A Strange and Ancient Name

by Josepha Sherman

  And fell ignominiously right through the suddenly dissolving thing, landing on the ground with a thud. The astonished prince scrambled to his feet, too proud to rub his sore rump, staring at two crumpled bundles of twigs as Alliar burst into laughter.

  “That’s right. Laugh at your prince.”

  “Of—of course!” the being gurgled. “You sh-should have seen yourself! Lying there with—with a bunch of twigs clutched in your hand, staring like an—an owl in daylight—”

  “Daylight! Of course!” Hauberin wasn’t about to give Alliar the satisfaction of hearing him admit how foolish he felt. “None of the elf-folk can stand the touch of daylight, and neither can their enchantments. Eh well, I suppose we’ll be able to purchase earthly horses when we reach a human settlement.”

  The being raised both eyebrows. “Purchase?”

  “Purchase. With silver. Not magicked leaves. Until I learn what I’m here to learn, I don’t want to cause any alarm.”

  “Ay me, so be it.”

  “And till we get those horses, it won’t hurt either of us to hike a bit.

  Humor glinted in Alliar’s eyes. “No more harm than throwing ourselves on the ground, eh?”

  Hauberin couldn’t hold back a grin. “Enough, enough. Let’s find that northbound road.”

  They were both skilled enough in forest ways to move smoothly and swiftly through underbrush that would have checked mere human woodmen, and were soon stepping out onto the bare earthen road with no more sound than two deer would have made.

  Hauberin froze. The interlaced ceiling of leaves was broken here and there over the road, and he felt a surge of intense Faerie curiosity. “Sunlight, Li! Sunlight, with nothing between earth and sky.”

  “Yes, but don’t look—”

  Hauberin had already glanced skyward, and stumbled back with a stifled yell of pain. Alliar’s hand shot out to steady him as the being finished lamely, “—directly at the sun. Are you all right?”

  It was a moment before the prince could gasp out, “Yes.” He had flung both arms up instinctively for protection, and had to force himself to lower them again, blinking, seeing nothing but garish afterimages, eyes watering and aching. “So bright—how do they manage to live with something like that blazing down on them?”

  “Not by trying to stare it in the eye,” Alliar said reproachfully. “Particularly not when your vision’s adjusted to dim forest light. I thought you’d done enough experiments to know better than that.”

  “Obviously not.” Hauberin’s head still felt as though two darts had pierced it front to back, but he managed a rueful little laugh. “At least I wasn’t struck to dust like some night-thing. Ah no, Li, don’t worry. Just give me a bit for my sight to clear.” It . . . would clear, wouldn’t it?

  The prince tensed, even as Alliar went suddenly alert at his side. “Now, have I damaged my hearing as well,” he murmured, “or do I hear hoofbeats?”

  “You do,” the being replied softly. “I have for some time. Horses don’t tend to run loose in this Realm, do they?”

  “I doubt it. I suspect we’re about to meet our first humans.”

  “Should we hide?”

  Not till my vision clears enough for me to see what I’m doing. “Why? We’re two honest travelers.”

  “Yes,” said an uneasy Alliar as the riders came into sight, “but they’re fifteen . . . twenty, and—ae, be wary!—covered with cold iron!”

  “Cold steel,” Hauberin corrected absently. “Mail shirts under those bright tunics.”

  But what was this? The riders couldn’t help but see them, but weren’t making the slightest attempt to avoid them.

  Foul manners, to choke us in their dust.

  Manners, nothing! The riders were going to run right over them!

  “Alliar, look out!” One moment Hauberin was surrounded by a confused blur of hooves and cloaks and deadly swords, the next, reacting with Faerie speed, he was aside in one feline leap, choking on dust and blazing with regal rage, instinctively calling Power to him—

  But no Power came. This was a mortal realm, not Faerie.

  And if I’m to stay in it, Hauberin told himself, I must fight only in human terms, sword to sword. And the fools are already too far down the road for a challenge.

  But their leader . . . Hauberin’s sun-dazzled vision had cleared enough for him to see that young man’s face, outlined for a moment as cleanly as a cameo: grim, fierce-eyed, rimmed by a thin, dark gold beard. “I’ll remember you,” the prince murmured after him. “Oh, I will remember you.”

