The one-eyed queen’s tail stirred by a quarter-inch; the black king ignored her words entirely.
“It never hurts to have a few more friends at your back,” said Luthe, tending the pot over the fire.
“They’re staying only for your cooking,” said Aerin, who had gotten very tired of the usual Damarian trail fare on her way north.
Luthe looked at her from half-shut eyes. “I will take advantage wherever I can,” he said mildly.
Aerin put her arms around him, and the arm that was not holding the spoon crept around her waist. “You may give up cooking at once, and paint your bald head silver,” she said.
“Mm,” he replied. “My love, I feel it only fair to warn you that I am feeling quite alert and strong tonight, and if you choose to sleep with me again, it is not sleep you will be getting.”
“Then I look forward to no sleep whatsoever,” Aerin said contentedly, and Luthe laughed and dropped his spoon.
The next few days went all too quickly; Aerin had to remind herself that it had been a fortnight she and Talat had spent on their way from the Lake of Dreams to Agsded’s grey plain, for the way toward home seemed far shorter. On the fifth night Aerin drew Gonturan, and showed Luthe her edge, and the sharp knick broken out of it; the sight hurt her almost as much as the sight of the lamed Talat standing listlessly in his pasture once had. It must have shown on her face, for Luthe said, “Don’t look so stricken. I can deal with this; and I don’t have the worry about her mortality to get in my way either.” Aerin smiled a small smile, and Luthe touched her cheek with his fingers. She aided him as he asked her, and the next morning Aerin resheathed a shining flawless blade; but she and Luthe slept heavily and long for the next two nights after.
Spring had come thoroughly to the lands they traveled through; the grass was lush everywhere, and the summer fruits were beginning to push through the last petals on the trees and bushes; and Luthe and Aerin saw everything as their friends, and the folstza and yerig were as polite to Luthe as they were to Aerin.
But Luthe and Aerin knew without speaking of it when their last night came, and Aerin was grateful for a moonless night, that she might weep and Luthe not see. He slept at last, curled up against her, her arm tucked under his and drawn over his ribs, her hand held to his breast and cradled with both of his. She stayed awake, listening to Luthe’s breathing and the sound of the sky turning overhead; and when near dawn he sighed and stirred, she gently drew her hand from his and crept free of the blanket. She paced up and down some few minutes, and then stood by the ashes of last night’s camp fire to look at Luthe in the growing light.
The blanket had slipped down; his chest lay bare nearly to the waist, and one long hand was flung out. His skin where the sun never touched was as white as milk, almost blue, like skimmed milk, although his face was ruddied and roughened by sun and weather. She looked down at her own arms and hands; she was rose and gold next to him, although she looked as colorless as wax against full-blooded Damarians. She wondered where Luthe came from; wondered if she’d ever know; wondered what he would say if she asked. And knew that, on this morning, this last morning, she would not ask; and that in the last few days, when she might have, she had not thought to. And this gave her her first conscious pang of parting.
She knew too that it would be years before they met again, and so she stared at him, memorizing him, that she might draw out his likeness in her mind at any time during those years; and then she remembered with a little shiver that she was no longer quite mortal, and the shiver was not for the knowledge but for the pleasure it now gave her, the first pleasure it had ever given her, that she might look forward to seeing Luthe again someday. And that pleasure frightened her, for she was the daughter of the king of Damar, and she was bringing the Hero’s Crown home to the king and to the first sola, who would be king after, and whom she would marry.
She wondered if she had ever truly not known that Tor loved her, if it were only that she had always feared to love him in return. She was afraid no longer, and the irony of it was that Luthe had taught her not to be afraid, and that it was her love for Luthe that made her recognize her love for Tor. She had killed the Black Dragon, she carried an enchanted sword, and now she brought the Hero’s Crown back to the land that had lost it, having won it in fair fight from him who had held it against her and against Damar. She could declare that she would no longer be afraid—of her heritage, of her place in the royal house of Damar, of her father’s people; and so she could also, now, marry Tor, for such was her duty to her country, whether her country approved of the idea or not. And Tor would be glad to see her back; she had written a letter to him that night that she might have died; almost everything else had receded to fog and memory, but she had remembered Tor, and remembered to leave him word that she would come back to him.
