After a tantrum that covered the dining parlor and the commissioners with thrown food and broken crockery, Richmond was confined to his apartment as a punishment with the valet to watch him. Sir Edward made sure that the valet could do the boy no harm, warning Nyle and Shaylor, who were on guard duty that night to listen for any outcry and succor their master. But they heard no outcry, no suspicious sound of any kind.
Still, right under the nose of the valet, FitzRoy disappeared entirely. The valet spent the whole following day searching for him, having locked Mistress Bethany in her chamber to keep Richmond's absence secret.
When the valet finally confessed, Sir John was terrified; he ordered the valet imprisoned and sent for his fellow commissioners. They began yet another search of the castle and its grounds but found nothing and no guard had seen the boy, including FitzRoy's own four, who were half crazy with rage and fear. They demanded that the valet be given into their hands to have the truth squeezed out of him.
Sir Edward, with Sir John's violent approval, calmed them with promises that the king's torturers would do a better piece of work on him. Then he and his fellows spent the night trying to compose a letter to explain the loss of his son to the king.
They were still at it when Mistress Bethany, coming to grieve and pray in Harry's room among his toys and little precious things, found FitzRoy asleep in his bed, with Shandy Dunstan just entering the room with his hot water. She ran, shrieking with joy, to tell the commissioners that the lost was found. If they suspected that Dunstan was somehow involved, they kept it to themselves. The boy's smile told the commissioners that worse might befall them than a day's anxiety in another contest between them. Nothing more was said about gentleman valets. Let the king appoint Richmond's servants himself if he wished.
Everyone, including Lord Denno who had stage managed the disappearance in a nighttime visit to Harry's chambers, breathed a sigh of relief. FitzRoy's personal household was now fully staffed with men who were safeguarded against Sidhe tricks and otherwise incorruptible. It would be impossible for Pasgen to insert an agent of his own among them. Lord Denno then arrived openly to celebrate Harry's tenth birthday; Harry went back to being a most good-humored, obedient child, and the spring of 1529 began to slide into summer.
Although by no means scholarly, Harry was wide awake on the subject of politics. Over the years he had listened with deep interest when the commissioners discussed the rising and falling fortunes of King Henry's attempt to obtain a divorce from his wife of nearly twenty years so he could marry Anne Boleyn of the light laughter, the witty tongue, the dark eyes and night-dark hair. Harry pleased his commissioners by saying openly and most sincerely that he wished the king well. Nothing could please him better, he swore, than a healthy, long-lived legitimate brother. He did not wish to be king.
By the summer of 1529, however, it seemed more and more likely that his fortunes were again rising. The chances of obtaining the divorce seemed doomed to failure. The pope could not be brought to sign a bull ending the marriage. Wolsey, driven by the king's urgency, convened an extraordinary legatine court to pronounce the marriage invalid and present the pope with a fait accompli, but Wolsey was unable to force the court to come to any decision. The pope's legate adjourned the court and Queen Catherine sent an appeal to Rome.
That Rome would rule against Henry was a foregone conclusion, which meant that Catherine, who could bear no more children, would remain his wife and Princess Mary would be his only heir. It again began to seem that, deprived of the chance to marry again and try for a male heir, FitzRoy might be brought forward and established in Mary's place. The commissioners became more and more accommodating to FitzRoy's every desire; several took the time to explain their function and the meaning of the parchments he was asked to sign.
Other attempts were made to please the boy. He loved to ride and listened avidly to every tale of hunting, so he was included in a hunting party for which deer were driven close to the castle. He acquitted himself so well that a second hunt, less confined, was arranged. The boy kept his seat when others of the party ended up on the ground.
Denoriel was not happy with any of this; not with Harry's growing importance as a possible heir, nor with the freedom the boy had been given. He was made aware of any stranger who came to the castle, but who knew who or what might be lurking in the woods. He took his worries to Aleneil, but she did not think the threat to FitzRoy was great. FarSeeing had shown nothing more than the general danger of abduction that had hung over FitzRoy from the beginning, and she was distracted by her need to protect Anne around whom Unseleighe threats were gathering.
