Dawn broke in shades of grey-green, the mist swirling about the ground in mysterious eddies and wisps that made Telyn remember tales of phantoms and restless spirits. Above head-height, the mists thinned enough to admit glimpses of the treetops through gauzy veils of cloud, yellow beams breaking horizontally through the fog in strange, liquid lines of light.
Cormac’s cloaked form was perhaps a dozen feet ahead, the young warden careful to keep within Telyn’s sight in the heavy mists. Mithrais was at her back, perhaps half that distance away, with his bow held loosely at his side. His weapon had been in hand since first light, his senses wide open to the Wood for any sign of The Dragon, and Telyn found her fingers flexing on the pommel of the dagger at her side in response to his agitation.
She felt the rising tension in the Wood even as the sunlight began to burn away the mist. The birds had failed to sing their usual morning chorus, the passage of their wings startlingly loud among the shrouded trees, and Telyn knew without having to ask: The Dragon was on their side of the rift. Unencumbered by matching Telyn’s pace, the bounty hunter would be traveling twice as fast as they could.
They left the Cesperion Hills behind as the sun began to top the trees, and the terrain returned to gentle, thickly forested slopes. Conspicuously absent were the pulses of resonance from the Gwaith’orn that had plagued Telyn the previous day. Her involuntary communication with the tree folk had answered one question, but created many others: Telyn was not convinced of their absolute benevolence, part of her was deeply resentful that she had been called to them without conscious will or assent. The charge set before her was monumental, and Telyn was not even certain she could unravel the riddles in time to complete her task by the summer solstice.
At late morning, the trio passed a cluster of stones, ancient formations that scribed a rough arc of rock and moss. Telyn was able to feel the presence of a Gwaith’orn somewhere in the forest beyond. Mithrais gave a softly whistled signal, a brief imitation of the birdsong that was missing in the Wood. Cormac halted and quickly closed the distance between them.
“We will stop here for a short time to rest and eat,” Mithrais told them.
Telyn divided out the little food that was left from the leather bag of Riordan’s provisions, portioning the cured meat and bread and cheese between the three of them and holding only the dried fruit and nuts in reserve. Mithrais appeared contemplative as they consumed their scant meal in silence, and finally spoke as he reached for the water skin.
“I need to consult the Gwaith’orn. If I don’t return in one quarter of an hour, leave without me and continue our present course. I’ll follow.”
Cormac nodded, acknowledging his orders, but Telyn was uncomfortable with the thought of leaving Mithrais behind.
“What are you going to do?” she asked. Mithrais shook his head mildly and drank water from the skin, passing it to Telyn and urging her to drink as well.
“I’m not certain I can explain quickly. It’s an old practice no longer used, an alternative method of getting a bearing without pulses of resonance. Now is the time to try it for myself.” Mithrais recognized her apprehension and cupped the bard’s cheek with his hand, stroking it gently with his thumb. “I’ll return soon.”
He touched his lips to Telyn’s softly, and she responded to his kiss. When they parted, Telyn glimpsed a surprised Cormac, running a hand through his yellow hair and turning discreetly away from them with a red countenance.
Telyn uneasily watched Mithrais go, and took a distracted swallow of water from the skin as he faded from sight between the trunks.
“How long until we reach Cerisild, Cormac?” Telyn asked softly, replacing the stopper in the water skin.
Cormac shrugged casually, drinking from his own store of water, his composure restored. “Eight hours, perhaps a little more,” he replied, employing the same hushed tone of voice. “Without a bearing, it’s difficult for me to tell. I’m still learning the lay of the land here.”
“You aren’t from Cerisild?” Telyn asked, settling on a stone.
“No, my lady—Telyn,” Cormac amended her title when the bard gave him a pointed look. “I was born in a village in the northern Wood, called Ilparien.” Cormac smiled shyly, and admitted as he scanned the Wood with eyes the bright azure of cornflowers, “I have never met a true bard before. None ever travel so far north.”
“Really? Well, we shall remedy that situation once I have my horse and instruments back,” Telyn declared, and amended wistfully, “But I feel I’m only half a bard without my harp. I will miss it.” At Cormac’s look of inquiry, Telyn explained, “It’s in pieces now at the home of a good friend, with a crossbow bolt in the soundboard.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m angrier about the fact that The Dragon is trying to kill me, or the fact that he destroyed my harp.”
