A Host of Furious Fancies

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Who enters my domain?” Aerune demanded, staring around the room. “Show yourselves!”

  He gestured, and Kayla felt magic touch her skin like an icy spray of water. Aerune leapt to his feet, staring at them in shock.

  “Great Lord,” Eric said boldly, stepping forward, “we come to bring you a warning.” He managed a courtly bow.

  “Who are you?” the Sidhe lord demanded, staring at them in something very much like fear. “Mud-born? I can send you to realms of nightmare with but a single thought—and I shall!” He raised his hand, but hesitated, obviously bewildered by their outlandish appearance and clothing.

  “Lord Aerune, how can it harm one of the immortal Sidhe to hear our . . . humble . . . petition?” Ria stepped out from behind Eric and bowed her head meekly.

  “We beg this boon in the Lady Aerete’s name,” Paul added quickly.

  “So you are her folk,” Aerune said, sounding reassured. “You grow strong in your borrowed magic.” He settled back into his chair, and reached down to stroke the head of the nearest hound. It stopped growling and licked his hand. “Speak, then. For my lady’s sake, I will hear you.”

  So the dream-Aerune didn’t recognize them as his enemies. That was a point in their favor.

  Eric took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Tomorrow the village faces the army of the Eastmen, and Aerete will fight at—our—side. But the Eastmen carry deathmetal, which is proof against all magic, and death even to the immortal Sidhe. If she goes into battle, she will die.”

  “Die?” Aerune got to his feet again and strode from the dais to stand before Eric, glaring down at him. “That cannot be! Her magic arms her against all the weapons of the mud-born!”

  “Deathmetal destroys all magic, and burns the flesh of the Bright Lords. She will die,” Eric said.

  Aerune raised his hand to strike Eric, and seemed confused when Eric didn’t cringe away from the blow. He lowered his hand again.

  “Great Lord, what does it matter if the Bard is right or not?” Ria said smoothly, diverting Aerune’s attention. “Your course is plain. Fight in her stead, slay her enemies, and preserve her from harm. Is that not the duty of a lord to his sworn lady?”

  “Am I to take counsel from mud-born animals?” Aerune growled. He looked more closely at Ria. “You are not as they. How can this be?”

  “The blood of the Sidhe runs in my veins,” Ria answered carefully, “and by that blood, you know what I say is true. You must save your lady from those who would harm her.”

  “I—” Aerune began, and for a moment he looked very young, and very frightened. “I— She cannot die!”

  The world rippled around them. They were back on the hillside. By now Kayla was almost used to the jarring transition. Though she cringed inside at the thought of the slaughter to come, she tried to take comfort from the fact that this time they all stood together, watching the two armies prepare to fight.

  “This has happened before,” Eric said quietly. “I . . . remember it. I think. What happens now?”

  “You fight, Aerete dies, Aerune kills everybody in sight,” Kayla said tightly. She pointed, to where Aerete and her elvensteed stood beside the first line of chariots. “That hasn’t changed.”

  “But we’ve warned him. And we’re here, not there,” Toni said.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Kayla began. Then the horn sounded, and the two armies rushed to converge.

  But before they could meet, Aerune was there. This time he did not wait for Aerete to fall, but turned upon the enemy host, sword flashing.

  Kayla closed her eyes and leaned against Hosea’s shoulder, trying to shut it all out. Hosea put his arms around her and held her tightly, but she could still hear the shocked sounds of horror and dismay from the others as they watched. In a much shorter time than before, there was silence.

  She turned in Hosea’s arms and opened her eyes.

  The enemy army lay dead—all of them. Aerete’s people were untouched. Some knelt. Other lay full-length upon the ground in terror, prostrating themselves before one of the Bright Lords. Only Aerete stood tall, proud and angry, mounted upon her shining white mare.

  Aerune walked slowly toward her, his sword dripping red and wet in his hand. But when he would have knelt at her feet, she stopped him with an imperious gesture.

  “Stay back!” Aerete cried, and in the utter silence, her words carried clearly to the watchers upon the hill. “You disgust me. How could I ever have thought to love a monster who kills so easily? Go, and never come before me again till the end of your days, Aerune mac Audelaine!”

