This Scepter'd Isle

by Mercedes Lackey

  A very short, also badly overgrown path, led to a much more used trail. This showed not only ruts made by the wheels of a cart, but footprints too. Fortunately the marks were not fresh. It looked as if the charcoal cutters had passed through a week or so earlier. Perhaps they had been checking on their ovens, making ready for the busiest burning season, just before winter.

  Denoriel looked back and gestured. Hoofprints and tiny signs of the elvensteeds' passage, like broken twigs and torn leaves, disappeared. The opening from which they had come was now more overgrown. Denoriel nodded and followed the direction of the footprints on the trail, listening intently, but there were no sounds beyond those of a normal night.

  When they reached the woodcutter's hut and FitzRoy had to part with Lady Aeron, Denoriel got the tears he had wanted. They weren't for fear of being locked up in the dark but for parting with his elvensteed.

  "I might never see you again," the boy sobbed into her mane.

  The steed nuzzled him with her soft muzzle and lipped at his hair. Miralys came near also, and nudged FitzRoy's shoulder. Denoriel hugged him too.

  "I can't promise," the Sidhe said, "but if there's an opportunity—if there's a time when your absence won't be noticed—I'll come for you. There are places to hunt where we were, we could . . . but don't think about that now. You need to look scared." He hugged the boy again. "Don't be. Not really. I won't be far and no one is really hunting you."

  Denoriel was as good as his word. It took him less than half an hour to find Ladbroke, whom he led to the charcoal burners' hut. He looked meaningfully into Ladbroke's eyes for a moment, then turned Miralys and rode away.

  Ladbroke shouted FitzRoy's name and inside the shed, the boy heard him with relief, shouted back and ran to pound on the door.

  Pausing only to summon Reeve Tolliver and Dunstan by the use of a shrill whistle, he pushed up the crude wooden bar that kept the door closed and FitzRoy tumbled out into his arms. Ladbroke held the boy tight, weeping with relief and FitzRoy patted him comfortingly on the back, also shedding a few tears, partly for the lost Lady Aeron and partly in relief, because a half hour is a long time for a boy to be alone in the dark.

  When Reeve Tolliver arrived, gasping more with terror than with effort, and saw his master, he did more than weep; he knelt on the ground and kissed FitzRoy's feet. Only a few years separated Reeve from the starving boy Ladbroke had found abandoned in a church yard; no one wanted the stable ostler's son when his father died. Tolliver knew that FitzRoy was the source of his food, his shelter, all the stability in his life.

  Dunstan also embraced his charge, but he immediately proffered a flask of water and a roll, which he had been prudently carrying. FitzRoy drank the water eagerly and then began to pick at the roll—he had eaten very well at Treowth's table but he would not speak of that. Instead he reminded himself of Lord Denno's story about the drugged drink and complained of a foul taste in his mouth.

  Finally Ladbroke ran down the charcoal burners' track, shouting for FitzRoy's personal guardsmen. They were the only ones still searching; the others had given up when the light failed. Sir Edward had then sent out summons to the other councilors with appeals for more men, for a veritable army of men, intending at dawn to search outward from the road foot by foot.

  Ladbroke shouted "Found! Found safe!" as he ran down the road, and soon roars of joy drifted back.

  Meanwhile Dunstan and Tolliver had offered to carry FitzRoy, which he refused, saying he was eager to walk after having slept for so long. He asked if his horse had escaped, and was assured that it had, although it had been found in a completely different part of the wood. Two of the guardsmen soon met them on the track. The other two had gone running back to Sheriff Hutton.

  There, even Sir Edward enfolded FitzRoy in his arms and wept with relief and joy as he stuttered questions about what had happened, where the boy had been.

  Mistress Bethany cried out in protest at the questions. She wanted FitzRoy to have a meal in bed and then sleep. The boy patted her but shook his head.

  "Been asleep," he said. "Don't want to go to bed. And my mouth tastes foul so I'm not very hungry."

  "What happened, Your Grace?" Sir Edward asked. "Where have you been all this time? We searched. God knows we searched and called for you."

