Moonblood (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #3) (36 page)

Imraldera gasped as the yellow-eyed dragon released her, and she fell to the ground, burned almost beyond bearing. But she spoke through her pain. “Rose Red!”

“Yes,” said the dragon, turning away from her and clenching his hands into fists. Though he hated her, he couldn’t bear to look on her suffering.

The Wood trembled. Goldstone was old, older than the Near World or the Far. But it felt within its boundaries a being older still, and fear raced through the treetops in rustling whispers of warning.

“My Father is dead,” the yellow-eyed dragon said, turning this way and that, listening to the Wood, “but his bargain lives on. If Vahe spills his daughter’s blood one night from now when Hymlumé shines red in remembrance of her own flowing blood, then my kinfolk will wake. And they will serve Vahe to whatever end he drives them, were he to order them to eat themselves alive.”

“He cannot do that!” Imraldera struggled to speak through her pain, her words thin. “Even Vahe is not so strong!”

“What my Father has promised will come to pass. The Lady of Dreams Realized will see to that.” He whirled upon her then, and seeing how she cringed in fear of his burning touch, fire rose in his throat.

“I care nothing for your world, Imraldera.” Flames lashed from between his teeth, and sparks struck her already ravaged face. “I care nothing if Vahe raises his army and burns you and your Haven and all your records beyond recall. I wish the memory of those centuries was destroyed even now, that my own life was ended and gone, that it never was! But . . .” Here his eyes closed, for a moment sparing her from their awful gaze. “But Anahid would have her daughter safe. Anahid still has a heart, soiled and seared though it may be. And she loves the Princess Varvare. I have no heart, Imraldera. None. But what Anahid desires, I desire.”

His eyes flared open, but they looked into the forest over her head, and they were enormous with terror. His voice was a guttural snarl. “Save the girl, Knight of Farthestshore! Don’t let her blood be spilled.”

He took a step back then, and as he did so he lost all semblance of a man and became a dragon. Dread roared from his throat. “Away from me!”

Imraldera felt the presence of the one-horned beast.

It walked where it willed, and the Wood gave way around it. Even the Haven vanished at its approach. Imraldera, cradling her ruined hands, turned and saw it coming. Its pace was solemn but swift as stars turning overhead, and its horn was white and black at once.

The dragon flamed again. He towered over the unicorn, his wings like great storm clouds, his eyes like lightning. Fire billowed from his mouth, and Imraldera flung herself flat on her face as flames raced over her and struck the unicorn. The unicorn came forward, untouched. The yellow-eyed dragon screamed and beat his wings, crouching for a spring into the air.

A flash of white, and the unicorn leapt. The movement was like the doom of kingdoms, powerful and inevitable. The horn pierced the dragon’s hide as a needle pierces silk, penetrating deep into the place where the heart would be had the dragon still possessed one.

The yellow-eyed dragon . . . Diarmid . . . the golden-eyed childe who had fought monsters at her side . . . the young man who had loved a girl named Anahid and lost her . . . shrieked and shrieked again until blood poured from his mouth and clogged his throat.

Then he died.

Imraldera screamed, staggering to her feet and shaking her ruined hands at the one-horned beast. It stood over the crumpled form of a dragon that dwindled into the ruins of a human body. She stumbled forward, hardly knowing what she did, angry again and shouting, “How could you? How
could
you?”

The unicorn turned to her. She saw with overwhelming horror that it was beautiful.

Maiden,
it said,
you are hurt.

“How could you?” she yelled once more, tears streaming down her burned face. “He died a dragon! You killed him as a dragon! Don’t you know what you’ve done?”

The unicorn stepped forward. It was so delicate, Imraldera realized, unreal in its grace. Its eyes were as deep as the sky.

Stretch out your hands.

She obeyed, still crying, shaking with anger and terror. The unicorn bowed its horn, so narrow, so fragile that a child might snap it in two. It touched her hands, and they healed. It touched the burns on her face, and they vanished.

Imraldera stared into those deep, deep eyes. She drew a knife from her belt and raised it.