  “This isn’t working,” Eric said wearily.

  They were back in the hut. Kayla supposed that soldiers in battle must look the way they did now—shell-shocked and browbeaten. She felt like crying, but refused to give in to it.

  “It seems we are doomed to replay the seminal event that formed Aerune’s character forever, in every possible variation,” Paul said slowly. “Once he loses Aerete’s love, he begins to hate humanity.”

  “And even if we save her, that doesn’t change,” José said flatly. “She rejects him for them, and he turns to the Dark.”

  “And breaking out of here by magic still carries the same risk. Kayla. Back there, on the hill, you said you had an idea,” Eric said. “I think we could all use a good idea right now.”

  “I think . . . Paul and José are right,” Kayla said slowly, piecing the words together as she spoke. “Aerune’s hurt. That’s why we can’t make this come out right. When Aerete died, something inside him broke, and everything that comes afterward comes because of that.”

  “So what are you suggesting?” Ria snapped. “Tea and sympathy? He’s trying to kill us—and doing a damned good job of it!”

  “We can’t raise the dead,” Eric said sadly, and Kayla knew he was thinking about Jimmie.

  “No,” Kayla said slowly. “But we can heal the hurt. If he never sees Aerete die, then all the rest won’t happen.”

  “Kayla,” Eric said gently, “we can’t do that. We can’t go back in time and change the past that way. What else would change? It’s like that SF paradox: if you go back in time and shoot your grandfather, you’re never born, so you never go back in time and shoot your grandfather.”

  “I’m not even sure that saving Aerete would be a good idea,” Toni said musingly. “I—remember—what it was like to be one of Aerete’s people. She was a loving mistress, but Aerune was right about one thing. We were pets. And I don’t want to be somebody’s pet, no matter how kind they are.”

  “We don’t have to change the past,” Kayla insisted. “Just change his mind, change the hate. Look, this is one of the things Healers do. Take the bad memories and make them stop hurting so much. Elizabet told me once that a Healer can even erase memories—make them go away for good. But it’s dangerous—both to the Healer and the person they’re working on. And it takes a lot of power. More power than I’ve got.”

  “Which brings us back to ‘how,’ ” Eric said. “If we broke out of here—got ourselves back into real time somehow—”

  “We’ll be toast,” Ria said succinctly.

  “Sounds to me like the little ’un’s right,” Hosea said suddenly. “Can’t we just make Aerune forget that his lady friend’s dead? If we could, it wouldn’t be in the past. We’re in Aerune’s mind now, not then.”

  “We can’t make it so tomorrow never comes,” Eric said. “But you’re right. If we can make it so that Aerune doesn’t remember that it ever did . . .”

  The seven of them looked at each other.

  “We’d better hurry,” Kayla said, looking toward the door of the hut. “Because I think the sun is going out.”

  SEVENTEEN:

  THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN

  Eric stood in the corner of Aerune’s Great Hall, playing a soft tune upon his flute. Into it, he put all he knew of Aerete from this journey through Aerune’s memories. The cloaking spell he had set in motion before they passed through the ring of
standing stones kept Aerune from sensing their presence, and in a few moments, if this worked, it would no longer matter whether it held or not.

  Behind him, the four Guardians stood in a ring around Kayla and Ria, their arms crossed, holding each other’s hands to form a tightly-woven ring of protection around the two women. They were taking a mad gamble—that the source of their power was compatible with Kayla’s healing ability—but it was their only chance. Undermine Aerune’s power here, the power that fed on his rage at Aerete’s murder—or break free of the dream by force and face him in the Chaos Lands, with Aerune at the height of his powers.

  If this worked, Kayla would be able to reach into Aerune’s mind to erase the memories that caused him such pain. They would be free of Aerune’s dream, back in the Chaos Lands, and—if they were lucky—Aerune would be off-balance for the precious moments they needed to set the dragon labyrinth around him.

  If Kayla could heal him. To do it, Kayla would have to go deeper into the elf-lord’s mind than any of them were now. Even with Ria to act as her anchor, there was a real possibility that Kayla might lose herself. And without Kayla to bridge the two worlds—the real and the dream—the rest of them would fall back into Aerune’s nightmare once more, this time for good.

