Robert Charrette - Arthur 03 - A Knight Among Knaves

by Robert N. Charrette

  After the Lightspinner concluded her lesson and departed, Duwynt approached John. Duwynt was the elf who had come at Faye's call to help against Quetzal, arriving in time to see John and Dr. Spae emerge from what had turned out to be a dragon's lair. Duwynt had used the incident to nickname John; it was the friendliest gesture John had encountered among his fellow students.

  Duwynt bowed before he spoke. "Well, Dragon Baiter, it seems that you really are coming into your own. There had been some doubt."

  "Doubt?" John echoed, unsure of how to respond.

  Duwynt only smiled enigmatically and asked his own question. "Coming with us? Fraoch has composed a new chanson that she says is her best yet."

  The other elves were watching John expectantly. Fraoch, fairest of the females and of a beauty to make Faye look plain, smiled dazzlingly at him. Previously she had not both-ered to look in his direction. Clearly he had crossed a threshold.

  John found the sudden camaraderie uncomfortable. Their precipitate acceptance of him seemed based solely on his appearance. What was different other than that? He hadn't changed, just his looks. Why had their attitude changed?

  He wasn't sure that he really wanted to know the answer. He was sure that he wasn't ready to join them. "Shahotain set me a lesson to practice," he lied.

  "Another time," Duwynt said without hint of regret or promise. He rejoined the others. Laughing and joking they left the classroom. John followed them out into the hall. The others turned a corner, and, as soon as the last was out of sight, I heir voices vanished as though a door had been closed behind them. As it might have done. John didn't bother to go look.

  He longed for the comfort of Faye's arms. She would make him feel better. But wait—Faye was born of Faery, as much as Duwynt and Fraoch and the others. Would her attitude change too? He didn't want to think it would, but he found himself in no hurry to find out. The keep seemed awfully confining of a sudden, and he wanted to see the sky above him with no walls around to cut off the view.

  One of his privileges was the use of an elven steed, although he had been warned not to stray far from the keep. So far he had been too busy to go anywhere. Now he decided to take advantage of that entitlement and ride out into the countryside. He had no destination in mind, he just wanted to get away.

  His steed was ready for him, saddled as if his whim had been anticipated. He shoved away thoughts of the implications. Such uncanny anticipation of his desires was another reason that he needed to get away. He mounted and rode through the courtyard and among the assorted Faery folk going about their business there. No one stopped him. No one even noticed him. Once through the gate, he was free of the keep. He urged his mount to a gallop.

  Now that he was moving, he was tempted to keep going and to ride back to the sunlit world, but he knew that such a course wasn't open to him just now. What would he do there? He no longer looked human, and his appearance would raise questions wherever he went. Would Sue recognize him? What about Marianne Reddy—would she know the son she had raised? He could not go back until he learned the secrets of disguising magic so that he could appear in the sunlit world as he had before.

  Appearance.

  So much depended on it.

  He had always hated the corporate prop and the way that the corporate spin doctors were always twisting the truth around, seeking to put a good face on whatever the suits did. They were always worried about appearance. Always lying. He'd grown up believing that lies were wrong. Now he'd been shown that his life was a lie, and the only people who could show him the truth were liars and the servants of the greatest liar he had yet met, Bennett. Life wasn't fair.

  Fair? Bear might have said. Life has never been fair. Fair is for a man to be.

  Bear hadn't exactly been fair, but that didn't make the sentiment any less valid. A man had to strive, and a man didn't always succeed. But then, John wasn't exactly a man, and he had the face to prove it.

  His mount's course took him near the grove of trees that sheltered the magic pool. By intent? Was the steed responding to some unconscious urging from John? What did it matter? They were here. John reined in his mount. By the edge of the trees, he dismounted and entered the copse afoot.

  The place was as quiet and tranquil as ever. Peaceful. He liked that, wanting to soak up the feeling until it filled him and forced out all his worries. He walked to the bank and looked into the pool. The reflection showed him an elf, by look and by dress. By appearance.

