Shadow Hand (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #6)(81)

“Lumil Eliasul,” he whispered. And then he saw what he sought. A new Path opened up from the one on which he stood. It led into the deeps of the Wood. It led toward the sound of the hunting lion.

“Bother it all,” the cat muttered. But he had made vows of service, and he meant them, no matter how inconvenient. Tail bristling and body low to the ground, he skulked swiftly through the underbrush, pursuing this new Path. It opened up before him as he went, like the birdsong itself, flowing swiftly and unpredictably but with a true course. It led him far and fast across the Wood, away from the Haven, which he did not like. But he dared not disobey, even as the scent of lion and the sound of its roaring grew.

Before he found the lion, however, he found its prey.

A young man in savage clothing—a mortal by the smell of him, though so long in the Between that much of his mortality was already lost—lay on the ground where he’d collapsed, blood spilling from a gash in his leg and pooling around him. Eanrin pulled up short, his nose wrinkling at the stench of fear and flight. This was the lion’s prey, no doubt about it; the wound smelled of predatory claws.

The lion would soon be upon them. Even now Eanrin felt the thuds of its feet, the pulse of its shortened breath. He must act quickly if he would act at all.

He stood up into man’s form and approached the fallen youth. “Are you awake?” he demanded, beginning to lift the stranger without waiting for an answer. The young man, startled by his voice, drew back with a cry and would have fought, however feebly. Eanrin quickly said, “I am a Knight of Farthestshore, and I can help you. Trust me. I’ll get you free of your enemy, and my comrade-in-arms will tend your wounds.”

Sun Eagle, for it was he, stared wordlessly at the golden stranger before him. Then he nodded and allowed Eanrin to help him to his feet. As they scrambled to get upright, Sun Eagle snatched the Bronze from around his neck and tucked it deep into a pouch at his side, a swift gesture that went unnoticed by the cat-man, for Eanrin was distracted by yet another roar from the oncoming lion and another, higher voice shouting, “Find him! Kill him!”

“Referring to you, I presume?” said Eanrin, stepping onto his Path and hastening as best he could while supporting the youth. “You’ve certainly made some hard and fast enemies. Takes talent, that does!”

“Please,” said Sun Eagle, his voice thin with pain, “get me away.”

“That’s the idea,” said Eanrin.

They hurried on in silence. The lion was near enough that had they not been walking the Path of the Lumil Eliasul, it surely would have seen them. But while they were on the Path, it could not find them even if it were to pass within inches of their location. It knew they were near, however. Eanrin could hear its low, frustrated growl. It was following the trail of blood, for Sun Eagle’s wound bled freely. His skin was ashy gray, and his eyes rolled in his head.

“It’s a wonder you made it this far,” Eanrin said, more to himself than to the stranger. “You’re from the South Land, by the smell of you, and that’s far from this watch! You must have fallen on a Faerie Path by accident, and lucky for you.”

Sun Eagle did not answer. His arm was round Eanrin’s neck, and his other hand clutched at the wound in his thigh, desperately trying, but failing, to staunch the bleeding.

Before they reached the door of the Haven, Eanrin began bellowing Imraldera’s name. He had little hope she would hear, wrapped up as he knew she would be in her work. But lo and behold, no sooner did the Haven come in sight than Imraldera flung wide the door and stood upon the threshold looking out.

“Eanrin?” she called. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing much,” he replied. “Just lions and gore and fainted youths. The usual, you know.”

“Dragons eat you, cat,” she snapped, hastening to them. She reached out to the stranger, whose head was bowed to his chest in groaning agony. “Easy now,” she said. “You’re among friends. You’re safe.”

She touched his shoulder. His head came up, and he stared at her with eyes that flashed dark fire.

“Starflower,” he gasped.





2


WHAT IS THAT?

On a dark plain under the starless sky, figures began to move.

At first they were nothing more than wafting shadows. But they assembled themselves with dignity, climbing stairs that did not exist to a balcony made of nothing. They carried instruments in their hands: dulcians, pipes and tabors, psaltries, viols, and a great set of richly decorated drums. As they took up these instruments, their shapes became at once both more indistinct and more real; they existed purely for the song they produced.

Soft, sweet, mournfully beautiful melody flowed down from the sky.

What is that? asked the mouth of Daylily that was no longer Daylily’s.

The she-wolf, flattened to the ground, blood dried in her coat, did not raise her head. But her icy eyes glanced up at the figure beside her. “Music,” she said.

We don’t like it.

The she-wolf snorted. “Since when did you start having likes or dislikes? Before or after you stole bodies?”

The figure of Daylily made no answer but watched as more shadow figures moved. These assembled below the musicians, and they formed strange figures and patterns as they flowed in and out from one another, always in time to the song.