The Lord of Dreams

by C. J. Brightley

  The marble was smooth beneath the soles of her feet, lightly worn with age but spotlessly clean. The door, when she reached the top, was of dark, heavy wood inlaid with what appeared to be gold. The pattern was floral and elegant, rising in bright, intricate symmetry far over her head; the door must have been fifteen feet tall.

  The king was gone.

  Claire turned slowly on her heel, replaying the dream in her mind as she looked over the palace grounds. Intricate arrangements of flowers and little pools of water spread out before her within a network of interconnected paths. It was the palace, but not the door she had exited long days before.

  Walking with him had been a dream, hadn’t it? It must have been.

  Yet misgiving twisted inside her. If it were a dream, how had she come here?

  Claire knocked tentatively, unsure whether anyone would answer.

  A moment later, a little peephole opened a little lower than her chin. She bent to look in, but the door swung open before she had a chance to see more than a sharp brown eye.

  “Oh. It’s you.” The voice that greeted her was flat and a little unfriendly. The creature looked to be an imp like Faolan, though quite a bit younger. “Wait there.” He pointed to a spot on the floor just inside the door and swung the door closed behind her.

  Then he disappeared through a hidden door.

  Claire waited with her hands in her pockets. Her right pocket was filled with the gritty, dry crumbs of the scone, and she rubbed them between her finger and thumb. She felt slightly dizzy with hunger, but she imagined that if food were offered, she would probably be too nauseated to eat anyway.

  Why am I here? How did I get here?

  He was saying goodbye.

  But if I’m here, then where is he?

  Probably back at the riverbank. He can’t fight the Unseelie. Even if he has his magic back, and his mind back, he couldn’t fight the Unseelie when he was well. He can barely stand up!

  I haven’t come all this way, and endured everything, to give up now.

  “You didn’t find him?” Faolan stood in front of her, his expression bleak.

  “I did.” Her voice sounded strange and distant. Her pulse thundered in her ears. “He said I was to tell you…” She blinked, and considered the words. “I was to tell you thank you for your service. That you’re wise and good and he couldn’t have wished for a better friend. And…”

  Tell Faolan to send you back.

  But… what about him?

  Tell him to send you back.

  And what next?

  It’s not about being the hero. It’s about doing the right thing.

  Can I leave him there to die while Faolan sends me back to safety?

  “I need to go back,” she said. “He’s at the riverbank with the naiads. They’re fighting, and—” her voice cracked, “—and I should be there. I don’t know what to do, but I should be there. He wants you to come and bring all those who can fight and send everyone else away from the palace to somewhere safe. It won’t be here. Take me there with you!”

  Faolan’s eyes glittered strangely. “You’ll not leave him, then?” he asked “Perhaps you’ve learned something after all.”

  Claire’s throat closed with emotion. “Maybe I’ve just grown up.”

  All manner of Fae rode toward the river in a bright and glittering cavalcade.

  She rode at the front with Faolan, sitting nervously on a tall bay horse that entirely too intelligent and cooperative to be entirely animal.

  “Don’t worry. He’ll behave for you,” Faolan had said when a tall Fae had effortlessly boosted her into the saddle. “He understands our purpose.”

  At first she was cheered by the noisy strength of the army behind her. But when she looked back a few minutes later, she realized she had overestimated their numbers. Only a tiny force rode out to Tuathal’s aid. They were no more than three hundred, including tiny fairies that buzzed furiously above their heads.

  I wish I could see the little green fairy. I hope he got better.

  Guilt sat dull and heavy in her belly, and she focused on it, feeling that if she understood and regretted it enough, it was almost like making amends.

  But it’s not really, is it? I can’t make it better. I can’t take it back.

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she did not let them fall.

  A buzz beside her ear did not at first catch her attention. Then a little voice cried, “Oh, it’s you!”

  The fairy danced in the air before her, keeping pace with her horse, his wings a blur behind him.

  “You’re alive!” she cried. “Oh, I’m so glad.”