  He whirled to Alliar. “Are you hurt?”

  “Shaken, no more. And you?”

  “The same.” Hauberin brushed dust from his clothing and said with determined calmness, “Come. The road’s not getting shorter for the waiting.”

  ###

  They had been travelling for some time, long enough for Hauberin to have quite lost his fascination with foot-travel and sunlight. The brightness hurt his eyes and head, and the prince gave a little sigh of relief when that dazzling ball of light sank below the level of the trees. Almost at once, the forest around him seemed to fade from muted green to the mysterious, shadowy blue of coming night, though the sky overhead remained quite bright.

  Odd phenomenon, he thought, wondering if this was what his mother had called “twilight.” The foreignness of it took his mind somewhat off this unaccustomed trudging, if not off the fact that every time he looked down, he saw earth printed by hoofs, reminding him of that golden-bearded young human. The folk of Faerie didn’t easily forget an injury.

  “My prince!”

  The urgent whisper brought Hauberin instantly alert. “Yes, Li,” he whispered back. “I hear them, too. Come, off the road.”

  They melted silently into cover just as their bewildered, would-be ambushers crashed out through the bushes on the other side of the road.

  “Humans,” Alliar murmured doubtfully in Hauberin’s ear.

  Hauberin eyed the men in distaste, reluctant to claim any manner or kinship with them. “Some form of humans, at any rate.” Filthy things, all rags and roughness—Phaugh, and stench! Not a sword among the eight of them, but common clubs enough, and a few glinting daggers.

  Iron daggers. For safety’s sake, Hauberin switched to mind-speech. “The ruler of these lands is lax. I would never allow such vermin in my forest.”

  “The ruler of these lands doesn’t have magic,” Alliar reminded him wryly, then paused. “What in the name of the Winds are they speaking?”

  Hauberin listened intently, struggling to understand them. It seemed to be some manner of human dialect. But full of words his mother had never included in her lessons:

  “Thot I saw ’em.”

  “Trick a the **** light. So **** dark, can’t see a **** thing.”

  “Was ’er a trick? That all? Shouldn’t be ’ere, not now. Maybe they’s about.”

  “Don’t be a fool!”

  “I think,” Hauberin summarized uncertainly, “they’ve decided we’re a mirage. They’re also afraid of the night and what might be abroad in it.” He paused to listen again. “Which isn’t stopping them from complaining because they didn’t have enough men to catch their original prey.”

  “The mail-clad riders?” Alliar tensed. “Eh, but I hear hoofbeats!”

  “Yes. One horse, coming from the south . . . and at a gallop.”

  Tsk, bad timing. These creatures couldn’t help but hear.

  And hear they did. They hastily rustled and crashed their way back into hiding, while Hauberin and Alliar watched with detached Faerie curiosity.

  Here came the horseman now, one small figure bent low over his mount’s neck, dark blue cloak flapping out behind him.

  He rode right into ambush. Two of the would-be robbers sprang out in front of the horse with wild shouts, waving their arms, and the startled animal shied to a stop. The rider barely kept his seat, trying frantically to spur the frightened horse forward, rumpling with the hilt of his sword at
the same time. There! He had the blade free.

  But the rest of the robbers rushed him, grabbing at the bridle, dodging the rider’s desperate slashes. They snared him by arm and leg, dragging him from the saddle and hurling him to the ground? The rider struggled to his feet, but one leg gave way beneath him and he fell again, still trying to slash at his attackers with his sword. Someone cursed and kicked his sword arm viciously, sending the weapon flying. Hauberin heard the rider’s choked cry, saw a club raised over his head where he huddled, helpless with the shock of sudden pain, caught a glimpse of a wild, desperate face—A young face, a child’s face!

  And suddenly Hauberin remembered another child, small and dark and so piteously afraid. A child he’d failed to save.

  No! Not again!

  Hauberin sprang from hiding and said aloud, “Now, I do think that’s enough.”

  As startled heads turned to him, the prince hurled forth a spark of will, no mighty thing of Power, just the easy little spell anyone of Faerie would have used to light a campfire. It worked, even in this magic-poor Realm. There was a concerted yell of horror from the robbers as a club blazed up into flame. The man holding it threw it from him, eyes wild with terror, and the other robbers backed away.

