Was it only hope, or did Aerune’s attack seem the least bit uncertain, as if he were no longer quite sure why he fought?
A thousand thoughts clamored for attention in Eric’s mind, but he forced them back. There was no time to think, only to be, responding to each of Aerune’s attacks with the swiftness Master Dharniel had drummed into him through long and painful lessons. He knew that they could not win this way. They had to stop fighting a purely defensive battle, knock Aerune back long enough to plant the dragon seed.
Then Aerune swept through Toni’s guard, hammering her to the ground with one blow from his black mailed fist and catching José off-guard with a backswept blow from his longsword. He raised his sword to deliver the deathblow to the fallen Guardian—
And suddenly there was another warrior here, between Aerune and Toni. Her plate armor was the deep blue of the midnight sky, and her sword burned like starlight.
“Jimmie . . . ?” Eric whispered, unable to believe it.
Knowing it was somehow true.
Jimmie fought Aerune back with a flurry of sword-blows, forcing the elf-lord to give ground, moving him away from the downed Guardians. Each time their swords met they gave off a shower of sparks. Jimmie moved with superhuman grace, as though Death had burned away all that was gross and mortal, leaving behind only the beautiful spirit of the warrior-mage.
“Eric!” she shouted over the clang of metal. “Do it!”
This is the only chance. Eric ran forward, the labyrinth-seed clutched in his fist. Aerune was totally focused on this new opponent. He paid no attention as Eric raised his hand and dashed the seed to the ground. As he did, Jimmie slowly faded away, her last work done.
What happened next was over in an instant, and at the same time seemed to uncoil so slowly that he could see every detail. As the maze-seed struck the ground it began to sprout, unfolding layer after layer of labyrinth, with Aerune at its heart. Walls and passageways, chambers and blind turnings, twisting and twining and leading back into themselves with a mad geometrical complexity. And then—instantly, eventually—there was nothing there but a silvery latticework sphere hovering a few feet off the ground, its shining tracery winding all the way to its heart.
Silence, and the impossible memories came flooding back, making the Chaos Lands reel around him.
Eric stared around at the others. They were all here, all alive. José was helping Toni to her feet. Ria stood head bowed, her gun held out stiffly in front of her. The elvensteeds huddled together, and Kayla, green-faced, was clinging to Lady Day’s stirrup, as if that were the only thing holding her upright. As he watched, she let go and sank to her knees, retching. He took a step toward her, but his knees buckled under him and he fell.
Ria ran past him, cradling the fallen Healer in her arms and wiping her face with a handkerchief. After a couple of tries, Eric managed to stagger over to join her.
“Kayla! Are you all right?”
She winced at the loudness of his voice. “Backlash,” she whispered, and groaned as Ria lifted her in her arms. “What happened?”
“We won,” Eric said.
“Good,” Kayla muttered, and closed her eyes.
“Is she . . . ?” Toni asked. Eric looked around. Toni looked battered and drained by the fight, and the mail across her chest was charred and blackened where one of Aerune’s levin-bolts had struck. A bruise was rising on her cheekbone where Aerune had struck her, but her eyes were clear.
“Sleeping,” Eric said. He rubbed his eyes, realizing he still held his flute clenched in his right hand. He looked at it. The silver was twisted and fused, distorted beyond repair, but he could not remember when or how it had happened. Too many contradictory memories fought for possession of his mind—had they fought Aerune here, or in the shadowy corridors of the elf-lord’s mind? Which had been the real fight?
“I thought I saw . . . Jimmie,” Toni said slowly.
“I saw her too,” Eric said, unsure now of what had been real and what had been a dream. “She saved us. She saved all of us.”
Ria laid Kayla down and got to her feet. She put an arm around his shoulder. He could feel her muscles trembling with exhaustion. “Try not to think about it,” she advised kindly. “Maybe it was her. If it wasn’t, it was something that wanted us to win. These are the Chaos Lands. No one can really say what’s possible here.”
Eric glanced back at the dragon labyrinth. “But what did we do?” he demanded in frustration, looking around at the others.
