A Host of Furious Fancies

by Mercedes Lackey

  I’ve already done that. It’s part of the past, not who I am now. But the past doesn’t go away neatly, does it? It’s always there, like the key the music is written in.

  All unbidden, an image of Ria as he’d seen her—or thought he’d seen her—at the concert tonight rose up in his mind, vivid as a Sending. Unlike the rest of his old life—the drinking, the drugs, the running away—she still had power over him. That was what had been nagging at him all evening, driving him to do everything but think his problem through. Like it or not, he and Ria Llewellyn had unfinished business.

  But what? And how? And is all this—seeing her and the rest of it—just what Bethie’s old therapist would have called “displaced anxiety”? Juilliard is rough—no secret about that—so maybe I’m just trying to come up with reasons to quit without having to blame myself for quitting.

  It was a valid point, and Eric realized he needed somebody to talk it over with. Someone he could tell the whole story to, without editing out the magical parts—a sounding board of sorts. Right now he felt as if an invisible trapdoor had opened up beneath him and left him standing on air.

  :Eric. Bard, do you hear?:

  It was Kory’s voice in his head, and if Eric had actually been driving a motorcycle rather than being a passenger aboard an elvensteed, Lady Day would have gone down and he would have been kissing asphalt.

  :Kory?: Eric Sent back. :Kory—what’s wrong? Is it Bethie?:

  :She is well, Eric. But come to us here. We must speak.:

  Unbidden, an image formed in his mind, and Eric knew where to go. Lady Day continued northward, much faster now that Eric had a true destination in mind.

  Sterling Forest State Park was larger than just the few acres the Faire covered every year. The park was nestled in the gently-rolling Ramapo Mountains—known for centuries to be filled with haunted places and strange creatures, and for good reason. If he hadn’t known that NYC was 90 minutes away, Eric wouldn’t have been able to guess from the surroundings. He rode through the gates of the park, heading away from the long-gone Faire encampment—the Faire had already closed two months before—and a few moments later saw the pale flicker of a Portal open before him.

  Kory and Beth were waiting for him just inside. At a quick glance, the place where they stood looked just like the park—grass, trees, dark sky above. But the air here was warm and perfumed, the trees were in full leaf and the grass was green and soft and lush. He could see clearly, even into the darkest shadows, and nothing in the mortal world had the rich perfection of the meadows and forests of Underhill.

  Kory had shed the glamourie which protected him in the World Above. Now he appeared as himself—an elven knight and Magus Minor, with pointed ears and jewel-bright eyes, dressed in the silk and gold and baroque armor of a warrior of Faery, with a faint glowing nimbus of magic all around him.

  Beth was dressed in elven-kenned clothing that was a mix of Earthly and Underhill styles in soft deep greens and russets. She was visibly pregnant now, though the baby wouldn’t be born for some months yet—her cheeks were rounder, and in the magic-laden air of Underhill she glowed with the power of Life and Creation. When she saw him she gave him a cocky “thumbs-up” salute, looking pleased.

  “Looking good, Banyon.”

  Eric grinned back. Whatever the reason Kory had summoned him here, the trouble couldn’t be as bad as all that if Beth was in such a mood. Of the three of them, Beth had always been the one to see the trouble from farthest away, the one who planned for the future, even when a future for any of them seemed most unlikely.

  He glanced toward Kory, and his attention was almost immediately captured by the Sidhelord standing beside Kory—one whom Eric had, quite frankly, never expected to see again once he’d left the halls of Elfhame Misthold: Dharinel, Master Mage, Elven Bard, and Prince of the Sidhe. Dharinel looked about as happy as a wet cat.

  Eric swung himself off Lady Day’s saddle, pulled off his helmet, and bowed formally to his teacher—however much you could let slide in the World Above, in Underhill proper form and due courtesy were absolutely indispensable—before turning back to Kory and Beth. He’d said there was nothing wrong with Beth, which meant the baby was okay too, and Beth’s cheeriness seemed to underscore that, but seeing Dharinel here, Eric desperately wanted to know why he’d been called.