Cormac gave a startled snort of laughter, and Telyn grinned up at him ruefully. “Ignore my rambling, Cormac.” She heaved a sigh. “I’ve had a very strange life in the last three days, and I’m lost without my instruments. I am without even as much as a simple whistle.”
Cormac brightened. “I can resolve that.” He reached into his jerkin and pulled out a wooden flute. Telyn’s hands reached for it almost of their own accord.
“Cormac! Do you play?” She examined the flute with delight, her fingers caressing the delicately carved, sinuous lines that curled on its length. “This is exquisite work.”
“I made it this winter with the intent of teaching myself to play. Alas, Rodril is no music lover and has little patience for it.” Cormac grinned good-naturedly. “Halith scolded him for not letting me practice.”
“May I try it?” Telyn asked.
“Please! Although...” Cormac looked around anxiously as she raised it to her lips. “You may wish to play very quietly.”
Telyn winced, lowering the flute. “Perhaps this isn’t the time, after all.” She sighed regretfully, extending the flute toward Cormac, who waved it away.
“No, please keep it until your own instruments are returned to you.”
“Thank you, Cormac.” Telyn was touched, and she placed the flute carefully inside her own jerkin, where it rested against her heart. “I hope this won’t deprive you of music.”
“No. I fear I’m no musician, with or without practice. It seems to be a gift I don’t possess.”
“We have to remedy that as well,” Telyn said, narrowing her eyes at him. “A few lessons will do wonders.”
* * * *
Below the spreading branches of the Gwaith’orn, Mithrais carefully thought through what he was about to ask of the tree folk. He was a skillful heartspeaker, almost as strong as Gwidion, but the request Mithrais planned to make was unheard of within the current generation of Tauron wardens, unfamiliar even to the Elders.
The practice of resonance travel had been abandoned partly due to the physical energy it drained from the heartspeaker, but primarily because it required a level of skill that was no longer common as the old gifts waned. His father had come across an account of the practice in the written histories while searching for answers to the mystery of the silent Gwaith’orn, and they had studied it together on Mithrais’ last brief visit before the winter solstice.
A master of the control of his own gifts, Gwidion was convinced that he could perform it without taxing himself unduly, but Mithrais was uncertain his own abilities were yet as finely honed as his father’s. He had had no opportunity to test their discovery prior to this, but it was a risk that he felt he must now take.
Sheathing his bow, Mithrais placed his palms flat against the rough bark of the trunk. Recognition came immediately this time, as if compensating for the rejection he had experienced earlier.
The resonance was full of images. The Tauron were now aware of Aric’s death, and he let the stream of information flow through his thoughts, picking out only the specific items of which he needed immediate knowledge. Some were sent by Halith, others by the Tauron whose wardenship they were rapidly approaching. Halith had alerted Ronan, the Southwarden, of The Dragon’s proximity. Ronan and two wardens were headed in their direction, but they were nearly six hours from Mithrais’ current position. It merely strengthened his decision that the radical method he was about to employ was necessary.
Old ones. Mithrais paused, and formed the specific intent in his mind. You know that the intruder threatens the seed-voice. I want to determine his location by traveling through the resonance.
There was a surge of approval, and an invitation to open his mind further. Mithrais took a deep breath and let his eyes close, preparing to drop his shields entirely. Resonance travel was an act of complete trust in the Gwaith’orn. While normal communication required only surface contact of his mind, travel would require Mithrais to allow his consciousness to become entwined with that of the tree folk and be carried on the natural resonance that was a constant in the Wood. Even a seasoned heartspeaker’s first instinct would be to sever the contact when the Gwaith’orn’s presence overwhelmed them. Skill and discipline were essential to keep one’s own shields completely submissive.
His breathing slowed and Mithrais entered a light trance state, willing his shields to withdraw. At once the presence of the Gwaith’orn flooded his mind, and Mithrais fought to keep natural defenses from taking over, pushing away the mental barriers that tried to reinstate themselves. The immense sound and vibration that was the resonance struck Mithrais with the force of a gale, lifting him up and into the canopy overhead. He knew that his body still stood at the foot of the Gwaith’orn and that it was only his consciousness that moved haltingly upwards with the resonance, but a moment of fear came as he felt himself teetering at the edge of an unknown abyss. Instinctively, Mithrais struggled to keep within the confines of his own mind even as the Gwaith’orn tugged at his thought-self with firm, unyielding compulsion.