Mwynwen, to whom he also brought his worries, was not much more helpful although she sympathized with him. Richey, who was still alive and actually seemed less frail, was also demanding more freedom. He could no longer be confined to the house; he had Mwynwen's servant guardians, but they were vulnerable to many kinds of attack. She could only shrug and suggest that Denoriel ride along with the hunt unseen. Whether his presence deterred attack, Denoriel could not be sure, but there was none and the air spirit never sensed any magical presence.
After riding to several increasingly long and hard hunts, it seemed ridiculous to confine FitzRoy to traveling in a carriage when the entire party moved to Pontefract—which they had done several times without attack over the years. FitzRoy begged to ride, and permission was granted.
Unfortunately Denoriel could not find any reason to accompany the party and the commissioners were growing just a little wary of FitzRoy's long attachment to him. He elected to follow through the woods. Twice the air spirit came to him; somewhere magic was being worked, but it was not Sidhe magic, maybe only some wise-woman. It had no definite warning to give.
Meanwhile FitzRoy enjoyed the journey immensely and behaved so well that Lord Henry and Sir Edward promised he should ride whenever they traveled. Henry Percy, who had not been on that disaster-cursed journey from Windsor to Sheriff Hutton, was sure traveling was safe. FitzRoy was perfectly willing to remain well within the protections of his small personal Household, which was further surrounded by the royal guards.
Gerrit and Nyle rode ahead, behind the royal guards who rode ahead of the commissioners. Dickson and Shaylor followed just behind FitzRoy and ahead of another contingent of guards. On their heels came Reeve, leading Harry's extra horses. On FitzRoy's right rode Dunstan, now wearing half armor, sword, poniard, and pistol; Ladbroke rode to his left, also, surprisingly, in half armor with, if one looked carefully, knives peeking out of his boots, both sleeves, and behind his neck. He also carried a sword.
They arrived at Pontefract without incident and remained there until the second week in October when three of the commissioners, Lord Henry Percy, Sir William Fenwicke, and Sir John Forrester received notice of the election of a new parliament. In the same mail pouch was an urgent letter from Lord Denno's business manager. He left Pontefract with the commissioners who were going home.
Sir Edward did not like Pontefract, which had been built in 1086 by Ilbert de Lacy. It had been somewhat modified by later de Lacys but was still very uncomfortable compared with Sheriff Hutton. The hunting was better at Sheriff Hutton too. Sir Edward decided to move his charge back to Sheriff Hutton. FitzRoy, pleased by the idea of a journey, made no protest.
Near dawn on the third of November, the same day the new parliament assembled, the duke of Richmond, his servants, bodyguards, and the household in general set out to return to Sheriff Hutton, a little more than eight leagues away. It was a long day's ride, but Harry was sure he could manage and they planned to do it in one day.
Denoriel almost did not Gate north to follow them, even though he had a letter from Harry telling him when they would leave. His attention was also now fixed on Anne as the threat to her grew more intense. Ordinarily the most graceful of women, Anne had twice tripped—seemingly on her own feet—and nearly fallen down a flight of stairs. She had taken the sweating sickness, when no one else nearby had it; Mwynwen
had to come from Underhill to cure her, in the guise of an old herb-woman friend of Anne's old nurse, Blanche Parry.
Although it frightened Anne very much because she could half see, half sense them, Aleneil had warded her around with invisible servants. It was tedious and exhausting; the servants could not long endure the mortal world and had to be replaced very often so they had to be watched constantly. Denoriel was forced to take watches with his sister.
George Boleyn had been attacked when he was accompanying his sister Anne home from Whitehall Palace. Neither he nor Anne had been injured, but Anne was frightened even more, sobbing that she had seen demons urging on the attackers. Later she denied that, assuring everyone that it had only been her fright that made shadows take horrible form. Aleneil, however, had been certain Anne's witch-sight had exposed the truth. For the next few days, Lord Denno had accompanied George to safeguard his sister, but then Anne was offered an apartment in the palace.