“Healed him. Imprisoned him. Either way it’s over,” Paul said heavily. He wiped his blade with a silk scarf, and slid it back into the cane-sheath, then leaned upon it as if he needed its support.
“But if we did the one, we didn’t have to do the other. Right?” Toni asked, sounding as bewildered as Eric felt. She reached out to touch José’s shoulder, as if trying to convince herself he was there.
“But the village . . . Aerete . . . it all seemed so real,” José said, sounding lost. “The beautiful lady, like the Virgin come to Earth—”
“It was. And it wasn’t,” Eric said. But it was real enough that he mourned its loss—the sense of security, of home. If they had won, it had been at a cost. Even if they had erased Aerune’s memories and his pain, they would all now carry the scar of Aerete’s death with them until the end of their days.
“I think we did heal him, or maybe gave him a chance to heal himself,” Hosea said slowly, answering Toni. “And if we did, that labyrinth is the best place for him, now. Think about it.” He ran his fingers across the face of the banjo, but the instrument was silent, its strings broken and twisted.
“Aerune made a lot of enemies in his life,” Eric said, reasoning it out. He was so tired—every fiber of his being screamed for sleep, for rest—but the Chaos Lands weren’t safe to linger in. “But—if it worked—he won’t remember any of them. Us.”
“He’d be helpless against them,” Ria said. “But locked up in there, he’ll be safe. And the cream of the jest is, he probably won’t even notice he is locked up. He’ll have Aerete—the Aerete you made for him with your music, Eric—and she’ll never die. I suppose you’d call that a happy ending.” She gave Eric’s shoulder a last squeeze. “We’d better go.”
Toni cried out, pointing. A dark shape banked through the mist heading toward them.
“Something’s coming,” Paul said grimly, as the shape moved toward them through the mist. It landed, folding its great wings. Hosea turned, picking Kayla up.
Eric tried to summon the strength to face this new foe, and knew with a sinking sense of despair that the battle had taken everything he had. Then he saw what they faced clearly, for the first time.
“Pretty,” Chinthliss said, craning his long bronze-scaled neck to inspect the shining silvery ball. “One of my more elegant creations.”
“Is that . . . a dragon?” Toni asked in a tiny voice.
“A friend,” Eric said, his voice shaking with relief. I hope.
The dragon turned its enormous head to inspect all of them, amber eyes glowing. “And an exquisite battle, may I say, Bard? My compliments to you and your friends.”
“Thank you,” Eric said. He tried for a courtly bow and staggered. He would have fallen if Ria hadn’t been there to catch him.
“I would welcome the opportunity to hear the story of your success in detail,” Chinthliss said. “Perhaps I might extend the hospitality of my humble domain to you all until you have rested? I fear such prodigious magics as you have done here today will inevitably attract such persons as you will not wish to meet at this time.”
Or ever. “Thank you, Lord Chinthliss. We would be—”
The dragon spread its great wings.
“—honored?” Eric finished weakly, boggling at the sudden smooth transition from there to here.
The Chaos Lands were gone. The seven of them—and the two elvensteeds—stood suddenly in the inner courtyard that Eric remembered from his last visit to the dragon’s domain, and in place of th
e enormous bronze dragon stood an elegant Oriental man in a bronze silk suit.
“Madre de Dios,” José said, crossing himself fervently.
Blessed Lady, hear our call, we who are Your folk . . . Eric shook his head, wrenching himself out of the automatic prayer, too exhausted to think straight. There was no point in praying to the Bright Lady Aerete for her aid as his instincts and memories demanded. Aerete was gone, gone with the paradise she had created, leaving only them to mourn her.
“But come,” Chinthliss said, clapping his hands to summon his servants, and drawing Eric’s mind back to the here-and-now. “Rest, and awaken refreshed.”
Eric didn’t even remember making it to a bed. But he dreamed.
