“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.”
“Yes,” said Aerin. “It was not a comfortable time I spent being so dragged, and I would be glad to know that I do not spend this night alone as I did that one.”
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, dearheart, 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.