The Hero and the Crown (28 page)

She had not told him much of her meeting with her uncle, nor had she asked

him any questions about him; but she could not say how much he guessed—or

knew, in the same way he knew of her fire-starting—and she listened eagerly

when he began to talk of Agsded, and of their school days together. The chill of

hating someone with her own face eased as she listened, and eased still more at

the sight of Luthe smiling up into her face as he talked; and at last she told him,

haltingly, a little of what had passed between them.

Luthe looked wry, and was silent for a time, and they heard the soft contented

moan of a dog stretching in its sleep. “Agsded was not entirely wrong about me,”

he said at last. “I was stubborn, and no, frankly, I was not one of Goriolo’s most

brilliant and promising pupils. But I survived on that stubbornness and stayed with

my master long enough to learn more than most of the ones who had greater

gifts to begin with and then went off and got themselves killed or became sheep

farmers because a mage’s life is such a grim and thankless one.

“I was also always at my worst when Agsded was around, for he was one of

those glittering people whose every gesture looks like a miracle, whose every

word sounds like a new philosophy. You’ve a bit of that yourself, valiantly as you

seek to hide it.

“But I don’t know that he and I are so unequal in the end; for as I made

mistakes in ignorance, or obstinacy, he made mistakes in pride...”

“You haven’t asked me how I—how he lost and I won,” said Aerin, after

another pause.

“There is something at least I wish to ask you.”

“Ask away.”

“It requires you move; I need to reach my saddlebags.”

Luthe groaned. “Is it worth it?”

Aerin didn’t mean to laugh, but she did anyway, and Luthe smiled languorously,

but he did sit up and free her. “This,” she said, and handed him the charred

wreath and its red stone.

“The gods wept,” said Luthe, and no longer looked sleepy. “I should have

thought you might have this. I am the earth’s most careless teacher and Goriolo

would have my head if he were around to collect it.” He parted the dry vines and

spilled the red stone into his hand. It gleamed in the firelight; he rolled it gently

from one hand to the other. “This makes your Hero’s Crown look like a cheap

family heirloom.”

“What is it?” Aerin asked, nervously.

“Maur’s bloodstone. The last drop of blood from its heart—the fatal one,”

Luthe replied. “All dragons who die by bloodletting spill one of these at the last;

but you’d need a hawk’s eyes to find that last curdled drop from a small dragon.”

Aerin shuddered. “Then you keep it,” she said. “I’m grateful for its wizard-

defeating properties, and if I have the great misfortune ever to need to defeat

another wizard, I shall borrow it from you. But I don’t want it around.”

Luthe looked at her thoughtfully, cradling it in his hand. “If you bound it into

your Damarian Crown, it would make whoever wore it invincible.”

Aerin shook her head violently. “And be forever indebted to the memory of

Maur? Damar can do without.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. A dragon’s bloodstone is not for good or

wickedness; it just is. And it is a thing of great power, for it is its dragon’s death—

unlike its skull, which your folk treated like a harmless artifact. The bloodstone is

the real trophy, the prize worth the winning; worth almost any winning. You’re

letting your own experience color your answer.”

“Yes, I am letting my own experience color my answer, which is what

experience is for. A dragon’s heartstone may not be goodness or evil from your

vantage point, but I was born a simple mortal not that long ago and I remember a

lot more about the simple mortal viewpoint than maybe you ever knew. A

bloodstone is not a safe sort of emblem to hand over to any of us—them—even

to the royal family of Damar.” She grimaced, thinking of Perlith. “Or even the

sovereigns of Damar only. Even if it were used wisely, it cannot be well enough

protected; for there will be others, like you, who know what it is—others with

fewer mortal limits than Damarian kings. Look at the amount of harm Agsded did

with the Crown alone.”

She paused and then added slowly, “I’m not even sure I believe you about its

being a power of neither good nor evil. Our stories say that the dragons first came

from the North. Almost all the evil that has ever troubled our land has come from

there, nor has it often happened that something from there was not evil. You said

once that Damarian royalty—any of us with the Gift, with kelar have a common

ancestor with the Northerners. So why have they and their land turned out their

way and we ours?

“No. I’ll not take the thing with me. You keep it, or I’ll bury it here before we

go.”

Luthe blinked several times. “I’ve grown accustomed to being right—most of

the time. Right all of the time in arguments with those who were born simple

mortals not that long ago. I think—perhaps—in this case that you are right. How

unexpected.” He smiled bemusedly. “Very well. I shall keep it. And you will know

where to find it if ever you have the need.”

“I will know,” said Aerin. “But gods preserve me from needing that knowledge

ever again.”

Luthe looked at her, a small frown beginning. “That’s not a good sort of vow to

make, at least not aloud, where things may be listening.”

Aerin sighed. “You are indeed a terribly careless teacher. You never warned me

about vow-making either.” The frown cleared, and Luthe laughed, and it turned

into a yawn halfway.

“Aerin,” he said. “I’m wearied to death from dragging you backward through

the centuries by the heel, and I must sleep, but it would comfort my rest to hold

you in my arms and know I did succeed.”

In the morning Aerin said abruptly, as she fixed Talat’s saddle in place. “Here—

how do you travel? Do you float like a mist and waft upon the breeze?”

“Presumably I would then have to order myself a breeze to waft me in the right

direction. No, dear heart, I walk. It’s surprisingly effective.”

“You walked here from your mountain?”

“I did indeed,” he said, shouldering his pack. “And I will now walk back. I

should, however, be grateful for your company as far as the foot of my mountain.

Our ways lie together till then.”

Aerin stared at him blankly.

“I can move quite as fast as that antiquated beast you prefer as

transportation,” he said irritably. “To begin with, my legs are longer, even if

fewer, and, secondly, I carry a great deal less baggage. Stop staring at me like

that.”

“Mm,” said Aerin, and mounted. Luthe was right, however; they covered just as

much ground as Aerin and Talat and their army would have on their own—

although it could not be said they traveled together. Luthe walked somewhat less

fast than Talat cantered, but a great deal faster than Talat walked, and they

played a kind of leapfrog all day, Luthe calling directions as needed for the

smoother and quicker route as Talat’s heels passed him, and Talat pinning his ears

back and snorting when Luthe had the temerity to pass them.

None of them saw much of the folstza and yerig that day, but at evening, when

they camped, Aerin’s four-legged army re-formed around them. “You know, my

friends,” she said to the rows of gleaming eyes, “I’m going south—far farther

south than your homes and territories. You might want to think about that before

you travel many more days with me.”

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.

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.

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