  “There is trouble in your city,” Kory said, looking pretty troubled himself. “We have come to warn you.”

  “Warn me?” Eric risked a glance at Dharinel. My city? New York? Try as he might, he could not imagine his teacher caring whether or not Manhattan sunk into the ocean or flew off into space. There weren’t any elves there, and Dharinel thought mortals were a waste of time. “About what?”

  Beth started to answer, but Kory put a hand on her arm, silencing her.

  “First you must know its history,” Dharinel said, glaring in a way that warned Eric not to interrupt, no matter how impatient he got. “As you know, many centuries ago as mortals reckon time, the World Above and the World Under Hill lived together in harmony, until elvenkind was faced with a harsh necessity: either to seek new lands beyond the sunset, or to withdraw from the world altogether into the Fairy Lands Beyond.

  “This necessity fell upon both Courts, the Dark and the Light, equally, for all that many believe that the Unseleighe Sidhe draw much of their form and power from mortalkind, being shaped in the image of your fears and hungers—” Dharinel didn’t quite sneer, but Eric was used to that. The origin of the Dark Court, and the reasons for its difference from the Bright, was a topic of endless discussion among the elves, and Dharinel’s theory was a common one.

  “And so it was that the Sidhe, Seleighe and Unseleighe alike, came to the West, planting their Groves and shaping their Nexuses as they had in the Old World, gracing the tribes of Men with their puissance and their strength—in the case of the Bright Court—and shaping mortals in accordance with their own base nature—in the case of the Dark.”

  Eric fretted, trying not to let it show, but Dharinel would not be rushed, as he knew from bitter experience.

  “But there were always places that all the Sidhe avoided, for good and sufficient reason. Places belonging to neither Court. In some of those places mortals have built great cities, where their own natures flourish without influence. Others, mortals had the good wit to avoid, until recent times. You have gone to such a place.”

  New York? Eric thought, even as he boggled at the thought of calling the city “recent”—the Dutch had first settled Manhattan back in the 1600s. Still, he supposed almost four centuries was recent by Underhill standards.

  “Yet before you did so, another came here before you, and now, he seeks to take this mortal place and make it his own. This Unseleighe Prince is subtle and patient, and did we openly oppose his works, it might be . . . inconvenient.”

  “Inconvenient,” Eric knew, meant that the network of treaties and promises that bound the Elfhames, and even the Dark and Light Courts, together in an unbreakable web of favors, customs, and obligations, would be severely strained by such interference, maybe even broken. And that would mean a war that nobody in either Court wanted.

  “Elves are invading Manhattan?” Eric asked, just to make sure he had it clear. Beth snorted. Well, it did sound kind of funny when you said it out loud.

  “One elf,” Kory corrected, looking unhappy. “But he is very powerful, very old . . . and very Unseleighe.”

  “He wishes to build a Nexus there,” Dharinel said shortly. “As you know, it requires great power to open a Gate between the Worlds. It is his way that he will seek others to provide it.”

  “Others like me,” Eric said, and surprised a chilly smile on his old teacher’s face.

  “There are no others like you, Sieur Eric, and I trust that after all I have taught you, you would recognize the traps he would lay for you, and have the mother-wit to run for your life. Others will not, for our legend has become less than a nursery-tale for mortals in this time, and as you
know from your own experience in the World Above, many will not believe the evidence of their own senses . . . until it is far too late. And so it has been decided in Council that in order to protect the mortals from the consequences of their own folly, you will carry this warning to the Guardians, and instruct them to take steps to save the mortals under their care from this threat.”

  “I— But— Wait—you know about the Guardians?” Eric floundered.

  Again that look of amusement from Dharinel, as though he were greatly enjoying Eric’s discomfiture. “Once we knew them quite well, Bard, though undoubtedly they will have forgotten over the years. Humankind has always had its defenders, paladins of the Light. Some are great warriors, whose exploits are known to all: Launcelot, Roland, Beowulf. Others work in secret, for the knowledge of the forces that they fight would do as much harm to the mortals they choose to protect as those forces themselves. Once we fought side-by-side, brothers on the field of battle. Now they fight alone. But we remember those days, even if they do not. Tell them what you must to arm them against this foe, and warn them well.”