  "Happened? Well, those things—monsters? demons?—scared my horse—" He shuddered, then looked defiantly at Sir Edward. "Scared me, too, but I didn't fall off. Only I couldn't stop the horse from running away. And then I realized two men were chasing me. My poor horse was so tired, and they caught up. One of them grabbed the horse, the other grabbed me and dragged me out of the saddle. Threw a cloak or a blanket over me. I couldn't squirm free and . . . and I could feel the horse was moving pretty fast. I didn't think it would be smart to try to jump."

  "No! God's grace, no. You could have been hurt . . . killed. But did you see them? I've got men hiding near the charcoal burner's hut. Surely they intended to come back for you as soon as the search died down. Thank God your guards and servants wouldn't give up. If we catch anyone, would you be able to say they were the ones that captured you?"

  FitzRoy shook his head. "I don't know. They were behind me most of the time and when we were in the hut and they made me drink that stuff that put me to sleep, it was too dark to see much. They were dark-haired and dark-eyed, I think, and one had a neat beard. And I didn't understand the language they spoke. It sounded a bit like French, but it wasn't French. I can speak French."

  FitzRoy described the men who had attacked him years ago in Windsor; their appearances were burned into his memory. He knew they were dead. Lord Denno had told him that they were dead not long after the attack, when he had expressed a fear of being attacked again. It was safe to use their faces and the way they spoke, so he wouldn't by accident describe someone he had seen around the castle or village and get an innocent person into trouble.

  By the time Sir Edward had asked all his questions at least three times, FitzRoy was drooping. He claimed to have been in a drugged sleep all day, but actually he had been wide awake and having some very exciting adventures—singing in Furhold and passing through the Bazaar of the Bizarre. Eventually Mistress Bethany got her way and he was escorted back to his apartment by his own people and another ten guardsmen.

  He ate a little of the meal Bethy brought and then dismissed her. He thought about sending Dunstan away too, but then decided he needed at least one ally, and without speaking brought out the gun, the pouch, and the pump. Dunstan stared at them, open-mouthed.

  "We need to hide them," FitzRoy said.

  "Where have you been, Your Grace?" Dunstan breathed, but he didn't wait for an answer, gathering up the gun and its accoutrements.

  Staggering with sleepiness now, FitzRoy followed him and saw him stow everything away in a bottom drawer of a chest in the dressing room that held odd tools and rags for repairing chains and settings for jewels and other decorative metal adornments on clothing that might be damaged by wear. The gun itself he partially concealed under a rag in a far back corner of the drawer; the remainder of the objects he simply tossed into the drawer and left in plain sight.

  FitzRoy breathed a sigh of relief. If anyone looked into the drawer, those odd parts would draw no curiosity. They seemed to belong among the odd tools. Before Dunstan closed the drawer, however, FitzRoy removed one of the stubby darts from the pouch.

  "I need to get the blacksmith to copy this—only in cold iron," he said to Dunstan. The valet's eyes widened, and FitzRoy knew that Dunstan understood and breathed another small sigh of relief.

  His confidence was justified. Dunstan was surely aware that magic had been used to try to abduct FitzRoy. He must have known, or learned, that Reeve Tolliver had been disguised by illusion to look like his master. Dunstan and everyone else had seen the monsters attack. Cold iron was a defense, at least against some of the creatures.

  "I'll see to it, Your Grace," Dunstan said, face and voice grim.

  The valet
put the dart away in his pocket and began to remove FitzRoy's clothing. Now FitzRoy recalled that Dunstan and Ladbroke had been recommended to his service by Lord Denno. He felt warm and protected, almost as if Lord Denno was there. He was quite sure that Dunstan and Ladbroke knew what Lord Denno was. Likely they knew about, possibly even had been to, Underhill.

  Tears came to FitzRoy's eyes. He would so have liked to talk about it, to tell someone about Lady Aeron and how riding her was a whole new thing—but he knew he could not and he suspected from Dunstan's expression that he could not either.

  Here they were, trapped in silence, and yet—he exchanged another look with Dunstan, and the latter nodded. "Fostering, m'lord," the man said, quietly. "We've been fostered 'mongst Lord Denno's folk."

  That was all he needed to say. FitzRoy sighed, and smiled. "Wonderful," he said softly. The spell upon him allowed him that much.

