Uncertain Allies

by Mark Del Franco

  Dwarves always looped me back to Eorla. The clans were secretive, had their own rules, and, like Banjo, were not keen on talking to Celts. Eorla had asked me to check out the blue essence. It stood to reason she might know more than she said. We were friends but not always confidantes.

  I left the Waybread with a satisfying bloat in my stomach. I didn’t get nearly the gym time I should, but hiking everywhere I needed to go helped. The Rowes Wharf Hotel made for a good jaunt to work off some grease. When I entered the lobby, a cluster of Eorla’s house guards surrounded me. They said nothing, maintained a discreet distance, and escorted me to her meeting room. The extra security hinted that something more was going on. When the guards left, Rand let me into the room.

  Eorla rose from her worktable and kissed me on each cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

  “After what you did, how could I not? You left the Guildhouse so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to thank you properly,” I said.

  She made a dismissive gesture. “When you are privy to political scandal, it’s easy to make investigations go away.”

  “Still, you didn’t have to do it. Why did you?” I asked.

  “Ryan macGoren needed to see that I have my resources. Besides, what he attempted to do to you was wrong, never mind everything else,” she said.

  “Maeve might not take kindly to your helping me.”

  She shrugged with a smile. “All the better. My sources tell me that she is already nervous about me.”

  I inhaled and held the breath a moment. “Eorla, I have to be blunt. If you’re going to ask me to leave Bergin Vize alone, I can’t promise that.”

  She nodded. “Ryan called me to that meeting to hear his bribe. I think he truly expected you to take the deal. There was no downside for you. By formally committing you to apprehending Bergin, he thought he would drive a wedge between us.”

  “You know I want Vize taken into custody,” I said.

  She placed her hand on my forearm. “Despite my personal feelings, Connor, I understand your motivation and accept as it as valid. I may not pursue Bergin or encourage you to do so, but I would be foolish to think I can protect him from everyone. He’s done what he’s done and will answer for it one day. That is the Wheel of the World.”

  I bowed my head. “Well, thank you anyway. It’s one less thing for me to worry about.”

  She resumed her seat at the table. “Well, then, how about something new? I have a special visitor, who has been waiting all morning. I thought you might be intrigued to meet him.”

  “That you think that intrigues me. Who is it?”

  “Aldred Core, one of Donor’s advisors. I have no doubt threats will be involved. It should be entertaining. Would you like to stay?”

  “With an invitation like that, how can I refuse?” I asked.

  Eorla gestured to Rand, who positioned himself in front of the table and faced the entrance. I wandered to the side of the room, uncertain where to stand. Two men entered, one I knew. An ancient elf dressed in the traditional dark blue robe of a shaman glided forward in a smooth gait. Bastian Frye was the private counselor to Donor Elfenkonig, who ruled the Teutonic fey from his fortress in Germany. Bastian and I had never met until recently, but we went way back. When I was a top agent for the Guild, he led the opposition from the Teutonic Consortium. We had tried to kill each other, directly and indirectly, about a dozen times apiece over the years. We didn’t hate each other, though. It was business.

  The other man piqued my curiosity. He wore the formal dress of an elven courtier, a vermillion tunic over black pants. Gold braid wound about his shoulders. On his chest, he wore a series of ribbons that might have impressed me if I knew what they were for. A thick gold chain, with a large blue gem amulet pierced by a gold sword, hung around his neck. He radiated power, both in his bearing and his essence.

  The two men paused when they reached Rand. Leaning on his staff, Bastian bowed stiffly. “Your Royal Highness, I present the Baron Aldred Core, ambassador of His Majesty, Donor Elfenkonig.”

  Despite denouncing the Elven King, Eorla was still a Grand Duchess of the elven royalty. Propping her elbows on the arms of her chair, she steepled her fingers. “How pleasant to see you again, Aldred. It has been many years, has it not?”

  He bowed enough not to give insult. “It is a pleasure, as always, Your Royal Highness.”

  “You must be tired from your trip. Bastian, fetch a chair for my guest,” she said.

