Crown of Renewal (Legend of Paksenarrion) (73 page)

The dragon paused in its way, and the tiny tongue of fire extended again. Waited. Kieri bent his head and touched his tongue to it. Hot … with a flavor of the dragon he’d met. It disappeared—reappeared for an instant in his ring, and then sank into the green again. The horn continued to curl toward its former shape. He wanted to touch it with his other hand, to feel that smooth surface, the coils of its spiral, but he could not—and even as he watched, gold wrapped it round once more, until it was, as it had seemed, a simple torc for his neck. He put it on again.

Well done
. More than one voice, but Falk, he was sure, was among them.

Then a blast of enmity came out of the air, cold, implacable hatred. He turned. Iynisin.

“You are even more foolish than your grandmother,” said the one in the center. “We cannot be undone by mortals. That one was only mortal—”

“And so am I,” Kieri said. “But you can be undone by those of steady purpose.”

“You think so?”

“And by Elders older than you,” Kieri said. “Dragon destroyed your western hold, did he not?”

“Dragon!” They spat, all of them, vile stuff that hissed on the floor like acid. “Dragon killed many of us, but Dragon cannot be everywhere at once. Dragon is busy elsewhere, and you are here, little king. We will unmake you.”

Swords appeared in their hands, and they moved to encircle him. Their malice battered him before they were close enough to strike. Power he recognized as greater than his own—but not beyond what he could resist. He drew his sword; they would not kill him easily.

Even as the first one struck, Amrothlin ran into the room, sword drawn and calling for aid. Then other elves, then his Squires.

When it was done, five iynisin lay dead, and Amrothlin, badly wounded, lay with his head in Kieri’s lap. “I was wrong,” he said, gasping. “I should have—I didn’t believe—and I could not let you die—”

“Uncle,” Kieri said, “I honor you, whatever lies in the past.”

“Take me where my mother lies—please—others can show you. And remember me as one who saved a king’s life.”

“You are not dead yet—”

“No, but I will die of this wound. It is not the first iynisin wound I have taken.”

That night Arian and Kieri lay in the king’s bed with the twins between them. Falki slept peacefully; Tilla seemed to be dreaming, twitching and muttering.

“Is it over?” Arian asked when Kieri had told her everything that had happened.

“Is anything ever over? I’m sure there’s still evil in the world and it will seek destruction. But if the rains come, and the sun, to refresh the taig, I think we can deal with the rest—”

“Listen,” she said.

From outside came a faint sound. Kieri rolled out of bed and went to the window, pulling the curtains back. Damp air wafted in; he touched the sill outside and felt drops touch the back of his hand.

“What Dorrin did will last,” Arian said. “The taig will have the rain it needs, and farmers in all lands, as well.” She sounded completely confident. “Gitres Undoer will not prevail, not in our lifetimes or our children’s.”

“Well,” Kieri said, surprised by her vehemence. “If that is so, then my worries are over. And it feels like it’s going to rain all night. Now I can sleep.”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“Oho. You have something else in mind?”

“You are the last of your grandmother’s line. I am the last of my father’s. Now my grandfather thinks elf-lords should have more heirs … and I agree.”

“Every child,” Kieri said, “can be hurt.”

“Is that really your concern? Everyone can be hurt. Every living thing—even stone—can be hurt. But you and I are on the side of life, of beauty, of honor … and so you risk, as that man who set you free from Sekkady risked his life for you, and I risk, as my father risked for the Lady.”

“Then let us move these two back into the nursery—without waking them if possible—and risk what pleasure we can find.”

All that night the rain fell steadily.

The next day, Falki came to Kieri and hugged him. “Father—that was a bad man.”

“Yes, he was.”

“You said I was brave.”

“You were.”

“Did you kill the bad man? Will you dig up his bones and put them in the bone place?”

“His bones will not be here,” Kieri said. “And as for killing—I am not sure what happened. But we have friends, Falki, who are stronger than either of us, and they helped me. I think they killed him, and his own evil made him … disappear.”

“Was Tilla brave?”

“Yes. She was quiet, remember?”

“He didn’t touch her.”

“No, he did not. But you are both brave children; I have seen that before. And now—” Kieri had seen the arrival of the Council members. “And now it is time for you and Tilla to have a run in the gardens in case it rains again. Lieth will take you. If it starts raining again, you can visit the stables.” A rare treat he hoped would put the recent past out of mind.

“Grown-up talk?”

“Grown-up talk. We will meet at dinner.”

“Thank the gods for the spring rains,” Sier Halveric said.

“As long as it doesn’t delay planting.” Sier Belvarin looked out the window. “We don’t need another flood.”

Sier Davonin ignored them. “Why did all the elves come running this way yesterday?”

“We had a little problem with iynisin,” Kieri said. “It’s over.”

She gave him a long look, then shrugged. “As the king says.”

“It is a time to rejoice,” Kieri said. “Yesterday a great evil was defeated, though at great cost. Let me tell you.” They listened, shock and horror at first on every face, fear passing to relief, even as he had felt it when those things happened. “The bane of my life that I thought long dead … is now finally certainly gone. Falki lives, unharmed, and—judging by this morning—has taken no lasting hurt. Tilla had a restless sleep at first but woke happy. There may be more iynisin, but we have elves now who do not dispute their existence and are ready to fight with us, to defend us.”