  Was it really him?

  He spent a good deal of time pondering that question without reaching a satisfactory answer. Slowly he realized that he was again experiencing the sensation of being watched. Try-ing to disguise his search by stretching, he looked around him. This time he saw something. A man, standing almost concealed in the shadow under the trees, was watching him.

  John hadn't come here to be gawked at.

  "I know you're there," he said, staring right at the man. "come out where I can see you better."

  The figure started at John's challenge and shifted as if to flee. For a minute or so they stood in silence; the watcher's decision to flee suspended and John's challenge unanswered, John began to wonder if he'd been right to acknowledge the man's presence. Maybe he had broken some rule of Faery etiquette. Just when he was sure that the next move was up to him, the watcher took a step toward him.

  The stranger emerged from the shadows. John got a good look at him for the first time and was shocked at the watcher's appearance. What he had thought a man was no man at all, but something of a mix between a man and a goat. From the waist up, the creature looked mostly human, with a man's hairy torso and arms and a drawn-out but manlike face sporting a long, scraggly beard; but from the waist down, the creature was a beast. Its legs were back-cocked and cloven-hoofed, making its walk a mincing prance. John was reminded of something he had seen in a vid on Greek mythology.

  "Are you a satyr?" he asked.

  The long face got longer as the creature's eyes narrowed and its mouth pursed. Its voice warbled. "There's no need to insult me. Though I suppose I shouldn't have expected else from one of your kind, should I?"

  The strange creature started to back away, returning to the shadows. John didn't want it to leave, at least not before he satisfied his curiosity.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "Please don't go."

  The creature stopped its retreat and looked at him with large, mournful eyes. It seemed unsure, ready to flee.

  "I didn't mean to insult you." John tried an apologetic smile. "It's just that, well, you look like what I always thought a satyr might look like. If you're not one, what are you?"

  "I've always liked to think of myself as a who, not a what," the creature said with a sniff.

  "I'm not very familiar with the varieties of Faery folk. We've established that you're not a satyr, but what sort of being are you?"

  "You've never seen an urisk before?"

  "No."

  "There is no surprise in the hearing of that. We are a solitary folk, not much given to involving ourselves in the affairs of the great ones. A mistake I make, most probably, even talking to you. But I've started, haven't I?"

  "So it seems." John was intrigued by the urisk's mixture of boldness and diffidence.

  The urisk nodded solemnly as if reaching a decision. "Call me Yuri, if it suits you."

  "You're the one who should decide if it's suitable. I'm Jack."

  "Jack? A great one named Jack? A laugh that is." Yuri brayed to prove it.

  "What's so funny?"

  Yuri's expression said that John was an idiot. "Jacks are human."

  "I've always thought of myself as human."

  Yuri blinked owlishly. "I suppose you have. Changelings do. For a while. In time you will get over it. They all do."

  John wasn't sure he wanted to "get over" being human, especially knowing so little about the alternative. "What would you know about it?"

  "Seen them before, haven't I? They come here, they do. To look into the pool.
Like you did."

  "And what do you tell them? That they're just like all the other changelings?"

  Yuri looked appalled. "Never do I talk to them."

  "You're talking to me."

  "I am, aren't I?" Yuri sounded surprised. "A chance, I took. I guess I was a bit too lonely. The real surprise is that you are talking to me." "Why is that a surprise?"

  "You're a great one," Yuri said, as if it explained everything.

  It didn't, even though John had experienced the deference shown to elves by the so-called lesser folk. "Great ones"— what an arrogant term. Faye had used it once, saying that she wasn't one. "I'm afraid that I don't really understand what makes a great one different from anyone else around here."

  "You are new come to Faery, aren't you? Well, I guess I'd better enjoy the privilege of your company while I can. Once you come into your inheritance, you'll grow too important lor the likes of me. Then, you'll only have time for other great ones. Seen it before, haven't I? I have truly. Should have stayed in the bramble, shouldn't I? Seems old Yuri is not as bright as he thought. Disappointment, nothing but disappointment in dealing with great ones."