She had once promised to return to Luthe also. She sat down near where he lay still sleeping and gazed at the white white skin and blue-tinted hollows. She thought, They say that everyone looks young when asleep, like the child each used to be. Luthe looks only like Luthe, sleeping; and her eyes filled with tears. She blinked, and when she could see clearly again, Luthe’s eyes were open, and he reached up to draw her down to kiss her, and she saw, when she drew her head back a moment after the kiss, that when he closed his eyes again, two tears spilled from their corners and ran down his temples, glinting in the morning sunlight.
This morning they were careful, for the first time since they had met at the edge of Agsded’s plain, that each should wrap only his or her own possessions in each bundle. They spoke little. Even Talat was subdued, looking anxiously over his shoulder at Aerin as she strapped the saddle in place, rather than doing his usual morning imitation of a war-horse scenting his enemy just over the next hill.
She did not mount at once but turned back to Luthe, and he held out his arms, and she rushed into them. He sighed, and her own breast rose and fell against his. “I have put you on a horse—that same horse—and watched you ride away from me before. I thought I should never get over it that first time. I think I followed you for that; not for any noble desire to help you save Damar; only to pick up whatever pieces Agsded might have left of you .... I know I shall never get over it this time. If you do it, someday, a third time, it will probably kill me.” Aerin tried to smile, but Luthe stopped her with a kiss. “Go now. A quick death is the best I believe.”
“You can’t scare me,” Aerin said, almost succeeding in keeping her voice level. “You told me long ago that you aren’t mortal.”
“I never said I can’t be killed,” replied Luthe. “If you wish to chop logic with me, my dearest love, you must make sure of your premises.”
“I shall practice them—while—I shall practice, that I may dazzle you when next we meet.”
There was a little silence, and Luthe said, “You need not try to dazzle me.”
“I must go,” Aerin said hopelessly, and flung herself at Talat just as she had done once before. “I will see you again.”
Luthe nodded.
She almost could not say the words: “But it will be a long time—long and long.”
Luthe nodded again.
“But we shall meet.”
Luthe nodded a third time.
“Gods of all the worlds, say something,” she cried, and Talat startled beneath her.
“I love you,” said Luthe. “I will love you till the stars crumble, which is a less idle threat than is usual to lovers on parting. Go quickly, for truly I cannot bear this.”
She closed her legs violently around the nervous Talat, and he leaped into a gallop. Long after Aerin was out of sight, Luthe lay full length upon the ground, and pressed his ear to it, and listened to Talat’s hoofbeats carrying Aerin farther and farther away.
Chapter 22
SHE RODE IN A DAZE of misery, unconscious of the yerig and folstza who pressed closely around Talat’s legs and looked anxiously up into her face; and she stopped, numbly, at nightfall. She might have gone on
till she dropped in her tracks, were she on foot; but she was not, and so at nightfall she stopped, and stripped her horse, and rubbed him down with a dry cloth. Talat was a little sore; that sudden gallop to begin a long day had done his weak leg no good, and so she unwrapped some ointment that would warm the stiffness, and massaged it in vigorously, and even smiled a little at the usual grimaces of pleasure Talat made.
When she lay down by the fire she sprang up again almost at once, and paced back and forth. She was dizzy with exhaustion and stupid with unhappiness, and she was riding to the gods knew what at the City; and as she remembered that, she remembered also flashes of what she had seen, deep in the Lake of Dreams. But that brought her back to Luthe again, and the tears ran down her face, and, standing before the campfire, she bowed her face in her hands and sobbed.
