This Scepter'd Isle

by Mercedes Lackey

  Denoriel swallowed. "Yes, my lord?"

  "Come forward with me. A place is prepared for you and the mortal boy."

  Denoriel swallowed again. The High Lord Sidhe began to walk forward, the crowd parting before him. Denoriel gave Harry a tiny shove to follow and himself walked almost on the boy's heels. It was just as well that he maintained his grip on Harry's shoulder, because the boy was staring around in such wide-eyed amazement that he twice tripped over his own feet.

  At first Denoriel was not certain whether it was the chamber itself or the folk in it on which Harry's attention was most centered. Then he realized it was the room for now; Harry was tripping because he was trying to walk forward while his head was tilted back looking at the ceiling and the walls. The roof was high, but Denoriel thought no higher than an English cathedral. Only this roof was midnight blue and filled with brilliant stars, which shone between the vaulting beams of silver.

  From the beams hung banners, and more banners were displayed from poles along the walls. Each pennon was brilliantly woven of silk and each commemorated one of Oberon's or Titania's victories. Dragons reared in challenge against the High King; huge serpents coiled, trying to envelop him; a herd of lamia twisted their snakelike bodies and lifted their viciously toothed female human heads against Titania's lightnings; and again and again images of fallen dark Sidhe appeared, fruitlessly confronting the High King and Queen, celebrating the defeat of those who wished to tear rule of Underhill from Oberon's and Titania's hands.

  The beams were supported by two rows of pillars slender enough not to obscure the view of the dais and so set that one's eyes were almost forced to center there. The pillars were of pale marble through which ran bright glitters and brilliant streams of light. Harry almost bumped into one and Denoriel pulled him closer. He could see the direction of the boy's attention; it was no longer fixed on the chamber but upon the dais.

  Harry's fascination was no surprise. The High King and his Queen were a wonder even to those they ruled. Titania was pure High Court elf, except that she was taller than most male Sidhe. Her body was, of course, absolute perfection. Her hair was a rich gold, elaborately dressed in a high confection of tiny braids and curls, which showed off her ears; those reached high above her head, delicately shell pink, almost transparent—but the tip of one ear was bent, which tiny imperfection made her somehow more perfect.

  Titania's eyes glowed a bright, pure emerald. Denoriel knew she was older even than Lord Ffrancon, but there was no silvering of her eyes and they looked deep enough to fall into and drown. Her lips were pale rose and through the ethereal pale blue and white silk robes she wore, she looked . . . translucent, as if she were lit from within.

  The High King. Denoriel only glanced and looked away. He did not want to draw Oberon's attention and, besides, one needed only one glance to remember. The High King was a dark contrast to his glowing wife. He could appear pure liosalfar—Denoriel had seen him in that guise—golden-haired, green-eyed, dressed all in white silk and cloth of gold and strewn with diamonds, but when he came to Logres, most often, as now, Oberon seemed more dark Sidhe than bright.

  His hair grew from a deep peak on his forehead and swept back in gleaming black waves, the points of his ears showing through, well above the crown of his head. His brows were equally black and high-arched over dark, dark eyes—black, bottomless pools. In contrast his skin was white, not pallid and sickly, but with the hard, high gloss of polished marble. He towered over all other Sidhe—and not by enchantment—and formidable muscles in shoulders and thighs strained the black velvet tunic and black silk tights he wore. He was all in black only lightened by silver piping on every seam and the silver bosses on his belt and on the baldric that usually supported the long sword which now leaned against his throne.

  Lord Ffrancon pointed and two chairs appeared an ell back from and to the right of the dais. Denoriel put his arm around Harry's shoulders and led him to the chairs. Although many noble Sidhe still standing watched, the boy sat down in one without question; Denoriel put the mortal-made saddle on the floor and sat beside Harry. The High Sidhe lord stepped up on the dais and whispered in Oberon's ear. Oberon leaned over and spoke to Titania. She looked briefly at Harry, then at Denoriel, and then shook her head.

  Denoriel had never been so glad of anything before in his life as he was that Harry was nothing special. He was a most ordinary looking boy, with sandy hair, pale, nondescript eyes, blunt features. Even his older, thinner face retained the look of sweetness he had had as a younger child, but there was nothing in that to attract a Sidhe's attention.

