With lightning-quick moves he hit the team and kept them down, discovering that in these tight quarters holding the gun overhead made for easier shoulder target hits. Also, the fencing stance, with a mock parry and thrust, could be pretty damned intimidating when they weren't expecting it. After keeping their packs down for three or four cycles, they started to scatter, their team cohesiveness coming apart at the seams. The Hound understood the word victorious; he felt the meaning throughout his being, and it felt good.
He'd completely forgotten about the peculiar man from England until he saw him come out of the arena, flushed but with a smile The Hound was starting to recognize as the look of surprised joy. Laser tag was something that had to be experienced, describing it did no justice. And experiencing it was so much unexpected fun . . .
He'd even forgotten, briefly, of the events that brought him here, and the lady he was seeing. Thinking of her made him wish she was here, to see how well he was doing. He won this game, too.
Hot damn, I'm getting good at this.
"That was a spectacular game you played in there," the archeologist said, walking up to him. All of Dobie's initial wariness was gone now, replaced with the spontaneous camaraderie present among players after even the most vicious of games.
"Thanks, uh, Alfred was it?" The Hound replied. He found this man strangely intriguing, even if there was no chance he could have been a former teacher. The question Where have I seen him? continued to nag him.
Alfred nodded, handing him a slip of paper. "Here is the number where I am staying. Your thoughts on . . . the Henge, outside, would be appreciated."
Dobie frowned, not fully understanding. "I don't really know anything about it."
"You will have a dream about your past," Alfred said, with an intensity that was startling. "Tell me about the dream. It is so important."
Under other circumstances he would not have taken the slip of paper. "Sure, I'll call you," Dobie said, unsure where the words were coming from. "It is important. I don't know why, but I believe you."
Chapter Six
This feeling that something is wrong here is becoming unpleasantly routine, Sammi thought morosely as she stepped from the gate. The castle was absolutely silent, and no one greeted her when she arrived in the great hall.
"Hello?" her shout echoed, unanswered, throughout the palace. As she ran upstairs to check on Ethlinn and her child, she found Aedham's apprentice, Llanmorgan, lying unconscious in the hallway just outside the King's solar.
A brief examination revealed the reason. Someone has cast a sleep spell on the palace! She shook him, with no result. Holding his head up, she shouted into his face, "Llan, wake up!" He came around, slowly, mumbling something about nubile maidens at a bale fire.
"Today!" she screeched.
His eyes shot open. "Lady Samantha!" he exclaimed, and got up off the floor. "What has . . . ? What . . . ?" He looked around, stunned.
"A sleep spell," Sammi said, and started up the remainder of the stairs.
Llan followed her into the chambers, where Ethlinn was sleeping on their large canopy bed, and the baby was doing likewise in the cradle.
As everything should be. Or is it?
She woke Ethlinn, gently at first, then with the same method she used to rouse Llan. She sat up, groggy and confused, but otherwise unhurt.
"If this is a sleep spell, I'm getting Niamh," Llan said, and darted off in search of the Engineer.
"Samantha?" Ethlinn said, getting to her feet. Confusion turned to fear, then anger. "What's going on?"
"Sleep spell," Sammi replied.
"Traig . . . ?"
"Is in his cradle. The whole elfhame seems to be affected." Avalon roused itself as the call-to-arms bell began clanging down on the grounds; Niamh must have dismissed the spell. Traig started crying, and Ethlinn numbly went over to the cradle.
Niamh and Llan burst into the chambers, frantic and concerned. "Milady, are you all right?" Niamh said, his short, rounded form bustling up to the queen, who was soothing the crying prince. "We've been attacked with a sleep spell."
"I know," Ethlinn replied grimly as she picked Traig up from the cradle. "I need to know why. Right now. See if anything is missing."
"Missing?" Niamh said, with a pale, sickly look of someone considering an unpleasant possibility. "Certainly, not my research!"
