Heartless (20 page)

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The trees arched like pillars and their branches vaulted, loftier than a cathedral’s dome and more beautiful. Moonlight streamed through their intertwined leaves and fell far below to the forest floor, the richest carpet of silver. On this carpet, a blind knight clad in scarlet knelt before the Prince of Farthestshore, who extended a hand to touch his head in greeting.

“What word do you bring?” the Prince asked.

“It is as you feared,” the knight replied.

“Una?”

“Imprisoned by the Dragon within the walls of Oriana. I . . . Forgive me, but I could not keep her safe.”

“There was nothing you could have done against such an enemy.”

The Prince spoke the words compassionately, but the knight could sense the pain in his voice and cursed himself silently for his weakness, for how he had failed his master.

“What of her family?” Aethelbald asked.

“I did what I could for them,” Sir Eanrin replied. “I saw them safely into Dompstead. But the king breathed dragon poison and is unstable in his mind. And the prince was sent north.”

“Felix? You are sure of this?”

“I am.”

“That I do not like. I want you to return to Goldstone Hill.”

“As you wish, my Prince, but – ” Eanrin paled.

“No, I don’t intend for you to face the Dragon. Simply wait and listen and bring me word as you can. I must go to Felix before anything else. I fear most for his life at present.”

“What of Una?”

“Her life is not at stake. Not yet.” The Prince of Farthestshore closed his eyes and set his jaw. “Observe with your many senses, Sir Eanrin, but do not let yourself be seen. I will return for her as soon as I may, but I must go to Felix first. Before it is too late.”

The blind knight inclined his head, then rose and disappeared. A moment later the cathedral of the forest was empty save for a lone wood thrush, singing its plaintive song.

–––––––

Time did not exist in that darkened world. Day was no lighter than night, night no blacker than day. The Dragon’s smoke covered all in shadow, and only his flames offered light.

Una was not as one living. If she ate, she did not remember it. If she slept, she always dreamed herself awake and on waking wondered if she still dreamed.

Once she dreamed herself out on a wide and empty plain, red as blood under a black sky. Far on the horizon she saw a figure, tall and straight, striding toward her. Her heart thrilled, for she knew that form. “My love!” she cried, joyfully extending her arms.

Then her heart stopped.

Sudden terror replaced her joy, terror that grew as the figure neared. For she saw in his hand an upraised sword and knew it was intended for her.

“No!” she screamed, and woke into the nightmare of reality.

Her bedclothes were grayed with ash. She pulled them back, coughing at the smoke that lingered throughout the palace and wondering for the hundredth time why she had not suffocated long ago.

Whenever she woke, though she could not guess the hour, Una went through her toiletry rituals as though beginning a new day. But no matter how she searched, clean water was nowhere to be found, so she bathed her face in a grimy trickle still in the bottom of her washbasin.

This time, after her attempt at washing, Una sat down at the vanity, gazing sadly at her ash-smeared face, and began once more to brush her hair.

The silver glimmer of the sword flashed through her mind.

She recoiled, dropping her brush. Slowly she realized the flash was not from the sword of her dream. In her mirror was a gleam of reflected sunlight.

Una turned on her stool to look behind her. There, more brilliant and beautiful than anything she could have imagined, a sunbeam shone through her window, cutting through ash and smoke, and fell in a pool on her floor.

She tripped over herself rushing to the light. She collapsed on her knees and lifted her face and hands, gazing at the whiteness that seemed to wash away all the filth. Tears ran down her cheeks, cool and cleansing. She let them fall on her hands and watched them gleam in the sunlight.

Far away a silver bell-like voice sang. She recognized that voice, the first she’d heard from outside since her imprisonment: the voice of a wood thrush. Clear as the sunlight, its song washed over her heart. Una rushed to open the window, hoping to better hear the thrush.

But smoke rolled in, and she heard instead the Dragon growl from somewhere on the castle grounds, “Is that you, little mouthful?”

She shut the window. The light was buried once more in gloom and shadow, but Una returned to her vanity, a smile on her lips. Words formed in her head, and she whispered:

“Beyond the final water falling,

The Songs of Spheres recalling,

We who were never bound are swiftly torn apart.

Won’t you return to – ”

She broke off, her breath coming unevenly, swallowing smoke. “He will come,” Una told her reflection. “I trust him.”

She buried her face in her dirty arms.

–––––––

If there was one thing Felix had learned in all his years as Prince of Parumvir, it was that being a prince brought no advantages whatsoever.

“Stop!” he cried, reining in his horse when he and his escort were no more than six miles outside Dompstead.

“No, Your Highness,” Janus said, slapping the rump of Felix’s horse and startling it back into motion.

“I say!” Felix grabbed a handful of mane to keep his balance. “Stop, I say! I cannot go any farther.”

“Your Highness, we have scarcely begun,” Janus said, showing no sign of halting. “You cannot yet be tired.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Felix snapped. “I cannot go a step more away from my father. I cannot abandon him in this hour.”

“Obeying and abandoning are hardly one and the same,” Janus said. “Keep up, Your Highness.”

“He’s my father!” Felix protested.

“And he’s commanded you to go north with us.”

“I’m your prince!”

“Whom I have been commanded to escort safely.”

“Without my father here, I am your superior.”

“Yet your father’s word is superior to your own, Your Highness, whether he is present or not.”

So they continued, and Felix lapsed into silence, hating every step that took him farther from Oriana Palace, from his father, from Una.

