Moonblood (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #3) by Stengl Anne Elisabeth

Author:Stengl, Anne Elisabeth [Stengl, Anne Elisabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042080, FIC026000, FIC042000
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2012-04-01T07:00:00+00:00

Eanrin, deep in the passages, heard Lionheart’s scream and its abrupt end. He cursed and spun around, bracing his feet, his long knife held in both hands. The second Tiger sprang at him, but at the last possible instant, the poet ducked and somersaulted so that the huge cat went over him into the darkness.

Then Eanrin was on his feet and running again, and this time he pursued the Tiger.

Ragniprava turned about in surprise to find the poet lunging at his face with a knife. His bellow filled the whole valley as the blade entered his eye.

Eanrin jumped back, just avoiding a slash of claws to his stomach. He sprang several steps away, crying, “You’re yet alive, Lord Bright as Fire. Would you like to retreat, or would you rather I took this life of yours?”

The Tiger crouched to the ground, blood seeping from his mangled eye.

“I’ll oblige you either way,” Eanrin said, taking a step forward. “What’s a single life, after all, to one such as you? But make a decision swiftly, for I must return to the jester.”

“You took my eye!” the Tiger snarled. “Death-in-Life devour you!”

“You have another,” said the poet. “Not everyone’s so fortunate.” He took another advancing step. “Would you rather I killed you now?”

The Tiger snarled again, feinting an attack. Then he turned about and disappeared into the darkness of his palace. Eanrin, relieved, let out a huge breath, then whirled and ran back the way he had come.

Lionheart! The dragon-kissed fool! Why had he not done as he was told and stayed put? The Tiger could never have reached him under that table, not if he was careful! The poet cursed to himself again and again as he sped through the corridors. Then he came to the banquet hall where the stone princes and their chairs lay toppled about the shattered table. The Faerie lord’s own seat lay in splinters, and . . .

Eanrin took a deep breath and smelled death. But it wasn’t a mortal’s death.

“Great Lumé’s crown!” he cried. “Have I misjudged you, jester? Did you actually slay the beast?”

“No,” spoke a voice, terrible though sharp teeth. “I did.”

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