Before coming to full consciousness, he took on his man’s form, hoping that might help. It didn’t.
Opening his eyes, Eanrin saw his own hand lying before him on the gray stone. There was blood on it, perhaps his own. With a groan, he pushed himself up, glad to find all his limbs attached. One arm was numb, however, and he suspected a break. Dragon’s teeth! At least his kind healed quickly. There were teeth marks on one leg and across his shoulder, but nothing deep, thank Hymlumé’s grace.
“Imraldera,” he whispered.
Gasping, he struggled to his feet and turned about, searching for any sign of the girl. Had she taken advantage of what little time he could give her and fled this place? Or had the wolf overtaken her in the end?
He tottered to the edge of the stone and leaned a shoulder up against one of the Teeth for support. His lungs heaved, dragging air slowly in and out. What a place of horror this was! A Faerie Circle of dreadful purpose. The wolf must have built it himself ages before, when he took this mortal realm and made it his demesne.
But . . .
Eanrin gasped and pulled back, only just in time. For the great stone against which he leaned suddenly melted away, vanishing into nothing. “Light of Lumé!” Eanrin cried as the other stones and the great slab itself vanished, leaving the poet to fall through the air and land hard on the mountain slope beneath.
The Place of the Teeth was gone. So then was the wolf.
Eanrin picked himself up and, limping, started up the mountain Path, uncertain where he went but vaguely thinking that Imraldera had gone this way. If the wolf was dead, perhaps she lived. Perhaps she had succeeded in extracting Hri Sora’s revenge. He would not let himself consider that she might be dead.
The Hound stood before him.
At first, Eanrin was too exhausted to realize. Then he drew back with a cry, the fear of centuries compiling into that one moment. He saw again the Dark Water; he saw the lantern. He saw the choice that lay before him, the choice of godhood or life as a servant. What a terrible choice it was!
“No,” he whimpered, clutching at his wounded arm and limping several steps back down the mountain. “No, please. I’ve done enough. I’ve helped the girl just as you wanted me to.”
The Hound did not move. His gaze never wavered.
“I’ll never be what I was before. Everything has changed now that I’ve met her! I know I will be a different man. But please, let me just go home to my own world.”
“Your world is marred and shattered.”
Eanrin felt himself shaken to the core at that voice. He felt the ugly truth of his soul striving to flee. But there was no escape from the gaze of the Lumil Eliasul. The cat was hounded down at last.
“Strange, piteous, futile man,” said the Hound. His voice held all sorrow and compassion. “How desperately you have fought all that would make you whole.”
Eanrin shrugged, wincing but still trying to make light. “I’ve been a good man. I’ve never harmed a soul. I’ve minded my own business. If I’ve pursued a life of laughs, who’s to blame me? I’ve only ever been myself.”
“You have the worlds at your feet,” said the Hound. “But you have not love.”
“I do!” The poet shook his head. Why were tears coursing so hot upon his face? He dashed them away furiously. “I have loved my life! I have loved Lady Gleamdren and my verses. I . . . I don’t deserve slavery.”
“What do you deserve, Eanrin?”
“I deserve to choose for myself. I deserve my freedom . . . and yet you chase me down, driving me before you!”
“You know where the road you walk will lead you. You have seen the Dark Water.”
“I was minding my own business,” the cat-man whispered, “but you had to set upon me. You’re worse than the Black Dogs, and they hound a fellow to Death!”
“I hound you to life.”
“And what kind of life?” Eanrin’s voice became a growl. “I’ve seen what happens to your servants . . . beatings and imprisonments. Homelessness and hunger while they strive to achieve the impossible! Don’t think I don’t know what awaits me if I place myself in your service. I remember Akilun and Etanun when they first stepped into the Near World and made such names for themselves among the mortals! And I remember when all that changed. When Akilun was turned from every door. When Etanun’s name became a byword for traitor! I know what becomes of your servants. Their reputations are soiled among all who once loved them!”
“And yet, they are glorified.”
“They are brought low by dragon fire!”
“Yet not destroyed.”
“They are weighed down with sorrow.”
“And uplifted with rejoicing.”