  "Oh, aye, Your Grace," Dunstan said, with a smile that reached and warmed his eyes. "Every bit of that."

  CHAPTER 25

  Having waited long enough to see Harry safe in his servant's care, Denoriel directed Miralys to take him back to the Gate, back to his apartment in Logres. Elves did not sleep, but Denoriel felt sorely in need of that human restorative. He was not sick with draining of his power; that seemed, as Mwynwen had promised, to be restored as fast as it was used—and he had used virtually no magic anyhow.

  It was the responsibility of caring for Harry, he decided, as he dismounted by the steps of Llachar Lle, the tension of watching for danger and being constantly ready to protect the child. But it had been wonderful too. All of Underhill was new to his eyes, bright and beautiful, funny and terrifying.

  He thanked Miralys, and the elvensteed nuzzled him before trotting away. Lady Aeron was already gone. She had disappeared as soon as Harry was locked in the hut. Denoriel smiled, thinking of how that pair had bonded. When this was over, Denoriel promised himself, when the red-haired babe was safe on the throne, he would bring Harry back Underhill to ride Lady Aeron and explore its wonders with him. In such company, Denoriel knew he could never suffer the ennui that brought too many Sidhe to Dreaming.

  At the door of his apartment, he suddenly wondered what had happened to the kitsune, and he chuckled as he entered. Clever as that little devil was and absentminded as Treowth seemed to be, he did not think Matka Toimisto would get the magus to invest him with the powers of an elvensteed—if even Treowth could do that.

  He was allowed about three steps into the antechamber, still grinning and wondering what the kitsune wanted to do in the mortal world that would require the ability to escape to Underhill without a Gate, when his amusement was wiped away by his sister's voice calling his name. Frowning—not because he didn't wish to see Aleneil but because he knew this was more trouble—he entered the living room.

  "What happened?" Aleneil asked, jumping to her feet.

  "When?" Denoriel asked, feeling stupid; but so much had happened and he was too tired to want to recount everything.

  "The boy! Did the Unseleighe seize him?"

  He snorted; sometimes Aleneil could be so—

  Well, she was his sister, and he loved her, but there were times when she just gave way to fear and even hysteria, and forgot to think. "Would I be here, strolling into my apartment if Harry was in Unseleighe hands?"

  Aleneil put a hand to her head, and the tension simply ran out of her. "No, of course not. I know you care far too much for the boy to accept his loss so calmly, but I was frightened."

  Denoriel sighed and sat down, waving at Aleneil to do so too. "You were right to be frightened. George Boleyn had invited me to watch a race with him . . . Oh, heaven, I'll have to Gate back to London—"

  "Never mind that. It will be hard on you, but you can Gate back in time if you need to. Nothing will happen at the race that will cause any paradox. Your presence or absence won't matter." She looked up at him with question in her eyes. "Why was I right to be frightened?"

  "Because I almost didn't go to accompany Harry's party from Pontefract to Sheriff Hutton. They'd ridden that distance so often without the smallest threat . . ." He shook his head. "Thank Mother Dannae that I do love Harry. It was more the urge to see him than any fear for him that made me Gate north." Then Denoriel frowned. "What do you mean you were frightened? Did you FarSee the attempt to take him?"

  "I learned about it, but too late. I was in the mortal world, visiting Lady Lee—she is Thomas Wyatt's sister, and about the only female friend Anne Boleyn has. It was Eirianell. She suddenly saw a vision of monsters attacking FitzRoy's cortege. The Vision was so strong—she wasn't even at the Mirror."

  Denoriel winced. "It was probably happening just as she Saw it."

  Aleneil nodded. "But Eirianell couldn't ignore it. She sent a messenger to warn you, but it couldn't find you. Then she sent for me, but she thought I was Underhill. By the time the air spirit reached me in the mortal world it was probably too late. Still I sent messengers to you everywhere I could think, and none could find you. What happened?"

  "I was just barely in time to save Harry. Someone, Rhoslyn probably, had put a glamour on the boy groom to look like Harry and all the guards, even our own people, were clustered around him ready to fight off the monsters. Meanwhile Harry's horse had been driven into the woods and Pasgen had called out the Wild Hunt to take him."

