Lackey,Mercedes - Serrated Edge06 - Spiritride.doc

by Spiritride [lit]

  Home, his instinct told him. Go home. It will be safe there. For now. Without thinking twice about where home was, he turned toward it and began a slow ambling lope, the ancient motion of a wolf in transit.

  * * *

  Presently Wolf arrived at his home, avoiding houses, farms and highways. Humans shot wolves out here, to protect their sheep, or just for the hell of it. During his journey the moon crept higher, then began her descent, lighting the ground around him so brilliantly that he feared his own visibility. Someone with a scope could pick him off, and with this light they wouldn't need IR.

  He didn't feel completely safe until he saw his altar, standing in the full light of the moon as if a lamp were poised over it. Everything remained in its place, including the carving of Ha-Sowa, which no longer seemed as threatening.

  Wolf sat back on his haunches and started nibbling at a small cactus thorn that had planted itself in one of his rear paws. In the comforting environment of his home, the wolf spirit seemed to be at ease again. Wolf heard it, whispering within his soul.

  The danger has passed, but do not deceive yourself. Now Ha-Sowa knows who and where you are, wolf-self said.

  As if on cue, he felt the changes again, his shifting organs, the ripple of his skin. Hair that had only recently grown out withdrew back into the skin. He lay on his side, to let the change happen more easily. He welcomed the cage of his humanity, the familiar touch of hairless skin, of limbs, and of opposing thumbs.

  She will return. I will keep watch. While you're awake, while you sleep. I will protect you. I will be with you always.

  As wolf body turned to human body, he braced himself for the pain he remembered before the change. Oddly, the pain didn't return. He looked down at himself, his nude body now lying prone in the bright moonlight. The bruises were gone. His muscles were a bit stiff, but far from the agonizing soreness he'd known before.

  As the wolf-spirit retreated into the core of his soul, it had one more parting thought for him.

  Your desert sickness is healed, also. You are well.

  He blinked at the star-filled sky, and a grin spread across his now-human features.

  No Gulf War sickness, he thought. I'll be goddamned.

  He sat up, feeling giddy. The impact of what had just happened was starting to sneak up now, giving him goose bumps. If only I had more control over it… My wolf self seems to have a mind of its own. He listened for the wolf spirit to answer, but it was a dim spark, dormant hut awake, and listening. It will tell me what I need to know when I am ready, he knew, the thoughts emerging from that formerly hidden pool of ancestral knowledge.

  The old coot was right.

  But the trouble was only beginning, he knew; Ha-Sowa was injured, but not out of the game. She will be back. Then the Unsaylee, to muddy matters.

  He stood and stretched to his mil human height, feeling something metal, and heavy, against the top of his chest.

  I he pendant hung there from its frail-looking chain. Now r e was confused. How did this silver chain survive that

  fight? he wondered, taking the chain off. It felt different from the pendant. He pulled on it tentatively. The chain gave no sign of breaking. Again he pulled, harder. The chain was solid, more solid than steel. His muscles strained against it, the chain leaving a line on his palms.

  The chain remained intact.

  "Strong stuff," he said to the pendant, in admiration. The Celtic knot shone back at him, catching the moon just right.

  Wenlann, he thought, his heart aching. I must go to her…

  The moment his longing for her crystallized into the thought, he felt a vibration, a singing of pain course through the chain to his fingers. Wenlann is in trouble, he thought, knew, from what this pendant was telling him. He held it directly in his palms, the chain looping back over his hands.

  He held it, and sent…

  His thought sailed through time and space, and ran firmly into a black wall, a layer of bad magic that he'd tasted before.

  The Unsaylee. He released the thought, lest the dark elves follow it back to him. It would not do for them to know he was back in action again.

  I've got to go there, came the frenzied thought. He went for the Indian motorcycle, which was nestled safely in his shed, and was prepared to start her up and take off for Albuquerque when he remembered something.

  I'm naked.

  It would get a little breezy, riding the Indian in the nude. He rushed back into the shed and rummaged for yet another set of riding clothes. He was running out of things to wear.

