Free Isle of Glass by Judith Tarr Page A

without thought.
    Thea stared back. She was the first person, apart from Alun,
who had seen no strangeness in him at all.
    His own kind. Were they all so proud?
    “Most of us,” she said. “It’s our besetting sin. We’re also
stubborn. Horribly so. As you’ll come to know.”
    “Will I?” He was surprised that he could speak at all, let
alone with such control. “Since you can’t approach Alun, surely you want to go
back to his brother.”
    She shook her head vehemently. “Go back to Aidan? Kyrie
eleison ! I'm not as mad as all that. No; I’m staying with you. Either Alun
will slip and let his secret out, or at least I’ll be safe out of reach of
Aidan’s wrath.”
    “You can’t !” His
voice cracked like a boy’s.
    “I can,” she shot back. “And will, whatever you say, little
Brother.”
    He rose unsteadily. He was nearly a head taller than she.
“You can’t,” he repeated, coldly now, as he would have spoken to an upstart
novice. “I’m on an errand from my Abbot to the Bishop Aylmer. I cannot be
encumbered with a woman.”
    To his utter discomfiture, she laughed. Her laughter was
like shaken silver. “What, little Brother! Do I threaten your vows?”
    “You threaten my errand. Go back to Rhiyana and leave me to
it.”
    For answer, she yawned and lay where he had lain. “It’s
late, don’t you think? We’d best sleep while we can. We’ve a long way still to
go.”
    No power of his could move her. She was not human, and her
strength was trained and honed as his was not. Almost he regretted his
reluctance to use power.
    She had no such scruples. Like a fool, he tried to reason
with her. “You can’t come with us. You have no horse, no weapons, not even a
garment for your body.”
    She smiled, and melted, and changed; and a white wolf lay at
his feet. And again: a sleek black cat. And yet again: a white hound with red
ears, laughing at him with bright elf-eyes.
    He breathed deep, calming himself, remembering what he was.
In the shock of her presence, he had forgotten. He picked up his cloak and
stepped over her, setting Jehan and the fire between them, and lay down.
    He did not sleep. He did not think that she did, either.
With infinite slowness the sky paled into dawn.
    o0o
    Jehan had strange dreams, elf-voices speaking in the night,
and shapes of light moving to and fro about the camp; and once a white
woman-shape, born of Alf’s song and his own waking manhood. When he woke, he
burned to think of her. He sat up groggily and stared.
    A hound stared back. Her eyes were level, more gold than
brown, and utterly disconcerting.
    Alf came to stand beside her, brittle-calm as ever. “What—”
Jehan began, his tongue still thick with sleep. “Whose hound is that?”
    “Alun’s,” Alf answered.
    The novice gaped at her. “But how—”
    “Never mind,” said Alf. “She’s attached herself to us
whether we will or no.”
    Jehan held out his hand. The hound sniffed it delicately,
and permitted him to touch her head, then her sensitive ears. “She’s very
beautiful," he said.
    Alf smiled tightly. “Her name is Thea.”
    “It fits her,” Jehan said. Something in Alf’s manner felt
odd; he looked hard at the other, and then at the hound, and frowned. “Is she
what’s been following us?”
    “Yes.” Alf knelt to rekindle the fire.
    Jehan fondled the soft ears. She was sleek, splendid, born
for the hunt, yet she did not look dangerous. She looked what surely she was, a
high lord’s treasure, bred to run before kings. He laughed suddenly. “You’re
almost a proper knight now, Brother Alf! All you need is a sword.”
    “Thank you,” Alf said, “but no.” The fire had caught; he
brought out what remained of their provisions, and sighed. "What will you
have? Moldy bread, or half a crumb of cheese?”

8
    The trees were thinning. Jehan was sure of it. The road had
widened; he and Alf could ride side by side for short stretches with Thea
running ahead. Like Fara, she seemed