Mithrais cast himself outward and over the abyss in an act of faith.
The sensation was indescribable, as close to flight as Mithrais knew he was ever to come. In a strange, doubled awareness, he could see the Wood below him as he traveled at the height of the canopy. For the first time he sensed it through the consciousness of the Gwaith’orn.
His metaphorical descriptions to Telyn had been closer than Mithrais knew; each tree, each stone, each small creature of the Wood had its own song to sing. He experienced the individual signatures that represented Telyn and Cormac at the edge of the curving stones; saw them deep in conversation as he skimmed overhead. The bell-like purity that was Telyn’s resonance touched something inside Mithrais’ new, intangible form, stirring his own signature to life in a blend of harmonics before he was borne away to the south and west.
The shuddering, discordant signature that represented the bounty hunter was present at the edge of this Gwaith’orn’s circle of awareness, a disruption of the seamless current and order of vibration. As Mithrais’ consciousness eased into the resonance of another Gwaith’orn, the dissonance stimulated by the bounty hunter’s signature became even stronger, causing discomfort where Telyn’s had created harmony within him.
The Dragon was close—much closer than Mithrais had hoped. They had passed through the resonance of this particular Gwaith’orn less than two hours before.
Coherent thought ceased for a moment as Mithrais was plunged into the earth, twisting through the intermingling roots with the resonance until reaching the outer edges of a third Gwaith’orn’s sphere of perception.
The Gwaith’orn drew Mithrais in and slowed his momentum as a figure came into view below. Mithrais concentrated intently with his own senses as he received his first glimpse of the bounty hunter.
Exhibiting a lethal quickness as he traveled through the Wood, The Dragon stopped only brief seconds as he searched for signs of his quarry’s passage, his movements feline and deliberate. A tattooed dragon in blue and green curved around his skull from temple to temple, partly obscured by a mane of white-blond hair gathered at the crown. Arms corded with lean muscle were bared by a sleeveless leather jerkin, and he wore a bandolier in which rested steel bolts and a wicked assortment of small blades. A diminutive but powerful crossbow was slung at the small of his back.
The Dragon ceased all movement, and Mithrais realized that the bounty hunter somehow knew that he was being watched. He looked up toward the canopy with flat, expressionless grey eyes, searching the trees, his gaze passing through Mithrais’ insubstantial form. His mind was almost entirely accessible, but whether by intent or natural lack of shielding, Mithrais could not tell. One brief, tentative advance caused Mithrais’ thought-self to recoil in disgust, unable to endure the depraved thoughts that seethed below the surface. He knew now why The Dragon’s presence so disturbed the tree folk, for beneath the vacant eyes, the bounty hunter’s mind was a thing of horror, full of twisted obsessions and obscene desires that broadcast themselves with a palpable, creeping presence of their own, befouling all they contacted with the touch of madness.
A pulse of resonance came from the west, undoubtedly from the two wardens tracking The Dragon, and it rocked Mithrais slightly in its wake. The bounty hunter turned his attention from the treetops to the Wood behind him, and removed the crossbow from his back, cradling it loosely in his left arm. He moved forward suddenly, plucking at something nearly invisible snagged on a branch: a long, curling strand of Telyn’s hair. A smile, chilling because of the emotionless eyes, crossed The Dragon’s features. He began to move again, picking up speed, his head moving from side to side in an unrelenting search for more signs.
Something swung from the back of his belt, and Mithrais, aghast, recognized it as Aric’s flame-colored braid, still attached to a ragged piece of flesh.
He barely registered the signatures of Halith and Rodril, just at the edge of the Gwaith’orn’s awareness, before he was roughly catapulted back into the boundaries of his own mind. Mithrais took two staggering steps away from the Gwaith’orn before falling to the ground, weakened, dizzy, and gasping for air. Grey blots were swimming before his eyes. He had evidently slowed his breathing to a point where his body was starved for oxygen, and he coughed uncontrollably, recognizing that involuntary defense mechanisms had forced him to sever the connection with the Gwaith’orn. Mithrais stayed on his hands and knees and concentrated on taking deep, slow breaths, a triumphant grin creasing his face despite the exhaustion he felt.
