Hardly thinking, he grasped it when it slid into the palm of his heart-hand; the dragon figure flowed out of the ring and into the horn, lighting it from within until it reached the tip, and extended a fiery tongue the pure white of starlight. Sekkady’s eyes widened. “That! How did you—it was lost!” He lunged, reaching for Kieri with the bloodstone.
The horn twisted in Kieri’s hand like a live thing, faster than Kieri could have moved it himself, and the dragon’s tongue touched the bloodstone, pierced it.
A roar burst from the stone, loud as the battle cry of an army. Blood spurted out, wave after wave that never touched the horn’s purity nor Kieri himself but splashed back on Sekkady. The thick metallic tang of blood filled the chamber, choking-strong. Then the bloodstone shrank, and the blood lifted in red mist that coiled about Sekkady. Thicker … thicker … Kieri could no longer see the man’s shape within it.
When it dispersed, Sekkady was gone. Where he had been, nothing remained but the clean floor. No blood, no mist of red, no stench, no body, nothing.
Kieri looked around the room. Silence. Peace. No danger that his senses, human or elven, could detect. More, a feeling of joy that came not only from his own heart but filled the air around him. Could that be the spirits released from the bloodstone? It faded, and as it did, Kieri was aware of movement in what he held. He watched as the straight horn curled slowly and the little dragon figure flowed back up the length, leaving the tip once more shiny white as a child’s tooth. “Thank you,” he heard himself say, and repeated it in elven and the old tongue of magery. “I don’t understand.”
The dragon paused in its way, and the tiny tongue of fire extended again. Waited. Kieri bent his head and touched his tongue to it. Hot … with a flavor of the dragon he’d met. It disappeared—reappeared for an instant in his ring, and then sank into the green again. The horn continued to curl toward its former shape. He wanted to touch it with his other hand, to feel that smooth surface, the coils of its spiral, but he could not—and even as he watched, gold wrapped it round once more, until it was, as it had seemed, a simple torc for his neck. He put it on again.
Well done. More than one voice, but Falk, he was sure, was among them.
Then a blast of enmity came out of the air, cold, implacable hatred. He turned. Iynisin.
“You are even more foolish than your grandmother,” said the one in the center. “We cannot be undone by mortals. That one was only mortal—”
“And so am I,” Kieri said. “But you can be undone by those of steady purpose.”
“You think so?”
“And by Elders older than you,” Kieri said. “Dragon destroyed your western hold, did he not?”
“Dragon!” They spat, all of them, vile stuff that hissed on the floor like acid. “Dragon killed many of us, but Dragon cannot be everywhere at once. Dragon is busy elsewhere, and you are here, little king. We will unmake you.”
Swords appeared in their hands, and they moved to encircle him. Their malice battered him before they were close enough to strike. Power he recognized as greater than his own—but not beyond what he could resist. He drew his sword; they would not kill him easily.
Even as the first one struck, Amrothlin ran into the room, sword drawn and calling for aid. Then other elves, then his Squires.
When it was done, five iynisin lay dead, and Amrothlin, badly wounded, lay with his head in Kieri’s lap. “I was wrong,” he said, gasping. “I should have—I didn’t believe—and I could not let you die—”
“Uncle,” Kieri said, “I honor you, whatever lies in the past.”
“Take me where my mother lies—please—others can show you. And remember me as one who saved a king’s life.”
“You are not dead yet—”
“No, but I will die of this wound. It is not the first iynisin wound I have taken.”
That night Arian and Kieri lay in the king’s bed with the twins between them. Falki slept peacefully; Tilla seemed to be dreaming, twitching and muttering.
“Is it over?” Arian asked when Kieri had told her everything that had happened.
“Is anything ever over? I’m sure there’s still evil in the world and it will seek destruction. But if the rains come, and the sun, to refresh the taig, I think we can deal with the rest—”
“Listen,” she said.
From outside came a faint sound. Kieri rolled out of bed and went to the window, pulling the curtains back. Damp air wafted in; he touched the sill outside and felt drops touch the back of his hand.
“What Dorrin did will last,” Arian said. “The taig will have the rain it needs, and farmers in all lands, as well.” She sounded completely confident. “Gitres Undoer will not prevail, not in our lifetimes or our children’s.”