"What research?" Sammi asked, but Niamh ran out without her. She caught up to him in his workshop, where chairs, books, and an entire shelf of glass bottles and their contents lay scattered and broken on the floor: sure signs of burglary in any realm. Niamh stared in apparent disbelief at an empty table, which according to his demeanor, should not be empty.
"They've stolen it!" Niamh exclaimed in anguish.
"Start talking, Niamh," Sammi said, switching over to cop mode. "What did they steal? And who are they?"
"The King's weapon," he bemoaned. "With which he slew Zeldan . . . and the elvenstone generators needed for it to work in Underhill!" He slowly righted an overturned chair, eased into it, and buried his face in his hands. "As for who, I don't know," he mumbled through his fingers. "Their spells walked through our wards as if they didn't even exist."
The revelation chilled her. Aedham had cast those wards himself, and had strengthened them tenfold before leaving. Which reminded her why she returned: she still had to inform the Queen that her husband had been kidnapped.
The simultaneous disappearance of the King and the laser rifle. Coincidence? Not likely.
* * *
Sammi found Ethlinn sitting on the bed, holding the prince. "Samantha, where is my husband?" she asked woodenly, not looking up. "Why isn't he here?"
Sammi sat in a high-backed chair across from her. "He didn't Gate here with me. I believe the King has been taken hostage, but I do not know by whom."
The Queen did not seem surprised as the story of the Lazerwarz arena spilled out of her. Sammi left nothing out, and when she finished the Queen stood and returned the prince, who had stopped crying, to the cradle.
"Right before the spell struck us, I knew something had happened to him. It wasn't clear what." She turned, and looked directly at Sammi. "Unseleighe?"
What to tell her? "I don't know, Ethlinn. I really don't. The power did not have an Unseleighe feel to it, but it did have an Underhill feel to it."
"Perhaps the gods are involved," Ethlinn said with short, sad laugh. "Why would they want us? Nothing has changed in the structure of things among the elfhames."
"Maybe we should contact the other elfhames and find out for sure," Sammi suggested.
"Yes, of course." Ethlinn seemed shaken from a trance. "I will do that now. The communications crystals are in Aedham's solar. And we will both inform Avalon of the King's disappearance." The crystals were gifts from other elfhames, to be used to contact them if something should threaten Avalon, Sammi recalled. It was an act of unity brought about by Avalon's original downfall, which had resulted indirectly from the elfhame's isolationism. With the crystals, they were isolated no more.
Llan appeared at the door as Ethlinn was leaving.
"Milady?" the boy asked.
"Llanmorgan, the King has been abducted," the Queen said gently. "We don't know by who, or how. Or why."
"The humans? Have the humans taken him?" he asked hungrily.
Sammi couldn't help but be amused. The humans take the King? The lad has underwhelming opinion of the King's abilities . . . or an overblown concept of what the humans can do. Which was a typical attitude among elves who had never been above.
"The humans did not kidnap the King," Sammi replied.
The news did not assuage him, and his pained expression intensified. "It's my fault," he said, staring a the floor. "I should have sensed something was wrong . . . I might have . . ."
"You could have done nothing to stop this," Ethlinn replied, "and I wonder if even the King could."
This seemed to be no consolation, and perhaps was even an affront to the youth's perception
or his own abilities. Anger flared briefly in his eyes, then his features relaxed into a doubtful calm before he replied, "I will go and get our King back, Milady!"
"No, you will not," Ethlinn replied sharply. "You have never been among humans. You have no idea how to behave among them."
"Lady Samantha does," Llan pointed out.
"You have not been tested."
"Perhaps this is his test," Samantha said. She seated herself comfortably in one of the high-backed chairs, letting her plan come together on its own. "While he is not a proven Mage, Llanmorgan does possess some qualities I would find useful."
Ethlinn made no attempt to mask her skepticism. "What other things?"
"It would take little work to disguise him for a good cover."
Ethlinn rolled her eyes. "Which would be, pray tell?"
"An impulsive, teenaged human," she said in English.
Llan's reaction to this observation was mixed. "What does 'impulsive' mean?"