He climbed to his feet as soon as he knew he was able to stand. The Dragon would almost undoubtedly intercept them within four hours if they kept to their current path and speed. Reaching Cerisild ahead of him was now impossible. Rodril and Halith were an hour or more behind the bounty hunter, and could be of no assistance.
It seemed that they were fated to stand and fight.
The first ideas of a strategy were beginning to form, and although he could not be entirely sure of its success, Mithrais was determined that they would have every advantage available to them. He placed his hands against the tree once more, and asked a question that could change everything.
* * * *
Cormac stopped in mid-stride, turning around to face the Westwarden.
“You are going to lead him into the Circle?” he asked, his voice breaking with disbelief. “But it is a hallowed place!”
“It won’t matter to The Dragon, nor, I think, will it matter to the Gwaith’orn.” Mithrais did not stop, forcing Cormac to continue walking.
He had appeared out of the forest only seconds before Cormac and Telyn had meant to reluctantly carry out the Westwarden’s orders to leave without him. His face drawn and haggard, Mithrais had imparted a hasty image of The Dragon to both of them, and the three left the tumble of stones behind immediately, taking a new course that led them due east.
Telyn had received Mithrais’ news with more relief than dread—after days of running, she was almost eager to turn and meet her enemy, sword in hand. The Dragon was no longer a faceless nemesis, although the means by which Mithrais had obtained this information seemed to have been costly in terms of endurance.
“What is the Circle?” Telyn asked, falling into step beside Mithrais.
He answered, “It’s the heart of the Tauron Order. We hold it to be the precise center of the Wood, and at the compass points of North, South, East, and West stand forest giants. It is where we pledge our lives to the service of the Gwaith’orn and the Lord of Cerisild.” He fell silent a moment, shadow darkening his eyes to the green of deep waters. “It is also where we will commit the ashes of Aric’s body to the Wood when the time comes. It’s a place of great power.”
Cormac paced, thinking aloud. “He’s armed with a crossbow. We can outshoot him if it comes to it, but there is no cover there inside the Circle. What do you propose, exactly?”
“We will only draw him to the Circle. I don’t believe he will enter it willingly for the same reasons, Cormac, but to the edge is enough. The Gwaith’orn play the next part.” Mithrais turned to Telyn. “Although I’m now certain he is a heartspeaker, The Dragon has no shields that I could sense. Yesterday, you were nearly stunned by the pulse of resonance from one giant because your shields were merely weak. Can you imagine the pulses of four giants, simultaneously directed at him?”
Telyn’s eyes widened, remembering the near-physical impact of the resonance. “It might be enough to render him unconscious.”
“Use the tree folk as a weapon against a heartspeaker? I like this less and less. We don’t even know that it will work.” Cormac was distressed.
“It’s all we have,” Mithrais said curtly, his patience thin.
“The Gwaith’orn have never used their resonance in that manner,” Cormac persisted.
“To defend the seed-voice, they will!”
Cormac ceased protesting, stumbling to a halt, his eyes swiveling to Telyn with a look of shock.
“They’ve already agreed,” Mithrais continued in a gentler tone.
Telyn realized with dismay that Mithrais—and the Gwaith’orn, for that matter—held more faith in her than she held in herself, and they were willing to risk more than they ever had to make certain Telyn survived to fulfill the charge she had been given. The knowledge made her turn her gaze away from Mithrais, troubled and uncertain, and Telyn found Cormac staring at her instead, regarding the bard with something close to awe.
She felt a sudden, irrational surge of annoyance with all of them: Mithrais, Cormac, and the Gwaith’orn, and hoped she could live up to their expectations.
“Stop looking at me that way, Cormac, or you will need a weapon much sooner than you think,” she growled.
Cormac looked startled, and then grinned broadly when he realized she was not entirely serious. He became sober again, glancing from Telyn to Mithrais.
“One last thing and I’m committed to your plan. If her shields weren’t strong enough to deflect the summons from one giant, Telyn won’t be able to withstand four inside the Circle.”
Mithrais nodded in agreement. “She’ll have to remain in physical contact with one of the Gwaith’orn. Its own resonance should deflect that of the others.”
Mithrais motioned for them to keep moving, for they had little time to lose, and each step he took seemed to require an effort. When he spoke again, there was a tentative note to his voice, and a hint of humor despite his weariness. “I know that climbing another cliff is out of the question, Telyn, but what about a tree?”
