So for many years Mwynwen had another “child” to raise and was content, even more than she had been with Richey because as soon as Harry was well enough he began to crave her body. Mwynwen offered it, as she would offer a new toy to a frail child, and was surprised and rewarded when the toy was as delightful to her as to Harry.
But Harry was mortal, and as his body was cured and his ignorance corrected by education, he grew from a child into a man. He developed interests of his own, closer to those of Denoriel than to those of Mwynwen; he hunted, fought any invasion of Dark Sidhe or their creatures, rode in the Wild Hunt, explored strange domains. Mwynwen was quite correct, Denoriel thought. Harry did not need her anymore, at least, not as a child needs a mother. Denoriel shifted on the bench.
The question now rose of whether Harry needed Mwynwen as a lover. Denoriel knew that some humans were as light in love as Sidhe; however, some tended to be much more faithful. Those would marry and live together all of their lives, sharing their joys and griefs and leaning on each other for comfort and support.
Sidhe lived too long. There were a few who life-mated and clung to each other for the thousands of years that they survived. Most drifted in and out of love, if one could call it that. Before he brought Richey to Mwynwen, Denoriel had been Mwynwen’s lover. They had drifted apart easily when his attention was fixed on Harry and hers on Richey.
Denoriel stared sightlessly at the smooth green turf between his feet. If Harry had formed a lasting human passion for Mwynwen, he was about to be hurt when Mwynwen withdrew herself. Should he try to warn Harry, Denoriel wondered? How? What should he say? Should he tell Harry he had better pay more attention to Mwynwen, offer to do what she would like best? Should he try to introduce Harry to a few Sidhe ladies who were curious about him and would gladly—for a little while—take a human lover? Would that make Mwynwen jealous or simply give her an excuse to break the relationship?
Denoriel sighed. He had no idea how Harry would react to such a suggestion. He stood up abruptly. He said he loved Harry, but he realized that for some time he had been so busy with Elizabeth that he was not sure he knew Harry very well anymore. Well, Elizabeth needed some weeks or even months to settle into her new household. He would give that time to Harry and see what he could do … if anything.
He had barely set out toward Sawel’s house again—it was set well away from the main building and clustered cottages of the other Sidhe—when the warned-of explosion came. With Harry firmly in mind again, Denoriel rushed forward to help, but found everyone unharmed. They were prepared for explosions now, it seemed. At first they were all too absorbed in what they had been working on to do more than greet him in an absent way, but when they had thrashed out the reasons for the unwelcome, if not unexpected, results and worked out a new refinement, Harry came over and hugged Denoriel. His two most constant companions, Elidir and Mechain, followed close behind him.
“We are trying to find a way to entice the Great Evil out so we can somehow thrust it into the Void,” Harry said. “It cannot be destroyed, but it must not be loosed either. Do you think the Void will hold it?”
“You will need the opinions of better mages than myself,” Denoriel said, “but I have a new and possibly even more dangerous problem to describe to you.”
“More dangerous than the Great Evil?” Mechain said. “Or is this a ruse to keep Harry away from this work?”
“And where is our adorable Elizabeth?” Elidir asked. “You have not brought her Underhill in far too long. I did hear that Oberon had consented to allow her to visit again.”
“Harry is a man grown and I hope knows how to judge his own danger,” Denoriel said, and then laughed. “Of course I wish to keep him out of danger, but this new business … Can we go somewhere where we can sit and talk in comfort? The stink—what is that unsavory odor?—around here invites our swift absence.”
“Your place,” Harry said to Denoriel. “Elidir and Mechain’s cottage is really too small and besides—” he grinned broadly “—I still love to be waited on by your invisible servants.”
Before they had taken ten steps toward the Gate, five elvensteeds were somehow beside, ahead, and behind them. They all mounted, arrived at the Gate in what seemed like three strides, Gated through, and were at the broad marble steps of the palace in three more strides.
With wine and cakes and small savory tidbits readily to hand, Denoriel repeated what Pasgen had told him. He expected argument and denial. Instead Elidir and Mechain exchanged long glances. Elidir rubbed his long-fingered hands together nervously; Mechain shuddered.
