Free The Black Beast by Nancy Springer Page A

the shoulder wound. He had to pass the strips of cloth under the neck. The beast scarcely moved for his gentle prodding.
    I touched each of the wounds, reluctantly, with my fingertips. Then I got the water and tried to pour some into the beast’s mouth. It did not gulp or stir. “What makes you think I am a healer?” I asked Tirell bitterly.
    â€œYou would do better with metal,” a voice said behind us. We both leaped around, grabbing for our swords. But it was no enemy that faced us. “Grandfather!” I cried, and embraced him.
    Daymon Cein stood by the fire, leaning on his staff to peer at us. I wondered how far he had walked to come to us. Perhaps the whole distance from the Wall. “So,” he said, “you are going to Vaire.”
    â€œAre we?” I asked.
    â€œTo be sure,” growled Tirell. “What else lies west and south?”
    â€œBut why?” I stared at him.
    â€œFor help, what else?” He glared up at me from his place by the prone beast. “Do you think I can take Melior single-handed? But no matter.” He turned back to the wounded monster, stroking its angular head. “I’ll not budge without this beast.”
    â€œThere’s no budging anyway, in this beastly forest,” I complained.
    â€œAnd the Boda will be on you in an hour or so, with the dawn,” said Grandfather serenely. “I’m glad you’re keeping a good watch out. I’ll sit by your fire. Thank you for the offer.” He let himself creakily down and rubbed his old hands over the small blaze.
    â€œGrandfather, how are you?” I questioned anxiously. I knew by then that Abas was angry at him. “What will you do, now that they have driven you from your home? Is Mother all right?”
    â€œLeaping panthers, lad, we are fine!” he said emphatically. “Have a care for yourself! Are you going to sit here and wait for the Boda?”
    I shrugged helplessly. Tirell moved grudgingly to join us. “With deference and apologies to your old bones,” he told Grandfather sourly, “I dare say it would be well to put out the fire.”
    â€œA bit late for that, don’t you think?” Grandfather kept his place, looking cross.
    â€œWe could hack our way through this mess of a forest on foot, leaving the horses,” Tirell muttered, as much to himself as to us. “But I can’t leave the beast.”
    â€œI told you, Frain would do better with metal,” Daymon snapped. “Iron is best. Grasp a knife blade or something, lad, and have a go at it again.”
    I gaped at the old man in bewilderment. His gray eyes met mine steadily, and with unreasoning trust I became willing to try. I drew my iron dagger, the one Shamarra had given me, and held the blade lightly between my curled fingers, sheathing it with my own flesh, so that it could hurt no one except myself. I went and knelt beside the beast, the hurt and crippled thing.… Something warm moved in me, nudging me, so that I suddenly felt quite certain what to do. I touched each wound, then ran my curled hand over the beast from nose to tail and from flank to flank, feeling the warm force join us like brothers. I stood back and raised the dagger. Power shot through me and out, a white-hot, searing, tearing power that made me cry aloud and left me staggering. I lowered my arm.
    The beast got to its feet. It stood shakily at first, with drooping horn, but then it raised its head and stood firm. In the faint light of fire and early dawn it arched its neck, lifted its wings, stamped and pawed the earth amidst the tangled forest.
    â€œTirell!” I exclaimed, still shaking. “Your shield!”
    â€œWhat!” He crouched and looked about him for an enemy.
    â€œYour shield! Look at your shield, then look before you! This is the place on your shield! It is the same entanglement!”
    â€œThen he has been here before,” Tirell murmured.
    He stepped up