His breathing grew shallow again as the massacre grew to a fever pitch, then settled into the aftermath of keening wails and weakening cries for mercy far too late. It was wonderful to feel the surge of power that accompanied the shedding of the blood of children again. With his toy out wandering the wide world, away from the House of Remembrance that had been the scene of such wonderful carnage, it had been too long, much too long.
When the orgiastic sensations had finally cooled, he covered himself over again with blankets and fell into the comforting darkness of sleep, dreaming of the day when these occasional secret pleasures would be routine, when the agony of another child, one hidden in the mountains of Ylorc, would be at hand. It was coming soon, all in good time.
5
Birdsong and a sudden shaft of sunlight woke Rhapsody the next morning. She had had a difficult night, and as a result had slept in past dawn, something she virtually never did. She sat up in panic, distressed at having missed her sunrise devotions.
“Good morning.” The voice came from the other side of their campsite, where Ashe was sitting, cloaked in his usual misty attire, watching her. “Did you get any rest at all?”
“Yes; I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed. Her hair had come down during the night in the midst of her frantic thrashing about. Ashe had a sudden epiphany. With her burnished golden locks falling loose around her perfect face she was without question the most sexually alluring thing he had ever seen. On an unconscious level she must have some inkling of this. Finally, he understood why she always bound her hair back in the staid black velvet ribbon—she was downplaying her attractiveness to avoid standing out. Ashe chuckled to himself. Far too little, far too late.
“Don’t apologize,” he said, tossing a handful of twigs into the fire. “It must be awful being unable to pass even a single night in peace.”
Rhapsody looked away. “Yes, it is.” She rose slowly and pulled herself from the bedroll, brushing the leaves and grass off her clothes. “Do you think we’ll make it there today?”
“To Elynsynos?”
“Yes.”
“I’d say tomorrow. If you were within her realm, you would have slept better.”
Rhapsody finished binding her hair back into its ribbon and looked at him again. “What do you mean?”
“They say dragons can guard a person’s dreams, keep the bad ones at bay. If we had been within her reach, she doubtlessly would have chased your nightmares away.”
“How do you know she’d want to?”
“Because she will be fascinated with you, Rhapsody. Trust me.”
Ashe apparently knew what he was talking about. After an uneventful day of walking through woods that deepened and became ever more quiet with each mile they traveled, Rhapsody and Ashe stopped for the night again. She still had not lost her contemplative mood, and they had traveled mostly in silence through the greenwood, stopping at last in a dark glen surrounded with holly bushes. They made camp, and Ashe took the first watch.
Midnight came, and still Rhapsody slumbered quietly, her rest undisturbed by her nightly terrors except for one moment of hiccoughing whispers, after which she settled down again. Ashe decided to let her sleep as long as she could without interruption, and as a result was still sitting watch when morning came. He saw the slender arms emerge from the bedroll and stretch to the sound of a long, deep sigh; a moment later her head came forth, the golden crown of hair resembling the sun coming over the horizon. The enormous eyes opened wide with panic.
She pulled herself rapidly out of the bedroll and ran for the nearest clearing where she could see the sky. The light of dawn was coming into it, turning the deep blue into azure and touching the east with pink. The daystar began to set just as Rhapsody began her aubade, singing with a sweet clarity that broke the heavy silence of the glen and sent shivers up Ashe’s back. He felt a gentle rumble in the ground beneath him and the wind picked up slightly.
Elynsynos had heard her, too.
“This is the place,” Ashe said. His voice was a near whisper, and Rhapsody wondered if it was from reverence or fear.
Set in a hollow in the hillside below them was a small woodland lake. Its crystal waters were perfectly calm and reflected the trees that lined it like a mirror. The waters of the lake emptied into the small creek they had followed on and off since the Tar’afel.
The forest itself was quiet, the stillness broken only by occasional birdsong and the sound of the brook. There was a beauty and serenity to it that defied Rhapsody’s expectations of what a dragon’s lair would look like. There was no sign that a great reptilian beast, or in fact anyone, lived here at all.
