’t know,” Gwin whined. “You’ve not seen the Pentroy’s handiwork. Trees strung with the dead, like rotting fruit!”
    â€œWe must leave, Mother!” urged Roy. “What if they searched this tent? Then we are in trouble with Tiath Pentroy, and our Luck is dragged into Rintoul as a devil.”
    â€œWe must leave word for Hunter Geer,” said Brin. “We