  One would think that the High King and Queen would be primarily interested in the good of Underhill, Denoriel thought, and to a certain extent they were. However, too often their own pleasure—or their quarrels with each other—took precedence over the common good. Not forever, which was why they remained High King and Queen, but they were prone to indulge themselves. Of course, when they were finished with their amusements, they were powerful enough to bring everything back to where they had begun . . . Only sometimes the plaything had terrible—or wonderful—dreams and could never again find contentment.

  A Thought—not as terrifying as the one Denoriel had felt earlier, but equally strong—brushed by Denoriel, and Harry's look of pleased wonder blanked. He still sat in his chair and still looked at the dais and its occupants, but his eyes were empty. Denoriel gasped and jumped up.

  "I have done him no harm." The Queen's voice was rich and very sweet, pure music in the mind and heart. "It would be better if he did not remember what was said here."

  "Which leads me to ask why you brought the child Underhill?" Oberon asked. "I sense that you love him far more than is sensible for a Sidhe to feel for a mortal. Do you plan to keep him?"

  Denoriel remained standing and managed to meet Oberon's eyes. "No, Your Majesty, of course not. I brought him here to save him from an Unseleighe Hunt. You are, I am sure, aware of the FarSeeing that concerned the red-haired child."

  "Yes. Is he the red-haired child?"

  "No, Your Majesty, but he is essential to the preservation of that child. My sister, Aleneil, a FarSeer, has Seen that much, but no more. She charged me to watch over Harry."

  "Has he needed watching over? And never mind the 'Majesty.' Oberon or Lord Oberon will do."

  "Yes, Lord Oberon. He has needed watching over." Denoriel's lips thinned, and at a gesture of invitation he told the whole story of his guardianship of FitzRoy. He began with his defeat of the two swordsmen who had attempted to drown the boy, described Rhoslyn's attempt to replace him with a changeling, mentioned Pasgen's and Rhoslyn's attacks on the cortege traveling to Sheriff Hutton.

  Oberon stopped him there and asked for a better description of the mouse-sized goblins and a confirmation of his estimate of their numbers. There were sounds of indignation from the crowd of attending Sidhe. A raised finger silenced them but Oberon's eyes were blacker than ever and bleak.

  "They nearly had him this last time," Denoriel went on. "It has been so long in mortal years since the last attempt that I almost did not accompany the party. The Council have been traveling back and forth without attack since they settled in the north and it is no great distance, but I—oh, it was an excuse to see Harry so I did go. This time the Unseleighe used man-sized monsters to scatter the party—"

  "The same pair? Your half-brother and -sister? To whose domain do they belong?" Oberon already knew, of that, Denoriel would have been willing to stake his life—but he wanted his court to know, too.

  "Yes, Lord Oberon, the same pair. Vidal Dhu rules the domain but they have some power there. I am not sure how much, but enough this time to call out the Unseleighe Hunt. They knew they could not touch him, you see. He wears a cold iron cross, pure cold iron, not steel—"

  "Here?" Oberon bellowed, leaning forward, hand raised.

  Denoriel stepped in front of FitzRoy. "My lord! It is safely warded in silk and spells."

  "I thought there was somet
hing uncanny about the child," Titania said. "It does not trouble you, Denoriel?"

  "Without the spells, it does, Your Majesty." He shrugged. "My bones ache, but I can bear it. I am somewhat resistant to cold iron."

  "Silverhair—his father—was, too," Oberon remarked to his wife and then looked back at Denoriel. "And his uncle has the same gift—if gift it is. Go on—and sit down. I won't hurt the boy. So, if your half-brother and -sister couldn't touch him how did they plan to seize him?"

  Denoriel shrugged. "I am not in their confidence, my lord, but believe the plan was for the Hunt to drive him into a Gate. My half-brother is quite skilled in Gates. I suppose they thought once they had him Underhill that they would be able to get him to take off the cross." Denoriel smiled grimly. "I doubt they would have succeeded; Harry is a most determined child." Then he shivered. "But they might have killed him with their attempts."

  Now Titania leaned forward, examining Denoriel speculatively. "Did you fight off the whole Hunt?"