Where is Una?
He thought of her trapped in the palace, surrounded by dragon fumes, and tears sprang to his eyes. He sniffed and wiped his face, hoping none of the soldiers could see him weep. How long could one be exposed to dragon smoke before it took serious effect? His father seemed to be recovering – he’d certainly not lost his force of will. But he’d been in the smoke for only a few minutes. How many hours now had Una been trapped in the palace?

Assuming she was still alive.

Felix felt as if it had been years since the Dragon had come to Oriana, and he himself seemed much older than he had been. Certainly too old to be sent away north like a useless little child.

“Captain Janus,” one of the men said, “there are riders coming quickly up behind us.”

Every man slowed and looked over his shoulder. Felix squinted into the mostly set sun and, sure enough, saw a cluster of horsemen galloping toward them up the road.

“Are they ours?” Janus asked.

“Cannot tell from this distance, sir.”

“You,” Janus said, pointing to one of the men at his side, “reconnaissance. The rest of us will continue. Come on.”

Felix could hear urgency in the captain’s voice, though it never once rose in pitch. His heart rate sped up as he nudged his horse into a joggling trot behind Janus, and he kept looking back over his shoulder to watch the approaching horsemen and the one soldier riding back toward them. The fourth or fifth time he looked back, he saw the solitary soldier pull up his horse, wheel around, and start galloping headlong after them.

“He’s coming back!” Felix cried.

“They’re after us,” Janus shouted. “Fly, men!”

Wind rushed in Felix’s ears as the horses broke into a thunderous gallop up the darkening road. He looked back only once, in time to see the solitary rider ridden down by the strange horsemen. He glimpsed upraised swords and faced forward again. His horse galloped just behind Captain Janus’s mount. He wanted to look back but knew already from the shouts of his escort that they were being gained upon.

Suddenly Captain Janus turned his horse off the road, galloping madly to the left toward Goldstone Wood. Without a thought Felix followed, and the two of them broke from the company, fleeing across the short field and up a hill. The Wood began at the top of the hill, dark and menacing in the twilight. Captain Janus reined in his horse at the edge of the forest and leapt to the ground. “We cannot ride through here in the dark, Your Highness!” he cried. “Dismount. Make haste.”

Felix slid from his horse, looking back to the road. Several horsemen, whether part of his escort or not he could not guess, were halfway across the field. He slapped his horse to make it run, then turned and followed Janus into the trees.

Low branches and brambles clawed at him, but he ran as fast as he could, his heart beating double-time in his breast. He lost sight of the captain but plunged on, making so much racket that he could not hear whether he was still pursued, though often he could have sworn someone was just a step behind him. He turned several times, expecting to see someone reaching out after him, but all was dark behind as well as before him. The trees became smudges of shadow. Several cuts burned across his face where branches lashed him, but fear drove him forward.

At last, exhausted, Felix stopped and collapsed against the trunk of a thick tree. His breath came hard and painful in the cold air. For a time, breathing took up all his attention. Then as he slowly found himself able to take a normal breath, he realized how silent everything was around him. Placing a supporting hand on the tree, he pulled himself to his feet.

He stood in the midst of Goldstone Wood, and he was alone.

“Captain Janus?” His voice sounded thin and childish on the crisp air. He coughed and tried to deepen it. “Captain Janus?”

Felix took a few steps in the dark, walked into a whole new snarl of brambles, and spent another several moments untangling his arms and legs. Mad and muttering, he pulled back, shaking his head. “Hullo?” he called again and did not care how little his voice sounded.

Something crackled off to his left, and he thought he heard a voice calling his name. “Felix! Felix!”

“I’m here!” Felix cried, stepping in the direction of the voice. “I’m over here! Hullo?”

“Prince Felix,” a voice spoke near at hand. “Do you want them to find you?”

Felix turned. “Captain Janus?”

A dark shape stepped out from behind the tree against which Felix had leaned a moment before. Felix could just discern that it held a hand out to him.

“Come, prince, we must go.”

Felix took a step, then stopped. He felt for the sword at his side. “Are you Captain Janus?”

“Don’t you recognize my voice?” the captain asked.

“Yes, but – ” Felix started to slide his sword from its sheath, but before he could draw it, the figure lunged. Felix ducked behind a tree, narrowly escaping the cold blade of a sword that clanged against the trunk. He heard a hissing curse and drew his own sword. Backing away from the tree, he stood with his blade between himself and the tall figure.

“Traitor!” he cried. “Are you working for the duke, Captain Janus?”

The captain laughed a thin and reedy laugh, and Felix suddenly smelled smoke on the air. “I serve only my Father,” the thin voice said, and it no longer sounded like Captain Janus. Sweat poured down Felix’s brow. He saw his opponent raise his sword, and felt his own body assuming a position he had practiced countless times in the yard at home.

The dark figure lunged. Felix’s feet moved almost of their own accord in the complicated step, his sword arm darting out at just the right moment. He felt the nick of a sword touch his arm, but he was quick enough. His enemy’s sword flew high, crashing through the branches and landing somewhere in the darkness as the disarmed man, surprised, stumbled forward onto his knees. Felix leapt forward, his sword upraised, but hesitated to strike the exposed back before him.

His enemy, still on his knees, turned, and Felix found himself gazing into two bright yellow eyes like those of a snake.

“Fool!” the thin voice hissed.

The next moment Felix was flat on his back, slitted pupils mere inches from his own face. Claws pierced through the cloak on his shoulders, down into his skin. He screamed. The figure above him hissed, and Felix gagged as thick fumes poured into his face. He writhed and managed to free an arm, but claws tore viciously at his chest. He screamed again.