by Bill Hiatt
“Wait, Majesty,” said Tal, his voice surprisingly calm. “In our world, your exploration of that topic is not secret. My friend learned it from your own lips.”
Amazement warred with anger on Gwynn’s face. “You…you claim you are from another world, yet that is impossible. My seers determined there are parallel worlds, but the barriers among them are impenetrable.”
“Normally, yes, but there is a man on your Earth, Amen Hafez, who has a staff that can breach that barrier, a work of wonder by the ancient Egyptian beings once worshiped as gods. It was he who brought us to this world for some sinister purpose. What it is we do not know for certain. We do know that he seeks artifacts of great power from other worlds and that he seeks to alter Earth in ways that may rend the barriers between planes of existence. When that is done, I doubt he will be content. For someone who could raid parallel universes at will, there would be no limit to what he might accomplish.”
“If true, your story might justify your alliance with Ceridwen to avert a greater evil,” Gywnn conceded. “However, as of yet, you have shown me no proof. If you have some, present it, and be quick about it. My enemies gather like vultures on all sides. I have no time to spare for spies and liars.”
“Majesty, if Govannon will be kind enough to inspect our weapons, he will find many that are of his own workmanship—yet that he never created. One of them, a small dagger, also should have residual traces of your own magic—from a spell you never cast. We are allies of your counterpart in our world, and it is from him that we obtained those weapons. Many of us also wear dragonskin armor that our Govannon crafted and that our Gwynn gifted to us.”
Gwynn gestured to the man in the blacksmith’s apron, who stepped forward and reached for Khalid’s dagger. He paused just before he touched it, his eyes fixed on some of the other weapons.
“Why do you hesitate?” asked Gwynn.
“My apologies, Majesty. I was struck by the unusual nature of this collection of weapons. There is more power here than any group of mortals has possessed in centuries. This blade is none other than Dyrnwyn, also known as White Hilt.” The smith picked up Tal’s sword, whose blade burst into flames as he raised it. “Yes, I was not mistaken, though we all know this weapon has been lost for centuries. And what of this?” he asked, putting down Tal’s sword and pointing to Shar’s emerald blade.
“Lord Govannon, that is Shamshir-e Zomorrodnegar,” said Shar. “Once the sword of Solomon, it is blessed by God to protect against all hostile magic.”
“And this?” asked the faerie smith, pointing at the sword with the pale-yellow glow.
“It is a sword crafted by Hephaestus and blessed by Apollo,” said Jimmie. “It will also resist magic, though not so ably as Shar’s sword.”
“And the curved blade?”
“Also made by Hephaestus, as is my armor,” said Alex. “The sword is called Harpe, and it is said it was used by Perseus to slice off the head of the gorgon Medusa.”
“And these magnificent bows?”
“Both were crafted by Hephaestus,” said Eva. “The silver one once belonged to Artemis—”
“And the golden one was crafted especially for me,” said Khalid, grinning from ear to ear like a star athlete who has just won the big game. “Look closely, and you’ll see it has four blessings, each designed to ward off a different kind of evil. Hestia gave it the blessing of the hearth fire, Helios of sunlight, Eros of love, and to these three the Archangel Raphael added his own blessing, a sure protection against demons. Each arrow that strikes a target delivers a burst of each kind of power with which the bow was blessed.”
“Amazing—and irrelevant,” said Gwynn, frowning at the pile of weapons. “However such lost treasures came into their hands, such objects do nothing to prove any of the claims. Smith, put your fascination with the craftsmanship of such weapons aside, and examine the ones supposedly forged by you.”
Govannon took Khalid’s dagger from the pile. “It has my mark, and it is clearly my work, yet I do not recognize it,” said Govannon, passing the dagger to Gwynn.
“I would never have believed it,” said Gwynn, rolling the dagger in his hands. “I feel my magic upon it, yet I do not recall casting this spell—a wish granter, was it not?” He passed the dagger back to Govannon. “Great smith, read this weapon’s history for me.”
