Lackey,Mercedes - Serrated Edge06 - Spiritride.doc

by Spiritride [lit]

  "Greetings, Hans and Lawrence," Thom said, getting off Valerie. "I take it the game's afoot."

  "And you're probably wondering what the game is," Lawrence said, in his rich English accent. His shiny, nickel plated Brough Superior sparkled beneath him. Today he had chosen to wear a pinstriped suit of a style fashionable in Thorn's time. "Is your passenger with you or did he leap out during your journey?"

  Lucas had crept down to the lower recesses of the sidecar, and gradually emerged, like a turtle from his shell. When his eyes cleared the edge of the car, Lawrence and Hans both laughed.

  "Not the sort of ride you were expecting," Lawrence said, leaning over to look in the car.

  But Lucas' eyes had fixed on Lawrence's motorbike. He sucked in his breath violently. "Holy shit," he said. "Is that an old Brough?" His initial shyness completely forgotten, Lucas practically flew out of the sidecar and was at the side of the motorbike in a flash.

  "No," Lawrence replied stiffly. "It is a new Brough."

  "That's a… that's an Alpine," Lucas stammered. "You know, Lawrence of Arabia died riding one of these. Got up to a hunnert 'n twenty."

  Lawrence rolled his eyes, as if debating on how much to correct the young man. "Actually," the rider said, clearly suppressing a grin. "Sir Lawrence owned a number of them. This one has a top speed of one hundred-five miles by the hour. Out here, of course," Lawrence said, regarding the Shadowland, "such measures don't really apply."

  Lucas continued to salivate, like a puppy drooling over a slab of beef.

  "I think he's one of us," Hans observed. "What do you ride, youngster?"

  Lucas looked up, as if not fully understanding the question.

  "He's a not-so-rare breed," Thorn supplied. "A rider without a bike. And he's a flesh and blood, don't forget that. He's not staying here."

  Hans shook his head slowly, as if having trouble comprehending. "A rider without a bike?"

  "How horrible,'' Lawrence said, and seemed ready to comment further when something in the forest moved, distracting him.

  He wore a wreath of oak leaves around his waist; today he was the young Oak King, looking to be a year or two older than Lucas. The buds of two new horns on his forehead made him look devilish. He came over to them, tilting his head as he peered at Lucas with dark, brown eyes.

  "Yes, this is indeed the one," the Lord said.

  Lucas tore his attention away from the bike. "Who are you?"

  "Today, you can call me Pan. As Margot told you, Lucas, a storm is about to descend upon you. Even I don't know the outcome." Pan stepped closer, his voice becoming serious. "Listen carefully, Lucas. Your task is to find your teacher. It may not be in the same tradition of magic as Margot, it may be something native to your home. The tradition doesn't matter as long as it feels right in your heart."

  "A teacher? You mean, for…"

  "You know what for," Pan said. "It's what you have been seeking. It's what you see in the forest, and hear in the wind. Margot told you as much." A mischievous grin graced his young, tanned features. "But don't take it too seriously! I am the Oak King, Lord of the forest and of wild things, but I am not somber."

  "What about Wolf?" Thorn asked, but Pan gave him a warning look that was difficult to read. Wolf's already involved. Does he understand what I'm asking?

  "Wolf can handle this situation," Pan said, at length. "He must handle the situation, for its outcome to mean anything. You may now proceed to the land of the living," he said, then vanished.

  "It is futile, absolutely futile" Nargach roared as he came out of the trance. "The nodes are as protected as they were when we left. Do you have any more brilliant ideas that might give our location away?"

  Japhet said nothing as he sat on the felled tree, apparently too deep in thought to notice his mage had still found no alternate energies to build a Gate. Wenlann watched all this from a short distance, considering more irritating messages to send him.

  "We can't stay here," Japhet said, emerging from whatever thoughts that had been occupying him. "We must come up with a Gate. How did you build the first one we used to escape this place?"

  Nargach looked weary, and short tempered; his curt reply confirmed this. "If you'll recall, it was a rather weak Gate, and required some recovery time between…"

  "Yes, yes," Japhet said, "I recall now. And the power is no more?"