  Frye showed no annoyance but retrieved one of the large oaken chairs. Eorla enjoyed treating him below his station. Aldred lowered himself into the chair, glancing at me, then Rand. “I have communications from His Royal Majesty. Might I share them with you in more private circumstances?”

  Unimpressed, Eorla leaned back. “So shy, Aldred? What topic would we speak of in private? Shall we share confidences on how you’ve risked treason against the crown you hold so dear? Or shall we perhaps discuss your rather creative forays into the royal accounts?”

  Amused, Aldred licked his lips. “I would tread lightly on the issue of treason if I were you.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I have done no treason, sir. Perhaps His Majesty has been ill informed as to my words and deeds. Speaking of deeds, Aldred, did the king ever discover your dalliances among his women?”

  Aldred shifted in his seat. “You do no good thing to distract us.”

  Eorla twisted her lips into a smile. “ ‘Us,’ Aldred?”

  He set his jaw. “I speak for His Majesty.”

  Eorla chuckled. “Indeed. Enough pleasantries, then. Let us speak plainly with no need of privacy or subterfuge, shall we . . . cousin?”

  Bastian stiffened by the ambassador’s side. Aldred murmured a chuckle. “I warned you she would not be so easily fooled, Bastian. You have always been perceptive, dear Eorla.”

  His face blurred and shifted in a rainbow smear of color. The fey used spells and amulets to create glamours to change their appearance, sometimes minor improvements, sometimes complete identities. Aldred’s face lengthened along the jaw and widened at the forehead. A deeper glitter appeared in his dark eyes, and, pinned tightly against the back of his head, a short-cropped ponytail appeared. His essence shifted, the removal of the glamour revealing his true body signature.

  Donor Elfenkonig pursed his lips in amusement. I had to admit that a small thrill went up my spine. I had met many high-powered people over the years, but being in the presence of the Elven King of the Teutonic fey was fair cause for being starstruck for a moment.

  “It has been many years, cousin. You look well,” he said.

  “As do you, dear cousin. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” she asked.

  The corner of Donor’s lip curled down. “My condolences on the premature death of your husband. Had I known Alvud wished to be buried in this country, I would have surely made plans to attend his funeral.”

  From what I knew, Donor despised Alvud Kruge. The late Marchegraf was an internationally known diplomat and frequent critic of the Teutonic Consortium. Eorla’s marriage had found ill favor in the Elven Court. She didn’t care. Like now, seeing this man smile at the mention of her husband’s death, she didn’t show the least bit of annoyance. “Thank you, cousin. I appreciate the visit. Shall I call for a car to take you back to the airport?”

  Donor sighed with an exaggerated disappointment that I was sure struck terror in his Court. “As much as I would prefer it, I have other pressing matters to attend.”

  “Such as?”

  “Come, come, dear cousin. You realize the position you’re placing me in.”

  Eorla mimicked his casual pose. “I resolved a situation that demanded resolution. A situation, I might add, that had more than a little to do with the intrigues of that pet assassin behind you. He hid Bergin Vize among the solitary fey, which led directly to the riots that tore apart this city. I stopped the riots and prevented a confrontation that would have led to more bloodshed. That blood would have been on your hands,
cousin. You should be thanking me.”

  Frye hid his feelings well when he needed or wanted to. It was what made him good at his job. I’d heard enough about interactions between him and Eorla to know their mutual animosity was rich and deep. Donor smiled with feigned apology. “Mistakes were made, I grant you, cousin, but Bastian has always had our best interests at heart.”

  Eorla frowned. “That’s the crux of the matter, though, cousin, isn’t it? Your best interests and the crown’s best interest are not one and the same thing.”

  Donor let annoyance cross his face. “You dare to criticize my rule in my own presence?”

  “I dare to criticize your obsession with returning to Faerie. The Wheel of the World has turned, cousin. We are here. We need to move past this death match with Tara and find a new way in this world. You do the Consortium no good by setting us against the Seelie Court.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And you think defying my rule is the answer? You have no idea of the situation you’ve caused. Maeve suspended the protocols of the Fey Summit. She’s moving her troops around like a drunken slattern. One misinterpreted action by either of us could spark a war the likes of which these humans have never seen.”