This would not do. She had the Crown, and she carried an enchanted sword; she was coming home a warrior victorious—and a first sol worthy of respect. She felt like dead leaves, dry and brown and brittle, although leaves were probably not miserable; they were just quietly buried by snow and burned by sun and harried by rain till they peacefully disintegrated into the earth .... She found herself staring at the earth under her feet. She had to get some sleep.
She turned despairingly back to her blanket and found two furry bodies already there. The dog queen smiled at her and moved her feathery tail an inch at least; the cat king flattened his ears and half-lidded his eyes. Neither paid the least attention to the other.
She laughed, a cracked laugh, half a choke. “Thank you,” she said. “Perhaps I shall sleep after all,” She pillowed her head on a cat flank, and a dog head lay in the curve between her ribs and pelvis, and a dog tail curled over her feet. She slept at once, and heavily; and she woke in the morning hugging the queen’s neck with her face buried in her ruff, and the big yerig had a look of great patience and forbearance on her face that no doubt she wore when bearing with a new litter of puppies.
Aerin also woke with a sense of urgency; urgency so great that it broke through the numbness. “Soon,” she said aloud to Talat, and he cocked his ear at her and grunted only a little at the indignity of having his girth tightened. “They need us soon.”
He was stiff this morning as well, but Aerin paid attention and was careful, and he worked out of it. Before the darkness came upon them a second time they had nearly passed the Airdthmar on their right hand; and by the third evening Aerin could see the fault in the top line of the Hills that was the pass to the forested plain before the City, for her way home was short when she knew where she was going. Tomorrow, perhaps, they would stand in that pass.
Her friends slept with her again that night, but they had a less peaceful time of it, for her dreams were bad, full of battle and shouting, and the groans of the wounded, and the fell ghastly sound of the language of the folk of the North. She woke often and sweating, her fist clenched and her nerves jumping. In the last dream she had before dawn she heard Arlbeth’s voice, weary and hopeless: “If only we had the Crown. We might yet ... ”
“If we had had the Crown,” another voice, higher pitched: Perlith. “If we had had the Crown, we would not be so badly off in the first place.”
“At least,” said Galanna in a voice so low that Arlbeth would not hear her, “we do not have our little bad-luck token with us. Thank the gods for that much.”
Thank the gods ... thank the gods she’s not here ... not here ... the Crown, please the gods, we need the Crown, it is not here ....
She woke up. Dawn was just creeping above the mountains’ crests. She did not want to be awake yet, for today she would come in sight of her City, and she was afraid of what she would find; afraid that she came too late; afraid that even the Crown was not enough. Afraid that they would not accept the Crown from her hands. Afraid that they would read in her face whom she had wrested the Crown from.
Afraid that they would read in her face that she knew, now, that she did not belong to Damar. She would love it all her life, and that life was likely to be a long one; and she had a duty to it that she might fulfill some part of, if she tried as hard as she could.
She told herself that she did not think of Luthe.
Her army flowed up on her either flank; a sea of furry backs, black and grey and brindled, golden and ruddy; there was no playfulness in them today. Their ears pointed in the direction they were going, and their tails were low. She had unwrapped the Crown, and at first she carried it before her balanced on the pommel, and then she thought of stowing it away again, but she wanted it close, where she could touch it and it touch her. She slung it at last up over her arm to her shoulder, and it warmed, riding there, till when she reached to touch it with her fingers it was the same temperature as her own skin.
As they rode into the morning the wind sang in her ears, but it carried strange sounds within it, and she smelled strange odors. It was Talat’s restlessness, at last, that told her what was happening; for these were the sounds and smells of battle.
They wound their way up the smooth broad track that led between Vasth and Kar to the low forested hills before the City. As they reached the top of the pass Talat snorted and shied away, and Aerin clung to the saddle, not believing the glimpse she had had of the scene below them. Grimly she kneed Talat around, and reluctantly he obeyed her, but still he tried to sidle sideways, to turn and bolt. Even Maur had not been so bad as what lay before them.