Aerune mac Audelaine, child of the Sidhe, walked the halls of his silver castle beyond the stars. He did not know how he had come to be here, and did not care. He walked in music, his heart filled with the gentle melody of his beloved, a shining presence that accompanied him always. Around him bloomed the undying gardens of Underhill, and the rooms of his dwelling were filled with beauty, harmony and light. He had no reason to venture forth, no interest in the world beyond his domain.
Aerune knew he was loved. He was content.
EIGHTEEN:
JOURNEY’S END
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Ria said. She sounded amused.
Eric opened his eyes and found himself staring up at an unfamiliar canopy of yellow silk. He tried to remember how he’d gotten here, but his mind felt . . . bruised, and all he could dredge up at the moment were confused memories of Maeve’s ceileighe, of the enormous wonders of Underhill. He could hear birds singing, and morning sunlight was spilling in through the windows. He felt as if a long time had passed, but wasn’t sure exactly how much. It must have been one hell of a party. . . .
“Where . . . ?” He sat up with a groan. Every muscle felt stiff, as if they had been strained to their limit, and that recently.
“Lord Chinthliss’ palace, everyone’s fine, you’ve been asleep for a day and a half, and some friends of yours are here, and very anxious to see you,” Ria rattled off, as if reading the headlines.
Eric shoved the hair out of his eyes and blinked. Ria was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in an elaborate scarlet silk kimono, her hair swept up in a pair of ornate jade combs.
“Friends?” he asked groggily. Memories came jangling back in a confused indigestible lump. The Chaos Lands. The fight with Aerune. The village. Aerete. Jimmie.
Seeing from his face that Eric was finally awake, Ria got to her feet. “You might as well come in,” she called. “He’s just washed his brain, and he can’t do a thing with it.”
“Eric!” Beth bounced onto the huge bed in a flurry of motion, and snatched Eric into a bone-crushing hug. “Are you all right? What happened? What are you doing here? Chinthliss wouldn’t let anybody wake you up, and— Are you okay?” she demanded in a rush, not giving Eric a chance to get a word in edgewise.
“He is alive,” Kory said, settling at the edge of the bed and putting an arm around both of them. “And from what little young Kayla has told us, that alone is a great accomplishment. You should not have faced such a foe alone, Bard,” he added sternly. “Not without your friends.”
Great. I save the world and get scolded for it.
“I—” Eric began. His stomach rumbled loudly. “I’m starving.” The last meal he could remember was a hurried breakfast, and he was no longer sure how many days ago that had been.
“Then come and eat,” Ria said. “There’s enough food here to feed an army.”
Breakfast was waiting in the outer room of the lavish suite. Eric wrapped himself in a robe—sky-blue silk embroidered with silver and gold cranes—and followed the other three out of the yellow silk bedroom. The Guardians and Kayla, Ria told him, had been up for almost a day already. “Everyone’s doing pretty well—just minor bumps and bruises, even Kayla, but Chinthliss wanted to wait until he could see everyone at once before hearing the story of what he calls our adventure. Better brace yourself, O Bard of a Hundred Songs. I think he’s going to want you to set it to music.”
Eric winced. Adventure, yeah. I guess that’s what you call it when everybody comes back alive.
Over breakfast—a smorgasbord of delicacies from bacon and eggs to lox and bagels, all kept hot beneath enchanted silver covers—Eric gave Kory and Beth an abbreviated story of what had happened since the last time he’d talked to Beth a few days ago. A lot of his recollection of the fight was still jumbled—human language wasn’t very good for explaining what you’d been doing when you felt like you’d been in two places at once—but he managed to cover the important points.
“But why did you not ask for our aid in helping you defeat Aerune?” Kory demanded again. “In the face of such a threat, surely Elfhame Misthold, at least, would have sent allies to your cause.”
Yeah, and if I’d known how powerful Aerune was going to turn out to be, I might have asked for them, no matter what Dharniel said. I’m not sure now that the labyrinth would have held Aerune if Kayla hadn’t drawn his fangs.