Ethlinn was evidently seeing the wisdom in Sammi's notion. To Llan, she said, "Impulsive means 'fearless warrior.' "
"Aie!" Llan stood at attention.
"It will be a good cover," Sammi continued.
Llan seemed ready to explode. "Milady? What . . . what say you?"
The Queen seemed ready to give her approval when a bright, white light appeared outside the chamber's window, drawing everyone's attention. To Sammi it resembled a car's headlights sweeping across the window, only much more intense, with a tangible heat. Llan rushed to the window first, placing himself between the women and the outside.
"We are under attack!" Llan warned, but his resolve wavered as he took in the scene outside. Sammi joined him at the window and regarded the source of light. Silhouetted in the white light was a large, white eagle, kiting gently above the grounds. It hovered for a moment before continuing a graceful descent. Guards on the ground milled uncertainly, not yet knowing if this was a threat or not.
"I know who this is," Ethlinn said gently, sounding relieved. "I must go down there and warn the men not to fire on him. It would not do to start a war with the gods."
* * *
Shimmering like light on water, the entity had touched down to a quiet landing by the time they reached the palace grounds. The guards, evidently sensing no threat, stood at ease nearby, shielding their eyes from the brilliance. Fascinated, Sammi watched as the eagle transformed into a figure in a long, white robe. He was not of the sidhe, but was no human, either. The light faded, and his features became clearer—he was an ancient entity, a leader, with an aura of tranquility that visibly calmed everyone present. Llan had followed them both down to the grounds, and stood silently beside her.
"Lugh, Lord of Light," Ethlinn finally said, uttering his name for the first time. Her deferential tone told everyone this was a god to be respected. "You are most welcome at Elfhame Avalon. To what do we owe this extreme honor?"
Lugh stepped closer, diminishing his brightness even more; now one could look directly upon him without squinting. His face sharpened into a pleasant smile. "Many things, Queen of the Sidhe. I understand that your King, Aedham, is not here?"
She sensed something beneath the words, as if the god knew already the King had been kidnapped.
"Our elfhame is dealing with its own set of difficulties now," Ethlinn replied. "Our King has been seized by unknown forces, and we of Avalon have just been assaulted with a sleep spell. Unknown elements have stolen certain magical tools we have been refining while we were sleeping. We have just discovered the theft."
The god's face darkened at the mention of the tools. "The tools were weapons, Queen. I have been observing their construction from afar, as I would anything that would threaten the stability of the underworld."
"Did you steal them?" Ethlinn asked defiantly.
The god did not appear to take offense. "No, I did not. I know who has, and they have also abducted your King. Do you recall, in your recent conflicts with the Unseleighe court, a certain demon named Mort?"
Sammi rolled her eyes. Do I ever. What does he have to do with this? I thought he had vanished once Japhet was beheaded.
"The name is familiar," Ethlinn replied evenly. "What does a minor spirit have to do with this?"
Lugh looked amused. "Everything, Queen of the Sidhe. Mort is no minor spirit, though this was the impression he conveyed, with great success, I might add. No, Mort is an ancient evil, a Foevorian, of the conquered race of Ire your people displaced long, long ago."
Ethlinn hissed at the word Foevorian. Sammi was not certain she had heard correctly. The Foevorians died out long ago! she thought, remembering half-forgotten stories her parents had told her. Her people, the Tuatha De Danann, eliminated the Foevors long ago, but it appeared now they were not completely extinct.
"Your surprise is understandable," Lugh said. "They have kept themselves well hidden. They are the scourge of the underworld, and have always been seen in my court as a nuisance, annoying but harmless. Until now." Lugh paused, letting them all absorb his news before continuing.
Sammi remained silent, although she deeply wished to comment on what Lugh thought of as a "scourge." What of the Unseleighe? Does Lugh care what Zeldan's court did to the humans? Their specially tailored drugs were designed to invoke terror while imprisoning its victims with addiction. They very nearly tainted the water supply of the entire Dallas metro area with their hideous drug, and would have succeeded if not for Aedham's leadership.