  Eorla pursed her lips. “Then you have better things to do with your time, cousin, than sit here accusing me of treason.”

  He leaned forward. “Maeve thinks I’m using you to distract her.”

  “Maeve’s not stupid. Frye tried to drop an army on her, but you claim not to know about that either,” I said.

  Frye took a step forward as Rand’s hand landed on the hilt of his sword. He didn’t draw it. Donor didn’t look at me. “I don’t believe we’ve met, sir.”

  “No. We haven’t.” I didn’t give him the courtesy of telling him my name. I had no doubt he knew who I was.

  Donor leveled his gaze at me then. Sound faded as our eyes locked. In the void left behind, the pumping of my own blood filled my hearing. A pressure mounted against my skin as Donor’s eyes flickered with white light. I had experienced something like it once before when I encountered a vision of High Queen Maeve. Donor was analyzing me somehow, a mental ability I had never realized the powerful fey had.

  The dark mass in my head shifted, a dense yearning behind my eyes that welcomed the attention. The pressure eased as Donor’s eyes widened in surprise. I sensed the field of the spell he was using, the dark mass pushing outward with a pulse of pain. I wanted to reach out and grab Donor’s essence, wanted to feel the strength of it and pull it into myself. It was a feeling of yearning and desire that burned in my chest and groin. I wanted his essence to sate the desire. I didn’t like the feeling, didn’t like that it reminded me of what I had done during the riots. I had spent the last few months suppressing the yawning want that could only be satisfied by more essence.

  My left arm burned with cold. I had a tattoo of tree branches that wound around my forearm, formed out of spelled silver. It reacted to the Elven King’s probe, igniting with essence. The tattoo channeled the essence inward, enhancing my body essence. The dark mass scuttled on spikes of pain, dancing around both Donor’s spell and the silvered essence from the tattoo. An avenue opened in my mind, a path between the silver and the black, a calm space where there was no burning cold or heat. I focused on it and tapped my body essence, shoving back at Donor’s touch.

  He flinched, surprise flowing off him, which faded even as I noticed it. Frye’s staff glowed with an evergreen light. Donor waved him back, staring at me with curiosity. “You are another problem, Mr. Grey. An intriguing one.”

  I shrugged. “Sounds like you have a lot of problems.”

  Eorla dropped her voice. “Does it ever occur to you, Donor, that you might be the cause of your problems?”

  Donor continued looking at me for a few seconds before turning to her. “And does it ever occur to you, dear cousin, that your own wants and desires are meaningless? Have you learned nothing by your father’s failure? The crown is mine, Eorla. You will never have it.”

  Eorla surprised the hell out of me by laughing. “I don’t want your crown, Donor. I don’t need your crown. Our fathers died at each other’s hands for a kingdom that does not even exist anymore. Convergence took it all away. The crown is meaningless, Donor. You haven’t realized that yet. Neither has Maeve.”

  His face became unreadable. He stared at Eorla, but whether they conversed by sendings, I couldn’t tell. “I came here to offer forgiveness, Eorla. I understand your actions occurred under stressful conditions. Our people are stronger when we are united. You weaken both of us against a common enemy with this adventure.”

  “Yet I strengthen many, many more, cousin,” she said.

  Donor compressed his lips. I’d bet he didn’t encounter resistance to his wishes all that often, especially to his face. I doubted there were many besides Eorla who could do it either. “Think on this, cousin. Think on this with care. My hand in friendship is a much wiser choice than the alternative. I will give you a brief time to reconsider your path.”

  He stood and reactivated the Aldred Core glamour. For now, I supposed, it suited his purpose for the outside world not to know that the Elven King was in the city. Frye fell in step behind him. Eorla gestured for Rand to follow them out the door.

  Eorla exhaled. “That was not as difficult as I anticipated.”

  I shook my head with amusement. “I can’t imagine what besides threats from the Elven King would be difficult for you.”

  She waved her hand. “Oh, he had to do that to save face with his weaker supporters in the Consortium. He may be a strong king, but he is only as strong as the confidence of his followers. I’m more interested in the real reason he’s here. I felt what happened between you.”

