At this, Eanrin swung his leg back down over the arm of the chair and rose, adjusting his cloak with great dignity. “The greatest art is that least appreciated but done for art’s own sake,” said he, looking rather pleased at the line. “I shall take myself and my art from your presence, most unappreciative of dames, and leave you to your mundane tasks.”
“I’m recording lyrics of yours, Eanrin.”
He sniffed and started for the door but did not reach it before she called after him, “Look to the gates, cat! I’ve been making the rounds and trying to keep pace with the records piling up, and it’s high time you did a bit of work around here again.”
“Aye, because we wouldn’t want goblins breaking through a gate unguarded, now, would we?” said Eanrin, pausing in the doorway. “Not like last time. Oh, wait! Whose fault was that?”
He ducked before her inkwell struck and hastened down the passage beyond, chuckling to himself as he went.
It was always a pleasure and a delight to visit Rudiobus, the country of his origin, and to sing and perform for his king and his queen. But that delight was nothing to the delight of returning to the Haven and his duties; and the pleasure of his sovereigns’ smiles could not hold a candle to just one of Imraldera’s scowls.
It was good to go but better to be back, he decided as he stepped through the Haven door and into the vast and quiet Wood Between. He and Dame Imraldera, as knights in the service of the Prince of Farthestshore, kept guard over this part of the Wood, protecting the Near World from the darker forces of the Far that might try to infiltrate. Certain gates fell under their watch, gates that might not look like much to a mortal eye but which Eanrin knew at a glance (or sniff, depending on his form). That moss-covered boulder there, for one; this gnarled old tree with an opening in its bole was certainly another. So many little entrances through which the fantastic might creep to harry, harass, and even harm the poor mortals of the Near World.
Mortals had not been Eanrin’s concern for long. He had spent a great deal of his immortal life carefree and a little heartless when it came to mortals and their woes. What did he care if monsters plagued the Near World? He had songs to sing, dances to dance, and festivals of the sun and moon to celebrate!
But that was all before Imraldera. And before his knighthood, of course.
He journeyed now on familiar ways through the Wood, walking always in the Path of the Lumil Eliasul, for it was dangerous to step off the Path even for a moment. The Wood was treacherous and filled with treacherous folk. The cat-man feared few, but he was a cautious fellow nevertheless.
Everything was quiet enough this day, however. Imraldera, for all her complaints, had kept the watch well. An extraordinary woman, no doubt about it!
Eanrin smiled and hummed a tune in time to his stride. She was glad to have him back. To be sure, she put up a scowling front, but that was Imraldera for you! He knew her well enough by now. She missed him; that’s what all this disapproval signified. She missed him, which meant . . .
“Many things, I think,” Eanrin said to himself. “Many things that bear consideration.”
And he did consider as he checked the gates and made certain the locks in place (which might look like nothing more than a leaf or a twig to mortal eyes) were holding. “Has the time come at last?” he asked himself, his expression oddly serious on his golden face. “Has the time come when truths must be declared? You’ve waited and bided well, old boy. But a fellow can’t wait forever and, well, what have you to fear? You’re a jolly catch and a handsome devil, and she can’t possibly . . .”
His voice trailed off as his heart did something rather sudden and painful, and it startled him. He stopped in his tracks, one hand pressed to his breast, and grimaced. Then he cursed bitterly, cursed himself for the coward he was.
“You’ll never do it. You know you won’t. If you haven’t done it up till now, you’ll never do it later. And it’s for the best! What would you say anyway? Foolish, foolish Eanrin. Dragon’s teeth!”
He kicked at the dirt and went on his way, his face a furious mask. Any who might have watched from the branches drew back into deeper shadows and made not a sound at his passing. But Eanrin was a cat through and through, and could not long contemplate anything too disparaging of himself. Was he not the Chief Poet of Iubdan Rudiobus? Furthermore, was he not a Knight of Farthestshore, chosen by the Lumil Eliasul for this great and glorious work?
“Light of Lumé, don’t be a gloomy sort!” he told himself, beginning to smile again. “There will always be some excuse out of it, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t press forward. And press forward you shall, just as soon as—”
A lion’s roar, deep and bellowing, rumbled through the Wood.
Immediately Eanrin dropped into cat form, his eyes wide and his pink nose twitching. He smelled the lion and knew it was near. What he could not smell was whether it was friend or foe.