They walked around the lake to the far side, and Rhapsody could see its source. A cave was set in the steepest of the hillsides, invisible except from this vantage point, and from it a small stream flowed, emptying silently into the glassy waters of the reflecting pool. The mouth of the cave was perhaps twenty feet high. There was no question that this was the place; she could feel power emanating from the cave that made her shiver internally.
As they walked down the long path Rhapsody thought she heard the sound of whispered voices on the wind, but when she stopped to listen, no words were there; all she heard was the rustling of the budding branches in the early spring breeze. She had the distinct feeling that they were being watched. Ashe did not speak, and she could discern no reaction beneath the hood of his cloak.
Finally, they came to the mouth of the cave. A warm breeze flowed from it in rhythmic patterns; the breath of the dragon, Rhapsody thought. Doubt rose in her mind as to the wisdom of coming here. She was considering taking hasty leave when the peace of the forest was broken by a voice that could only have been that of Elynsynos.
“You interest me,” the voice said, sounding in multiple tones, at once bass, baritone, tenor, alto and soprano. Its resonance contained an elemental intimacy that even Rhapsody’s fireborn heart could not fathom. It spoke to the deepest levels of her soul, and for a moment she could not tell if she had actually heard the words, or merely felt them. “Come in.”
Rhapsody swallowed hard and started slowly into the mouth of the cave. She stopped to examine a carved rune on the outside edge of the cave wall, brushing away the lichens and overgrown ivy. The words were suddenly familiar.
Cyme we inne fri, fram the grip of deap to lif inne is smylte land
A gentle vibration tingled beneath the tips of her fingers as she touched the ancient inscription, the feeling of lore lying dormant for centuries, and she was filled with a sudden wonder, a sense of discovery and more—the sensation of excitement, the heart-squeezing thrill of a first passion. She recognized it instantly, and it was unmistakable, despite having felt it herself only once in her life before.
The lore, old as it was, hung in the very air of the place, was extant in the stone of the cave wall. This must have been where Merithyn had come, where he had first inscribed the pledge of his king. In a way, then, this was the birthplace of the Cymrian people, and as such it held an almost magical air about it. Even more, there had been love here once, great love, and a fragment of it still remained. Rhapsody felt she could stay for a long time, just gazing at the runes.
“Rhapsody.” Ashe’s voice rang out from behind her, causing her to jump. “Don’t look into her eyes.”
She shook off her trancelike state and nodded. She checked the integrity of her gear, then turned to him.
“I’ll be careful. Goodbye, Ashe,” she said softly. “Thank you for everything. May your travels home be safe.”
“Rhapsody, tarry a moment.” Ashe reached out his hand to her. She turned around and took it, allowing him to bring her off the rocks and back onto the ground again.
“Yes?” She was standing before him, looking up into the darkness of his hood.
Slowly he reached up and took hold of the hood, then pulled it down suddenly, revealing his face. Rhapsody gasped.
Jo had been right. He was not scarred or deformed. His face was beautifu
l, and it had an uncertain smile on it as he looked down at her.
Like her sister, the first thing Rhapsody noticed was his hair. It shone like burnished copper, and as it caught the light of the afternoon sun, Rhapsody thought it looked as though it had been crafted by a smith. She had seen nothing like it in this land or that of her birth, and wondered if it was gossamer-soft, as the delicacy of its strands suggested, or hard and wiry, as its metallic sheen insisted. The puzzle fascinated her; she could have spent the rest of the day standing there, staring at it, trying to resist the urge to touch it.
It took a moment for her eyes to note the rest of his face. It was classically handsome, and like her own, showed mixed human and Lirin descent. His skin was fair and smooth, and his chiseled jaw was covered by a scraggly, half-grown beard. In a pure human it would have suggested a month without shaving, but Rhapsody knew that in a half-blood it probably was a year’s growth at least. If he was a human, he would have been in his mid-twenties, but as a half-Lirin, possibly of Cymrian ancestry, Rhapsody had no way to judge his real age.
