Aurilia pursed her lips. "Do not get your hopes up too high for Elizabeth's execution. At first I thought as you did, that as soon as Mary had any excuse, she would order Elizabeth's head removed, but it seems we were wrong. Albertus tells me that Mary will not do it. In spite of all Renard and Gardiner can do she did not even want to send Elizabeth to the Tower. She has been asking the more powerful members of the Council and any of the courtiers she feels is truly devoted to her to take her sister into house arrest. So far, none is willing."
Vidal looked startled and angry. "Albertus! How can he know?"
"He is one of Mary's physicians. She has told them that she cannot bear to harm her sister, that the moment she thinks of taking any revenge on her, her head nearly splits with pain and her belly feels like she swallowed a bucket of ice."
"Why is Rhoslyn not supporting Mary's spirits?"
Aurilia made a moue of distaste. She did not like Rhoslyn. "Ask her, not me. It may be that we will need to find another way to deal with Elizabeth."
"I can make sure that none of the nobility will agree to take charge of Elizabeth. Some visit Otstargi for advice. I will spread the word that so onerous a charge will bring disaster, reminding them of Elizabeth's 'enchanting' nature and predict that she will seduce their servants and involve them in a new rebellion."
"The hint of witchcraft will not help." Aurilia shrugged. "Mary has been burnt too often and too deeply to accuse Elizabeth of being a witch. What you need to do, my lord, is somehow get Philip here to marry Mary."
Vidal cocked his head inquisitively. "I have apurpose not meddled with his reluctance to take his most willing bride. It seems to me that once Philip arrives and they marry, Mary will forget all about Elizabeth."
"She might," Aurilia agreed, "but so long as Philip gets a child on her Elizabeth will no longer be of any account."
"Will Mary get with child?" Vidal's lips twisted. "She is a scrawny old bitch for enticing much virile play from a man."
"Philip will do his duty," Aurilia said. "Mary may be old and scrawny, but he knows the great benefits a child will bring to Spain and the Empire. He will couple with her and I will see that the coupling bears fruit."
Vidal narrowed his eyes. "That is no easy thing."
"No, but I have been studying. I think I know the way."
"Where did they go?" Ilar asked furiously, looking around the outer perimeter of the Goblin's Market.
Aleneil sighed, unable to offer any further help. Of the many Gates that dotted the area outside the market itself, five had been used. Three of those likely had delivered their passengers to Dark Domains, but Aleneil did not have the skill to read the exact destination.
"We need Pasgen," she said. "But by the time I find him, the traces will be overlaid by many other Gatings. The market Gates are heavily used."
"We almost had him this time," Ilar said, through tight set jaws. "I did not realize he had set a lookout to warn him. That was stupid of me."
"Not so stupid," Aleneil soothed. "Neither of us thought he would dare use a confederate who could betray him."
"Not after what was done to Chenga," Ilar said with grim satisfaction. "At least we saved the mortal he was trying to seize, and we saw him and the Sidhe who was assisting him."
Aleneil's lips folded to a thin line. "That Sidhe. He was of the Dark Court I believe, but he was not so deeply stained with their power of pain and misery as are those long Vidal's servants. He must have gone to the Dark Court from the Bright Court not long ago. And the power he held was—" She hesitated and then said distastefully "—from life force."
Ilar gasped and his hand went to the sword at his hip.
"Not mortal," Aleneil said hastily. "Small things and the creatures of the Dark Court, though they have little life force."
"But you said our mortals live and are not injured."
"So says my scrying." Aleneil nodded. "They are held safe, but where I cannot tell."
"We must rescue them."
"Yes. I do not know how much longer they will be safe. That Sidhe . . . he hungers."
"I will try the three Gates that were used," Ilar said desperately. "I will think Dark Court and recent use. Perhaps—"
Aleneil frowned with concern. "Be careful, Ilar. The Dark ones will sense you. I cannot come with you. I would only bring you greater danger."
Ilar nodded and patted the sword at his side. "I will be careful, but we of Cymry do not divide Dark from Light so sharply as Avalon or Logres does. I may pass without challenge."
"Still," Aleneil touched his cheek, "have a care. Meanwhile I will go back to Avalon and try to discover who recently abandoned the Bright Court for the Dark . . . or was driven out. If I get his name, perhaps I can set a calling on him."
"The other was drawing power from Cymry without asking, without even a courtesy call on Idres Gawr," Ilar said indignantly. "As if he had a right to take anything he wanted."
Aleneil laughed briefly and shook her head. "You could not expect him to ask permission to draw power from Idres Gawr if he intended to abduct your mortals. No, he did not wish to be known."
"I am sure of that." Ilar snorted.
"And he was not of any elfhame I could recognize," Aleneil said slowly. "And fat. It is not common for Sidhe to be fat. I will return as soon as I may, and I will scry and try to set a calling."
Pasgen threw up a shield around himself and Hafwen just before the thrown hand ax reached them. It struck the shield and clattered to the stone floor. The ax-thrower had taken shelter behind an earthen redoubt. Pasgen stepped off the Gate platform holding up empty hands.