  Eric sighed, knowing that babbling more questions would only irritate Dharinel when he was in a mood like this, and not get Eric anywhere. Neither Dharinel nor Kory had named the Unseleighe enemy that was causing all this trouble, but Eric knew that to do so in Underhill—and even in some places in the World Above—would be like shouting a warning of their intentions in the Unseleighe Lord’s ear. And it wasn’t as if Eric would be confusing his new enemy with some other Sidhe Lord trying to turn Manhattan into his own private fief.

  “Do only that, send them fair warning, and nothing more,” Dharinel warned. “Do not let yourself be drawn into the battle against this opponent. It might well be that this is the very thing he looks for to complete his plans, and that your involvement could spell disaster.”

  “I’ll remember that, Master,” Eric said.

  Dharinel grimaced. “And you will follow your irresolute mortal heart despite anything I may say. I am finished here,” he said abruptly. A moment later, he was gone.

  Eric blinked at Kory. The young Sidhe smiled, and shrugged sheepishly—a human gesture he’d picked up from Eric—as if to say “you know how he is.”

  “C’mere, Banyon,” Beth said, now that the three of them were alone. She enfolded him in a fierce hug. He could feel the baby pressed between them, a daughter that somehow belonged to all three of them at once.

  “God, I’ve missed you!” she said, letting him go at last. “How are you?”

  “I— Well,” Eric said, and stopped. How to compress the last two months into a comprehensible tale? He wasn’t sure how to bring up the topic of Ria to Beth, either, and he wasn’t at all sure this was the right time, anyway. Beth had other things on her mind right now.

  “How’s the baby?” he asked instead.

  “Impatient,” Beth said with a grin. She took Eric’s hand and placed it against her belly. He felt a flutter of movement against his hand, and stared at Beth, eyes wide.

  “Yep, that’s her,” Beth said proudly.

  Hello, little one, Eric Sent gently. He felt a flurry of unfocused response—happiness, eagerness, amusement—and withdrew his hand. Beth’s eyes were shining.

  “You see how she is,” Beth said. “Just wait till she’s born—we’re going to throw the biggest party Underhill’s ever seen!”

  And she’ll have Power. I can already tell that. And she’ll grow up in a world where that kind of thing is understood and accepted. She’ll never be an outsider, never have to wonder if she’s going crazy because she can see and do things most humans can’t.

  “Be sure to send me an invitation,” Eric said. The thought brought his mind around in a tight circle to the reason Dharinel had called him here. “But right now, this thing with Dharinel . . . it must be something pretty important for him to come all this way,” Eric said. And to care about what happened in the World Above at all. Another threat, this time not a quarrel between the Sidhe that humans blundered into, but one of the Fair Folk seeking out humans to use them in some plot of his own.

  “Yes,” Kory said. “It is a matter that is not a new one, I fear. This Lord is very old, and very cunning, and has long blamed humankind for his own misfortunes. But if he seeks human allies now, it is a matter for great concern. But Master Dharinel is right in this, Eric: this must not become your fight. We think he seeks to work through human agents, and so it must be the Guardians’ work to protect them. I know you must warn them—but once you have, won’t you come back to Elfhame Everforest with us? Surely you have spent enough time in the World Above?”

  “Hey, I haven’t even gotten up to mid-terms yet,” Eric said, trying to downpedal Kory’s plea by turning it into a joke.

  “Aw, he just doesn’t want to leave his new girlfriend, whoever she is,” Beth said. “What about it, Banyon? Had any hot dates lately?”

  Of all the times for Bethie’s erratic Sixth Sense to kick in! It’s true there’s a woman in my life . . . sort of. But not the way she thinks.

  “Too busy studying,” Eric said lightly, turning it into a joke once more. “But I’ve made some new friends. One of them’s a gargoyle.”