Govannon took the dagger and pressed it to his chest as if reading it with his heart. “I see a ceremony in your castle. You bestowed it upon that one.” He pointed at Khalid.
“Yet I would swear I have never seen him before today.”
“It was used in a great battle, near a beach on Earth. The one upon whom you bestowed it used it bravely and wisely. It was wielded in the cause of good. That much I will swear.”
“Could such a record be counterfeited?” asked Gwynn.
“With magic, nothing is impossible,” said Govannon. “If it is a counterfeit, though, it is flawless. Someone with enough skill to forge it and enchant it well enough to fool both you and me would have little need of Ceridwen’s help—or anyone’s, I would wager.”
“If the dagger is not enough, Lord Govannon, please look at some of the other weapons,” said Tal. “That sword, for example.”
Govannon bent down and lifted the sword Tal pointed out. “This was made specifically for its wielder—for you,” he said, pointing to Gordy. “When raised, it can inflict fear on your enemies.” He walked over and touched Gordy’s clothing—no, his armor. I could now see it in occasional flashes.
“Ah, dragonskin, just as he said, and also custom-made. The wearer cannot feel fear. This is my work, but why would I have done that?”
“I guess it seemed fitting,” said Gordy. “Our Gwynn put me to the test, and you and he found me worthy—as you did my friends.”
Govannon nodded and returned to the pile, looking more and more like a kid shaking the presents the night before Christmas. “A sword of David, with a spell inscribed upon it to give the wielder greater strength. I see it is paired with armor for greater calmness in battle, that the wearer may pray even in the heat of the moment.” He waved the sword in Stan’s general direction. “A blade and armor worthy of David’s reincarnation—for I would have given such a blade only to such a man.”
The faerie smith walked among the group. He touched Shar’s shoulder and said, “Ah, my work as well. Armor that can briefly summon the spirits of some of Alexander the Great’s soldiers to fight for you—a worthy gift for the reincarnated Alexander—for such I assume you are. And here, armor that will amplify musical skill and control of fire.” He stared at Tal. “Yes, worthy for the leader of the group, wielder of White Hilt and of the Lyre of Orpheus.”
“Actually, I wield the lyre these days,” said Magnus.
Govannon gave him a puzzled look. “You are a musician—but also a warrior. You are in need of different equipment. Wait, that tunic—Arianrhod, is that your work? It seems to be woven from starlight.”
“So it is,” said the moon-crowned woman, moving closer. “Those two,” she added, pointing to Michael and Jimmie, “wear faerie plate such as my guards wear—your work, too, Govannon, but not custom.”
“They were not with us when we received our armor from the other Govannon,” said Tal. “When we visited the other Arianrhod in the Caer Sidi of our world, she gifted those of us who were not sufficiently provided for. Eva wears one of your gowns—‘soft as moonlight, but hard as diamonds,’ I think your counterpart said.”
“Yes, that gown is my work as well,” she said, running her finger over the silvery fabric that became visible at her touch.
“And I can see that the other ladies were not neglected. The sorceress has a gown to let her breathe under water, and the healer one to enhance her healing abilities—both Govannon’s work.”
“So many examples of our work, exactly as we would have crafted them, and with our marks upon them, yet none of them have we ever seen before. If these are all counterfeits, it is the greatest forgery s
ince the world began.”
“Nor is that all,” said Arianrhod, stepping toward Michael. “I see my magic on this one—yet never have I seen him.”
“Lady Arianhrod, you broke a spell that kept me from aging normally,” said Michael.
“And more than that,” said Arianhrod. “Much more, for your case was unique.” Michael blushed.
Amazement won out over anger on Gwynn’s face. “I can think of no other explanation for all of this. You must be from a parallel universe—and you must have been allies to have received so much from my counterpart and his family. Allies…and friends.”
“We were friends with the Gwynn in our world—and would be friends with you as well, if you allow us to be,” said Tal.
“There is still the matter of the witch,” said Gwynn, pointed at Ceridwen. “Was her counterpart in your world an ally as well?”