“Perhaps we need not consider those things we came to discuss,”
Sier Davonin said. “At least until tomorrow. By the king’s leave, I would suggest a day of thankfulness.”

Others nodded.

“Then,” Kieri said, “let us do exactly that, Sier Davonin. With my thanks for your good sense. Unless someone has urgent need …” None did. “Let us be as extravagant as the good fortune shown us,” Kieri said. “We will meet three days hence, and in the meantime—feast and be merry.”

“Three days,” the others said, and dispersed.

Kieri went in search of the twins and found them in the kitchen gardens, wet to the knees and not a little muddy, trailed by a half dozen hens. Lieth stood at the end of a row, grinning.

“They’re turning gardener?” he asked her.

“Not exactly, though they are picking caterpillars off the vegetables and feeding the hens. The hens were already doing that, but—”

“Da!” That was Tilla. “Caterpillars come out of eggs, Lieth says.”

Kieri cocked an eyebrow at Lieth.

“They do,” she said. “My gran showed me. Moths and butterflies lay eggs; caterpillars come out of them.”

“Lieth knows,” Kieri said.

“So … if a hen eats a caterpillar, will the hen’s egg hatch caterpillars and not chickies?”

“No,” Kieri said. “Only chicks come out of hens’ eggs.”

“Good.” Tilla plucked a caterpillar from a leaf and handed it to a speckled hen. “I like eggs, but I don’t want to eat caterpillars.”

“Nor do I,” Kieri said.

“I ate one,” Falki said. “It tasted like the leaf.”

Kieri glanced at Lieth again. She spread her hands. “Before I could catch him. Just grabbed it and put it in his mouth. Luckily, one of the smooth ones, not the hairy ones.”

“We should go inside now,” Kieri said. The twins looked at each other, then at him.

“No more, hens,” Tilla said to the line of chickens. “Da says no more. You have to find your own.”

“We’ll go in through the scullery and get some of that mud off you,” Lieth said to them.

“How were they?” Kieri asked quietly when the children ran ahead.

“Fine, I think. Though Tilla said something about Falki being afraid and holding—I think that was the word—his fear so he could sleep.”

“That’s … not supposed to be possible,” Kieri said. Then he laughed. “But with these two, who really knows?”

Dorrin came to herself again lying on fragrant but prickly herbs, the midday sun beating down on her. She pushed herself up. The land around looked nothing like anything she had seen in Aare. She was on the slope of a hill, and beyond another hill she could see a straight line of darker blue against light blue sky. It must be the sea. But which sea, and which direction should she go? She wore the sea-stained and torn clothes she’d had on under the white gown the Guardians insisted on; she had nothing else. No water and nothing to put water in. No food.

She had not expected to wake at all. She had seen dragonfire coming toward her and … and nothing. She felt no pain; she had no blisters. Was this a dream to ease her dying? Or had the dragon been a dream before?

A shadow passed over her; she glanced up. Not a dragon. A bird—another bird—circling lower. Corpse eaters that must have wondered if she was dead. “HAI!” she yelled at them, waving her arms … the lowest tipped a wing, caught air from the hillside, and rose back up and away. Surely a dream would not include such birds behaving so naturally like birds.

Hilltops gave better views. Dorrin turned to climb upward and only then realized her boots were still wet enough to squelch and the left had a long gash down the side; the upper flopped over. She felt at her belt. No dagger. Her hair—she found the leather thong still entangled
in it, worked it free, and tied the boot to her shin with it. Her hair blew into her face. She ignored that and climbed.

From the top of the hill, she saw more of the water—blue, sparkling, stretching out on either hand—but the coast itself was hidden by the lower hills except in the hazy distance, where a headland of some sort jutted out. Between her hill and the next one seaward she saw nothing but low scrub and patches of grass. Off to her sword-side, an island poked out of the sea, mountainous, cone-shaped.

She looked all around. More hills, and in the distance away from the sea, a suggestion of higher ground. She squinted. Farther—right at the edge to her heart-side—dim purple shapes against the lighter blue. Mountains. But which mountains? Mountains she had seen before or mountains in some land where she had never been? If this was Aarenis, for instance, the sea would be to the south and those mountains in the west.

The hill had a grassy top, showing gray-white stone between the clumps; the sea side, where she’d woken, was patched with more of the fragrant plant she’d been lying on. She didn’t know the name, but she knew it grew in southern Aarenis. Was she in southern Aarenis? She had no way to be sure. The far side of the hill, down at the crease between it and the next hill, had a line of scrubby trees. The slope down was a little steeper than the slope she had climbed. A faint game trail led downward in zigzags.

With a last look around, Dorrin decided that the game trail and trees offered the best chance of water. She started down, watching her footing carefully. The trail, scarcely a foot’s width, twisted and turned around clumps of tough grass and mounds of aromatic scrub. She came to a steeper part and braced one hand on a rock outcrop to edge around it.