Honor? In that?
"What's this, Prince Aidan? You've gone so pale!" False sympathy edged Bremor's words. "Have you become ill?"
Yes, I have, with the horror out of your past that you don't even know I've seen, the horror that is no horror to you.
But my spell was still alive, there was still the barest bit of time to learn and see . . .
. . . the young king barely out of boyhood, cast too soon upon the throne, his father slain . . . the assassin's blade . . . the boy standing frozen in horror because the slayer was his uncle, his father's own brother whom he'd loved and trusted . . . the boy deciding wildly as his gods crumbled before his eyes: no, that will not happen to me . . . I shall not dare to love or trust . . . I shall be strong, stronger than any fear.
It's such a small, small step from fear to despair, from refusing to love to refusing to care. If only there'd been honest men about him, someone to comfort him, to love and guard him from his growing inner dark . . .
My tiny spell had run its tiny course, occupying no more than one heartbeat's time. Dizzy with past and present all tangled in one skein, for one moment I could see only that lost, lonely, bitter boy and heard myself cry out, "What of the lives lost? Do they really mean nothing to you?"
It was a stupid question; I knew it even as the words left my lips. After what I'd just seen, how could I expect any others to matter to him?
Sure enough, Bremor asked coldly in his florid style, "What are common lives to a king? Come, Prince Aidan, don't presume to preach to me."
"I would not dream of it." My mind still ached with
pictures of that mindless, mindless war . . . Och, no. This was getting me nowhere at all. "These . . ." Datgpddio . . . datguddiad . . . ah! "These revelations are very interesting. But why am I here? Yes, I already know the storm that caught me was no accident."
He conceded that with a mocking litde smile. "The storm was Ybarre's toy. He did make a mistake, though: he hadn't thought you adept enough to shape-change." Just as I hadn't thought him adept enough to summon a storm. "Had you not struggled," Bremor continued, "you would have been brought quite comfortably to our doors. No matter. You are here now."
"Why?"
"Oh, don't be naive! Surely you must see you're far too valuable a weapon, magician, to be left in the hands of a king who is ever a potential threat to us."
"No threat," I drawled, "to those who offer him no threat."
Bremor smiled, ignoring me. "As soon as Ybarre recovered from the . . . ah . . . blow you had dealt him, he began his work."
"What a pity he recovered."
"Please. Surely you wouldn't want me to lose so useful a tool."
"Tell me, Bremor, what is it makes a sorcerer so . . ." dychrunu . . . brawychu . . . "So terrified of not doing your bidding? You tricked him, didn't you? You tricked him into a pact of your own."
His grin was a quick, sharp thing. "A learned man isn't always a clever one. To put it briefly: should Ybarre ever fail me, my Patrons shall punish him. But now, to return to the matter at hand, I must confess," Bremor said lightly, "that we were curious about you, Ybarre and I. We wished to see you for ourselves, for you are quite unique. I can name no other prince outside of fable who is also a magician. Albeit one foolish enough to limit himself to the . . . gentler magic of the Righthand Path."
"Now you have seen me. You will pardon me if I don't stay."
"You're not going anywhere just yet, Prince Aidan."
"An empty threat, Bremor. Your pet sorcerer isn't here right now. And despite your Patrons, you have no magic of your own. Get out of my way, or I'll strike you down where you stand."
An empty threat on my part, too. Bremor knew I wasn't going to commit what would amount to murder. He also must have realized that the release of such strong magic would attract Ybarre, and with him the start of a duel that, surrounded by foes as I was, I would never win. "Go ahead, then!" the king taunted. "Strike!"
But I didn't bother with magic. My fist connected squarely with Bremor's jaw and felled him like a tree before an axe. As I stood over his crumpled body, rather astonished at my success and rubbing my sore hand, I told him silently:
You underestimated me. You never dreamed I'd not have been too proud to fight like a peasant. No knowledge is ever wasted: I had learned that skill back in Cymra from a bewildered but agreeable young farmer, neither of us dreaming I might ever use it.