* * * *
They emerged at last from thick forest into the edge of a large clearing, nearly perfectly round and carpeted in heavy moss and grasses. An immense, flat stone of the same grey granite that formed the rift lay in the center of the clearing, carved with lines running North and South, East and West. Four enormous trees, their white-barked branches reaching far into the sky, stood parallel with the terminations of each line, backed by the deep Wood in every direction.
Telyn swayed, closing her eyes, for in the newly awakened senses of her mind, she could feel the power here, eliciting growing warmth in her chest as her song magic responded to the primal energy. It was no wonder Cormac had been hesitant to agree to lead The Dragon here, for it was, in all senses of the word, a holy place. Tightness grew in her throat, and Telyn was too moved to speak. For a brief moment, her distrust of the Gwaith’orn was forgotten, swept away by wonder.
The canopy of leaves left only the center of the clearing above the grey stone open to the early afternoon sky, which darkened steadily with clouds that threatened a dangerous storm. At a nod from Mithrais, Cormac went to the westernmost of the tree folk and placed his hands upon it, preparing to take the bearing they assumed would lead The Dragon directly to them.
The pulse rippled out and away from the Circle. Mithrais took Telyn’s hand, leading her to the opposite side of the clearing, to the wide trunk of the forest giant standing at the eastern termination. On the leeward side of the tree, the roots curved around like a pair of sinuous arms embracing something precious and invisible. It recalled to Telyn’s mind an image from the forced rapport, and she eyed it warily, almost unwilling to go nearer.
“When the Gwaith’orn begin sending the pulses toward The Dragon, remember to keep as much of your body against the trunk as possible. It should shield you from the worst of it,” Mithrais told her quietly.
“What happens if they decide it’s necessary to speak to me again?” Telyn could not keep a trace of resentment from her voice.
“Even if you touch the tree with your hands, they can’t create a connection unless you allow it.” He stroked a wayward strand of her hair away from her cheek, his hand lingering there. “I’m sorry that they’ve caused you to mistrust them, Telyn. The Gwaith’orn seldom impose their will in dreams, and then only in matters of great importance. It’s unlikely that you will experience it again. Hold fast to that remarkable courage but a little longer.”
His eyes were grave and tired, and Telyn realized guiltily how exhausted he was. For three successive days, Mithrais had been at her side from dusk until dawn; her steadfast friend and guardian, her guide through the Wood and the mysteries of heartspeaking. The gratitude she felt was inexpressible in words, and Telyn let a kiss speak what she could not say.
The pulse of resonance returned to the grove, and almost immediately Cormac’s voice hissed in warning.
“Mithrais!” The young warden came sprinting toward them, bow in hand, his face creased with tension. “He’ll be upon us within minutes. We should take position at once.”
“Go!” Mithrais instructed tersely, and Cormac disappeared into the densely forested outer perimeter between the southern and western trees, drawing up the hood of his cloak.
Mithrais cupped his hands and Telyn stepped into them with one foot, reaching for the lowest branches of the Gwaith’orn as he propelled her upward. She caught hold of a thick limb and pulled herself up into the tree, her breath catching in her throat as the resonance hummed through her body at first touch. Telyn clenched her teeth, willing her shields to stay in place as she gathered her cloak over one arm and reached for the next branch, preparing to climb. She looked down at Mithrais as a flash and rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.
“Go as high as you can, and find a steady hold that offers you some protection should you become disoriented by the resonance. Stay on the outside of the Circle, and do not come down until we’re certain that he is subdued,” Mithrais told her. They looked at each other for the space of a heartbeat, and then he was gone, moving with all speed toward the Gwaith’orn at the northern edge, where he would direct the tree folk’s assault.
Telyn climbed resolutely, the sword on her back catching on small branches and leaves, and the resonance humming small shocks to her nerves each time she reached for a new handhold. She found at last a three-forked niche perhaps fifteen feet above the lowest branches and settled into it, rearranging the Tauron cloak to cover her body and pulling up the hood. She looked up. The trunk continued to rise above her like a spire, surrounded by a nebulous cloud of branches for another fifty feet or more.