"Please," Hafwen called, peeping around Pasgen's shoulder. "We mean no harm. Indeed, we seek to bind or destroy the thing that harmed you."
"Who are you?" The voice was not friendly.
"My name is Hafwen and I am from the Bright Court, from Elfhame Avalon."
"What brings you to this rookery from the fine heights of Avalon?"
"Hafwen is a senser of evil," Pasgen put in before Hafwen could answer. "I know Gates and can read their past. We followed whatever it was you are now armed against to this hame. It did much damage to places I value. I am most eager to destroy it so it can do no more harm."
Slowly about midway back from the front of the earthen dike, a small squat figure rose. Its normally brown face was white and waxy, the eyes small black pits; one ear was missing. Hafwen drew in a trembling breath.
"You cannot destroy it," the damaged gnome said. "Pure Evil it was. That will always be with us."
"I am sorry for the trouble it caused you," Pasgen said. "But if it roosted somewhere in this hame perhaps I can drive it out."
Before the damaged gnome could answer, something multilegged and black, glistening with slime, leapt from a fold of the earth about midway between the fortification and the Gate. Pasgen drew breath and drew his sword at the same time. The slimy horror, not at all afraid of the sword, if it saw it, leapt up as if to strike on Pasgen's face but it, too, rebounded from Pasgen's shield and fell back. Hafwen uttered a thin cry of disgust which blended with and distorted a shout of warning from the gnome.
The warning came too late. Pasgen had already stabbed the thing. It made a high, shrilling sound and then simply fell apart. But it was not dead. The many pieces twitched and writhed and then began to grow again; legs formed, legs tipped with claws. And the multitude of tiny creatures oriented themselves and all began to crawl up or try to get under Pasgen's shield.
Hafwen screamed. Pasgen let out an oath, pulled her tight against him, and spread thin the kind of energy that made a levin bolt over the surface of his shield. Most of the creatures were fried and Pasgen, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering with cold and horror, pointed at any that still moved and burned them one at a time. The effort drained him dangerously. By the time nothing more moved, he was as much clinging to Hafwen for support as keeping her close to protect her.
A ragged cheer came from the gnomes as the last of the slim
y wrigglers went to ash. "We tried to warn you," the damaged gnome called.
Pasgen shuddered. "I heard you, but it was too late for me to stop my stroke. What was that?"
"We know no more than you." The damaged gnome came forward and climbed to the top of the redoubt. "That Evil brought the creatures or spilled them out of its body."
"When?" Hafwen asked urgently, coming around Pasgen to face the gnomes.
"It would have been two sleeps ago—if any of us dared sleep since that evil thing came through the Gate. It was Sidhe! We thought it had work for us. We welcomed it into our village."
"Sidhe!" Pasgen exclaimed.
This was the first being that had actually seen the Evil. Until Gnome Hold, Pasgen and Hafwen had been following a trail of senseless destruction, mostly Unformed lands turned into vicious Chaos, the mists inimical and treacherous. In one Dark hold of boggles they had found only the dead; seemingly the creatures had turned on each other and killed until none were left.
"Like us?" Hafwen asked. "Or Dark? What did it look like?"
"Not Bright Court looks, but not Dark either," the gnome replied.
"It was . . ." Another gnome popped up beside the injured one. "I keep accounts for this hold and I noticed because I almost did not notice," the second gnome said. "We look carefully at those we work for. They are not above trying to escape payment, especially for a difficult task. I almost did not look at this one. He—"
"Male?" Pasgen asked. "Are you sure?"
"No," the gnome replied. "The Sidhe . . . creature . . . whatever it was sort of faded in and out. Sometimes it was hard and bold, sometimes it was not more than a shadow. Mostly it looked male, but when it faded it could have been anything . . . except it was Sidhe. It was always Sidhe. It did not shift form."
"When you could see it how did it look?" Hafwen glanced up at Pasgen. "If it was neither Bright Court nor Dark it will be easy to make a picture in my mind. Perhaps the ladies of the lens could scry for it."
The gnome who had been answering shrugged. "It looked as if it could not make up its mind how to look. Hair neither dark nor light, like mud, the skin like lighter mud. The eyes also were the color of mud, but not dull, bright."
"That I saw also," the injured gnome said. "The eyes were too bright. Brown but with a red underlay. I did not like the eyes. Sidhe with such bright looks are still tasting guilty pleasures and looking for innocent victims." He looked uneasily at Pasgen and went on hurriedly, "Not evil. Mostly Bright Court Sidhe are not evil, but they are careless and indifferent. What does not seem harmful to them causes us to lose face among our own people. No. I did not like those eyes at all. I was telling the Sidhe to go away, that we did not want its work—but it began to laugh and it let loose a small swarm of those black things."
"Rumgunter died," the first gnome said, eyes filled with tears and an unbelieving sound to his voice. "One of those things leapt on him and seized his ear. I thought little of it. I leaned down to brush it off his ear and he was cold and white—drained. I should have been quicker."
"You were quick enough to save me," the gnome who was missing an ear said. "I saw what happened, but I did not understand. When another leapt on me and seized my ear, I tried to pull it off. I was half dead before Hardgrumble drew his knife and cut off my ear."