“To be honest, she died fighting against us. This Ceridwen might have done the same, but her life took a different turn. I believe her when she says she is trying to leave her evil ways behind.”
“I wish I could be so trusting, but—”
“Majesty, pardon the interruption, but I sense an approaching hostile force,” said one of the faeries sorcerers. “A large one. A whole army, if I am not mistaken.”
“We can’t face a whole army. We must withdraw.” Each of the sorcerers tried to open a portal. The result was a series of silver fizzles.
Arianrhod tried as well, with the same result. “How could they have blocked us so quickly? How did they even know we were here?”
“It matters not,” said Gwynn. “We have no choice now but to stand and fight, unless our foes are far enough away that we can escape by air.”
“Were there only one army, we could, Majesty,” said the sorcerer who had first sounded the alarm. “I now feel another army approaching from the opposite direction. Without portal travel, we are surrounded.”
“There is no way this could happen so fast—without betrayal.” Gwynn glared at Ceridwen. “The witch is in league with our enemies. She arranged with them to come here, knowing we would investigate her presence.”
“Majesty, she has been in prison for twenty-one years. She could not have—” began Tal.
The faerie king raised his hand for silence. “The time for debate is past. “I do not doubt you—you are as much a victim here as I. My new-old friend, it may be that our enemies have no interest in you. Perhaps you and your party could flee before this hopeless battle.”
“Anyone who wishes may leave, said Tal glancing over his shoulder at us. “I will stay.”
The others nodded. I was terrified, but I found myself nodding, too. I couldn’t know I’d be safe even if I fled—and I couldn’t exactly fly away the way some of them could.
Gwynn smiled. “Friends indeed!”
“We’ve won seemingly hopeless battles before,” said Tal. Coming from most people, that would have sounded like bragging, but Tal somehow managed to sound humble at the same time.
“Haste!” cautioned the sorcerer. “The enemy will reach us in a minute or so.”
“Reclaim your arms, my friends,” said Gwynn. “Everyone, prepare for combat. Guards, seize the witch.”
“I am more use as an ally than a captive,” said Ceridwen, cringing away from the guards. However, she didn’t resist, and they tied her firmly. Her bonds glistened with magic much like the chains with which Hafez had manacled her.
“Who are the enemies?” asked Shar.
“The English faeries, led by Oberon, and the Scottish faeries, led by Nicneven,” said Gwynn.”
A dark cloud moved toward us from the west. No, not a cloud—a mass of faerie fliers so densely packed that they blotted out the sky behind them.
“Tal, you know what this means,” said Stan.
“Majesty, it’s likely this isn’t the real Oberon,” said Tal. “I can unmask the imposter if I can get close enough to him.”
“You’ll never—”
Lightning struck close enough to make our hair stand on end.
“Surrender now, and I will spare your lives!” The voice boomed from the clouds like the voice of God.
“Never!” Gwynn boomed back so loudly I had to cover my ears.
Magic hummed around me. It felt like static—perhaps a shield against lightning.
“Prepare against hellfire as well,” Tal told Gwynn. “Nicneven may have hell-bound witches as well as faeries.”
Gwynn winced. “I have heard rumors, but I found them hard to believe.”
Lightning flashed against the barrier, which sparkled for a moment but didn’t give an inch.
“Shield against arrows!” yelled Gwynn. “Make them come in close to shoot. Archers, fire when ready.”
“Magnus, reinforce the defenses,” said Tal. “Lucas, dance-trance until you’re needed for close combat—we will need whatever power you can generate. Eva and Khalid, join Gwynn’s archers. Viviane, do what you can for anyone who gets injured. Carla, you’re with me. Everyone else, supply power for Magnus unless we get into a close combat situation. I don’t want anybody cracking those shields with anything short of a magic nuke. Force them to focus all their magic down here and hold their attention as long as you can.”
He turned to me. “Go over where the others are gathering and get in the middle of them. You’re the only one here without any combat training. They’ll protect you if the enemy breaks through.”
I wanted to protest, but a roar of thunder and another lightning strike cut me off. Tal took Carla by the hand—and they vanished. I sensed rather than saw them take off into the air.