With her hands muffled in her cloak, Telyn found that she could brace herself against the trunk without feeling the resonance through her palms. She peered through the leaves, which were not yet so dense that they completely obstructed her view of the clearing. She knew approximately where Cormac had gone, but he was invisible to her eyes. Of Mithrais, she could see nothing but his hand against the trunk of the northernmost Gwaith’orn, framed in a cluster of wide, star-shaped leaves. The Wood to the west was deathly silent.
Long minutes passed. Telyn’s eyes ached from scanning the trees across the clearing, and still there was no evidence of the bounty hunter. Another flash and roll of thunder, closer this time, shook the tree beneath her. Telyn wondered if this was truly the safest place for her. The sky darkened even more, casting the Circle into deep shadows. She could no longer see any sign of Mithrais.
Without warning the Gwaith’orn suddenly pulsed with energy, and a shockwave of resonance rocked Telyn backwards and into the crook of the branches as it hit her mental defenses with numbing force. She struggled upright, gasping, and threw her arms around the trunk of the tree, molding as much of her body against it as she could. Her right cheek and temple pressed against the bark so firmly she felt it digging into her skin.
The next pulse of energy that went out formed around Telyn instead of in front of her, and she felt the pulse leave but it did not impact her shields. Another flash lit the clearing, ear-splitting thunder shaking the Wood immediately afterward. Like soundless echoes of the thunderclaps, the four trees sent wave after wave of resonance toward a point at the southwestern edge of the Circle. They ceased abruptly, the sudden stillness of the air as startling as the pulses had been.
The pure trill of birdsong came from somewhere to the northwest—Mithrais?—and Telyn struggled to see what was happening without disengaging herself from the trunk, uncertain that she should release her grip on the tree so quickly. She glimpsed movement to her left, and Cormac emerged from his hiding place, an arrow nocked and drawn against his shoulder as he eased carefully around the perimeter toward the place Telyn believed The Dragon must lay stunned.
She saw Mithrais through a break in the leaves, moving with equal caution toward the area the Gwaith’orn had bombarded with pulses. Cormac reached an area of dense undergrowth and suddenly froze, taking aim at something on the ground. He straightened slightly, his arm relaxing its pull on the bow, and whistled a quick signal to Mithrais, his eyes on the Westwarden.
An arm came up out of the bracken, leveling a crossbow at the young warden’s chest, and Telyn screamed, “Cormac!” as the trigger was released. The young warden was spun about by the impact of the bolt and he fell heavily to the ground.
Telyn did not wait to see if he moved again, scrambling down the tree with careless speed, ignoring the shocks of resonance. She heard the hiss of an arrow leaving Mithrais’ bow and a cry of pain. She did not know from whom it came.
As Telyn dropped from the tree, she saw Mithrais clutching at the hilt of a dagger that had buried itself in his thigh, and The Dragon launching himself at the Westwarden in a blur of motion, swinging his spent crossbow at Mithrais’ head. Mithrais was narrowly able to avoid the weapon, but the bounty hunter struck out with his foot instead, landing a solid blow to Mithrais’ chest and sending him backwards. The Westwarden’s injured leg folded beneath him, sending him staggering to one knee, and the Dragon leapt at him. Mithrais used his adversary’s own momentum against him and rolled, throwing The Dragon head over heels to land solidly on his back.
The bounty hunter was on his feet again with unreasonable speed as the trees began to thrash in high winds, swinging the empty crossbow even as Mithrais attempted to avoid it. It struck a glancing blow, but it was enough to stun, and Mithrais struggled to rise. The Dragon kicked him in the face, and Mithrais went down in a crumpled heap. The bounty hunter closed on the fallen warden, his hand moving to pluck another blade from the bandolier, and Telyn moved out of the shadow of the Gwaith’orn.
“Vuldur wants me dead, not another warden,” Telyn shouted, her voice hoarse and broken. She drew her sword. “If you desire a trophy, you’ll have to work for it.”
The lightning ripped open the sky once more, and The Dragon saw her then, a slow smile crossing his lips, the emotionless grey eyes showing nothing behind them but death.
He straightened, replacing the blade he had drawn, and Telyn saw that Mithrais’ arrow had found its mark. The broken end protruded from The Dragon’s ribs, the leather jerkin dark and stained with blood. He extracted the shaft with his free hand without a sound or grimace of pain, and dropped it to the earth at his feet. He moved away from Mithrais even as Telyn advanced, drawing her dagger in her left hand and dropping into a fighting stance within a blade’s reach of the bounty hunter.