  "Expended the first time around. Consider," Nargach said, his tone somewhat conciliatory. "Our only route out of here is the Gate from which we came. Presuming it is still there, we can use it to return to the Unformed and regain our elvensteeds. Or perhaps we could return to the humans' world again."

  "Anywhere, but here," Japhet said, "This place makes me nauseous."

  Well, I suppose it would, Wenlann thought sardonically. When your army is reduced to two, there isn't much fight left, is there?

  Japhet looked over at Wenlann, as if she were a bug that had violated his personal space. "What of the Seleighe bitch?"

  "It was your idea to take her," Nargach replied, and looked like he wanted to recall the words. "What I mean is, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I suggest we keep her close by, for protection, until we are ready to leave this place."

  "I doubt she would be an effective hostage," Japhet said, getting slowly to his feet. "The King is out for my blood, and I doubt she would stop him if he had the chance. Perhaps we should loll her now, and be done with it."

  "Not so hasty," Nargach said, raising a hand. "You would be surprised to know what their females are worth to diem."

  Wenlann seized the moment to supply Japhet with a few opinions of her own. The Seleighe bitch is far more valuable to you alive than dead. If you did away with her now, what would stop the Seleighe from taking you both out when they eaten up with you?

  "She goes with us," Japhet said, rubbing his temples. "We'll decide later what to do with her."

  Once at the Gate it was a simple matter to trace Wolf using the wolfs tooth necklace. Odras remarked that it was like Nargach to lure him to their old home using false vibrations, and other things that Petrus didn't pretend to understand. The mage rode into the other realm first, but that did nothing to dampen the rude surprise of finding a mob of agitated, sling-wielding gargoyles.

  Petrus' first thought was, Oh shit. His second thought was, where the hell did Wolf go? Is this the wrong place again? But no, he spied the Indian bike, an incongruous piece of hardware in Underhill. And Wolf was on the ground.

  The gargoyles noted their arrival with mild surprise, and some of the crowd began moving back from Wolf. However the human had gotten into this nasty situation, he was clearly in over his head. Petrus was about to ask Odras what his thoughts on the matter were, when the mage began barking out a long string of harsh but well-formed grunts punctuated by a snapping of teeth.

  Yet another esoteric talent Odras had that I didn't know about. He speaks Gargoyle. Petrus hoped it would be enough… whatever it was.

  "What are you telling them?" Petrus asked, but Odras continued the short speech undisturbed. When he had finished a sound that must have been laughter rippled among the reptilian beasties. A moment later, more of the mob began to pull back.

  Speaking Gargoyle required stresses and breath control that was nothing short of an aerobic workout. After catching his breath, Odras said, "Let's move now, while we can."

  The Seleighe rode their steeds down to Wolf, who had struggled to his feet.

  "Are you hurt?" Petrus asked, but Wolf already seemed to be snaking the injury off.

  "Just a rock in the middle of my back," he said, glancing back at the mob. He looked at Odras, with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "What did you say to them, anyway?"

  Odras replied, "That the human they had was an outlaw, and we had been sent to capture you. They find it… amusing when elves chase humans."

  "Yeah, but for how long," Petrus said, already picking up signs of skepticism from the mob, which was still a stone's throw away. "Time is of the essence. Wolf,
get on my steed. It's the quickest way out of here."

  "I'm not leaving the bike," Wolf said, getting on the Indian.

  "Well, that settles that," Odras commented, also looking at the mob. Already it looked like they were starting see through the ploy.

  "Once I get a reading of where Wenlann went, I'll proceed first," Odras said. "Then you, Wolf. Can you ride?"

  "I can ride fine," Wolf said, starting up the bike. Its sudden roar startled the gargoyles. Wolf twisted the throttle a few times, grinning as they jumped back from the loud, alien sound.

  "Quit screwing around," Petrus said. "We gotta get out of here. Give Odras the pendant. We need to find Wenlann."

  Wolf became serious and handed the mage the necklace. "Then let's go," Wolf said, and Odras led them into the light. A moment later they were through; on the other side was a familiar forest.

  They'd come back to Avalon Petrus thought, astonished The castle was visible through the trees.

  "What could they have been thinking?" Odras asked aloud.