  Beth stared at him for a moment before deciding he was serious. “Only you, Banyon!” she said. “A gargoyle? That’s a new one on me.”

  “His name’s Greystone. He’s a friend of these Guardians. Did you know that my whole apartment building’s, well, sort of the equivalent of an Elfhame, only for humans? Everybody who lives there is special in some way, and some of them are actually magicians. Like these Guardians.”

  “You learn something new every day,” Beth said wryly. “But hey, no reason to stand around here like strangers waiting for a bus. Kory brought a picnic. Kick back for awhile and tell us all the news. We’ve missed you. Not that you were ever the world’s best letter-writer, as I recall, and anyway, e-mail doesn’t work that well Underhill.”

  “As if I could figure out how to use it,” Eric groaned. “I can barely get the thing to spit out my classwork assignments.”

  He looked around. Lady Day was getting reacquainted with Beth and Kory’s elvensteeds. Since the other two were Underhill most of the time, they’d reverted to their “natural” form as horses. Bethie’s mount was a glorious palomino, with a silvery mane and tail and a coat like dark gold. Its mane and tail were braided with tiny silver bells, and Eric remembered the old tales that the Seleighe Court would braid bells into their horses’ manes when they went out riding.

  Kory’s elvensteed was a little more startling—it had the form of a horse, but still retained the markings of its motorcycle form, maroon with black and silver lightning bolts along its sides. Both of them watched Eric with a certain amount of equine amusement.

  When he looked back to the others, there was a blanket spread out on the grass, and Kory was kneeling beside a picnic hamper, unpacking savory dishes. The odor made Eric’s mouth water—he’d been too nervous before the performance tonight to eat much, and his stomach was reminding him that he’d missed dinner, lunch, and midnight snack as well.

  As Kory spread the feast before them, Eric helped Beth to sit down—the pregnancy made her a little awkward at things like that—and for awhile everything was like the best of the old times Underhill when the three of them had been happy together. But the present merriment only served to underscore how much things had changed, as well.

  “And after the baby’s born,” Beth was saying, “we’re kind of thinking of taking her around on the Faire circuit. Of course, that depends on . . . things,” she finished awkwardly, glancing at Kory.

  It wasn’t hard for Eric to interpret that glance. Beth had talked about it with him in the time just after she’d first known she was pregnant. Beth wanted a large family, and she was hoping to have more children—Kory’s children. But even full-blooded elven children were rare occurrences among the Sidhe; it was one of the reasons that the elves were so fond of human children, after all, a
nd spent so much time among them. And children born to a human and a Sidhe were even rarer still. Eric feared that Beth had set her heart on something that was almost impossible, and the worst part of it all was that she knew it.

  And being Beth, refused to believe that anything was impossible if you wanted it badly enough.

  Kory took Beth’s hand silently, looking wistful. There was an even greater problem that the young Sidhe lord faced than the problem of children. Korendil had centuries of life ahead of him—and Beth did not. Right now, it was easy for her to move back and forth between Underhill and the World Above, but eventually she would have to stay Underhill full-time, because humans who stayed in Underhill for too long didn’t age . . . until they stepped once more into the World Above. Then, all the years they’d cheated by living in elven lands caught up with them instantly, killing them. So in a few decades—a short time by elven standards—Beth would no longer be able to do the Faire circuit without instantly aging. In fact, Beth wouldn’t be able to come back to the World Above at all. But Kory loved the human lands . . . he’d hate to give up visiting them.

  And he wouldn’t want to visit them without his human lover.

  As if he knew what Eric was thinking, Kory glanced hopefully at Eric. They both wanted children. Kory didn’t want to lose Beth to death and age in an elven eyeblink. Both problems seemed equally insurmountable.

  And the impossible was supposed to be his specialty.

  A reputation is a terrible thing, Eric thought, looking back at Kory. When nothing’s ever been done before, how come everyone looks at me? But I’ll find a way, Eric decided, with sudden determination. I’m supposed to be this great magical Bard. What good is that if you can’t help the people you love? And then, a wisp of inspiration: I bet Ria would know about the children. . . .