  “Are you?” he glared at her fiercely. He darted forward to stab her cheek with his tiny sword, and then flitted out of reach.

  She winced and frowned at him. “That’s not very nice, but I suppose I deserved it.”

  “And this too?” His needle-like sword jabbed her just below her eyebrow, drawing a startled cry and a drop of blood that she smeared over her temple when she wiped at it.

  She growled in frustration. “Yes! Fine. I do. I won’t lose my temper again.” She frowned at him. “I’m sorry. I really and truly am. I wish I could make it up to you, but I don’t know how.”

  His frantic buzzing slowed a little. “You’re not angry?” The fairy drew a little closer, hovering within her reach.

  “Not really. Maybe a little. Mostly I’m just glad you’re all right.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re different.”

  “I certainly hope I am.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back, tiny teeth white in the sun and emerald eyes shining.

  As they continued, the road seemed to fold strangely ahead of them, and Claire had the disconcerting feeling that she was missing moments every now and then, like the micro-sleeps she had experienced when she was driving home from college exhausted after finals.

  “What’s happening?” she asked finally.

  “We’re taking shortcuts,” the fairy said a few inches from her ear. “The border is many miles distant, and we must travel with all haste.”

  Claire frowned. “Even the king couldn’t transport us before. How can you now?”

  “That was on Unseelie land. These ways have been established for generations, upheld by Fae magic.”

  “How do you know where the king is?”

  “I wouldn’t, but the pull of the Unseelie upon the border can be felt throughout the entire kingdom. Like a spider’s web pulled taut, we feel the disturbance even at the palace, we who have magic in our blood. You may not yet, but to us it is obvious where the king is.” He glanced at her, tiny eyes bright and ferocious. “Even without his full strength, he is formidable.”

  Faolan said in a low voice, “And just as we are his subjects, he is our king. We will spend our lives to save him if at all possible.”

  “Do you love him that much?”

  Faolan turned toward her, his mouth open in surprise. “Love, duty, allegiance, pride… why do you seek to parse these out into discrete motivations? Are they not entwined together for humans?” He frowned at her confusion, and said doubtfully, “Love is one of many ties that bind us, some more deeply than others. But duty and allegiance bind us all, and he has borne the weight of the conflict for long years to protect us. If we can help him now, we will.”

  The world folded into itself again, and then snapped back out into reality. By chance Claire had kept her eyes open for the transition, but it felt as though she had merely blinked, a flicker of darkness and light within which the world rearranged itself.

  And again.

  Then the river thrashed before them, the water seeming as tall as a tree, tinted silver and blue and gold with reflected sunlight.

  Claire walked into the water, and it swallowed her.

  Chapter 33

  Tuathal stood before the Unseelie king.

  The Unseelie king loomed high, taller than Claire could have imagined. He was monstrous, light and shadow playing over his face in a way that made it
difficult to read his expressions, if indeed he had any. His features were vaguely human, but his eyes were not; they were deep pools of a strange dull orange, neither bright nor dark.

  From Claire’s position behind Tuathal’s shoulder, she could not see the expression in his eyes, but she could tell from the set of his jaw that he was not entirely himself. He had his mind back, but not all his power. How he had held the border for so long, she could not imagine.

  “Stand aside, small king.” The Unseelie king’s voice seemed to reverberate through Claire’s bones.

  “I will not.”

  Everything changed, and they were on dry land, though Claire could not imagine how the transition had occurred. Tuathal staggered backward.

  The Unseelie king struck at Tuathal with lightning, and the king deflected the blow with one hand, though he gave a sharp cry of pain as the bolt dissipated into the ground.

  A naiad created a staff of water, which she flung to Tuathal, who caught it without taking his eyes from the Unseelie king.

  The battle raged for hours.

  After some time, Claire understood Tuathal’s plan. He was fighting merely to hold ground as long as possible. It was obvious the Seelie could not possibly win.

  Though strengthened by the foinse cumhachta, Tuathal was still wounded and weakened both magically and physically. There was, of course, no time to for him to recover. He fought a delaying action, holding the Unseelie at bay long enough for the palace and royal city to be evacuated.