  John didn't care for the urisk's judgment. Yuri didn't know John at all. "Then why did you bother to speak to me?"

  "Thought you were different?" Yuri looked at John side-wise. "I saw you with that sprite. Amazed me, didn't it? Not lhat a great one can't do as he pleases—I know that—but the way you were with her." Yuri sighed. "Like you really cared about her."

  "I did. I mean, I do."

  Yuri looked down his long nose. "Really?"

  "Sure." Embarrassingly, an image of Sue ran naked through his thoughts. They were talking about Faye. "I really do. Care about her, I mean."

  Yuri's eyes narrowed, then he shook his head. "Confusing."

  The feelings surging through John were confusing to him. Why should they be any less so to the urisk? John wanted to change the subject and think about other things.

  "You said you've seen changelings here before. Did Bennett bring them too?"

  "Bennett?" Yuri looked thoughtful for a moment. "Ah, the prince, mean you?"

  "Don't you know him as Bennett?"

  "A new name."

  John knew that Bennett wasn't always Bennett, but no one had ever offered another name for the prince. "What's his old name?"

  Yuri raised a tufted eyebrow. "Asking me for his name, are you?"

  "Yeah."

  "His true name?"

  "Sure."

  "You want to know his true name?"

  "Yes."

  "So do I." Yuri brayed laughter, making John frown in annoyance. When the urisk's amusement subsided, Yuri shifted into a more serious mood. "In this world, closely guarded secrets are true names," he said. "The name by which one knows one's inner self is a powerful magical tool when put to use. It can aid and hinder, bind and loose, and be very dangerous in the wrong hands. Dangerous enough are use names."

  "So Bennett is just a use name."

  Yuri nodded. "By some lights, a new name is Bennett for your prince, although he has used it for some time now. Before that he liked Beneyt. Gorloys is another he has used."

  It seemed suitable that Bennett had used many names. John wondered about the names for Bennett that Yuri had given him. Beneyt was just a variation, and while Gorloys sounded familiar, John wasn't sure where he had heard it before. Maybe in a fairy tale or a legend? Yes, that was it, a legend, in fact, he'd read it in a legend of King Arthur.

  Well Arthur, more properly Artos, was Bear—as real as John—which suggested that the other characters were real too. He'd heard Bear mention some of them, though John couldn't remember any mention of someone called Gorloys. He knew that Bennett and Bear had a history; they both admitted it, although neither had ever given John any details. Unfortunately, John couldn't remember anything from the legends about Gorloys. He wished that he had access to a computer. He could ran a search, ransacking every Arthurian database he could get access to until he shook something out.

  of course the legends wouldn't have the story straight. Having met Bear, he knew that the popular myths hadn't gotten things quite right, but that there was a core of truth and real people at the center of the legends.

  Gorloys, eh? Maybe John could find some clues as to what had happened between his mysterious father and Bear that had raised such bad blood between them. There might be things that John could use in his own struggle with Bennett.

  "Too young you are," Yuri said. "You cannot challenge him."

  Challenge? Had John really been thinking of something so -. direct and combative? "I wasn't-—"

  "Yuri knows your kind. Your face shows your mind, and there shines the thought of challenge."

  Was it so? The concept of having Bennett at a disadvantage was appealing. John was vaguely aware that Yuri had begun backing away from him, but he was too intrigued by the possibilities the urisk's information had opened up to care. In his mind's eye he saw himself setting Bennett up so that Bennett was the one not knowing what was going on, so that Bennett was the one asking questions that John could disdain to answer. That would be a good twist, wouldn't it? Can't challenge him, eh? There were all sorts of challenges.

  "Who says I can't challenge him?"

  "Wiser heads." The urisk's voice came from far away.

  John looked to see where Yuri had gone and found that he was nowhere to be seen. John was alone by the pool.