But now, how to find my way out? There were four exits from the courtyard. I chose one at random, cast open the door—and found myself face to face with a very startled guard.
"Ahh, curse the luck!"
I slammed the door shut, but of course it was already too late. My exclamation had unthinkingly been in Cymraeth, and the guard probably thought I'd cast a spell on him, but that didn't stop him from sounding an alarm.
I glanced wildly around, trying to find a way out. Ybarre's magic would certainly negate any chance of using Bremor as a hostage, while even if I managed the shape-shifting charm again, the windows were far too narrow for me to literally fly away. But a balcony ran the length of the courtyard. As guards rushed in from all four doorways, I was up and onto that balcony like a squirrel, blessing a childhood of tree climbing. Aie, but:
More guards up here! I'm trapped!
No help for it. Ybarre or no, I needed my magic. Flinging up my arms, I hastily called up the Power within me. Here there was no convenient earth to create that Fog of Confusion such as I'd cast in the forest, but I called out the Word just the same, twisting it with a slight Faerie intonation. A ridiculous, dangerous time for experiments, but I couldn't, for the life of me, think of anything better.
And, with a nod from Estmere's Dame Fortune, the change was just enough. To my relief, I brought an illusion of darkness tumbling down about the guards (thinking the while, I've got to remember how I did this!), leaving them crying out and stumbling in the blackness their minds believed was real. I hadn't the vaguest idea how long this improvised spell would last, so I slipped through their ranks and ran with all my might down the first empty corridor I found, unreeling darkness like a bolt of cloth behind me.
And fickle Dame Fortune turned her back. I nearly ran full-tilt into Ybarre.
For a moment we stared, equally stunned. I had time to note that his eyes were very, very nervous, and couldn't resist a quick jibe:
"Don't worry, I didn't kill him. His Patrons won't be coming after you yet!"
He flinched, but didn't waste time answering. I felt a sudden tingling like the tension in the air before a storm, and knew he was trying to catch me in a psychic web. And och, it would have been lovely to rend that net and fight Ybarre spell for spell!
But this was no place for a duel. I had lost my hold on the darkness illusion, which meant that, their minds suddenly unclouded, the guards were running full out after me.
The corridor branched in two. I shoved Ybarre into the lefthand branch (fitting irony), sending him sprawling ignominiously, and ducked into the one on the right.
It was my undoing. That narrow way led only to a small, windowless room: Bremor's "chapel" to his demonic Patrons.
It was no more in seeming than a plain, featureless room, its walls unornamented stone. And yet there was an aura—no, y Duwies help me, more than that. There was a true, terrible . . . awareness, as somewhere in a realm very much beyond our mortal comprehension,
Bremor's Patrons, far and far again more powerful than Lalathanai's fragile little demon, sensed my presence in a place where no follower of the Righthand Path should be.
And they struck. Not physically, none of Them can enter our world without the foothold of a sorcerer's summons, but—They struck. Ah, and the unbearable weight of mockery, hatred, contempt! I couldn't fight. There was no mortal defense against that casual cruelty, that joyless, senseless Evil, empty and Powerful beyond comprehension.
It was more than any simply human mind or body could endure. Despairing, I was engulfed, smothered, buried alive bene
ath that scornful attack, no more in my distress than a helpless child, unable to see, to breathe, to think . . .
And of course King Bremor's guards, protected by their total lack of magic and quite unaware of horror, caught me in that place.
By that point I was past caring.
They brought me, dazed and exhausted, back before King Bremor, my arms bound once more by Ybarre's sorcerous chains, nor were they particularly gentle about it. Bremor was conscious again, apparently calm and unruffled. But I took a savage delight in the bruise blossoming purple on his jaw.
There wasn't a trace of emotion on his well-schooled face. "An interesting attempt at escape." Bremor's speech was careful and precise; for all his control, that bruise was hurting him. "But I have said you are not to leave yet, Prince Aidan."
"Your hospitality becomes . . . oppressive, Bremor." I was struggling to master my dizzy senses, hold fast to the language, and somehow match his coolness. "And may I say, the . . . stealing of a prince is not a . . . a wise political move?"