“I knew there was something wrong in that Unformed land, I knew it,” Elidir said. “You remember,” he said to Mechain, “that one time we were there when there was grass near the Gate for the elvensteeds to graze—and neither of us had made grass there.”
“We thought the elvensteeds had done it,” Mechain said. “I never knew them to make before, but who knows what they can do? I have never reached the bottom of what Phylyr can do.” She hesitated and then near whispered, “But sentient?”
“So far it does not seem dangerous,” Denoriel said, “but my half brother—”
“The Dark Sidhe?” Harry asked. “Do you trust him? He tried several times to kill me, I remember. Could he have set some kind of trap in that Unformed land?”
That question caused a digression into Rhoslyn’s changing attitude and her influence on her brother. Finally Denoriel shrugged. “It isn’t something we can just ignore,” he said. “I think we have to go and look at the place and see if we can feel anything there. And since we will all be alert for danger, I think all of us together can deal with any trap Pasgen left, if he did leave one.”
“Yes, we must go,” Elidir agreed. “We have not been back to that place since we took Elizabeth there and fought that battle against Prince Vidal. But even before then, Mechain and I had decided not to use that Unformed land anymore.”
“Yes,” Mechain said. “It was too easy to make there.”
Harry said only, “Wait for me. I must get my sword and pistol from Mwynwen’s house. Lady Aeron will take me. I will only be a few moments.”
That was true enough. Denoriel had barely enough time to absorb the fact that Harry had said, “Mwynwen’s house” instead of “home.” Very interesting. It was as if Harry had become more guest than lover. But before Denoriel had a chance to examine the idea more carefully, Harry was back and they were all on their way.
Both Elidir and Mechain knew the pattern for that Unformed land as well as they knew the one for Elfhame Elder-Elf. They agreed to ask the elvensteeds to remain behind as they did not intend to get off the Gate platform. All were ready to repel attack as they dropped through the darkness of Between and arrived at their goal.
No attack. Nothing that Denoriel could feel, although both Mechain and Elidir drew in sharp breaths. Harry drew his sword and loosened the catch on his pistol. He would not draw that except in dire need because it would be harmful to his companions. Denoriel did not draw, although his hand rested on his sword hilt. Then he, too, drew in a sharp breath.
There was nothing to see. The mists coiled and then streamed away, puffed here and there, blew right and left and around, as the mists in any Chaos Land did. Elidir stretched out a hand.
“Rest,” he said. “You have done enough. We will ask no more of you.”
“We thank you,” Mechain added, “for all you have done for us. Now rest.”
There was a stirring in the mist not far from the Gate platform and a glint of gold and bright red where the hair of a man and a small woman might be. Together Elidir and Mechain willed the Gate to take them back to Elfhame Logres and to their elvensteeds who waited. No one said a word as they mounted, and they were still silent as they took the seats in Denoriel’s parlor they had vacated so short a time earlier.
“I fear that what your half brother told you is true,” Elidir said, when he had swallowed the nectar an invisible hand had poured into his cup.
>
“It welcomed me,” Mechain whispered, but not so softly that all did not hear her.
Elidir nodded agreement. “Me also, as if I were an old friend returned after an absence.”
“And me it questioned,” Denoriel said, “wanting to know who I was. I had a quick, muddy image of Pasgen—that is my half brother’s name—and a feeling of doubt.” He shivered. “We differ enough in the set of our minds—he is much more mage than I, and I can bear the mortal world and its burden of iron better than he. But … but that a mist should feel this?”
He looked from face to face. Harry looked slightly regretful, as if he knew that mortal without Talent as he was, he alone would not be touched by this wonder … or horror. But he was not too regretful; his immunity to magical influence of his thoughts had saved his party in the stricken elfhames more than once. Elidir and Mechain wore similar expressions of distress mingled with confusion.
“But there was no threat to me. No feeling of threat at all,” Mechain said unhappily.