  And they’d die.

  Eric concentrated on his playing, on creating the imago of Aerete. To remove the memories without Aerune noticing and fighting back, there had to be something both to call them to the surface and to go in their place. That was where Eric came in—to craft a dream of Aerete, alive and loving and whole, to set in the place of the memories of sorrow and loss.

  It could be Kory up there, Eric thought fleetingly. Kory, with Beth dead and no way to get her back.

  Then there was no time for such thoughts. He threw himself into the music and the spell.

  Kayla clutched Ria’s hands tightly, trying to think of nothing but the healing she was about to attempt. She and Elizabet had done this before—with Beth, with Ria, with others who came to Elizabet to heal wounds not of the body, but of the spirit. But what she was about to do now bore the same resemblance to that work as the Space Shuttle did to the Wright Brothers’ first airplane. To do it, she would have to become both surgeon and scalpel, drawing upon the energy the Guardians sent her just as she normally drew on her own life-force. The attempt could kill them all.

  But hey, who wants to live forever, especially on Aerune’s terms?

  Slowly, she reached out to the Guardians, touching their power. It spilled into her like sunshine, and she took a steadying breath. Okay so far. She didn’t need to touch Aerune to do this—she was already inside his mind, inside his defenses, inside his dreams. That was the only reason this could possibly work. She closed her eyes, concentrating on Eric’s music.

  Aerete. Think of Aerete.

  * * *

  The Great Hall and her companions were gone—she was deep in Aerune’s memories, seeing through his eyes. She could smell the blood, hear the moans of the dying. She—he—they held Aerete’s body in their arms, felt her cooling blood upon their hands, and Aerune mac Audelaine knew that in this moment his world had ended. Men had done this, men had killed his love, and in his dead love’s name, Aerune swore that their treachery would be repaid. He had shown them mercy for her sake, and now that they had slain her, they had slain all mercy and kindness as well. A cold fury welled up in him, destroying all other thoughts, all other purposes. For so long as Time itself endured, they would be his prey and his enemy, and he would not rest until he had slain them all—

  Kayla felt his agony rip through her like a high wind. He had killed elves before, though Death was a rare visitor to the Sidhe. Among the mortalkind he had seen Death in all its guises, but no death had ever touched him until now. It was unendurable pain, and only hate could protect him from it. Never again would he love—he would hate, hate forever the worthless animals who had destroyed him and slain his love. In her name, he would hate forever, until the very sun grew cold. . . .

  She reached out, taking his pain and letting it flow through her. Again and again she reached out, smoothing away the pain and loss until nothing of that terrible moment remained. Kayla gasped with effort, feeling her heart thunder in her distant body. The memory of Aerete’s death was gone, but that wasn’t enough. There was still too much pain. She had to take every memory of Aerete from his mind, leaving Aerune only the loving presence of the Aerete in Eric’s music. She closed her eyes, and let the music lead her deeper into Aerune’s mind.

  The firelight flared, and Kayla opened her eyes. As she did, the world came real—the smell of fragrant wood smoke, the cold bite of the winter night, the sound of drums and piping. She was Aerune.

  There was a bonfire ringed by dancers. The lines of men and women wove in and out, and every few moments one of the dancers would rush toward the center of the ring and leap the fire, to the accompaniment of much laughing and shouting. The firelight gleamed on their oiled skin, and Kayla saw the shadowy marks of tribal paint and tattoos.

  And Aerete danced with them, her bright hair shining, her jewels gleaming with elvish fire. She leaped into the circle and over the fire, and all her people shouted with joy. Kayla felt Aerune’s anger, his uncomprehending pain and sullen hurt. How can she love them, who does not love me?

  She touched the memories with her power, soothing them away. Gone. It was easier this time. And Eric’s music pulled her elsewhere.

  The walls of Aerune’s Great Hall gleamed golden in the light of torches. Banners of bright silk hung from the ceiling, waving softly in the updrafts of warm air from the fire in the firepit. The ivory dais was draped with rugs of jewel-bright weaving, and on it stood a gaming table, its surface covered with carven counters of gold and precious stones. Aerete leaned over the board, her pale hair a fall of shining silk, regarding its surface intently. Suddenly she saw a move and pounced, sweeping the enemy counters from the board. She clapped her hands and laughed, as happily as a child, and Aerune knew there was nothing in all the worlds as beautiful as her face, that without her there was no happiness anywhere—

  Gone.