Aleneil left some air spirits on guard, but she was sure that no attacks on Anne would take place so close to the king. The Unseleighe knew better than to wake suspicions of their existence so close to the heart of mortal government. George was also delighted; he had been tied to Anne's apron strings and had given up many of his own amusements. There was a horse race scheduled for the fourth of November. He invited Denoriel as a thank-you for his help.
Meanwhile several uncanny accidents had happened to Denoriel's house in London. The workroom there, which Aleneil used, was wrecked when a wall collapsed, and a Low Court servant was injured so badly that he had to be sent back Underhill for healing.
Watching the slow progress of the moon across the sky on November second, a sudden anxiety seized Denoriel. After all the hue and cry in and around London, nothing had been accomplished. The damage to his workroom was superficial; no Unseleighe traps were found in it. No harm had come to Anne or George, but threat hung about them. Could all this rather open and pointless damage and threat have the purpose of diverting him from guarding Harry?
Thus when the cortege left Pontefract just after dawn on November third, Denoriel was about a mile ahead, back in the woods where he would parallel their course. He had Gated from London to Logres and then from Logres to Pontefract. He felt oddly sick when Miralys stepped out of the Gate area at Pontefract but was distracted by hearing the scouts for the cortege gallop by.
Harry's party rode until the horses were tired, then stopped for a picnic and to change their mounts and rode on. By midday Denoriel felt foolish. He was much tempted to ride back to Pontefract and Gate back to London to accompany George to the race. Then he sighed and decided to go all the way to Sheriff Hutton. Since he would have to adjust the Gate anyway to deliver him to London in time to meet George for the race, it made no difference whether he Gated a few hours earlier from Pontefract or a few hours later from Sheriff Hutton.
The ride was totally peaceful and Denoriel spent most of his time thinking about Anne. She was not truly beautiful, even by mortal standards, although her face had a most lively and intriguing expression. Her eyes were gorgeous, though, large and lustrous and so dark they looked black, as did her hair, which was also exquisite, hanging to her knees in a shining curtain when it was not demurely covered by a coif, cleverly lighted here and there with a gold chain and a twinkling jewel.
Aside from the small Talent she had, which Denoriel could hardly sense, Denoriel could not for the life of him see why King Henry should be so enamored. True, Anne was very intelligent, very well read, able and willing to discuss religion or politics. She was also not so slavishly subservient as most of the other women that Henry had been interested in, or even the male courtiers that he favored most. She laughed and teased, denied the king any physical satisfaction while assuring him she adored him, and very often scolded—but never about anything she desired for herself. Denoriel would credit her for cleverness; she never asked for anything . . . except for marriage, and even that she said was for the king's good, not her own.
Denoriel sighed and dismissed the thoughts. He was not the only one who wondered at Mistress Anne's grip on the king. He looked around and saw that the woods were familiar; he was quite near the glade that held his Gate. Good. This duty was very nearly finished. The sun was westering, but there was still plenty of light. Another quarter hour's ride would see them safe at Sheriff Hutton.
:Magic! Magic!: the air spirit reported, landing on his shoulder. :Across the road. Coming near.:And then suddenly it uttered a wail of pain and terror and disappeared.
CHAPTER 17
There was no sense in trying to gain control of the air spirit to ask where Harry was. Without urging, Miralys leapt toward the road. Denoriel's sword was drawn, but even before they burst past the brush that lined the road, he saw that Harry was safe, mounted on his sturdy cob. Three of his guardsmen were clustered around him; the other, ably assisted by Dunstan and Ladbroke, was driving off a huge gray-skinned monstrosity.
What hellish thing was this?
Nothing Denoriel recognized. Miralys hesitated and Denoriel swallowed when he saw the toad face—only toads did not have glowing red eyes nor long, yellow fangs that dripped something vilely green protruding from their lipless mouths. Gray skin, harder than boiled leather, Denoriel knew. There were only a few places on that body that a sword could pierce.
Vaguely Denoriel was aware that the guardsmen who rode ahead of and behind Harry were fighting other beasts, driving them away from the wagons filled with supplies and servants. His business was with the one threatening his boy. He watched the long, scaly arms, waiting for one hand or the other to rise in an attempt to seize one of the men attacking it. Miralys would leap forward and he would strike under the arm . . .