“No, nor even to me,” Denoriel admitted, “when it realized … I cannot believe I am saying this, that a mist realized I was not Pasgen. But my half brother, who was frightened near out of his wits when he realized that the mist was making on its own, also felt no threat and … and when I had suggested that we bring the problem to Oberon”—he hesitated while all the others stared at him with widened eyes—“he begged me not to. He said—mind you, he is of the Unseleighe kind—but he asked whether we had the right to kill what was coming to life.”
“Are we certain that Oberon would kill it?” Mechain asked.
“Who can know what Oberon will do?” Denoriel sighed. “What he does will be beyond us once the matter is in his hand, so the decision, and we must consider it to be death or life, is ours.”
Elidir nodded acknowledgment of Denoriel’s statement of responsibility, but when he asked, “So what do we do?” he looked at Harry, not Denoriel.
“We watch, or rather, you watch, since I was not aware of anything,” Harry said promptly. “If there’s anyone more sensitive than you … yes, yes, set the burden on Gaenor. Later, or tomorrow, we can explain to her what we fear and take her there. We can introduce her as a—as a maker who has been so long away from making that she does not well know it anymore. See whether she feels any response from the mist.”
“And if she does?”
“Then Elidir had better come back alone or, or with Mechain, of course, and tell the mist to sleep again. After leaving it quiet for some time—you can suggest to Gaenor that she try to find some spells to deactivate a made thing, and that she had better be ready to flee as soon as she casts the spell because the mist might not want to be deactivated.”
Mechain blinked at Harry and breathed out a whistling breath. “Well, that should wake Gaenor up smartly.”
Elidir chuckled.
“And she can keep going back for … oh, a full season. But if the mist is still awake, if it is doing new things, or if it starts to threaten Gaenor, I think we will need to take this trouble to Oberon. God knows, I cannot think of a way to deal with a mist.”
“And we had this new burst of creatures in El Dorado,” Elidir said, the good humor gone from his face. “They are almost impervious to magic, but they need killing. It is interesting that they are smaller and weaker than the last plague that was produced.”
Denoriel gestured and the air was troubled. “Will you all dine with me?” he asked. “It is some hours since we have all eaten and I would like to hear your plans. Elizabeth has just moved into a new household; she is to be under the dowager queen’s care. She will be too busy to come Underhill or even to see me for a few weeks, perhaps as long as a month. Thus, I will be free of my duty to her and would like to come with you and help clear the plague from El Dorado.”
Chapter 16
Pasgen and Rhoslyn sat together in the parlor of the empty house. Both were somewhat revived. Pasgen had taken Rhoslyn to the Chaos Land where he most often found the sweet and restorative mists. He had breathed/drunk some down and she had tried, although with less success. Now she blinked back tears and lowered her head.
“It is only in the Seleighe domains that power comes to me softly and sweetly. When Aleneil took me to visit Mwynwen, I was warm all over and so strong when I left.”
“Then visit her again,” Pasgen said. “It may not be only the Seleighe domain that fills you with power. Mwynwen is a healer; she may have a spell on the house that brings in extra power.”
Rhoslyn blinked and cocked her head. “Hmmm. Aleneil would Gate me in if I asked her and I could tell Mwynwen that I had come to ask after the boy. She was pleased enough to show him off when Aleneil brought me, and he was then mending but not yet well. Yes, that was a wise thought, Pasgen. The way I feel now it will take me months to draw enough power and I do not have months. I need to get back to Mary.”
Pasgen sighed. “And I have to get back to Otstargi’s house and discover what Albertus plans when none of his men return to him.” A moment later his eyes brightened with interest. “While I am dealing with him I can look about for those strings of power Denoriel mentioned.”
“Pasgen, no! Denoriel warned you not to play with that power.”
“Denoriel!” Their mother’s voice came from the doorway. “What have you to do with Denoriel? He is unreasonable. He hates you for what is no fault of yours. Has he suggested something dangerous to you?”
“With great reluctance,” Pasgen said impatiently. “And he warned me not to try to seek that source of power.”