  Damn, even the boots are gone. Back at that cabin. He picked up an old pair of air conditioned Nike high tops. They will have to do. Grandfathers old hunting knife and sheath glinted at him in the moonlight, and he hurriedly strapped it onto his belt.

  The goggles were still hanging off the handlebars, and like a champ the Indian started right up. Wasting no more time, he put her in gear and hit the gravel drive a little faster than was safe.

  / told them La Puerto. I hope that's where they went, he thought, but something in the information he'd received when sending the mental probe to Wenlann told him that was precisely where they had gone; perhaps it was a flash of the motel, of the single elvensteed parked in front, masked in some sort of magical goo. Then the image was gone. Just as well, he had to concentrate on the road, and getting there quickly.

  Where the hell is Thorn, anyway? he wondered, not knowing if the angel was with him or not. Then he caught himself between third and fourth gear. Thorn is my guardian, and he saved my life. I owe him. It's not the other way around.

  Ahead, on the highway he saw what at first appeared to be a large car or truck approaching. Then he recognized it for the illusion it was, two motorcycles riding in side by side touring formation.

  Thorn and the Saylee?" he said aloud, slowing down himself, looking back, then turning around. It was Petrus and the tall dark one, Odorous or something. But where the hell was Wenlann?

  They met on the median, facing opposite directions.

  "You've escaped," Thorn said, sounding slightly puzzled. "How—?"

  "I'll tell you later," he told the Guardian Spirit. "You were coming for me, weren't you?"

  "Of course I was," Thorn said, falling into his country drawl. "It's what I'm best at. You okay?"

  "Like I said, later," he said, turning his attention to the elves. "We got another problem." Petrus yanked his helmet off, looking very accusingly at Wolf.

  "Where's Wenlann?" Wolf asked the young elf.

  "Why?" Petrus replied, his eyes flashing with jealousy.

  Wolf tried not to roll his eyes too obviously. "She's in trouble. This pendant—" he said, reaching for it.

  "We're going after Japhet. The Unseleighe," Petrus said. "Why do you think she's in trouble?"

  Petrus might be an elf with some degree of magical ability, but right then, sitting on the beemer, he looked like a little rat-faced punk. The other one, who had a thick aura of magic about him, was entering into some kind of trance. It occurred to Wolf that this older elf might be the one actually pulling the strings in the little group, however inconspicuous he might be.

  "He's right," Odras said, emerging from the trance as if from a light nap. "The wards have been violated. And… there's trouble. The vision is unclear. The Unseleighe were there, and they've hidden their work well." He looked directly at Petrus. "We must go back. Now."

  Petrus looked chagrined, and in pain. Without saying a word the young elf donned his helmet, turned the beemer around and headed back for Albuquerque.

  At least, Wolf considered, as he and the other elf fell in behind him, with Thorn bringing up the rear, he can think he's the leader if he rides in front of us.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lucas was about to give the duct tape around his hands another good pull when he heard, in the distance, yet another unwelcome sound.

  A motorcycle. Now what?

  A motorcycle, then another, pulled up in front of the house; then
someone entered the cabin.

  "Where is he?" a tinny, metallic voice roared through the building. The door to the room flew open. The thing was tall and dark and freaky looking, with pointed ears, a pointy face and clothing straight out of the middle ages. His words sounded artificial, like a chip voice. It was not human. God only knew what it was.

  "Where is he?" the creature repeated, kneeling down on one knobby knee. It held up a hand, each finger having a long, sharpened claw.

  "I-If you're talking about the wolf and the cougar, they're long gone," Lucas stammered out.

  The creature regarded him curiously. He stood to his full height and folded his arms behind him, cupping his elbows.

  "Wolf. And cougar?"

  One of the creatures explored the wrecked room. "Gods dammit, Japhet, it smells like cat piss in here," it said. "And there's no way that kid could have gotten out of those cuffs."

  "Wolf," the creature said, his face darkening, if such were possible on the already grim expression. "And… cat."

  "Blood," the other said, looking at the floor. "Here, here… and here."

  "Nargach's pet," the one named Japhet said bitterly. "I needed Wolf to defeat him, and he knew it."

  Lucas had no idea what they were talking about, but whatever it was he hoped it would distract them enough to leave him alone.