  "Two of them, one carrying something heavy," Wolf said, pointing out fresh footprints on the ground. "They went off that way."

  "Odras, contact the King," Petrus said, "And let him know what's going on." Odras closed his eyes and entered a trance. "We will follow these tracks. We will find Wenlann. And that motorbike, it makes too much noise. I really must insist it stay behind."

  "No problem there," Wolf said. "I trust this place to be good to it."

  "The King has been notified," Odras said, opening his eyes.

  Petrus gave Wolf a hand up onto the saddle behind him. "Let's go get her."

  "There," Niamh said, hovering over the crystal of Elvenstone, as long and thick as his forearm. One of the Gate wards had gone off a candlemark earlier, and the mage was following it up. "The Black Forest. That's where they were the last time," Niamh said.

  King Aedham stood opposite Niamh, pensive and preoccupied. Ever since they'd lost contact with their recon party he had been debating sending out another.

  Odras is with them, he reminded himself. He may not be indestructible, but he is a powerful mage.

  Marbann, Aedham's trusted Ambassador to the outer elfhames, had recommended the mage for the task at hand: rebuilding Avalon. Yes, his birthplace, and initial training ground, was an Unseleighe Court. Odras had been a solitary mage, walking the land of Underhill for centuries, living among the poor, even the gargoyles for a time.

  He is no more Unseleighe than you or I, the ambassador had said. Give him a chance. I will stake everything I have on him.

  Strong words for a Seleighe. The King trusted Marbann, but found himself in a quandary—eventually his history would leak out. Skeletons seldom remained in the closet forever. How does one establish the trust of the court before that happened? Assign him to a mission to test his abilities and his loyalty. He had performed admirably during the first incursion by revealing Japhet's "army" for the mirage it was. Then came the recon of the renegade Unseleighe clan, which Aedham saw as the perfect opportunity. The whole thing might have established Odras once and for all as a trustworthy Mage of their court, whose loyalty would have been beyond questioning, if…

  If what? Aedham thought, gnashing his teeth. What has happened to them? Where are my people?

  Then this disturbing bit of news from Niamh:

  The Unseleighe are back in the neighborhood.

  "I believe they are using the intermittent Gate near the Black Forest," Niamh said. "Perhaps we should expend the energy to shut it down once and for all."

  The King sighed at the news. "It's a little late for that, I'd say. We may need everything in the nodes to do battle, now."

  The Gate in question was neither permanent or temporary, its classification falling somewhere in between. It only appeared, and opened in its location in Avalon when someone used another Gate to reach it. "I will investigate this personally," the King said. "Keep watch, ü you will."

  "Aie, King," Niamh said eagerly, his attention returning to the crystal.

  As King Aedham turned to leave the workshop, the crystal flashed brightly, followed by an excited yelp from Niamh.

  "Sire! It's Odras. He and Petrus have just arrived through the same Gate."

  The King dashed back to the crystal. "And?"

  The mage looked up, maddened. "Indeed, it was the Unseleighe. They have Wenlann. Taken prisoner. But the clan's numbers have fallen to two. Petrus took care of the other three already. They have a human among them, on a motorcycle."

  "Thank you, Niamh," the King said. Unwilling to wait any longer he dashed out of the workshop and headed for the armory. Time for battle, he thought, savoring the prospect of striking Japhet Dhu down himself.

  You don't want Nargach to get too tired carrying the wench, do you? Wenlann sent to the very edge of Japhet's awareness. Time for a break.

  "Let's stop for a moment," Japhet said, and the ground beneath Wenlann, who was slung over the mage's shoulder, stopped moving. "Are you getting tired of carrying her?"

  "At this point, yes I am," Nargach admitted.

  It would probably be safe to remove the paralysis spell, she sent.

  "Do you suppose we could trust her to walk on her own, then?" he asked.

  "Perhaps," Nargach replied. "I suggest we keep her arms bound, though.

  She can walk between you, with Nargach behind.

  "Fair enough. Release her," Japhet said.

  Inwardly, Wenlann sighed in relief. Being carried like a sack of potatoes was getting old, not to mention the soreness across her waist where she had been draped over the mage's shoulder. Don't let Japhet get too far away, she reminded herself. The paralysis spell lifted from her completely; in her compromised position she hadn't noticed how weak it had grown.