“Pasgen—” Llanelli came forward and took his hand in hers. “Does it not occur to you that he might know your curiosity about all forms of power, that he might seem to be reluctant so you would not guess he was setting a trap for you?”
“Denoriel is not the trap-setting kind,” Pasgen replied, his lips thin. “I am the trap-setting kind. Denoriel might attempt to damage me, but he would do it with his knife or his sword …” He hesitated. “Or even with a spell these days. But it would be an open direct attack. He is not devious.”
“Has he not spent much time in the mortal world with that boy and the girl the Seleighe hope will be queen?” Llanelli bit her lip. “Mortals are devious. Sidhe learn from those with whom they company.”
Ironic, that. Considering that the most devious of mortals could not even begin to challenge the least devious of Unseleighe.
Pasgen laughed. “Mother, you have spent all our lives telling us how much better it is to live Seleighe. Is not the best chance we have of finding a welcome there through our half brother and sister?”
“Oh …” Llanelli looked around for the chair that Rhoslyn ordinarily brought to her. It was not there, and Rhoslyn was lying back in her own chair, eyes closed. “Rhoslyn!” she exclaimed, forgetting or dismissing what she had been about to say to Pasgen. “What is wrong? Are you hurt? Ill?”
“I am just drained, Mother,” Rhoslyn said, opening her eyes. “Pasgen discovered a plot to kill Denoriel and Aleneil. We tried to defend them.”
“Defend them?” Llanelli stiffened. “Why should you defend them? They are misbegotten! A remnant stolen from the spell that I found and sacrificed mages to cast. Your stupid father did not stay with me, as I devised. No. He had to go rushing back to that … that pallid nothing with whom he claimed a life bond. Underhill would be better off without—”
“No, Mother,” Rhoslyn interrupted firmly. “Aleneil has been very kind to me and Denoriel at least courteous. They are our sibs, and I will not see them wasted for no more than Vidal Dhu’s whim.”
Llanelli’s eyes flashed and her lips thinned, but she did not pursue that thread any further. “But what did you do? Why are you so diminished?”
The brother and sister exchanged glances, but it seemed best to tell her enough to satisfy her rather than leaving her curious and anxious. Pasgen told most of the story and at last Llanelli sighed and shook her head.
“I wish you had not. If Vidal hears
of this, he will be furious. You will be endangered … and I dare say that you will not see Denoriel or Aleneil coming to your rescue.”
“They might.” Pasgen smiled. “Well, Denoriel might just for the pure joy of fighting. Aleneil is no fighter—”
“Not so,” Rhoslyn said also with a faint smile. “She does not like fighting, but when she must she is no weakling. She held me off finely that night in Elizabeth’s chamber.”
“Yes.” Pasgen nodded. “And she was holding her own against two or three phookas before Oberon stopped the battle with Vidal’s creatures in that Unformed land.” As he said the words, his head turned.
Rhoslyn leaned forward and put her hand on his arm, saying warningly, “Pasgen …”
“What is it?” Llanelli asked.
But the possibility of a sentient Chaos Land was not something either was willing to mention to their mother, and Pasgen said quickly, “Rhoslyn and I must go back to the mortal world.”
“For what?” Llanelli asked sharply. “To again endanger yourselves on behalf of the misbegotten twins?”
“More to make sure that Albertus has no idea that I was involved in the failure of his plans,” Pasgen said. “I am not looking for any open conflict with Vidal.”
To that, Llanelli agreed vehemently, her eyes widened with fear. Her soul was scarred with the terrors and torments Vidal had inflicted on her when she was trying to save her babies and the further agonies she had suffered when he had addicted her to oleander and periodically withdrawn it to ensure her obedience to him.
Although Pasgen had assured her that he could stand against Vidal and she had nothing to fear any longer from that dark prince, she did not believe him. Pasgen was, after all, her child. In her heart he was still small and helpless. It did not seem possible, no matter what he said, that his primary reason for avoiding a conflict with Vidal was that he did not wish to be ordered by Oberon to rule the Unseleighe.
By Slanderous Tongues Page 25
