“How can I bring a corpse into Rudiobus?” he whispered. “If corpse you are, that is.” He shook his head, setting his jaw. “No, I cannot do it. Death cannot come to Rudiob-AYIEE!”
The stranger’s hands had come up and clasped about his neck. He leapt to his feet, screaming as though bitten by a snake. If he’d been a cat, the fur on his tail would have stood on end. As it was, he lost his cap in a brief struggle to loosen her hold and danced several paces away.
“Dragon’s teeth!” he bellowed. “Dragon’s teeth and wings and tail! You nigh unto scared my whiskers off, woman!”
The mortal lay in a heap, supporting herself on her elbows, breathing now in rasping gasps that sounded as though they would tear her lungs to shreds. With an effort, she raised her face. Her eyes pierced Eanrin.
“Help me!” she gasped. Then, with a moan, she collapsed once more.
“Dragon’s teeth,” the poet swore again, his voice venomous. He approached on tentative feet, sniffing just in case some trace of a spell had escaped him before. The caorann tree waved its branches gently, as though trying to reassure him. But he knew better than to trust any of the trees in the Wood. They were deceitful devils when they got the chance, even the caorann on occasion.
Kneeling but hesitant to touch her again, he said, “Gentle lady, I thought you were dead.”
She was still but for the faintest rise and fall of her chest as she drew breath. Setting his jaw, Eanrin reached out and took her in his arms. She was so thin that he expected no difficulty in lifting her. To his surprise, she was far heavier than her size would indicate, and he struggled to stand upright. Yet she moaned piteously in her semiconscious state, her arms draped across his neck.
She smelled sweet to him suddenly. He put his nose into her hair and drew a long breath. All the prettiest scents of the world danced alluringly through his senses.
“I should put you down,” he whispered, but his arms would not obey. “I should leave you here. You’ll do me harm if I bear you in. I know you’ll do me harm!”
But his heart would not believe his head, and his arms clutched her close.
He heard the Black Dogs’ voices.
The darkness of their baying rolled across the Wood, dragging shadows with it, dousing lights. Eanrin turned, his face pale as a ghost’s, expecting to see their great bodies bearing down upon him, teeth flashing, eyes blazing.
Instead, he saw something far more dreadful.
He was a hound, but he was not black. Where he stood, the shadows of the trees drew back, and light fell in a bright aura upon his white-gold coat. Tall and slender, with a long, noble face, he stood on delicate feet and gazed at the poet from out of the Wood’s depths. He made no sound but took a single step forward.
Eanrin screamed.
In that instant, his decision was made, though he did not make it for himself. His feet moved in a surge of terror and, still clutching the woman tight, he sprang back across the borders into Rudiobus.
3
EANRIN STOOD ONCE MORE upon the banks of Gorm-Uisce. The Wood was behind him, but he felt the protections of Rudiobus all around, the boundaries set in place ages ago by Queen Bebo. Nevertheless, he stood scarcely breathing, his limbs all atremble. Then he squeezed his eyes tight shut and bowed his head. He would not think of it. He would not remember it! That vision was unbearable, unthinkable, and he would not allow himself to dwell upon it. Better to have seen the Black Dogs!
With a shudder that shook his whole body so that he nearly dropped his burden, he at last opened his eyes again. He found the woman gazing up at him, her face solemn and unreadable.
Eanrin’s mouth was dry, and his voice croaked when he spoke. “You’re safe now. I will take you to my king. Death may not come to Rudiobus, and neither will his Dogs.”
Wordlessly, she buried her face once more in his chest. Eanrin carried her, staggering to the water’s edge. órfhlaith waited there, still tiny as a mayfly.
“Is she the victim?” the mare asked.
Eanrin nodded.
“Iubdan would wish to offer refuge. Put her on my back.”
Eanrin, for once in his life, obeyed without a word. The magic (if magic it must be called) worked again. When he stepped forward to put the woman on órfhlaith’s back, their sizes altered without ever seeming to change. The woman did not shrink; órfhlaith did not grow. Yet each fit the other perfectly.
Eanrin sprang up behind the woman and put his arms around her to keep her in place. The mare cantered smoothly back across the lake. Eanrin said nothing. His heart beat too fast, and his head still whirled with terror. Several times in his absentmindedness, he almost lost hold of the stranger and allowed her to slip into the water.