But alarms were thrilling up and down his body! Something was terribly wrong! For all their size, creatures like this were quick and agile. This . . . thing . . . was roaring and waving its arms, striking at the men, but it was not really fighting and it was terribly clumsy . . . and there were cuts on its arms and body where the men's swords had struck it, but there was nothing oozing from the wounds.
He glanced again at where Harry sat, passively waiting to be defended on his cob. A cob? Harry did not ride a cob! Illusion! That was Reeve the men had formed up around. Denoriel realized why Miralys had hesitated. The elvensteed was not afraid of any Unseleighe monsters—no more than sensible caution required—Miralys had stopped because he sensed that what was fighting Harry's men was not a threat and that Harry was not with them.
With a despairing oath, Denoriel turned back into the woods and reached for the air spirit. Now he knew what had happened. When the "monsters" attacked, the horses had been terrified and the cortege had scattered. Harry's gelding, faster and higher spirited than the others and with Harry not strong enough to control it, had carried the boy across the road, away from the apparent threat, and into the woods. In only a few minutes Harry's guards and Dunstan and Ladbroke had mastered their horses and formed up around their charge—only it was Reeve, bespelled to look like Harry.
Rhoslyn . . .
She might not have retained enough of Harry's mind and spirit to build a second changeling, but his appearance would be branded into her brain. She could cast an illusion good enough to fool even those who knew Harry well.
:Where?:
Denoriel put all the force of his mind and will into that demand. He knew that Rhoslyn and her Unseleighe group had launched some kind of attack on the air spirit and to force it near its enemies might spell its death. He was not ordinarily cruel, but he had to find Harry. He prayed that he was not already too late. Even if the air spirit were wounded and dying, he thought that Aleneil's spell would hold. It would know where Harry was.
:Here: came faintly back to his mind. He had been right. The air spirit, drawn by the spell that bound it to Harry, had somehow followed. He had a direction and Miralys had it too. The elvensteed seemed to leap from where it was to one of those open, low-brush-filled areas found in any wood. Denori
el knew the steed had passed through the trees, leaping and dodging but at such speed that it seemed one single stride had brought them to their goal.
:Here: but more faintly, as if the spirit were retreating . . . or dying.
At the center of the open area was a large blackened circle and at one edge was a moldering shed of some kind. Gate! In or behind the shed was a Gate! But Denoriel had no time to try to discover anything about it. The air spirit's call had brought them to the Gate, not to Harry himself; however from the sound of pounding hooves and outcries others were coming. Miralys's speed had outpaced them.
Denoriel's heart leapt with mingled joy and rage. He still had a chance. Harry was not yet taken. He urged Miralys to the northwestern edge of the clearing. Harry was being herded from the south toward the Gate in the shed on the northeast edge. The Sidhe could not touch the boy because of the iron cross he wore, but they planned to drive him through the Gate and deal with him Underhill.
Harry burst out of the trees, still firmly in the saddle, although he had let go of the useless reins. There were about ten following him, only five even vaguely human. His horse was wild-eyed and lathered, ahead of its pursuers only because it was so terrified of them.
At the front was a Sidhe whose ragged hair flowed in the wind. His eyes were mad—huge, his slitted pupils closed so tight that the eyes seemed all one glittering green; his mouth was open, the sharp teeth showing as if he wished to tear at his prey with them. His horse trailed streamers of blood-tinged mucus from its mouth, probably nearly dead but driven on by the Sidhe's will. And in his hand he held a huge crook with which he intended to hook Harry from his horse.
Behind, screaming at the mad Sidhe to stop, their fanged and red-eyed not-horses striving to overtake the ravening Sidhe, were Rhoslyn and Pasgen. Behind them were two more dark Sidhe, beautiful still but with lips twisted into cruel smiles. And ranging them to either side were beasts on other beasts. Denoriel's eyes caught twiglike arms with huge hands finished with shining claws, something with bat-ears and a long, curling tongue mounted on an emaciated pig as big as a cow . . .
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