Depraved though it had become, a unicorn never harmed a pure maiden. This was the final remnant of its glory days when it sang the Songs high in the firmament. Thus it did not kill her. Instead it vanished without a word. Imraldera felt the Wood relaxing about her as the unseen beast sped away from the Haven.

She breathed again and dropped the knife. Then with a sob she knelt by the crumpled form of he who once was Diarmid and held him in her arms. His body was light with the absence of spirit and no longer burned inside.

“He died a dragon,” she whispered, cradling his head against her shoulder. His blood stained her robes. “Why? Why did you let him?”

But she received no answer.

Gently she laid the dragon upon the grass, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed the lids over eyes that would never burn again. She whispered:

“I blessed your name in beauty. In fear I still must sing.”

Goldstone Wood looked on in silence as the lady sang her benediction over the slain. Then it watched as Imraldera gathered herself up, sheathed her knife, and took the Path to Rudiobus, leaving the Haven behind.

7

T
HE
H
ALL OF
R
ED AND
G
REEN
was too hot and noisy for Oeric’s comfort. He was accustomed to a solitary life, and the vibrancy of the little people was overwhelming at best. So he spoke a few words to the guard, then slipped away from the hall to wait. He made his way to the waterfall, Fionnghuala Lynn, and stood gazing out from behind its misty curtain to the frozen lake and winterbound wood beyond.

But his eyes saw none of these.

He gazed instead into the past, a past both distant and very near to him. Oeric recalled his own first visit to Rudiobus, long centuries ago, and what Bebo had said to him then. Back before the Sleeper woke and rose up from the Gold Stone. Back before the destruction of Carrun Corgar and before Oeric broke faith with the Prince, his Master.

His face was as hard as the stone of Rudiobus Mountain, and none who saw him could have guessed his thoughts.

Lionheart certainly could not when he descended the long stairway and, to his surprise, found he had not ended up back in the feasting hall as he had expected. He must have taken a wrong turn on his way down, he thought, though he didn’t recall there being any turns. Yet Queen Bebo was gone, and here he stood at Fionnghuala Lynn, alone save for the stony presence of Sir Oeric. He approached the massive knight, leaned his shoulder against the wall, and also gazed through the mist of the waterfall. Neither spoke. Echoing through the mountain caverns came the voice of Eanrin, singing his eternal devotion to Lady Gleamdren, sometimes followed by the booming laughter of Iubdan and his court. Otherwise all was quiet, and even the waterfall murmured rather than roared.

At length Oeric said, “I saw you climb the long stair.”

Lionheart grunted.

“Queen Bebo’s words can be difficult to hear.”

Another grunt. Another silence. Then Lionheart, bowing his head, said quietly, “I don’t think I can do it.”

Oeric turned his huge eyes to look at the small man across from him. Lionheart felt the gaze, it was so intense. But he could not bring himself to speak, to tell the knight his thoughts.

To admit that he did not want to die.

He gulped and said instead, “She says that I will cross into Arpiar.”

“What?”

The ugly knight’s tone was sharp, and Lionheart glanced up at him uneasily. “She says that before the Night of Moonblood has come and gone I shall cross the boundaries and . . . and find Rose Red.”

Oeric continued to stare, and though not a feature moved, his expression slowly hardened into something fierce. “Moonblood is tomorrow night.”

Lionheart winced. “It is?”

“Five hundred years I have searched for a Crossing.” The knight’s voice remained steady and low, but his hands formed into fists. “Five hundred years I have sought to find my brother. To find him and to kill him. For the last time.”

Lionheart shuddered, aghast. “You seek to kill your own brother?”

“Yes, little mortal. Yes, I do. Because I am the only one who can. I am Vahe’s twin, as like to him in spirit as any two beings can be. And I am as despicable as he, as capable of evil. I proved that long ago when in my pride I believed I could take and use my brother’s weapons. For good purpose, of course, or so I told myself. In my arrogance, I did not consider that what I considered good might not in fact be right. No, I saw the evil Vahe worked and said that I would not do the same as he. So I disobeyed my Prince, betrayed my fellow knights, and took what I wanted.”

His white eyes bored into Lionheart’s, and Lionheart found he could not break his gaze no matter how he might wish to. “I did not trust my Prince, so I used Vahe’s power for my own ends. I was wrong. I was so wrong, and oh! What evil did I cause!