I moved over to where the guys and Nancy were, and they circled around me without my having to say anything. I was thankful for the military precision—but annoyed by feeling so utterly useless. I had self-defense training, but against faster faeries with magic, I’d be lost.
I was reminded of what Eva had told me, but even she had a purpose. I hadn’t even been handed a bow—not that I could have used one, anyway. Hell, I hadn’t even been asked to let Magnus’s draw energy from me. Perhaps Tal feared that such a drain might weaken me enough for Amenirdis to take over.
Of course, if I let Amenirdis take over, she could use her magic to help. She’d be some actual use to Tal and the others.
But if I let her take over, would I ever get control back? I couldn’t take the risk.
I wasn’t the only one who was unhappy. Magnus’s scowl contrasted sharply with the beauty of his music. Was he irked by playing the supporting role while Tal was off being the hero? Magnus didn’t know how good he had it. There could be no doubt that his support of the shield was critical. I could feel the power flowing from the lyre in golden waves. It seemed more powerful than the lightning.
Even if I hadn’t been able to feel Magnus’s power, I could have read the truth in the faces of the faerie sorcerers. They were surprised but pleased at the strength of his support. Going beyond just reinforcing what they had been doing, Magnus amplified their attempts to a much higher level.
The enemy casters may have realized they were facing stronger magic than they had anticipated. Thunder roared and lightning flared with greater and greater regularity. I was seeing spots from all the flashes.
Large but oddly dark blasts of fire struck along with the lightning. Was that what Tal meant by hellfire? It seemed hotter than any regular blaze, and I thought I saw faces in it a couple of times. Demon faces.
Magnus stopped singing for a moment. “Stan, we need David to help counter the hellfire.”
Stan nodded, and I could see the other presence fill him. I was seeing more and more things in the way Amenirdis could see them. David knelt and prayed in Hebrew. Magnus bent enough for David to reach the lyre. The moment David’s fingers touched the instrument, the shielding around us developed a whiter glow, and the flashes of hellfire made much less of a dent.
Magnus sang more loudly and played more frantically. His fingers blurred across the lyre strings.
Every time the shield showed signs of weakening, he pushed more power into it.
A sound like loud rain beat on us as arrows struck the barrier—hundreds, maybe thousands at a time.
Still, Magnus sang and played, defying fatigue. I could see a grayness around him, though. Even drawing power from the others, even with the help of the faerie sorcerers, he would eventually reach the limit of his endurance.
“It’s time to go on the offense,” he muttered. He played even faster, accelerating himself until I feared his fingers would burst into flames. The barrier expanded. It surged upward, toward the twin clouds above, both raining arrows, one pouring down fire and one shooting lightning.
The faerie sorcerers stared at Magnus with both amazement and shock. He hadn’t consulted them before shifting strategies—yet they didn’t protest. It made more sense to back Magnus than to struggle against him.
“Is this wise?” muttered Shar. “We don’t know how close Tal and Carla are to setting the spell. You’re…you’re putting too much energy into—”
“Shut up!” barked Magnus. Without skipping a beat, he was back to singing, though he was beginning to sound hoarse.
His upward thrusting power hit the clouds of faeries with jarring force. I shouldn’t have been able to hear their screams from that far away, but I could. Magnus had thrown their fire and lightning back at them in burning and shocking waves.
The steady barrage paused. I could hear faerie bodies hit the ground and splatter on impact.
Magnus looked pale, though his lips and hands kept moving, and the power kept flowing. The people he was drawing on were looking a little gray, too, as were the faerie sorcerers, who struggled to maintain their part of the defense. Lucas, dancing around us in circles, his mind closed to everything but the rhythm, faltered for a step or two, but he kept on going.
“Take more from me,” muttered Michael. “You know you can. You know how fast I recover.”
If Magnus heard him, he didn’t respond. He had the look of a marathon runner who doesn’t know if he’s going to reach the finish line.
The power flared up and lashed the clouds again. More screams echoed in my ears, more bodies fell.