  Hauberin smiled a sharp, feline smile in the growing darkness, eyes glinting. “Good evening.”

  “Who in ’ell be ye?”

  “Do you really want my name?” the prince purred, enjoying himself. Beside him, Alliar had risen—and kept right on rising, smoothly shifting shape till a sleek golden form towered over the robbers. “You were right,” Hauberin said gently. “They are abroad this night.”

  “My, my,” murmured Alliar, returned to human form. “Look at them run. Aren’t you going to slay them, my prince?”

  “Waste my strength on vermin?” Hauberin glanced down at the fallen rider, who was staring up at him, white-faced with shock and pain, defiant with fear. “Don’t look at me like that, boy,” the prince said in the human tongue, hoping the child could understand him. “We won’t harm you.

  “You—I saw—In God’s name, what are you?”

  The boy made one wild effort to rise, which was a mistake. His injured leg gave way again and he fell, striking his injured arm against the ground and going limp. “Is he dead?” Alliar asked uneasily.

  “Only fainted.” Hauberin knelt by the boy’s side. “That arm is definitely broken. The leg . . . mm. It seems to still be whole, though he clearly can’t put weight on it.” He glanced up at Alliar. “Now what, by all the Powers, are we to do with him?”

  “Heal him, I should think.”

  “I was hardly planning to leave him for the scavengers.” Hauberin sighed. Night being no barrier to either Alliar or himself, he had planned to go on at least a bit further. But . . . he couldn’t abandon a child. “So.” He looked thoughtfully down at the pale young human face. “We’ll get no further tonight. Let’s do our best to patch the boy up, and maybe we’ll be able to send him on his way and be free of him tomorrow.”

  ###

  While Alliar retrieved the boy’s horse (the animal seemed bewildered by the wind spirit’s lack of a scent), convincing it with gently bespelled words to stay by them in the sheltered little grove they’d found, Hauberin quickly charmed a campfire into being. He hardly needed the light, but the night was growing chill. Besides, he had managed to dispatch two rabbits, as neatly and swiftly as any four-legged predator; they would soon be cooking for dinner.

  A groan from the awakening child alerted him.

  “No, boy, don’t try to move.”

  Pain glittered in the light brown eyes. “My arm . . . is my arm . . . ?”

  “Broken. Nothing worse. I was just preparing to tend it.”

  The boy blinked up at him, still dazed. “Are you a physician?”

  “No. Come, I told you, don’t move.”

  “Milord, I—I must apologize. You saved me from those scum, and yet I acted like a frightened child. You see, I thought I saw—”

  “Hush. You were stunned and in pain, and not responsible for anything you . . . might have believed you saw.”

  “I . . . fainted?”

  “From pain. No shame in that,” Hauberin added with the faintest of chuckles, remembering his own desperate pride when he’d been a boy. “Now, enough. Lie still.”

  It was a royal command. And it was obeyed. The prince reached out a hand, holding it outstretched above the boy’s eyes. His own eyes shut, Hauberin searched inward . . . inward . . . till he had found a well of quietness within himself and tapped it, feeling the rising psychic energy spreading out from him like a soft gray fog, feeling the boy’s senses slipping away beneath it into heavy sleep.

  “So-o.” Hauberin took a deep breath. “That was easy enough.”

  “Not as easy as it might have been,” Alliar warned softly. “Remember you’re not used to working with a purely human essence. You might not be able to control it. Maybe I should link with you?”

  Hauberin shook his head. The intrusion of another personality would only confuse the spell. “Just keep watch. Warn me if I’m going too deep.” He lowered his hand from the boy’s head to the fractured arm, tracing gently down, not quite touching the stein, till he had found the point of the break. Points, rather. The bone is broke twice. Ah well, now . . .

  He had healed fractures before; Sharailan and the other court sages had been right about one thing at least: there did seem to be a healing virtue to the rightful ruler’s touch.

  (In your rightful land, his mind whispered, only in your rightful land.)

  Hauberin ignored the whisper. This healing should be no different; Faerie or human, the basic skeletal structure was almost identical.