  I closed my eyes. “It’s bad enough I have Maeve watching my every move. The last thing I need is the Elven King doing it, too.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t let him fool you, Connor. He’s afraid of her as much as she is of him. That’s what the Fey Summit was all about—putting on a conciliatory face to cover their fears. He wants to know if her interest in you will help or hurt him.”

  “You know I’m not a fan of either of them,” I said.

  She rose and walked to the window. “And that’s what he fears about both of us. Come here. I want you to see something.”

  She handed me a pair of binoculars from the windowsill and pointed across the harbor. The main part of Logan Airport was out of view, but the ends of the runways near the water were visible. A large plane with the Teutonic Consortium symbol painted on the rudder sat on the tarmac off to the side, far from the terminals. I lowered the binoculars. “That’s a troop transport.”

  Eorla hummed in agreement. “Odd choice of travel for an ambassador to the crown, don’t you think?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  She crossed her arms and stared out the window. “Watch for now. See who moves where. He’s not likely to seek the Guild as allies, but he will do his best to remove me as a threat. The humans are as leery about that plane as I am. There’s another plane filled with U.S. Marines at the other end of the field. Donor is here for a reason. Why he is here is more important than what is in that plane at the moment.”

  “Until the fighting starts again,” I said.

  She shot me a look. “You know I will do everything I can to prevent that.”

  “Except submit to him,” I said.

  She tilted her head toward me with a slight smile, curious rather than angry. “Is that a criticism?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all. Standing up to monarchial power has become a hobby of mine lately. Be careful, Eorla. You can’t predict everything.”

  We stared at the view, lost in our own thoughts.

  9

  Briallen sent word after I left Rowes Wharf that she was free for the evening. Between her schedule and Murdock’s, setting up a time to run tests on his body signature had taken a few days. Even though I had suggested the idea, I was apprehensive t
hat Murdock wouldn’t take the results seriously. I had no doubt he was part druid—his mother was. What I didn’t know was whether his heritage would be a good thing or a bad one. I worried because untrained abilities had a knack for going wrong at the wrong time. Murdock liked to take things as they came, but abilities were not something to ignore.

  To distract myself for the remainder of the afternoon, I walked to Avalon Memorial to take Meryl for one of our strolls. I knew her condition wouldn’t be any different. Someone would have called me. Being with her calmed me, though, and helped settle my mind about the evening to come.

  I guided Meryl up the wide path on Boston Common that ran along Beacon Street. The tall trees that lined the way had begun to bud but remained bare. Meryl moved in a stupor, her gaze sightless. She responded to pressure on her arm, walking when prompted, stopping when held. Sometimes it felt like a game, like she was pretending to be silent and uncommunicative. It wasn’t a game, though. She didn’t respond to my voice or anything auditory. A motorcycle roaring past, children laughing, dogs barking brought no reaction. I watched for a sign in her eyes or a flinch from a startling noise, but saw nothing.

  The concrete basin of the Frog Pond sat empty, a forlorn puddle of water in the depression where the drains were. I didn’t know why it was called that. The only frog I had ever seen was a bronze statue on the edge of the basin. The city filled it with water on occasion. In the summer, people waded in the water, little kids splashing in the one foot or so depth as if swimming. In the winter, ice-skaters took over the space, even this year, despite the cyclone fencing erected on the hill side of the pond.

  Tall, majestic trees once ringed a Civil War victory column at the top of the hill. The spot had been an oasis in the center of the park, a quiet area above the main paths where people sat and read or enjoyed the view. Last fall, it had become ground zero for a catastrophe that unfolded. The veil between worlds opened between here and TirNaNog, the Land of the Dead. For the first time since Convergence, the Dead roamed the earth again, causing all sorts of havoc. When dawn arrived, the veil refused to close. One thing led to another, as they say, and the top of the hill imploded. The victory column vanished, and a huge granite standing stone pillar from TirNaNog appeared in its place. The stone vibrated with essence, attracting gargoyles from all over the city, turning the top of the hill into a garden of tormented stone.