  The Unseelie side seethed backward and forward like ocean waves as the tide rises; each time they receded, but not quite as far. Tuathal retreated before them a step at a time, avoiding the weapons with bizarre, unsettling grace, sending back bolts of lightning from the ends of his fingers at the most aggressive of the Unseelie fighters.

  Most of the forces appeared to be armed with weapons of bronze and wood, though some few on both sides had blades of oighear that gleamed clear and bright in the sun. Lightning was not a common weapon, though the Unseelie king was not the only warrior on his side who sent bolts toward Tuathal.

  A group of six beasts attacked Tuathal at once, and he fought them off with the staff of water, which flashed from within as if electrified. Four of the creatures retreated, limping; the other two lay dead at Tuathal’s feet, and he retreated a few more steps, breathing heavily.

  Arrows suddenly rained down upon them, bronze arrowheads ringing against bronze shields. The little green fairy hissed in fury, tiny teeth bared at the Unseelie. “Cowards! Not a one of them would face us in single combat!”

  A minotaur roared in outrage and lunged toward them, crossing the intervening space in a split second. It raised an enormous oighear mace above Claire’s head, only to be knocked sideways by a blast of some invisible force. Claire would have thanked whomever had saved her, but another wave of combat surged closer and Faolan hauled her backward by one arm.

  The Unseelie, somewhat to Claire’s surprise, were not noticeably less attractive than the Seelie. Both sides the line included terrifying creatures of many species, including pale, sharp-featured Fae, magnificent centaurs, and smaller fairies buzzing in the air, dodging arrows and blasts of lightning.

  The little green fairy grumbled angrily in Claire’s ear. “He’s stalling, but it won’t last much longer.”

  Claire looked up and gasped. Behind the first row of Unseelie, the landscape seemed to be darker, the grassy hills covered by milling hordes of Unseelie forces waiting for their opportunity to attack. The forests beyond the hills bristled with glinting spear tips, and sunlight glinted on bronze helms.

  “There are so many,” she whispered, cold fear threading her veins.

  Faolan growled, “He should retreat. We’ve done all we can and more.”

  The Unseelie must have outnumbered the Seelie by twenty to one. Claire glanced around at the few Seelie and realized her estimate was far too low. Hundreds to one. Or thousands to one.

  She wondered, for an instant, why the Unseelie didn’t simply overwhelm the Seelie by sheer numbers. But then she looked at the motionless bodies on the ground, and Tuathal’s blazing eyes, and she understood.

  Tuathal was directing the battle to minimize Seelie casualties, trying to save as many lives as possible. The Unseelie let him stall; time was on their side. Their forces strengthened moment by moment. Hundreds upon hundreds of additional warriors had arrived in the last five minutes. The front line of the Unseelie was constantly changing, each fighter darting forward to strike at Tuathal or one of the Seelie, then retreating behind his fellows.

  The Seelie line was exhausted.

  The Seelie moved forward to surround Tuathal in a protective ring. Faolan darted between larger Fae to shout into Tuathal’s face.

  “You can’t hold out much longer. I see what you are doing, Your Majesty.”

  The king shook his head and then wavered as if the motion had made him dizzy. “Give them a little more time.”

  “Do you see how many there are?” a dryad cried, his limbs waving in distress. “They will slaughter us!”

  “Leave then.” Tuathal set his jaw grimly. “You’re dismissed with all honor.”

  The dryad’s voice rose in shock. “Your Majesty! That was uncalled for, and I will die here beside you unless you command me leave. I would have thought you’d have a better opinion of my loyalty than that.”

  Tuathal pressed his hands over his face; a shallow cut at his hairline smudged blue blood over his hands. “Ruarc, they want the palace, for reasons you well understand. I will delay them as long as possible. You will leave—you will all leave—when I give the command. “

  “And what of you?”