  "You," the creature said. With one swipe of a claw he cut the duct tape around his ankles. "On your feet. You're coming with us."

  Lucas felt weak in his knees as he stood up.

  "If you try to escape we'll loll you," Japhet said. "My patience is expended. Don't test it further."

  "Where are we going?" Lucas asked conversationally as they led him outside.

  "Where are we going?"" the creature mimicked, with a generous helping of sarcasm. "To Hell. A place you've never been before."

  Don't count on it, Lucas thought as they shoved him forward.

  The Unseleighe mage carried her with little trouble through the Gate to Underhill.

  Where are we? Wenlann thought. Right away she noticed the absence of a marble slab, the customary flooring for a permanent Gate, and wondered how long it would remain open.

  This was not a portion of Underhill she knew; but she had heard of this place, recognizing it by the featureless mist that spread across the land. This place was a pocket of the Unformed. They came across a cluster of boulders, then entered a cave. Inside was the subdued, ambient light one found throughout Underhill. Then the mage stopped and lay her on the ground roughly. She was still paralyzed, and unable to break her fall. Her head hit the floor with just enough pain to rekindle her anger.

  Now what? she thought, considering a number of unpleasant scenarios: rape, torture, mutilation, more rape. The Unseleighe were famous for it all, and she hoped this mage would be the exception. Her paralysis spell began to loosen, and she sat up slowly, rubbing circulation into her arms.

  "Those wards that were supposed to protect you did nothing of the sort," the mage began. "You may call me Nargach. And I am not the evil mage you think me to be."

  Yeah, sure. We'll see about that, she thought. The mage had sat on an extension of the wall that resembled a (.•hair, or even a throne. He looked comfortable, even kingly.

  But he's not Japhet Dhu, the acting king of this particular rat's nest. A rival? Good chance.

  "And you may call me Wenlann," said Wenlann. "What do you plan to do with me?"

  Nargach shook his head slowly. "You don't understand. It is I who will ask the questions. Or I will simply revive the paralysis spell… but you don't want me to do that, do you?"

  "Of course not," she replied, sitting with her legs crossed.

  Nargach leaned forward. "Now, little one. You have a mage in your company by the name of Odras. Tell me about him. Tell me everything you know." He sat back, awaiting her answer.

  Odras? What did she know about him? Very little, that's what.

  Take your time," Nargach said casually. "We have plenty of time."

  "Well," Wenlann began tentatively. Where to begin when there is no beginning? "After the fall of Avalon, we had no mages, so we recruited…"

  "Oh, come now," Nargach snorted irritably. "Every soul in Underhill knows Aedham is a mage."

  "… we recruited," Wenlann continued, unperturbed, "volunteers to help us rebuild. They came from all over. Odras is a different sort of Seleighe."

  "Oh, a different sort, to be sure," Nargach said, looking like he was about to laugh. "Please, go on. This is most amusing."

  What is this mage getting at? "I believe he came from an Elfhame beyond Outremer. An obscure one." She didn't see the harm in letting this bit of information out to the enemy, since it was readily obtainable elsewhere. "I don't know the name of it."

  "Yes, well, that I can believe. Is that all?"

  "I'm afraid so." Out of the corner of her vision she saw the cave entrance a short distance away. She made a note of its location and returned her attention to Nargach.

  "You may wonder why I'm interested in this mage," said Nargach, sounding tired, but not defeated. "It amazes me that you would trust a stranger so."

  "And why shouldn't we?" she said heatedly, immediately regretting her bold question.

  "Because, my dear child," Nargach said, ignoring her impertinence, "Odras is an Unseleighe."

  Now that stopped her cold. Granted, this was the kind of tactic the Unseleighe would use to undermine the enemy, spreading rumors, breaking down credibility. But there was something about the way Nargach said it, combined with his Tine of questioning prior to the surprising announcement. She believed him. Or he is incredibly adept at manipulation.

  "We are both old, Odras and I," Nargach continued. "Very old. We're from the original Unseleighe court, before it split up into its various factions. What is left of our clan resides at the opposite edge of Underhill, on a mountain we have come to call home. Odras and I studied together, mastered our avocation together, killed Seleighe together."