“You have led me on a merry chase,” The Dragon said, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle. He continued to move sideways with catlike indifference, his startling white hair lifted on the wind that whipped through the trees. He regarded the forest giants with that odd, flat gaze before turning it to Telyn. “I never thought a bard would be so difficult to catch.”
“You’ll find them hard to kill, as well,” Telyn said fiercely.
“I think not. You are only human.” He coughed suddenly, bright blood staining his lips, and touched his fingers to his mouth, regarding the crimson smear with interest. “I have enjoyed this hunt, but it seems it will be my last.” The bounty hunter raised his eyes to hers. “I have never taken apart a woman before—at least, not for money. Perhaps we will die at the same time.”
He grinned, blood running from the side of his mouth, and Telyn let all her horror, fear and anger come to the surface in a single cry of battle, her sword a deadly arc of bright metal. He blocked her blows easily with the crossbow, twisting it so that Telyn’s blade was caught between the arms of the bow and ripped from her grasp, sent spinning into the air. She lashed out with her opposite hand and the dagger, ripping a gash in The Dragon’s arm at the same moment he wrenched the sword away, and he backhanded Telyn across the face with his fist.
She allowed herself to roll with it in spite of the pain, coming to her feet as the sword landed with a clash of metal and bright spray of sparks on the grey stone in the center of the clearing, a weak echo of the blue-white flash of lightning that roared overhead. Telyn moved her dagger to her dominant hand and waited for The Dragon to come to her, but he staggered slightly, his face tightening, and drew the last blade from his bandolier, dropping the remains of the crossbow to the ground.
He flipped the dagger in his hand, grasping it by the blade with an apologetic shrug.
“I haven’t enough time left for games,” he said, his voice inflectionless.
He flicked his wrist, and the hilt of the dagger suddenly bloomed from Telyn’s breast with an oddly wooden thunk. She stared down at it, uncomprehending, feeling a warm trickle running down her skin beneath the clothing. She sank to her knees weakly, her hand reaching up to touch the hilt.
There was an inarticulate cry of rage, and Telyn looked up dizzily to see Mithrais, airborne, taking The Dragon down to the ground with the weight of his body. The impact caused them both to roll free, and the adversaries immediately located each other. Mithrais crawled over the ground toward the Dragon, his face streaked with blood and twisted by fury, his injured leg hampering his efforts to rise. The Dragon stood slowly, his hand reaching automatically for the bandolier and finding nothing but crossbow bolts remaining. He ripped one of them from the leather and raised it, the pointed tip as deadly as any dagger, and began to advance toward Mithrais, who was still on the ground.
The Dragon’s motion was reversed as an arrow hissed past Telyn’s ear and buried itself in his abdomen. His eyes looked past his quarry, and Telyn dazedly followed The Dragon’s gaze to see a grey-faced Cormac, once more drawing back his bow with a guttural cry of pain and defiance, the steel bolt protruding from his right shoulder.
The second arrow sang its high song and took the Dragon in the chest. He fell to the ground as another deafening peal of thunder heralded the rain, which pelted down with bone-chilling bits of hail. Cormac sat heavily on the grass, clutching his shoulder, the strength he had mustered gone.
Mithrais was beside Telyn in an instant, his face a bloody mask of anguish as he examined with horror the hilt of the dagger in her breast. Telyn looked into his eyes, and having come to a sudden realization, touched his face gently.
“I’m all right,” she said with a giddy laugh, faint with relief.
“What?” Mithrais did not believe her at first, but his eyes widened as she grasped the hilt of the dagger that protruded from her chest. Stifling a cry of pain as the steel left her flesh, she pulled the dagger up, cutting through the collar of the jerkin and shirt. Cormac’s wooden flute appeared above the forest green jerkin, and then the blade that bisected the flute. The tip of the dagger protruded only a finger’s width from the opposite side and was stained with Telyn’s blood.
An unexpected sound arose from the bounty hunter. The irony of the situation was not lost on The Dragon, who laughed aloud, breath rattling in his throat.
His eyes were clouded with his own death as he gasped through the bloody froth that tinged his mouth, “Hard to kill...indeed.”
A final sigh escaped his lips, and the grey eyes stared sightlessly into the rain.