  Wiser heads, eh? Maybe he couldn't challenge Bennett just now, but the idea of making Bennett dance to Ms tune was too good to let go of. John knew that he had a lot to learn before he could make it happen. He snatched a twig from the ground and called fire to light its end. The stick crackled as it burned. Calling flame was the first magic John had learned. It was a simple spell, but learning it had been Ms first step into the world of magic. At some things, John was a good learner, a very good learner. And once he learned what he needed to know—well, then, they'd see who could do what to whom.

  CHAPTER 10

  Magnus rose when Holger entered the room. Holger felt honored. Holger had worked with Magnus before, though not directly, of course. He felt a thrill of anticipation at the opportunity being offered to him. Magnus was the head of the most successful team in the Department.

  Magnus was also a sleeper. Holger's clearance wasn't high enough to have the details, but he knew that much. He'd heard that Magnus had been a ruler, but that occupation was currently unavailable. Even had it been, the world had changed and Magnus's grasp of politics was about fifteen hundred years out-of-date. Yet Magnus had succeeded in reinventing himself and finding a place in the modern world—no mean feat. He had come far and fast in the service—in some ways a greater accomplishment. Magnus was a comer. There were those who said that Magnus might get his old job back someday. If that was so, staying in his good graces was not a bad idea.

  But such possibilities were for another day. This day had its own matters.

  Abandoning his conference with Security Officer L'Here-aux, Magnus told Holger, "We have an assignment available."

  "I'll take it."

  Magnus laid down the folder he'd been holding. The screen was readable from Holger's position; it would have details on the assignment, but that didn't matter. Magnus would tell him. Magnus said, "I haven't told you what it is yet, Agent Kun."

  "I'm ready, sir."

  "Eager, certainly."

  Holger didn't say anything. He was ready.

  "This is a recovery operation," L'Hereaux said.

  Holger had experience. "Very good, sir."

  Magnus and L'Hereaux exchanged glances. Holger hoped lie wasn't playing his hand wrong. He wanted—needed— I his assignment.

  "It will probably mean operating in the United States," Magnus said.

  "I'm ready for hardships," Holger stated. They all laughed at the old joke. "Who is to be recovered?"

  "This is the woman," L'Hereaux said as the wallscreen lit, displaying a portrait pic. Ful
l body and casual shots followed to make up a montage. A window with vital statistics opened, but Holger ignored it for the moment to concentrate on the images. She was average height and on the slender side. She seemed to favor drab clothes and unflattering hairstyles. Her most unusual feature was her mismatched eyes, one blue, one green; they were magnetic, even in the pictures. Those eyes disturbed Holger, so he shifted his attention back to the woman's overall impression. She looked to be in her forties, maybe fifties if she had good genes and the wherewithal to pamper them. Not consistent with her apparent lack of interest in fashion. Forties, then, probably midway through the decade. Holger studied the casual shots. He found nothing definite to indicate her profession, but most commonly her expressions were abstracted, as though she were thinking thoughts not connected to what she was doing in the pictures. She looked as if she ought to be wearing a lab coat. He found himself drawn back to the portrait pic. Something about the woman's face was vaguely familiar. A resemblance to an aunt perhaps? Unimportant. Do the job. He memorized the face.

  "She's a thaumaturgic specialist," Magnus said.

  He had known that. It explained the lab-coat look. A specialist. He didn't like specialists.

  "Is that a problem?" L'Hereaux asked.

  "Nothing insurmountable," Holger replied. He tried to sound as though he were just stating a fact. He didn't want them dumping him from this assignment just because he didn't like dealing with specialists. "What's her name?"

  "Elizabeth Spae."

  The name sounded familiar, but when he tried to put his finger on a memory, he found himself thinking of another Elizabeth. Now, she had been worth remembering. Elizabeth Spae meant nothing to him. But she mattered to the Department; soon he would be told why.

  "She is a renegade," Magnus informed him.

  "A very dangerous woman," L'Hereaux added.

  "She has taken up with the enemy," Magnus said.