  Denoriel felt like a bird confronted by a particularly beautiful and especially venomous snake. To waken Titania's interest in him as a male—it was not unknown for her to favor the odd elf who seemed heroic—would be a disaster. Though Oberon was more often amused by her escapades than jealous, Titania's favors could leave a drained wreck behind.

  If Denoriel could have backed away, he would have. Held motionless by the chair, he managed to say, "No, Your Majesty. I am no hero. I snatched Harry off his horse onto Miralys and ran like a frightened rabbit to my own Gate—only Pasgen had meddled with it—"

  "How do you know that?" Oberon snapped.

  Denoriel then explained in detail his interview with Gilfaethwy and the magus's conclusion that Denoriel must find Magus Treowth to get Harry back home. When he stopped speaking, the High King nodded and leaned back in his chair.

  For quite a long time Oberon said no more, his eyes going from FitzRoy to Denoriel. Denoriel would have been frightened out of his wits, if he had not noticed an occasional twitch of the High King's lips. The crowd of Sidhe behind him was sympathetic too; he heard a number of hisses when he spoke of Pasgen and a muted cheer when he described his unheroic foiling of the Unseleighe Hunt. Denoriel tried not to show his relief at that sign of support. Oberon ruled his people, but he was not above noting their feelings.

  Finally Oberon said, "We must discount the attack by the human mage, but that still leaves three attempts to get control of . . . who is he, Denoriel? Who, precisely, is this child who is so crucial to our future?"

  "His name is Henry FitzRoy, and he is Earl of Nottingham, Duke of Somerset, and Duke of Richmond. He is the first duke in England, having precedence over all other nobility except those of the king's own blood, and he is of the king's blood, being King Henry's natural son."

  "Natural? Of course he is natural. Unless . . ." Oberon looked eagerly interested. "Have mortals learned to create unnatural children that are real and survive?"

  Denoriel shook his head. "Not that, my lord. These humans marry, as do we, but it is forbidden to them to couple outside of that bond—"

  Oberon and Titania both laughed raucously.

  "No doubt a rule more honored in the breach than in the keeping." Titania giggled.

  "Yes, Your Majesty." Denoriel smiled. "Very much so, and flagrantly in the case of their king, whom his subjects call familiarly 'Great Harry.' But any child born outside of such a union is counted somehow lesser and punished by not being in the succession for goods or lands. I must admit I do not understand why the child is punished for its parents' sins, unless perhaps it is to make the parent sorry. Such children are called 'natural.' "

  Oberon shook his head. "Clever as they are, what fools those mortals be! As if one's birth is of any moment." He laughed. "Vidal Dhu was as high a blood line as Lord Ffrancon here, and your half-brother and -sister even share your blood. Their tastes, their way of gathering power, that is what divides Seleighe from Unseleighe Sidhe."

  "It is not all Pasgen and Rhoslyn's fault, Lord Oberon." Although he had no love for them, Denoriel felt bound to offer some defense. "My half-brother and -sister were raised Unseleighe. They were taken as infants to the Unseleighe Court. My father died trying to rescue them."

  "I remember," Oberon said. "Impatient and passionate, Silverhair was. Yes."

  "A noble fool. If he had waited . . ." Titania shrugged and sighed.

  "Which Vidal Dhu is not, although he is equally impatient. He has once again allowed his greed for power to push him too far. He should never have meddled with this child, who is too important, too close to the real power in Logres. Still, I did not interfere. He has had a fair chance to catch the child. Three times they have attempted to seize him and three times they failed. That is enough."

  "That is more than enough!" A delicate flush dyed Titania's cheeks and her eyes were almost too bright to meet.

  Oberon glanced at her and shook his head. "I am High King of all the Sidhe. Except for very special circumstances, I will not stretch out my hand to favor the Seleighe over the Unseleighe Court, but failure that brings Underhill close to exposure must be punished."

  "It must indeed," Titania snapped. "You expend too much effort to cozen the Unseleighe. A good lesson is what they need."

  "Gentle lady," Oberon's irony was palpable, "I am not ready to go to war over who rules a mortal kingdom."

  Titania lowered lids over her gleaming eyes. "Who spoke of war? However, if you do not deal with Vidal Dhu, I will. Even though I can use it, I do not like the foul taste of the power that drains from mortals in misery. I favor the coming of the red-haired babe, and any who will see it to the throne."