The trees were gone; even, it seemed, the gentle hills were flattened, and where there had been the greens and browns and deep blue shadows of leaves and trees there was the grisly heave and thrust of battle. The Northerners were there, between her and her City. She could see small human bands, the largest near the City gates, fighting desperately; but they were outnumbered, and they fought defensively, because their honor demanded it, and because fear of being captured alive by the Northerners drove them on; not because they had any hope left. And the Northerners knew this.
Aerin stared numbly at the ragged scarred landscape, and listened to the terrible cries and the heavy sound of blows, and the fumes of the fighting choked her, and made her eyes water. It was as though the forest she had daily seen from the highest towers of her father’s castle had never been; it was as if, when Luthe dragged her back to her own time, he had miscalculated and she was some other Aerin on some other world. She waited for panic to take her. Talat quieted and stood, ears forward, tense, but awaiting her orders; and her army surrounded her, and made a huge pool behind her that splashed like surf up the rock sides of the pass.
“Well,” she said aloud, and the calmness of her own voice frightened her. “Maybe not being quite mortal any more is going to count for less than I thought.” She settled the Crown more firmly on her shoulder, and drew Gonturan, who gleamed blue along her edge; the blue rippled up, over the hilt and grip, and flowed over Aerin’s hand. There was an odd subtle tingle at the touch of the blue shimmer, but it was not unpleasant; Aerin put it down to the twitching of her own nerves.
“I hope, my friends, that you will help me now: escort me—there,” she said, and pointed with her sword; and from Gonturan’s tip a blue spark jumped, and fell sizzling to the ground, and the cat king paced gravely over to examine the spot where it had fallen.
Then Aerin thought that perhaps it wasn’t her nerves after all.
She shook the sword, and the blue light brightened till it lit the air around her, and the pit below her shimmered with it, and the cat king’s eyes glinted with it as he looked up at her; and the light made it easier, somehow, to see, for just beyond where Gonturan’s tip pointed she saw Kethtaz quite clearly, and Arlbeth on his back; and the blue light seemed to settle around him too, across the eerie ground so far away. It outlined Tor as well, not far from his king; and she wondered where the standard-bearer was, for it was this lack that had made her unsure that she had seen her father aright; but she had no time to think about it now.
“Listen,” she said, and many pairs of bright eyes turned to her. “The
Crown must fall only into the hands of Arlbeth or Tor. No one else. I will give it to one of them if I can”—she swallowed—“and if I fail, then you must; or if neither should leave this battle alive, then you must carry it far from here—far from here, far from Damar; as far as your feet can bear you.” Her voice echoed oddly, as if the blue light reflected it or focused it, or held it together; and she had no doubt, suddenly, of her army, and a great sense of relief came to her, and almost a sort of joy.
“Come on, then,” she said. “I’d really best prefer to deliver it myself.”
She raised Gonturan, and Talat leaped forward, and the yerig and folstza fanned out around her; and the first Northerner to feel the teeth of Aerin’s army fell beneath the dog queen, and the second was beheaded by Gonturan, and the third was pulled down by the tall black cat.
The Northerners had no scouts looking back over the mountains, for they had no reason to think a watch was necessary; they had the best strength of Damar bottled up in the City before them, and what few folk there were stilt scattered in small towns and mountain villages had been sufficiently terrorized by marauding bands of Northerners that they could be relied on to stay shivering at home. Furthermore, the Northern leaders could hear their enemies from afar, and could tell from whence they came, just as Perlith could turn a handful of nothing into a bouquet of flowers at a court ball.
Or so they had been able to do. They had had no foreknowledge of Aerin’s approach, and the Northerners, while no cowards, knew much of magic and perhaps more of kelar than the Damarians did; and the unexpectedness of this feat frightened them far more than the simple fact of Aerin’s presence. And so they did not rally at once, as they should have, for, had they done so, they might have cut her down and won the day for themselves, and won Damar forever. But they did not. They wheeled their riding beasts, some of them nearly horses but most of them nothing like horses at all, and tried more to get out of her way than to engage her and test her strength.
The Hero And The Crown d-2 Page 22