“You see, Lionheart, I am no better than my brother. I am he and he is I except . . . except for one thing. I, though I am filthy at heart, vile and undeserving, was offered my Prince’s forgiveness. Broken before him, I became the recipient of his grace.”

Here at last, the knight turned away, resting his fist against the wall and drawing a deep breath. “Therefore, I and I alone must put an end to Vahe’s evil. It is the way of Faerie, strange though it may seem to you. If I cannot save Arpiar, no one can. If I do not cut through the veils, they shall remain in place. For it is I who share Vahe’s blood. Did not Queen Bebo say as much long centuries ago? Thus I have served my Prince these five hundred years, thus I have hunted for a way into my brother’s realm. And in that time, I have not seen my beloved’s face, for I vowed to her that I should not see her again until my people were free.”

He turned suddenly on Lionheart and for a moment was even bigger and far more terrifying; Lionheart had never before seen that expression on the knight’s face, that combination of despair and anger. “And now you, who may have caused my beloved’s death . . . who may have stolen my last chance to speak to her what my heart has kept silent these many centuries . . . who without a thought, without a care, sent her to the one-horned beast, into Vahe’s hands . . . You will go where I cannot? You will face my enemy and not I? No! It cannot—”

The enormous eyes closed. As quickly as it had come, the flash of fury was replaced with remorse. Lionheart, frozen in fear, watched the ugly knight pass a hand over his face and draw a great breath.

“No,” he whispered. “No, I will not walk that path again. I will wait. Forgive me, Lionheart. I am wrong to forget so quickly.”

Once more they stood in silence. Even the singing from the feasting hall was stilled. Lionheart, not entirely certain what had just happened, could think of nothing to say in the face of Oeric’s distress. As the silence continued, his own thoughts came creeping back.

“Your life for hers.”

The winter air was cold around him, but not so cold as the icy hand that gripped his heart. Had he not been given that choice before?

“Your life for her heart,”
the Dragon had said.
“An easy enough exchange.”

Now, by some fate or fortune Lionheart did not understand, he was brought around to this moment again, as though the Dragon still lived and breathed his poison into the world. Once more he must look Death in the eyes and . . . what?

He must prove himself a man; that’s what. He must make things right. The memory of Hymlumé’s face, her voice in that ageless song, returned to him with pain. He must do what was right and see this quest through. He must regain his honor and rescue Rose Red at whatever cost.

And yet.

And yet when the time came, how could he hope to fulfill all the vows he made to himself now? He’d failed once already. He was still the same man. Could his own resolve possibly make a difference where it had not before? His love for Una had not sufficed. Could the guilt he felt for betraying his best friend serve where love could not?

“Dragons eat it all,” Lionheart swore under his breath, and the murmur of the falls covered his voice. “Dragons eat it all and be sick upon the lot!”

Why not let Oeric have his day? Let
him
find the Crossing into Arpiar! It was his dragon-eaten quest, after all. Let Oeric take the glory, save the princess, do what he as a Knight of Farthestshore was much better suited to do. Lionheart did not belong in this world of ancient kings and still more ancient prophecies. He was a mortal man, a ruined prince, a failure and a . . . and a coward.

His stomach churned along with his churning thoughts, and Lionheart leaned his head back against the wall, which was damp with spray from the waterfall. Droplets fell on his face, like stinging kisses they were so cold. Even the waterfall was freezing now.

A voice spoke behind him.

“Did you hear that?”

Lionheart startled and whirled about to find Eanrin standing very close. Oeric also turned and growled, “Lumé’s crown, Eanrin, must you creep about so? Why aren’t you in the hall singing to your—”

“Shhh!” The poet made a sharp motion with his hand. “Listen!”

Lionheart strained his ears. He heard nothing but the breathing of his companions and the swiftly freezing waterfall.

But Eanrin swore, “Great hopping giants, it
is
her!” and leapt forward, breaking through the long icicles formed by the falls. They shattered in crystalline clatter, and Lionheart watched the poet run across the glassy top of the lake.

Then he heard a voice calling, “Rudiobus! Hallo, Rudiobus!”