  Oberon did not answer her directly. Denoriel wondered if sometimes the dark High King liked a flavoring of agony in his power source. He buried the thought deeply as Oberon rose from his throne and stepped down from the dais.

  "We do not need to go to war over one child. However, Vidal Dhu has gone too far." Oberon's lips tightened. "There must be other ways to further his cause. Your Harry FitzRoy is too high on the mortal ladder of importance to meddle with so openly. The use of goblins and monsters in daylight when there were so many to see, was a violation of the pact of secrecy. There are too many mortals who will now cry of uncanny forces. I think I must put FitzRoy beyond Vidal Dhu's reach."

  The High King had stopped before Harry's chair. Now he leaned forward and pressed his thumb into the center of the boy's forehead. It seemed to Denoriel that the finger sank deep into the flesh and right through the bone of the skull; he leapt to his feet again, drawing a frightened breath, but stood frozen. And when Oberon withdrew his hand the skin was unblemished . . . except that a brilliant blue six-pointed star blazed on Harry's forehead.

  Oberon stepped back and Denoriel could move again, but the High King did not look at him. He turned and resumed his throne, saying to Titania, "He is protected now from any Sidhe and likely from most of the lower planar creatures. Vidal Dhu cannot touch him. That is as much as I am willing to do." Then he faced forward again and gestured at Denoriel. "You, like your father, are a fool. In the mortal world, he will grow old and die and break your heart."

  And all that Denoriel could do was to bow his head, for in his heart, he knew that his king was right.

  But it was, of course, nothing that he could, or would, do anything about.

  CHAPTER 21

  As Denoriel sat down, sense returned to Harry's eyes. And when Oberon gestured to him, he rose quickly and went to the foot of the dais. There he removed his hat and swept it, the ostrich plume brushing the ground, into a full, elegant bow. Titania smiled at him and, as unable as any she-Sidhe to resist a child, beckoned him closer. He bowed again, then mounted the dais. Titania drew him near, bent and kissed his cheek.

  "So you seek a way back to the mortal world?" she said. "Do you not like Underhill?"

  "Oh, Your Majesty, I love Underhill," FitzRoy said and then he sighed. "But I owe my service to my country and to my father, the king.
I must go home and do my duty."

  "And will you tell all your friends and servants about the wonders you have seen here?" Oberon asked.

  "No, Your Majesty. At least, not unless you order me to do so. No one would believe me, I think." He cocked his head to one side, his expression thoughtful. "Besides that, Lord Denno, my . . . my protector, has told me never to speak of such things. Although I do not know why, I do know that it is dangerous for him. When I speak of him it is as a Hungarian nobleman, who sometimes acts a little strange because he is a foreigner."

  "Ah! That is very good. Very good indeed." Oberon lifted his head and looked over FitzRoy at the assembled Sidhe. "And so I say to my people here assembled that Harry FitzRoy is under my protection, and that you and . . . ah . . . Lord Denno have my permission to seek through Underhill for a Gate that will take you home."

  Oberon reached out and lifted the hand that Titania had left resting against FitzRoy's cheek, folding it into his own. The boy thanked him sincerely, bowed once more, and began to back away from the thrones. Denoriel grabbed the saddle, jumped up, and steadied Harry as he stepped backward off the dais. Together they continued to back away along the aisle toward the great doors.

  The distance was magically much shorter than it had been as they walked toward the thrones, and the doors opened for them and then closed behind them. Denoriel let out a huge sigh of relief, watching the doors nervously. After a moment he closed his eyes and gripped Harry's shoulder.

  "You were perfect, Harry," he said, and laughed, opening his eyes to look down at the boy. "I nearly swallowed my heart when Oberon beckoned for you to come to him, but you knew exactly what to do and say."

  Harry grinned at him. "I am my father's son, and it is expected that I will soon be summoned to court. You may be sure my tutors have drilled me in bowing, walking backward, and being very careful of what I say to royalty. But, oh, my, what a beautiful lady the queen is!"

  "Yes, she is," Denoriel agreed. "And as clever and powerful as she is beautiful. But we must avoid her if we can. She has a great desire for little mortal boys; she likes having their innocence about her."