The Sable Moon Read Online Free PDF Page A

spent. What can I give you to sing for me?”
    â€œFor the sake of that blond-haired fellow there beside you,” Hal answered quietly, “one more song.”
    â€œHim!” Einon burst out. “He is a lazy, useless, conniving Islender. What do you want with him? I’d rather give you a horse.”
    â€œI already have a horse,” Hal replied, and played his last lay. It was the story of Leuin of Laueroc, who had died of torment in the Dark Tower at Nemeton, and even Einon sensed that Hal had given his all in giving that. The day brightened. Hal packed his instrument, gathered up his rewards, and rose to leave.
    â€œWill you go with him, fellow?” Einon asked Alan roughly.
    â€œGo with him!” Alan retorted. “I’d follow him into the sea! Good health to you, my lord.” The two of them walked out into daylight with Einon blinking after.
    They rode off, both of them on Arundel. “I hope you’re satisfied, Alan,” Hal croaked when they were a good distance away. “My throat will be sore for a week, my fingers are raw to the bone, and I never did get my supper.” So Alan brought out a packet of food he had stolen from the table.
    â€œThat’s how they were,” Trevyn concluded. “Faithful comrades …” He fell silent, frowning.
    â€œWhat did they do about Einon?” Meg asked after a while.
    â€œWhat? Oh, nothing. They had the worth of ten years’ tribute in gold and jewels, and what would have been the use of telling him so? They let him alone, and when he died at an irascible old age, they found him a more amiable heir.”
    â€œThey are marvels, the Sun Kings,” Meg said softly. Though she, like Trevyn, had never known the bad times before Hal’s reign.
    â€œFaithful comrades,” Trevyn muttered, still scowling at the ground. It had been many months, he realized, since he had heard Hal sing. The Sunset King hardly stirred from his tower; he looked more often than ever toward the west. An uneasy ache filled Trevyn at that thought.
    The moon sent prickles of light through the tangled trees, and on the north wind rose the hunting cry of the wolves.

Chapter Three
    It began far off at first—eerie, almost beautiful. To the east one would yelp, and far away to north or west or south another would answer him. But Arundel snorted at the sound, and Trevyn felt his fear-sweat run, for he sensed that these were cries of blood such as no animal ought to voice. With clever ease the wolves drew closer on all sides, exulting to each other over the echoing distances of the Forest. Trevyn could no longer hope that he was not the quarry. Arundel’s quivering ears bore him out. Tensely he rose, fingering his sword hilt. Meg piled wood on the fire, then stared soundlessly over the flames. In the firelight the grinning teeth of the wolves shone spectrally bright.
    â€œYou’ll not fend us off with fire, Princeling,” they jeered. “We are not ordinary wolves, you know.”
    â€œSo you have been telling me all day,” he answered them in the Ancient Tongue. He drew his sword with a flourish. “But even if you are gods, steel will separate your souls from your bodies quite effectively.”
    They laughed, yapping with open mouths and lolling tongues. “But there will be more, Princeling; always there will be more. We do not care if we die; blood is life to us, even our own. And after your guts are spilled on the snow and your brains fill our bellies, what then? What then for your muddy cow and your skinny maid and your fine war horse quaking against the stone?”
    â€œArundel is too old to fight,” Trevyn excused him. But his heart turned to water, for he knew that a steed of the elfin blood should fight to the death, no matter what his age. And Arundel, of all such steeds, to be so filled with terror! He who had seen Hal through a hundred combats.…
    â€œTrevyn,” Meg whispered,