  "You fought the Wild Hunt?" Aleneil's voice scaled up in disbelief.

  "I? Never." He laughed, wanly. "I simply seized Harry, pulled him off his horse and then ran like a rabbit . . . only the rabbit hole was no safe haven. Pasgen had meddled with my Gate and instead of bringing me to Logres, it destroyed itself and threw me and Harry out into Wormegay Hold."

  "That was probably just when the air spirit was looking for you," she said, nodding. "They won't go into Wormegay. But later? Or did you decide to hide there?"

  "Not there!" Denoriel's shoulders tightened and drew in as he remembered the horrors in that place. "There was another place we could have stayed—" he described the shepherd's paradise and Aleneil smiled "—but my first purpose was to get Harry back before anyone noticed he was gone." He sighed. "If I could have done that—"

  "It wouldn't have explained away the monsters anyway," she pointed out

  "Just as well." Denoriel smiled. "Vidal Dhu is about to discover that he has overstepped this time, and Harry is safe from the Unseleighe for good."

  "The cross?" she asked, wonderingly.

  He smiled, recalling Oberon's expression. The High King was not happy with Vidal Dhu. "King Oberon."

  Aleneil gasped, and echoed the king's name, and Denoriel told her about his summons to the throne room of Llachar Lle.

  "Titania was there too?" Aleneil breathed. "How was it between them?"

  "Better than usual, I think, but I suspect that Titania is growing restless." He raised an eyebrow, and Aleneil nodded, knowingly. "She was looking at me, but that passed when I described my less-than-heroic rescue. And Harry, thank Dannae, is the most ordinary boy. Nothing beautiful or lissom about him, and the Tudor court dress made the poor child look like a small ale keg with a head and skinny arms and legs."

  Aleneil giggled at the description, but sobered quickly. "Do you think Oberon wants to see the red-haired child rule Logres? Sometimes I think he leans more to the Unseleighe way than to ours. He has a temper—and he can sometimes be so very cruel."

  He had to shrug. "I don't know. To read him is impossible—at least for me. But one thing is sure. Oberon is utterly determined to keep Underhill a secret from mortals. He marked Harry to protect him, saying the Unseleighe had tried three times and twice come close to exposing our existence, so they were forbidden to try again to take the child. But he also made it impossible for Harry to speak of Underhill."

  "Well, if Oberon marked him, the Unseleighe will leave FitzRoy alone, so he is safe," she concluded. "And I cannot see the harm if the child cannot speak of Underhill. Who can truly trust a child to hold his tongue at all times? I thin
k it a small price to pay for his safety."

  "But he is only safe from a threat from Underhill," Denoriel reminded her. "Unfortunately there are mortals who wish to be rid of a continuing threat to Princess Mary's accession to the throne, and I suspect that after this attempt on him, his councilors may advise the king that Harry would be safer in court, under Henry's own eye." He sighed. "I don't think Harry will be safer, but Sir Edward and the others were all terrified of what would happen if they lost him. They want the responsibility back where it belongs, with his father."

  She pursed her lips in thought. "And Henry is not so careful of his son as he should be. . . . However, that may not matter." She fixed him with a look that told him that she wanted him to pay attention to what she was about to tell him. "I have been doing my best listening-in-corners. It is now quite clear that the failure of the divorce trial to produce the result the king wanted has not diminished his determination to have Anne. I believe even the Imperial ambassador realizes that as long as King Henry is young enough and healthy enough to breed a legitimate son, he will not name FitzRoy his heir."

  "I hope so." He looked away from her for a moment, at the illusory fire in the fireplace. "In spite of what Treowth said, Gating makes me anxious now, and with Harry in the north, I was Gating constantly. If he is with the court, I can just stay in the mortal world."

  "We may both be living most of the time in the mortal world," Aleneil said. "The reason I was waiting for you is that Eirianell has been consulting a student of mortal history, and she wishes to talk to both of us."

  Eirianell met them at the Place of Learning. She could not invite them into her house; she apologized gracefully to Denoriel, explaining that the auras of others lingered and disturbed her with undesired Visions of their lives and doings. Aleneil had known, of course, and had arranged for one of the gardens near the Place of Learning to be kept free for them, and she led them there to a bower under thornless roses.