Read Crewel Lye for Free Online Page A

too smart--but then neither are barbarian swordsmen. Prejudices can be deceiving.
    I came to hoofprints leading clearly to a line--and beyond that line was nothing. Not a cliff, not a wall, just--nothing.
    Now, I always did get a little nervous about things I didn't understand, such as marriage and family, and I certainly didn't understand this. Was it magic? I had heard of magic mirrors that a person could step into and be in the reverse land beyond, and I knew better than to look into the peephole of a hypnogourd. But it looked as if the pooka had crossed this line and disappeared, so it seemed I would have to follow if I wanted to catch him. Then again, those berry-berries--exactly how cunning was this creature?
    I decided to double-check. A little caution seldom hurts anyone. Another myth about barbarians is that they charge straight ahead heedlessly into danger; in truth it is the ignorant civilized man, blundering in the jungle, who does that. No barbarian ever walked blithely into a tangle tree! Well, yes, I did do that at night, but that was a special situation, and I had my sword ready.
    I retraced the suspiciously clear hoofprints--and discovered another set diverging behind some bushes. This occurred on turf, where the traces wouldn't have been visible to the average person, but of course I had a keen wilderness eye. The pooka had walked up to the line, stopped, then carefully backtracked, setting each hoof in its own print, so as to make it seem he had crossed.
    That was warning enough for me. I would not cross that line! Later I learned how smart my decision was; the line was the boundary of the Void, from which no creature returned. The pooka had led me to a pretty trap indeed!
    This, however, showed how clever an animal he was. Now, more than ever, I wanted him for my steed. I followed the new trail and soon spooked the ghost horse back into motion. He had been standing in another thicket, watching me approach. The devil!
    Now I was twice as determined to capture him. I pursued him with such determination that I hardly felt my fatigue. When he paused, so that I could neither hear nor see him, in some location where the trail was confused, I paused too, napping; when he moved again, I moved. I could tell he was getting nervous--and ravenous.
    He was now fleeing southeast. This took me through a pleasant region filled with birds of every size and description. Some of them were pretty big; in fact, I saw a roc-bird circling overhead, but I wasn't too nervous because I knew I was too small to interest it. The pooka was another matter, though; I saw the roc swoop down and realized with horror that it was going for the ghost horse.
    Quickly I unslung my bow and charged forward. I crested a ridge just in time to see the big bird lifting the pooka in its claws. But the chains added to the weight of the horse, off-balancing the bird, and it hesitated. Quickly I loosed a shaft. It sped directly to the bird's feathered rump. Of course, my arrow was no more than a little thorn to a creature that size. But the thorn must have lodged in a tender spot, because the bird let out an indignant, 0-shaped squawk and dropped the pooka.
    The pooka galloped away with a loud rattle and scooted past a tangle tree where the roc couldn't follow. The big bird screamed in fury--and oriented on me. Have you ever seen an angry roc? You never want to! The thing launched itself toward me, and its wings spread so wide they blotted out the light of the sun. I raised my sword, but I knew it was hopeless; this creature was simply too big for me to fight.
    The talons came down, grasping for me--but they were so huge and spread so wide that they missed me; I passed right through their mesh. Perceiving this, the roc grabbed again, this time plunging its claws into the ground around me. They hooked into dirt, rock, turf, and a medium-sized tree and swept all up together, with me in the center.
    I laid desperately about me with my sword as the bird took