Blood and Gold Read Free Page A

know him for what he was.
    But he must overcome this fear. He must reach the blood drinker who was summoning him.
    Bowing his head, bringing his collar up over his mouth, he pushed through the soft bodies, trying not to meet the gaze of those who glanced at him. And when he saw the door without a handle, at once he pushed it as he’d been told to do.
    It gave upon a large dimly lighted chamber with thick candles set upon each of its scattered wooden tables. The warmth was as solid and good as that of the outer room.
    And the blood drinker was alone.
    He was a tall fair creature whose yellow hair was almost white. He had hard blue eyes, and a delicate face, covered with a thin layer of blood and ash to make him look more human to the mortal eye. He wore a bright-red cloak with a hood, thrown back from his head, and his hair was finely combed and long.
    He looked most handsome to Thorne, and well mannered, and rather like a creature of books than a man of the sword. He had large hands but they were slender and his fingers were fine.
    It occurred to Thorne that he had seen this being with the Mind Gift, seated at the council table with the other blood drinkers before the Evil Queen had been brought down.
    Yes, he had seen this very one. This one had tried so hard to reason with the Queen, though inside him there lurked a dreadful anger and an unreasonable hate.
    Yes, Thorne had seen this very one struggling with words, finely chosen words, to save everyone.
    The blood drinker gestured for him to take a seat to the right, against the wall.
    He accepted this invitation, and found himself on a long leather cushion, the candle flame dancing wickedly before him, sending its playful light into the other blood drinker’s eyes. He could smell blood now in the other blood drinker. He realized that the blood drinker’s face was warm with it, and so were his long tapering hands.
    Yes, I have hunted tonight, but I will hunt with you again. You need this.
    “Yes,” said Thorne. “It’s been so long you can’t imagine it. To suffer in the snow and ice was simple. But they’re all around me now, these tender creatures.”
    “I understand,” said the other blood drinker. “I know.”
    These were the first words Thorne had spoken aloud to anyone in years and years, and he closed his eyes so that he might treasure this moment. Memory was a curse, yes, he thought, but it was also the greatest gift. Because if you lost memory you lost everything.
    A bit of his old religion came back to him—that for memory, the god Odin had given his eye, and hung upon the sacred tree for nine days. But it was more complex than that. It was not only memory which Odin gained, it was the mead which enabled him to sing poetry.
    Once years ago Thorne had drunk that poet’s mead, given him by the priests of the sacred grove, and he had stood in the middle of his father’s house singing the poems about her, the red-haired one, the blood drinker, whom he had seen with his own eyes.
    And those around him had laughed and mocked him. But when she began to slay the members of the clan they mocked him no more. Once they had seen the pale bodies with their eyes plucked out, they had made him their hero.
    He shook himself all over. The snow fell from his hair and from his shoulders. With a careless hand he wiped the bits of ice from his eyebrows. He saw the ice melt on his fingers. He rubbed hard at the frost on his face.
    Was there no fire in this room? He looked about. The heat came magically through small windows. But how good it was, how consuming. He wanted to strip off his clothes suddenly and bathe in this heat.
    I have a fire in my house. I’ll take you there.
    As if from a trance, he woke to look at the blood drinker stranger. He cursed himself that he had been sitting here clumsy and mute.
    The blood drinker spoke aloud: “It’s only to be expected. Do you understand the tongue I speak?”
    “It’s the tongue of the Mind Gift,” said Thorne. “Men