And then she looked into his eyes, eyes that were beautiful and alien. They were startlingly blue, and set about the iris were tiny stars of an amber hue. It took her a moment to discern what seemed so alien about them, until she took a second look. Their humanity was broken by their pupils, which were vertical slits, like that of a serpent, yet they held no reptilian horror; rather they spoke of an antiquity and power that was ancient and enduring. She felt drawn to them as by the power of a flooded river rushing over a waterfall, or the tranquillity of a calm lagoon. Then he closed them, only for a moment, an extended blink, and she caught her breath.
As she began to breathe once more she could feel her cheeks, wet with tears she did not know she had shed. Like a slap across the face she was aware now, understood many things she hadn’t before, about why he hid beneath the cloak, why he pushed her away.
He was hunted. It could be the only reason.
She struggled to speak, but the emotion was too strong. Ashe looked down into her eyes, as if dreading her words and needing to hear them despite that dread. Finally, she felt them come to her lips.
“Ashe?”
“Yes?”
She took a deep breath.
“You should shave off that beard, it’s awful.”
He stared at her blankly as the comment registered, then laughed. Rhapsody exhaled in relief, and as he looked away for a moment, still chuckling, she reached up and hugged him. She didn’t want him to see the tears continue to well in her eyes.
Ashe pulled her closer in a warm embrace, holding her gently, but as he did she felt him wince. Somehow her action had caused him pain, and she let go of him, trying to keep from making it worse. It seemed centered in his chest, but she couldn’t be sure. He released her as well, with a sigh.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I know that was a difficult thing for you, and I’m honored that you did it. If you hadn’t shown me, I always would have wondered.”
“Be careful in there,” he said, nodding toward the cave.
“You be careful on your way back,” she answered, turning to go. She bent and picked up a stick of dry wood lying at the mouth of the cave. “Thank you again. Godspeed.” She blew him a kiss, then climbed onto the wet stone and into the cave entrance.
The mouth of the cave widened into a dark tunnel, with a glowing light pulsing deep within it. At the outer edge, starlike lichen grew on the cave walls, reaching out into the light of day, to grow thinner and eventually disappear in the darkness as the tunnel went deeper in.
Rhapsody followed the tunnel slowly, listening for movement. A moment later she could hear it, the splash of something moving through the water in the depths of the cave, followed by the pounding of taloned feet as they trod the rock floor. There was a sound of steel grinding against stone, and the cave filled with the hot wind of the dragon’s breath, tainted with the acrid smells that Rhapsody had only encountered before at a smithy, or Achmed’s forges, odors that issued forth from smelting fires.
The tunnel twisted as she followed it, opening at the bottom into a large cavern below. The darkness of the cavern was impenetrable, so Rhapsody touched the stick she carried and ignited the end of it, hoping a torch would illuminate the place. It roared to life almost immediately; the leaping flames cast elongated shadows down the tunnel, outlining and exaggerating the movements of the great beast as it pulled itself from the waters that filled the cave floor. The ground trembled with its every step, and the flickering light of the torch danced off the copper scales, gleaming like a million tiny shields of burnished bronze in the darkness.
Elynsynos was immense. In the half-light Rhapsody estimated she was almost one hundred feet long, easily able to fill the entire length of the tunnel she had just traversed. The strength denoted by the enormous musculature was enough to drain the color from the Singer’s face.
Then she saw the eyes of the beast, too late to heed Ashe’s warning. They appeared in the tunnel like two gigantic lanterns that had suddenly been unhooded. The great orbs shone with prismatic light; they were so intensely beautiful that Rhapsody felt she could easily pass her life there, gazing into them. Long vertical slits bisected each silver iris, rimmed in shimmering rainbow colors. At once Rhapsody felt the fires of her soul leap, as if fed with a sudden breath of air. For a moment she was dizzy, lost inside herself, but the feeling passed in a moment, and she dragged her gaze away from the beast, her soul screaming in protest.