He merely smiled. "Ybarre assures me that neither your brother nor anyone else knows you are here. I am under no restraints, Prince Aidan."
"What are you planning to do with me?"
Bremor's smile hardened. "I'm not at all interested in your royal status. King's bastards are common enough. But, as I've said, your magic intrigues me."
"Damnio chwi, answer me!"
"Indeed. Ybarre and I plan to study you, Prince Aidan. We shall leam from you all that we can, all that you are and all that you know."
Bremor turned from me to his sorcerer.
"He is yours, Ybarre."
CHAPTER XIX
CAPTIVE
I will not dwell on the time that followed. How long I
was in the dark hopelessness of their dungeons, what was done to me. Oh, it was nothing so crude as physical
torture, I assure you.
But it took its toll. . . .
There was a time when I was conscious, dimly aware of huddling on a hard stone floor, back to a hard stone wall. The cold, sorcerous chains that blocked my magic and were too short to let me stand were draped over my arms, and I ached in mind and body.
Up to this time I had managed to cling to sanity by taking refuge in memory; often and often I had escaped my tormentors by turning my mind inward with all my magician's will, by walking through the cool green woodlands of my home with sweet Ailanna. And when those tormentors, time and again, had shaken me from my shadowy peace, still I had held fast to sanity, more savagely, picturing Ybarre shriveling in the heat of my magic, screaming as he'd made me scream, seeing my keen Faerie sword piercing an anguished Bremor to the heart—
Oh, I hated well in that time. It was hatred that kept me from starving myself to death, that kept me exercising my body as far as the limits of those cursed chains would permit. Hatred and a grim refusal to let Bremor have the final satisfaction of my death.
But I could no longer keep thoughts of defiance in a brain so fogged with exhaustion and despair. Bremor had my sword and he had me, and I must surrender to the fact that there would be no revenge and no escape. . . .
Suddenly a soft voice asked, "Human? Human, are you still able to hear me?"
I looked up dully, staring for a moment without understanding. But then a wild blaze of hope burned the shadows from my mind. The green-eyed Faerie boy from the forest stood before me, my sword slung over his shoulder.
"How . . . did you get in here?"
"Oh now, surely you know enough to know no mortal bars and locks can Keep out the Folk!" The boy studied me with his young-old eyes, head to one side, and the faintest of shudders ran through him. He wrinkled up his nose in distaste. "My mother was right. She told me you were being most foully misused."
It was an odd place for courtesies, but I heard myself asking, "Your lady mother is well?"
"Quite well, thanks to your help, and safe with others of our kin. We are in your debt, human. Would you be free?"
Och, foolish question! "I would!" I tried without thinking to spring to my feet, only to be pulled harshly down again by the too short chains. "Ahh, but how? There are no keys to these chains, and the links are stronger than human strength. I know that only too well." Sick with renewed despair, I looked wearily up at the boy. "Don't you see? Only Ybarre's counterspell can unlock them."
"Indeed?" the boy said, eyes alight. "You shouldn't believe such a foolish thing."
He murmured something softly in the Faerie tongue, and Power surged and gleamed about the words. As the boy fell silent, the chains that had been so very cold and harsh crumbled away from me into dust. Scarcely believing what had happened, I staggered up on legs feeble from disuse, and stared blankly at arms no longer bound. Duwies glân, Tairyn's promise . . . a child shall rescue you.
"I . . . thought the Folk . . . couldn't touch iron."
The boy grinned. "I didn't touch it, now, did I? All I did was cancel the sorcerer's human charms with a bit of Faerie magic. He'd put so much work into the stupid things that when they fell, they took the metal's strength with them!" His eyes widened. "Aie, don't faint!"
"I have no intention of fainting," I retorted weakly. "But . . . if only Tairyn had taught me that one spell. . . ." Dizzy, I closed my eyes, trying to summon enough will to continue standing. "It seems Faerie magic is even stronger than I dreamed."
"Aye, aye, but Faerie magic won't save us if the sorcerer catches our scent! Come, human, this is no fit place to linger."