  The Unseelie roared and beat upon their shields with their swords, and Claire’s whispered question was lost in the deafening clamor. But Tuathal glanced at her, meeting her eyes for just an instant before he looked away.

  He squared his shoulders and ran his hand over his face and through his hair, brushing the blood away from his eyes. It left a streak in his white-blond hair, which stood out from his head like thistledown. Perhaps it wasn’t as improbable as Claire had first thought, if he had lightning in his veins.

  “Why do they want the palace?” Claire whispered to the little fairy.

  “Symbolism, of course. If Taibhseach fights his way to the palace, kills everyone in it, and takes the throne over the corpses of the Seelie defenders, it will strengthen his hold upon our people and lands. But if His Majesty holds out long enough for the palace to be evacuated, and Taibhseach conquers an empty structure, it will weaken his hold. His Majesty, of course, will…” The little fairy cried suddenly, “Look out!”

  The Unseelie king himself struck at them, cleaving his way through the fairies guarding Tuathal with horrifying ease. Tuathal followed his adversary’s sword with his hand, anticipating each strike and transforming them, somehow, into nonlethal blows. A heavyset dwarf went flying rather than being cut in half.

  In moments, the Unseelie king loomed over Tuathal.

  “Leave now.” Tuathal said softly, his voice cutting through the cheers and jeers of the Unseelie to reach Claire’s ears.

  The Unseelie king burst into laughter more horrifying than any threat. “Or what?” He grinned. His teeth were sharpened into points.

  Tuathal raised one eyebrow and murmured, “I wasn’t speaking to you.”

  The Unseelie king struck at him with a burst of power. Tuathal raised a hand to block it. Perhaps it dissipated the force a little—rather than killing Tuathal outright, it sent him reeling backward.

  “Leave now!” Tuathal cried, and there was the sound of shattered glass in his voice.

  Faolan grabbed Claire’s arm. “Come.”

  “I’m staying.” The words came without thought, and as she heard them aloud, she knew they were true.

  There was an instant of silence, and Tuathal’s eyes met hers as he straightened.

  Everything seemed frozen, as if she and Tuathal existed in a little bub
ble of time, separated from the clash of weapons and magic and terror for an instant. Later Claire wasn’t sure whether it was merely that Tuathal moved to her and spoke so quickly, or whether he had really wrapped them in a protective cocoon in which time moved differently for those few seconds.

  “Go, Claire.” He was breathing heavily, his words barely audible over the pounding of her heart. “I’m finished.” His lips rose in a grimace that might have been an attempt at a smile. “Faolan can send you home. I want you safe.”

  “No. This is my battle too, and my place is here.”

  The lightning in his eyes was dulled, but it flashed now, and he opened his mouth.

  “This is my right and just service! You will not deny me it, will you?” she cried. She hated that her voice shook, but she did not look away. Perhaps it would have been easier for him to argue if she had not held his gaze, but she would not give him that.

  A muscle in Tuathal’s jaw twitched, and he hesitated, his gaze softening. “I thank you for that, but you owe such service only until the bitter end. This is that time.”

  Claire managed a smile, though fear made her skin prickle with chill. “Everything has an end, but I don’t think this one is entirely bitter. I will stay with you.”

  Tuathal’s eyes flickered in surprise and perhaps grief. “So be it.” He bowed, his head lowered for longer than she thought necessary. He started to straighten, then his knees buckled and he fell to one knee on the ground.

  He reached for her hand. “May I?”

  “Whatever you need,” she said.

  He pulled, and he pulled, and he pulled, until the very fiber of her being, her essence, was stretched into nothingness, until hope and thought and honor and courage were sifted like sand, drawn fine as gossamer into magic threads binding her to the world, until the threads ripped and tore, floating away into nothingness.

  The world spiraled away, and for a moment she was gone.

  Then they were in the palace. Claire hadn’t seen this room before, but the grandeur of it, and the magnificent throne a few feet away, proclaimed it Tuathal’s throne room. A vaulted ceiling soared above them, and graceful columns stretched before them, carved with intricate scenes that seemed somehow alive.