Copper eyebrows slanted upward, and the dark eyes beneath rolled. “You know damn well. We break the curse, we find Excalibur or a magic cauldron, we have a calm sea and a following wind, and we’re back in France in a month. You take the treasure to Artair, I’m guessing. What then? Back to war?”
It was a question he’d tried not to answer ever since Artair had sent him off investigating rumors. War had an ease to it that matched the simplicity of life in dragon form: the straightforwardness of killing and being killed, the narrowing of vision to the next battle or the next blow, even the visceral satisfaction of victory and survival. A man could get lost there. A dragon-blooded man was in special danger. There were those, Artair had said, who’d become trapped in dragon’s shape and seen men merely as prey, and that without the additional intoxication of battle or the fury wounds could cause.
Knowing all this, Artair rarely asked or permitted his kin to spend many years at the front of any war; that was one reason he’d sent Erik abroad. Yet, if the English came again in force…
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “He might think he and Dougal will serve well enough by themselves, now that Dougal has sons to carry on after him. There’s Cathal too, and Moiread, should matters grow desperate. I’ve younger brothers, so it’s never been a matter of risking the line with me, but…you know the other risks with us.”
Toinette’s mouth twitched, and she shook her head slowly. “Always the perfect knight,” she said, though without the bitterness or the annoyance of their former arguments on the subject. “Oaths are heavy things, I understand. What if Artair leaves the choice up to you? He’s not a tyrant, in truth.”
“I…don’t know,” Erik said again, only realizing it himself. Following orders had been simple in its way. “When we signed the last treaty, I thought I’d had my fill of war for a long time. But if my country’s at stake, and my people—it truly isn’t just Artair’s pride. Not for me. Conquerors don’t often deal well with their subjects.”
“No,” said Toinette and sighed. “And I, when I said that…” She laughed shortly. “It’s very easy to see a river between yourself and the man in your way, even if there’s only a stream. Or less.” She drew a line in the dirt with one finger. “Though I’m not sure how pleased he’d be with the comparison.”
“Pleased enough,” said Erik. “He always spoke well of you in my hearing. If we leave here, he’ll be glad to know you’ve done well for yourself.”
“And I hope he does too…and well for the rest of you.” Toinette broke a piece of bread in half and stared at the edge. “At times, it strikes me as very odd that men should still seek conquest, after the years we’ve had. As if inheritance, or rulership, or any of it mattered when they could die spitting blood the next day.”
“I don’t suppose the English knew the plague was coming when they invaded,” Erik said, with what fairness he could manage. “And death’s always been on every mortal’s doorstep, though the form of it might be less showy. Life’s a matter of learning to ignore that, perhaps.”
“Mmm,” said Toinette, in reluctant agreement. “That’s the other half of what I think. Life goes on—and it may be that trying to kill another man for what he’s got is as much a part of that as eating or sleeping. Sence, or the priests, would say it’s original sin, I suppose.”
“So I’ve always heard,” said Erik. “Though my father’s priest when I was young was often too deep in the wine bottle to give much instruction on that or any other subject.”
As he’d intended, he got a smile from Toinette. “That explains a great deal,” she said. Getting to her feet, she brushed away crumbs and shouldered her pack. “And now, maybe we’ll see what a pair of near-heathens can do against a greater evil.”
“Just hope it’s nottoomuch greater,” said Erik, following behind.
Thirty
Three days since the battle against the elk creatures, the site where it had happened naturally bore the marks. Flame had scorched the nearby trees and burned away grass and moss; footprints and the heavier weight of fallen bodies had crushed smaller plants; and dried blood still colored parts of the undergrowth that remained.
In a short time, both Erik and Toinette would look back and find those signs reassuring.
Few would have called blood or burns pleasant, but they meant a world that operated on the natural order. Burnt trees stayed burnt. Crushed plants stayed crushed. Blood seeped into leaves and stayed.
None of that changed immediately as they started to follow the trail of the elk creatures. At first, their route was like the forest they’d come through. The elk had done a decent job of clearing the way for them, making unnecessary the sweaty work with blades and feet that had been so much a part of forging paths before.
When the voices in the trees sounded louder than they’d been, Toinette at first thought it the work of her mind. She knew the forest to be unfamiliar, knew that danger lay ahead, so of course she was paying more attention to any hint of strangeness. She rebuked herself, ignored the sounds, and continued.
After a full minute of high-pitched giggling, as though a demented choir were hiding in the bushes, she looked to Erik. Yes, his face said, he was hearing it too. Yes, it truly was happening. It made little difference—they would continue—but Toinette’s skin prickled, and she went on with a hand on her sword hilt.
She saw the first of the blood-drinking vines a short ways after that. They curled around the trees further to the side of the road, pink and white flowers standing out against the darker shades of brown and green.
“Only to be expected,” she said, drawing her sword. “I couldn’t have gotten all of the damned things.”
“They don’t look near enough to be a danger,” said Erik, eyeing the distance between the trail and the trees. “The elk might’ve known enough to avoid them.”
“Or their blood had no allure. Would you want to drink one of those?”
“I wouldn’t want to drink blood at all,” Erik said. He drew his own sword and, despite his confident speech, walked warily and to the far side of the trail as they passed the vines. Toinette thought she saw them stir: a lazy wriggle, like earthworms stranded after rain. Even without danger, the motion turned her stomach.
It was midafternoon, the sky bright overhead, and not even a breeze stirred the branches around them. The sunlight was sharp. Toinette shivered and wished that she’d been ruthless enough to extort hose from one of her men. The cut-away skirt left her legs too cold—and too exposed. She could imagine any number of vermin crawling up her boot and onto her knee.
“All right?” Erik asked.
“I truly loathe the wilderness,” said Toinette. “I’ll be well enough.”
“This isn’t proper wilderness,” Erik said. He didn’t say what itwas, nor did he need to.