  (Yes, his stubborn mind insisted, but this isn’t Faerie now. This Realm may fight you . . .)

  Oh, thank you, Li, for planting that idea! A fracture was a fracture, no matter what its surroundings. And magic depended on the certainty of the magician. If he started doubting his abilities now, he’d never get anything done.

  The prince closed his eyes again, softly, carefully emptying his mind of extraneous thought, leaving the outer, conscious layer behind. Delicately he attuned himself to the boy on a primal level of color and form, seeing healthy bone surrounded by a clean white aura, the jagged ends of the fracture burning a sullen, angry red . . . He slid deeper, feeling the very pattern of cell to cell, feeling where the fabric of being had been torn. Warily, he began to reweave the strands, pulling bone to bone, muscle to muscle . . .

  But all at once it was going terribly wrong! It was hurting him, burning him, pulling him from himself—

  Alliar’s thought slashed down like a wall of dazzling blue: “Enough! Withdraw!”

  And Hauberin fell back abruptly into his physical self, back into the physical world, crumpling to the ground, panting.

  “My prince?”

  “Head,” he gasped, and Alliar understood. Hauberin felt his friend’s mind-touch like the coolness of a welcome breeze, and the wild pain dissolved. He sat up warily, trying to catch his breath. Ach, he hadn’t felt this sick after a spell since . . .

  Since he had been a very little boy experimenting with magics too strong for him. Thanks to cousin Serein, who had taunted him into it (though of course he couldn’t blame Serein altogether; he never should have believed human blood might keep him from the higher magics).

  “Ah well, it was an interesting experiment.”

  “My prince?” Alliar repeated warily.

  Hauberin threw his head back, then quickly changed his mind and put it down instead lest he really be sick. He waited till his body had quieted enough for him to straighten and continue, glancing at the being, “That charm should have worked, even on a magickless human. I just couldn’t pull enough energy from this Realm to hold the focus.” He smiled wryly. “And thank you for not saying, ‘I told you so’.”

  The being grinned and gave an expressive shrug.

  Hauberin brushed disheveled black
hair back out of his eyes. “At least I aligned the breaks correctly and started the arm to healing.”

  “Then I’ll splint it.”

  The prince watched the deft fingers at work. But those fingers lengthened or shortened at need and, dizzy, he turned away.

  “Done,” Alliar said in satisfaction.

  “And well done, too. You’ve bound the ankle, too? It’s only wrenched; time should heal it and—What’s burning?”

  “Ae, the rabbits!”

  Alliar dove for the fire, retrieving two spitted forms from the flames. Hauberin accepted one gratefully, though he couldn’t resist a sly, “Quite the efficient camper, aren’t we?”

  Alliar bowed from the waist in mock solemnity. “One does what one can, oh gracious Prince.”

  “Mm.” Hauberin’s energy-depleted body wouldn’t let him wait a moment longer. Granted, the meat was charred without, nearly raw within—and, ugh! Alliar, in ignorance, hadn’t even gutted the creatures!—but who expected a wind spirit to know anything about cookery? The prince devoured his rabbit with blissful disregard for regal manners, feeling a lovely surge of renewed strength flowing through him. “Eh, Li, aren’t you going to eat?”

  “Not yet.” Alliar glanced down at the pseudo-human form thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ll need food in this shape for perhaps another day or so.” The being looked sharply up again. “My prince, I almost hate to mention this, but what about the robbers? What if they or others of their ilk decide to pay us a visit?”

  “They die,” Hauberin said shortly.

  “Of course. But shouldn’t I stand guard?”

  Hauberin got reluctantly to his feet. “No. You may not need food or sleep, but even you need rest. I’ll set the Wards about us.” He gave his friend a weary grin. “At least I should be able to manage that without endangering mind and body.”

  The boy’s horse was watching him with amiable equine curiosity. Hauberin gave it a friendly scratch under the jaw. “Now you,” he told it as the horse pushed against him, “like all your race, will be spending half the night awake and grazing, and wandering about no matter what binding Words I might put on you. That means the Wards can’t include you. But you’ll warn us with your whinnies if you’re in any danger.”