  The air was filled with flowers and the scent of new green life. They rode through the early morning mist, he on his black stallion, she on her white mare, and all the time-bound Earthly world was their dominion. In her hair she wore a garland of his weaving—May flowers, as pale and perfect as her silken skin. Her arms were full of flowers, their petals showering down like warm soft snow. The air was filled with birdsong, and larks wheeled and darted about her head, teasing and calling. For her sake, he had forsworn the Hunt, and no longer took the Children of Earth as his rightful prey. She held out her hand, and the birds of the air came to her call. He prayed that this moment would last forever, that she would not turn again to the mortalfolk, those unworthy recipients of her precious love—

  Gone.

  He rode forth with the Hosts of Hell at his back—landless knights cast out by their hames, Low Court spirits bound to him by magic—to hunt and harry where he would, for this time-bound world had long been his playground. Once this land had been green and silent, but then Men had come to it, hunting the red deer and the gray wolf, cutting down the great trees. Now he rode toward one of their villages of sticks and mud, intent upon their destruction.

  But as he rode toward them, a lone rider blocked his way. He thought to run her down, but then recognized that she was of his blood, as fair as the undying lilies of an Elfhame. A woman, little more than a child, who gazed at him fearless and unafraid.

  “Yield the road to me, child. I ride to the village beyond,” Aerune said harshly.

  “Not this day, nor yet any other, while I live,” she answered boldly.

  “Child, do you know me? I could slay you with a thought.”

  “All in this realm know you, to their sorrow, Aerune mac Audelaine, Lord of the Hunt. Too long have you harried the folk who cry out to me for protection. I would have you cease.”

  He gazed
upon her shining form, he who had never bent to another’s will, and something in her fearless gaze reached a part of him that he thought could never yield to the touch of another. Aerune hesitated.

  “Tell me who you are, that I may tell your kinfolk who to mourn.”

  “I am Aerete, child of Melusine, and I will not let you harm my people.”

  He gazed once more into her face, and saw that she would not yield. He had slain others as he would slay her now, and forget her death before the sun set in this mortal world. And so he raised his hand—

  He could not do it, and did not know why. And the Hunt turned aside—

  Gone.

  Gone. All gone. The flash of her eyes, the scent of her skin, the touch of her hand. Joy and sorrow, love and hate, gone. All gone, smoothed away from his mind as if they’d never been, Eric’s spell set in their place. All the memories, all the pain, gone, gone forever—

  :KAYLA!:

  Ria’s mental cry jolted Kayla from the healing trance. She staggered and fell, crying out with despair at the beauty she had destroyed—gone forever, all gone—

  She fell to her knees on the misty ground of the Chaos Lands. Time ran normally once more, but Kayla hardly cared. She was sick, she was cold . . . and tired, so very tired—

  “Get back—get back!” Toni shouted, sweeping her sword up to meet Aerune’s blow. There was a ring of metal on metal, a hiss as elvensilver met Cold Iron. Someone grabbed Kayla by the scruff of her mail shirt and flung her away like a bag of dirty laundry. She hit hard and rolled, fetching up at Lady Day’s feet. She clung to the stirrup of the elvensteed’s saddle, dragging herself to her feet.

  It seemed that only seconds had passed since Aerune’s arrival, and the discord between that fact and what she remembered made Kayla lightheaded. She heard music, buffeting her as if she swam in an ocean of harmony, being pulled this way and that by clashing currents, and heard the flat boom of a big-bore handgun, its bark louder than the roaring of the hellhounds. Toni and José were circling Aerune, trying to draw his attack while Paul and Eric—and Hosea—shielded them with magic. Ria stood in a shooter’s brace, both hands together, firing at the creatures that followed Aerune, and every shot found its mark. The Unseleighe creatures burned where the steel-jacketed slugs had hit them, collapsing inward around the lumps of deathmetal like ice thrown onto hot coals.