“I didn’t want to involve the Sidhe,” Eric said, thinking it over. “After what Dharniel told me when I spoke to him, I wasn’t sure they’d be too hipped on having a bunch of humans take out a Sidhe—and by the time I convinced them Aerune was a real threat to them, too, it could have been too late.”
“Maybe it’s already too late, if what we ran into in Las Vegas is any indication,” Beth said unhappily. “Nuts in green suits with flying cars—that has to be Aerune’s work, doesn’t it? His human helpers?”
“Maybe,” Eric said. “But without Aerune’s backing, they won’t find it as easy to swing government support for their elf-war any more.”
“Especially after I make a few well-placed phone calls,” Ria said contentedly, biting into a slice of crisp toast slathered with orange marmalade. “In the course of straightening out the Threshold mess from last year, I’ve met a lot of interesting people wandering around the corridors of power, and more than a few of them owe me favors. Big favors. I’ll make some calls when I get back. It may not be fast, but we’ll get everything fixed up eventually.” Her eyes glittered. “There’s one good thing about the black ops people so far as we’re concerned. They’re all so paranoid and so greedy about getting bigger slices of the black-budget pie that all you have to do is set one project off to discredit another one, and the next thing you know, you’ve got internecine warfare that makes the Blue and the Grey look like Woodstock.” She laughed—and to Eric’s relief, there was actually some real humor in it. “You just leave that part of it to me. A hint here, a budget page carelessly left there—I just wish I could be a fly on the walls.”
“But what about you?” Eric asked Beth and Kory. “You’ve heard my story, now what about you two? You went to Chinthliss for help—how did that work out?”
Beth’s face fell, and her eyes filled with tears of angry frustration. “Not well,” she said. “He gave us everything I asked him for . . .”
“And it was not enough,” Kory said bleakly. He put an arm around Beth, and Eric saw her force herself to smile reassuringly.
This is not good. “But what did you ask for?” Eric asked.
“Oh, never mind that now,” Beth said crossly, wiping at her eyes. “I screwed up. It happens. We can go into it later. Right now, I don’t think you should keep Chinthliss or your other friends waiting—and I want to hear the rest of the story—the real story, including the parts you left out just now.”
Eric wasn’t sure where his own clothes had gotten to, but the ones the geisha servants had laid out for him when he returned to the bedroom were lavish enough to replace even the finery of an Underhill Bard—wide pants in heavy black silk that shimmered in the sunlight, a dark red ghi top woven in a geometric brocade and a long gray and maroon robe embroidered with birds and flowering trees to go over it, held in place with a long gold sash. For his feet, there were ankle boots of soft doeskin le
ather, held closed with a carved jade button at the outside of each ankle. I’ve worn weirder stuff. But I feel like an extra in Shogun.
When he was dressed, Ria rang for Charles, and Chinthliss’ butler conducted the four of them to the very English drawing room that Eric had seen before.
Kayla and the four Guardians were there waiting for them, along with a fox-faced young human man with unkempt black hair, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. The others were wearing opulent Oriental garb similar to Eric and Ria’s—except for Kayla, who had somehow managed to convince Chinthliss or his servants to provide her with an approximation of her glitterpunk garb—tight silver-scaled leggings mostly covered with black thigh-high stiletto-heeled boots, and a brief tube top that looked as if it was made of marabou feathers. Her face was elaborately painted in geisha fashion—Kayla’s notion of a concession to the prevailing dress code—and her silver batwing earrings flashed in her ears.
Eric was relieved to see that the others all appeared well and healthy—Toni’s face wasn’t even bruised—though Paul looked as if he were bursting with a thousand unasked questions. Even Hosea’s banjo was restrung with shining silver strings.
Good as new, whatever that means in this situation. I hope Jeanette’s all right. She did her best for us back in the Chaos Lands. Without her, we might never have made it out of Aerune’s dream.
“My, my, my—you’re looking good these days, Eric,” Toni said with a grin and a nod toward his Oriental finery. She came over and enfolded him in a quick fierce hug. “For a while there we were wondering if you were ever going to wake up.”
A Host of Furious Fancies Page 76
