Birthnight Read Free

against the chill of the night, and they passed
between the trees of the road-made-real by the Queen of Faerie, as
if those majestic trees did not exist. They had retainers who
travelled on foot; at their beck and call were wagons and caravans
fit solely for mortal kings.
    Three princes, thought the dragon. Where do
they travel?
    He swept down, out-racing the harpies, but
his wings did not even panic the camels. The princes did not look
up at all from their quiet conversation. The harpies followed; they
plunged downward, glinting claws extended, and hit ground before
they hit men. Somehow, they had missed, and they rose, shakily, to
try, and try again, to make victims out of those who travelled.
    But there was no stopping the three and their
procession as it came closer and closer to the heart of the
traveling beasts. Still, at last, at the break of day, they chose
to call a halt to their wandering. Their servants immediately began
to set up tents and canvases to protect them from the sun’s
light.
    Only when all was settled and quiet did the
Queen of Faerie approach. She wandered, sylph-like but more
majestic, into the heart of their gathering, wearing the guise of a
mortal maid too beautiful to ignore. Her gathered robe of the
elements she disguised as the finest of pure white silks; she
looked young, vulnerable—the dream of every foolish youth.
    The three princes were seated beneath the
largest tent; they drank water from golden goblets, and kept
careful watch on the ornate boxes that rested on each man’s
lap.
    Quietly, she approached the most seemly of
the men, and ran a gentle finger along the line of his beard. He
looked up, his eyes narrowed.
    “What is it?” The oldest of the three said,
concern and fatigue in his voice.
    “I thought I felt something; it must have
been the passing wind. It has been a very long journey, and I am
tired.”
    “It has been long, yes,” the third man said,
“and kings are not used to so arduous a travel—but we are truly
blessed, who can undertake this pilgrimage.”
    The oldest man smiled beatifically. “Yes,” he
whispered, his hands caressing the inlaid jewel work of his
magnificent casket, “we are blessed; for we are mortal kings—but we
will see the birth and promise of the king to end all kings—God
made flesh.” He stood slowly, and walked to the edge of the
pavilion. “There—you can still see the star in the sky. We are on
the right path, my friends.”
    * * *
    If the Queen of all Faerie dared to hold
court in such a way that demanded the attention of all the
immortals, none cared to complain about it openly. Indeed, when she
returned, all ice and cold anger, from her foray into the human
encampment, the gathering knew that the unimaginable had come to
pass: She had gone, in her own royal person, and failed to call a
mortal’s attention when she had decided upon it.
    The great black dragon lay close to the cool
grass, scales in dirt and moss. His head, he rested upon his great
forepaws; his wings he curled in upon the expanse of his back. His
unlidded eyes were fixed upon the fey and delicate fury of the
Queen.
    “You see,” she said softly, in a whisper that
might have shaken the underworld, “what we must do, my
brethren.”
    The harpies screeched their agreement. They
had passed beyond hunger now, and were ravening; at any moment, the
dragon feared that they would begin to attack their kindred.
    “We too have been drawn onto the course these
mortals follow, although we tread the path-made-real at my behest.
We too have seen the star in the sky—no natural star, nor any
magical one that I have encountered before.” She lifted a hand, and
a ray of light, tinged with an eerie shadow, leapt skyward in her
anger. “We are no mortal ephemera, to be called by the whim of a
mere godling. Gods have come and gone, and we have remained,
steadfast and true, in the darknesses and dreams that they cannot
touch.”
    “Until now, sister,” the unicorn said