A third gnome now climbed up on the earthwork. Pasgen noticed that he was careful where he set his feet. "The thing that killed Rumgunter had grown very large," he said. "I made the mistake of striking it with my hammer. I thought it would squash like a spider. But you saw what happened."
"You could not know," Hardgrumble said. "But iron kills them. When I cut off Gosfarri's ear, I cut the sucking thing too and it folded up like an emptied bladder. Only they are so fast that I only struck one other. The others rushed away in all directions."
"Sweet Mother," Hafwen breathed. "Are you overrun by the things? Shall I go back to Avalon and try to gather up a troop to come here and use levin bolts to clear your hold?"
"A kind thought lady, but we are managing on our own very well." The gnome that had first thrown his ax at Pasgen turned to Hafwen and made a little bow; he did not look particularly pleased with the idea of Bright Court Sidhe throwing levin bolts around. "I am headman here; my name is Tomtreadle. There is a black oil that gathers in deep seams of rock in the mortal world. It burns. It burns most fiercely. When the things try to reach us—" he showed his teeth "—they burn. Only a few are left. One you lured out and killed. When you are gone, we will deal with the few that still lie in wait."
"But . . . but the one who loosed this curse? Where is he?" Pasgen asked.
He was not at all sure what answer he wanted. If the Evil he and Hafwen were chasing was still here and there was no other Gate they might have trapped it. But if it could loose more of those monstrosities, Pasgen was not at all sure he could defeat it.
"Gone." Tomtreadle shook his head. "I struck the Evil Sidhe on the feet with my stone hammer and it screamed and reached for me. I fell back and suddenly there was a rush of light. I was blinded."
"As were all of us," the redoubtable Hardgrumble said. "Those things could have killed us, but none leached onto us while we were helpless. It was as if they were frozen by whatever caused the light. And they did not come out from where they had hidden at once, so we were able to learn that fire destroys them as well as iron."
"We never saw more than that one flash of light. When we had vision again, the Evil was gone," Gosfari said.
"May I walk through your village?" Hafwen asked. "I will come alone and I am unarmed, except for my knife." She touched the hilt of a thin blade in an elaborate sheathe. "I wish to make sure that the Evil is not hidden somewhere."
There was a tense silence. The three gnomes who had been on the redoubt dropped down behind it. Pasgen's lips thinned, but all he did was to sit down on the Gate platform. In a few moments, the gnome called Tomtreadle climbed over the barrier. He did not cross the area between the redoubt and the Gate but stood waiting. Hafwen drew a short breath, exchanged a glance with Pasgen, and set out toward him. A very faint blue light glimmered on her fingers, but nothing attacked her and she reached Tomtreadle without trouble.
He made a brief bow to Hafwen and said, "I will lead you, but I warn you that there is iron on the way."
There was, indeed, iron of every sort—pots, pans, griddles, flatirons, knives, and spearheads—lying on the ground between the earth barrier and the first small houses of the village. Hafwen shivered as she made her way through what was clearly meant to be a barrier to the evil spawn. Indeed she saw a number of what looked like very ugly black bags with fringed bottoms lying here and there and a multitude of dead black spiders.
She had to set her teeth against the ache the iron waked in her, but she was not sensitive to iron as she was to evil. Picking her way carefully, she followed Tomtreadle through every street and then around the outer fields and through a small wood. There was, to her intense relief, nothing inimical in the entire hold. Once in the village she hesitated outside a cottage, but after a moment she recognized what she sensed was no more than a curdled nature and a will to do evil; it was nothing like the dreadful malevolence in a Chaos Land that Pasgen had nearly wept over.
Returned to the Gate by her escort, Hafwen said, "Gone. There is nothing evil in the village, not even the disgusting aura those black things cast. And this is a small hold. Only the village, the surrounding fields and that very small woods. I have been through all of them."
"Are you sure?" Pasgen asked, frowning as he watched Tomtreadle climb over the redoubt wall and disappear. "I have been working on this Gate, and it does not seem as if that Thing we are chasing left through here."
"But the gnome, Tomtreadle says this is the only Gate to this hold. They like to keep a close watch on who comes here."
Pasgen shook his head. "Yet it seems as if no one left through this Gate for any time that the gnomes would have called two or even three sleeps. I do not even have the thread of
that Evil coming here. If the Gate we started from had not sent us here and the gnomes confirmed the Evil's arrival I would have found no trace of it here. The Gate shows no use until our coming."
"Nonetheless, it is not in this hold," Hafwen assured him. "Have we lost it altogether?"
"I think so," Pasgen said. "Something powerful created that flash the gnomes spoke of and wiped out all signs of our quarry."
"Apurpose?"
He sighed heavily. "I fear so. I fear the flash-maker has in some way joined forces with the Evil Thing. Why else should the traces of memory in the Gate have been destroyed?"
"Joined forces?" Hafwen repeated unbelievingly. "How can anyone join forces with such indiscriminate evil? Surely anyone so strong in magic should realize that it is untrustworthy."
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