“Pretty,” Elynsynos said. There was a power in the word Rhapsody recognized immediately. Elynsynos was speaking with an elemental music, and the word she had spoken was not a description, but a name. The harmonic sound came not from a voice box—little as she knew of dragon lore, one thing that Rhapsody did know was that wyrms did not have a natural larynx—but from the masterful manipulation of the vibrations of the wind. Rhapsody was tempted to look once more directly at her but did not, watching her only through the corner of her eye.
“Why do you come, Pretty?” There was wisdom in the voice that belied the childlike tone and words.
Rhapsody took a deep breath and turned a little farther away. “Many reasons,” she answered, looking at the serpentine shadow on the cave wall before her. “I have dreamt of you. I have come to return something that is yours, and to sing to you, if you will let me.” She could see the shadow move as the head of the dragon came to rest on the ground directly behind her, and she felt its hot breath on her back. The fire inside her drank in the heat and the power it held. The moisture from her clothing evaporated, leaving the fabric hot and on the verge of igniting.
“Turn around, please,” said the multitone voice. Rhapsody closed her eyes and complied, feeling the waves of warmth on her face as though she was turning blindly toward the sun. “Are you afraid?”
“A little,” Rhapsody answered, still not opening her eyes.
“Why?”
“We fear what we do not know, and do not understand. I hope to remedy both those situations, and then I will not be afraid.”
Once again, as before she entered the cave, she heard what sounded like whispered voices. “You are wise to be afraid,” said Elynsynos. There was no menace in her tone, but its depth was intimidating. “You are perfect treasure, Pretty. Your hair is like spun gold, your eyes are emeralds. Even your skin is like fine porcelain, and you are untouched. There is music in you, and fire, and time. Any dragon would covet you to have for its own.”
“I belong only to myself,” Rhapsody said. The dragon chuckled. “But I came here in the hope that we could be friends. Then I am yours willingly, in a way. A friend is one of the greatest kinds of treasures, isn’t it?” She glanced quickly at the dragon, then looked away.
The dragon’s enormous face took on a look of curiosity that was oddly endearing, visible even in the glimpse Rhapsody caught out of the corner of her eye.
“I do not know. I do not have any friends.”
“Then I
will be a new kind of treasure for you, if you want me to be,” said Rhapsody, her fear beginning to abate. “First, let me return this to you.” She dug in her pack and pulled out the dragon’s claw dagger.
The enormous prismatic eyes blinked. Rhapsody was still not looking at her directly, but could feel the light in the cave dim for a second. Her skin prickled as an electric hum began around her, buzzing in the cavern like a great hive of bees. She saw the shadow on the wall shift, and a huge claw reached over her head and gingerly took the dagger in between nails that resembled it exactly. Then the claw returned to its place behind her once more. Rhapsody let her breath out.
“Where did you get this?”
“In the depths of Gwylliam’s lair,” said Rhapsody, trying to couch her words in imagery the dragon would appreciate. “It was hidden deep, but when we found it we knew it should be returned to you.”
“Gwylliam was a bad man,” said the harmonious voice. It was without rancor; Rhapsody was grateful. She did not want to be within the lair of a dragon who was incensed. “He hit Anwyn, and he killed so many of the Cymrians. This claw was given to her, and he kept it for spite. Thank you for bringing it back, Pretty.”
“You’re welcome, Elynsynos. I’m sorry about what happened to Anwyn.”
The humming sound grew louder. Rhapsody felt the heat in the air around her rise. “Anwyn is bad as well, as bad as Gwylliam. She destroyed her own hoard. That is something a dragon must never do. I am ashamed she is my hatchling. She is no child of mine. A dragon defends its treasure with everything it has. Anwyn destroyed her own hoard.”
“Her hoard? What hoard?”
“Look at me, Pretty. I will not try to take you.” The multitone voice was warm and sweet. “If you are my friend, you should trust me, yes?”
Rhapsody, don’t look into her eyes.