  He paused, letting that last bit sink in. "Then he grew weak. Found our school of thought to his disliking. Did not have the courage to subdue the lesser creatures of Underhill, and sought a different path. A lesser, weaker path."

  Wenlann listened in rapt attention. If it were a lie, it was a fascinating one.

  "Our master didn't like the direction he was going, and called him to task. He refused what was asked of him. He would have been executed as a traitor had he not been so light of foot, and fled."

  Now this was starting to reek of falsehood. No Unseleighe would be able to escape like that, and if one did where would they go? No Seleighe court would have them. They would be alone and isolated. Given the age Odras appeared to be, it would have had to be a miserable existence. Alone… for centuries.

  A rustle at the mouth of the cave drew their attention. Nargach shot back immediately with a warning look. The gathering of figures at the cave entrance approached them; the one leading looked like Zeldan, with the pointed face, the black cape. Only when he was within speaking distance did she realize he was not Zeldan, but his son. But Japhet wasn't even looking at her as he stormed over to Nargach; it looked as if they would come to blows right then. The leader was furious about something.

  This should be interesting, she thought, sitting back, restraining her amusement.

  "My dear Lord Japhet, whatever is the problem?" Nargach said in a most oily and patronizing tone.

  "You know precisely what's wrong," Japhet said.

  "Perhaps I don't," Nargach said, suppressing a yawn. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

  Japhet wasn't reaching for his sword, but his right hand twitched in that direction. Tour pet, Ha-Sowa. Seems she has a mind of her own. Seems she's attacked one of our prisoners, the human, Wolf, and spirited him away. Didn't I expressly prohibit such an action?"

  Now this was no longer funny. A cloak of fear and anxiety settled over her, but she remained as still and silent as possible.

  "Perhaps you did—"

>   "Perhaps nothing!" Japhet shouted. "What have you done with our human mage?"

  Nargach regarded Japhet with a look of false patience. "Lord Japhet, I must remind you that you insisted on returning to Underhill. Ha-Sowa was a creature of the humans' world, and you knew she would not be accompanying us down here, because I told you she wouldn't. Certainly you can't expect me to control the demon from down here, can you?"

  Japhet seethed, but it was starting to look like this was a stalemate.

  Nargach continued, "At any rate, we have neither Wolf nor Ha-Sowa, so that puts us back to where we were, does it not?"

  Wenlann saw what this really meant, though it remained unspoken: Now we are even. During this brief exchange she saw the weakness she could exploit to escape this charming band of elves.

  Divide and conquer. It even looks like they're well on their way to doing just that, all by themselves.

  Japhet turned his angular face toward Wenlann. "Secure the Seleighe wench," he said. "I don't want her to be any more trouble."

  "With magic?" Nargach replied, sounding like this might be a problem.

  "Yes, with magic! What else? Or is that beyond your abilities?"

  Nargach ignored the insult, but held a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. "I feel weak, my Lord. Too much magic will do that, you know. If you really need my abilities, perhaps I should conserve them for more important things. I feel a battle coming on."

  Japhet threw his hands up in the air. Then secure her with that," he said pointing a clawed finger at the roll of gray duct tape the other elf clutched.

  Then Wenlann noticed the human boy, who had been behind Japhet, out of sight. Duct tape bound his arms behind him. He had a vacant, distant look as he stared at the ground. Nargach came over and pulled her arms roughly behind her.

  "Feet too," Japhet said. "Both of them. I don't want to have to keep a constant watch. And I don't want them walking away." Japhet paused, as if considering an amusing thought. "Not that there's anywhere for them to go."

  The motel room door had been left open. Odras entered behind Petrus, and growled deeply in frustration.

  "She should have gone with us," the mage said, but Petrus wasn't listening. His foot had connected with something on the floor, and when he looked down he saw one of several pieces of the laptop. It had been smashed mercilessly, the two halves separated, the keys spread hither and yon like broken teeth. Damn the Unseleighe and their hatred for technology! He knew Japhet couldn't have known what the laptop was, other than a piece of human tech; and that had been the only reason they'd destroyed it. Among the broken pieces of laptop he saw the wolf-tooth necklace, intact. He absently picked it up and put it in his pocket.