Free Straw Into Gold by Gary D. Schmidt Page B

bear," snarled the Grip.
    The miller drew a hand up to one of the arrow shafts. "By all that's holy, I can sink a shaft through an eye before you blink. Take your hands away from the boy."
    The Grip hesitated and then took the sword from my neck. He let go my arm and it dangled down, the fire so sharp I could hardly keep from crying out.
    "Tousle," said the miller. I looked down toward the blade, then slowly started backward away from it. Beads of sweat ran down my sides, and my breathing was short. I still clutched the shirt in my hand.
    The Grip straightened, holding the sword in front of him. He balanced it in his hand, then sheathed it. "Miller, it makes no difference if I take him here, now, or if I take him in a day or two. None to me, at least. For that matter we can stay here and play the game out until six more suns have set. But, miller, the boy will never finish his business with the king, my life upon it."
    "Yes," said the miller, "your life upon it."
    The Grip's mouth worked back and forth, and the hand holding the sword hilt grew white-knuckled. Then he exploded. "Do you know what it is to feel the rage of the Great Lords? And what is this boy to you? Nothing. I could take him now and be about my business. We'll be gone and all will be as it was before."
    "No," said the miller's wife.
    "No," said the miller.
    "You've played the fool all your life, and now you play it again. By all that's holy, you never had to send your daughter to Wolverham. The thing was a wisp of the king's fancy, a whim at the end of a hunt. He would have forgotten come morning, and you none the worse for your silly boast."
    "He would not have forgotten the spinning of gold."
    "He would have forgotten. He is the creature of a moment. All that happened, miller, happened at your designing, and you see now the end. Design again and protect this boy, and I will burn this house, and your mill, around your ears. There is no jest here, miller. I will fill my hands with the ashes of your mill."
    "Tousle," said the miller. "You hear the choice. I could send you with the King's Grip, or I could keep you from him." The miller's hand reached out and gripped his wife's shoulder. "We have had this choice before," he said to her, and she nodded. Then he turned to me. "If there is design in this, remember what I choose to do this time. Run, Tousle. Run, Innes. Run and do not look back. And this Grip and I will be about our business."
    I dropped the shirt over my head. The miller's wife looked at us, and she smiled. Tears wet the creases in her cheeks."Go," she breathed, and she said it with a sigh, as if she had been waiting to say it for years. "Go, and God go with you."
    I crossed to Innes and took him by the sleeve. Together we walked backward out the door and into the frosted night.
    But we did not run.
    The Grip's black horse, darker than the shadows, stood tied to a low hemlock. He was bigger by far than the Dapple or the Gray, and his steamy breath snorted up like a dragon's. I held Innes to a stop, then stepped to the horse slowly, one hand reaching out. He pulled at his reins, whinnying and tossing his head. If he hadn't been tied by the halter, he would have reared.
    And suddenly I was back at Da's farm, the morning the Gray had first trotted out of the forest. Big eyed and blood flecked from ferocious spurs, he had galloped back and forth in the clearing, desperate and terrified, while I watched from the window. Then Da had gone out. Little Da, so tiny against the rearing horse. With one hand outstretched, he had walked steadily, clucking softly, until the horse calmed and stood, eyes still big, still watching. Da had stood on his toes and reached up until the horse leaned his head down. When Da first touched him, the Gray's sides flicked out with fear, but he did not move. He whinnied once, but by the time Da had begun to stroke his neck, the Gray had stuck his muzzle in Da's jerkin. I was not at all surprised when he pulled out a block of