So we struggled out of there together, me staggering with the weakness of torment and confinement, he staggering under my weight.
"Where are all the guards, boy?"
"Asleep."
"Your doing?"
"Of course. Come, you great, tall, smelly human, you're not getting any lighter, and the sleep spell won't last forever."
We passed several guards in our travels, but all of them were still snoring peacefully away. No one stopped us as we maneuvered a maze of corridors. Gasping and exhausted already, I looked up at the daunting flight of stairs we faced, and wondered dully if I shouldn't give up right now.
The Faerie boy pulled nervously at my arm. "Hurry, human! I sense life stirring in the castle!"
I took a deep breath and started forward on that nightmare of a climb. After the first few steps, my prison-weakened legs didn't want to support me any further. Stumbling, staggering, barking my shins again and again on the steps, crawling as often as climbing, I fought my frantic way upward, laboring for breath. I could hear the blood roaring in my ears and felt myself trembling so strongly with fatigue that only the boy's desperate grip on my arm kept me from falling helplessly all the way back down.
Duwies glân, I can't go any further, I can't. . . . But if I gave in, there would be a return to chains and darkness and pain—no! Better to die of exhaustion than that! But was there no end to this stairway? Had Ybarre somehow cast a spell of timelessness on it? Would he find us climbing helplessly up and up, never reaching the top, like two kitchen dogs on a treadmill?
But there was no spell, and at last we reached the stairway's top and stood, unchallenged and alone, on a tower roof. The moon was large and full, and the sharp silver light hit me like a blow, too strong by far for my darkness-accustomed eyes. I cried out in pain, hands flung over my face, in that moment helpless as one newly blinded. But slowly my vision cleared, and I dared lower my hands to look around.
A coughing roar made me start. And there, to my delight, was my griffin, pacing nervously on the narrow space, now and again snapping his beak or ruffling his yellow wings. He stopped short when he saw me watching him, tufted ears pricking up, then gave a glad little chuckling sound and hurried to my side, nibbling gently up and down my arm, purring like an overgrown cat. I leaned gratefully against the griffin's side, letting the warm, tawny strength steal through me, melting something of the prison chill. But the Faerie boy was watching me intently, and I sighed.
"Yes, lad, I know. This place
won't be safe for long."
"I'm glad you have some measure of sense, human. Come, take your sword." His small, deft hands buckled the swordbelt about my waist. "Now mount your griffin and be off!"
"What of you?"
He gave a child's delighted laugh. "I don't need griffin wings to fly! The debt is paid, human, and now I can leave this ugly place and join my kinfolk. Farewell!"
And, just as simply as that, he was gone, vanished in a small swirling of wind.
"Wish I could travel so easily," I muttered to the griffin, then pulled myself slowly onto his back, hearing him chitter softly as though annoyed at my clumsiness. "Sorry, friend. I can't manage grace right now."
He roared. Powerful wings unfolding, he began to race forward, claws biting at stone as he gathered speed. Almost, we were airborne—
Then, with a wild cry of alarm, the griffin shied aside, nearly unseating me.
Ybarre stood before us.
I wish I could tell you how I leaped from the griffin's back to bravely face my foe, how we fought a true sorcerer's duel, calling down the fury of the elements on each other. Instead, too drained to move, I merely sat staring like a fool.
Ybarre never said a word. But panic was so sharp in his eyes that I knew he would dare anything rather than fail Bremor and his Patrons. I could feel him hastily gathering his sorcery, knew I wouldn't have a chance in a fight—and the sheer will to survive took over. With a wild shout, I urged the griffin forward, and the startled beast sprang sharply upward, wings beating frantically with the effort to keep aloft, sending Ybarre scuttling for safety.
But then the desperate sorcerer, all finesse forgotten in his haste, hurled a wild, raw, deadly mass of Power at us. No time for conscious thought—I threw up an equally inelegant psychic shield. My mind recoiled from a tremendous blow that felt like the impact of a lightning bolt. Stunned, I was nearly hurled from the griffin's back. But somehow I clung to consciousness, somehow I didn't fall. And somehow my shield held.
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