  Saying nothing, she surreptitiously tested the magical bindings around her wrist. These, too, were weak I could pull my arms out of these if I wanted to, she thought. I just need to find a good time to do it. I can't get too far away if Nargach throws a levin bolt at my back.

  "Sit over there," Japhet ordered, indicating a large rock with a flattened surface. They were closer to the Gate than they suspected, but she wasn't about to tell them that. A line of familiar boulders were farther up the wooded hillside. If I can Just get them to fight each other, I would be home for real.

  "Japhet, you know there's really no way the mages could have missed us," Nargach said. They both stared at the castle, which was a little less visible now, but was still a formidable presence on the horizon. "Perhaps you could tell me how you intend to rebuild your forces."

  Wenlann couldn't have picked a better line of thinking; it was just what she needed to bring this situation to a head.

  Of course he wants to know, she sent. So he can steal your ideas and use them for himself.

  This time Japhet didn't respond to Nargach. Instead, his head turned slowly toward her, and their eyes locked. Her blood turned to ice. Had he just figured out what she had been doing?

  "I may appeal to some of the other Unseleighe Courts for recruits," he said, turning back to Nargach. "I am still considering a return to the humans' land."

  Wenlann saw motion from the boulders, a vague blur that turned into a face, and ears: Petrus. Then Odras appeared, followed by a another familiar, human face.

  Wolf? she thought. What in the name of Avalon are you doing here?

  Japhet was staring at her; half a second later, he was following her eyes, to the boulders.

  "Seleighe vermin!" Japhet shouted.

  A tendril of power flashed from Nargach's fingertips, and danced around him in matrix. He's creating a levin bolt! Out of what… ?

  The bindings gave way altogether; whatever power Nargach was gathering was coming from every available source, including her former fetters. Once she was free she saw Odras reaching for his own power, and his own levin bolt… and she was in the direct line of fire.

  Quick like a rabbit she scrambled out of the way, in the direction they ha
d just come. I have no weapon, no nothing, unless I throw rocks. The best thing I can do now is get out of the way!

  Good, thought Petrus, clambering down from the boulders. She got away. I only wish I had a sword to throw to her!

  If their plan had a fatal defect, it was that it didn't exist. This roundabout approach to the enemy's resting place had forced them to leave their elvensteeds behind! Odras stood with a most peculiar expression. He's reaching for a node. A levin-bolt!

  "Let's go down and around," he said to Wolf. "Have your knife ready. Damn, I wish you had a sword!" Wolf shrugged and followed Petrus back around the rock formations.

  There," he said, then remembered the place, although now it seemed much smaller. Cods, this is where Wenlann and I used to play "healer" when we were kids. I know

  exactly where we're going. Down, past this boulder, through these two.

  The path," Wolf said, catching up to the spry elf.

  "I see them, through there," Petrus said. "Hold on, I don't see Japhet anywhere." Their noisy passage across the forest floor stopped suddenly. Petrus turned an ear toward the two mages, but he was listening for Japhet, who must have run in the other direction. The same direction Wenlann went. I don't like this.

  "Odraskonfor, miserable son of our leader Hellas!" the Unseleighe mage shouted, partially obscured by the trees. "You are weak and foolish. Why taint yourself with the Seleighe court?"

  Odras was a lone figure atop the huge boulder, and looked irritated at having to reply. "I no longer have a family, except for the one I choose! And this," he said, waving both arms expansively, "Is my family's land. I thought that we had made it clear you and your clan were not welcome here."

  "Is that what that was?" Nargach replied, sounding amused. "That pathetic army that we escaped from with such ease? If such was the message, it wasn't made clear. What right do you have to this land, dear Odraskonfor?"

  "We have every right to that which we have died for at Zeldan's hand," Odras replied. "As for the message… perhaps I should make myself more clear—"

  Then the fireworks began.

  Node power, a tingling, slightly uncomfortable feeling, something like electricity, trickled up Petrus' legs. Odras was building up to one hell of a bolt; he wondered if it were safe to be even this close.