Lugh continued, "While Mort was in the employ of the Unseleighe Court he was studying their tactics. Mort has been a student of the sidhe art of conflict since before this Avalon existed, when the original Avalon stood."
"And the Foevorians are among us again," Ethlinn said as her eyes drifted downward. Hers was the most intense look of consternation Sammi had ever seen on an elf.
"They never left," Lugh said. "They once ruled everything. They wish to rule everything again."
Sammi's mind raced. But why the Lazerwarz arenas? Why the kids? Why . . . steal the laser rig, the elvenstone technology . . . ?
Her thoughts ceased abruptly as it all fell into place.
"They're building an army," Sammi whispered.
Ethlinn turned to her. "They're what?"
"The kids, the arenas, Niamh's tools." Sammi turned to Lugh. "Am I wrong?"
"That is their plan," Lugh replied. "Though it is more involved than that. My son, an incarnated human, has become a warrior of these arenas. The Foevorian camp is courting him. They wish to make him their champion."
Elvenstone weapons capable of delivering levin bolts in the hands of the mightiest Celtic warrior who ever lived! This was a threat to be taken seriously.
"My son knows not who he is. Like many of us who go on to become mortal for a time, he has forgotten his true nature. His origins will remain hidden from him, until someone reawakens the memories."
"I assume such is the case," Ethlinn said. "Or this conversation would not be taking place."
"I have dispatched the druid Cathbad to contact my son. As he is a druid, I do not rule over him. What he does is his responsibility, not mine. But the druid's duty is to impart knowledge of one's previous lives."
"How do you know this druid will guide your son wisely?"
"Cathbad has done so before, and he will again," the god replied confidently. "I would seek your counsel in any event, as this is a serious threat," Lugh said. "It involves you as well, your King in particular. And, of course, the weapons you have developed." Again, that expression of disapproval.
"You seem displeased with our work," Ethlinn said. "Do you deny our right to defend our home?"
"I deny no one that right," Lugh replied. His glowing aura had dwindled to a mere flicker, and his features had softened to a mask of subdued but tangible desperation. He looked rather ungodlike then, and it occurred to Sammi that anything that would affect a god in such a way should be dealt with carefully and decisively. And the King is in peril. "A careful balance has exist
ed in Underhill since your people have taken residence here, and I wish for that balance to remain in effect. Your weapons, particularly in the hands of a human army, threaten that balance. I intend to see the matter corrected."
"Do you seek our apology for this?" Ethlinn asked with a bit of defensiveness.
"I seek your assistance. My son, also, is in peril."
"What of our King?" Ethlinn asked.
"I will help you free him," Lugh replied. "If you save my son. This has become an Overworld matter as well. My powers there have become stagnant with disuse. I am no longer close to the humans who live there, and they are not what I remember. The polarity between us is too extreme for me, or my court, to compensate for. You, however, know the humans and can live among them. And you can reach my son, who is now also human. I cannot."
"What of the other elfhames? Have they been made aware of this threat?"
Lugh nodded. "They are assembling their armies as we speak. I would suggest you do the same. This is not a threat you should take lightly."
It looked as if Ethlinn wanted to digest this information before making any firm agreements. But Sammi saw that a quick decision was required here and looked to Ethlinn with eyebrows raised.
"We shall fight together," Ethlinn said, sealing the pact.
* * *
As the gargoyle mercenaries dragged him through the Gate, Aedham's paralysis turned to unconsciousness, then to Dreaming. He felt his body no more, and became, once again, spirit. He returned to the home of his family, the ruins of Castle Tuiereann.
The King regarded the remnants of the home of his youth with curiosity, not pain. He knew this was a dream, that the message he would receive would have nothing to do with the fall of the elfhame, or of his family's deaths. The humans called it lucid dreaming. The elves called it collecting information directly from the source.
Amid the fallen stones of the south wall, Aedham picked through the rubble, finding a relic of their former glory here, and there. A wall decoration, a piece of armor, a smashed chair. All reminders of an innocent past, when the primary challenge to elfhame Avalon was finding something to break up the predictable daily routine. Enemies capable of subduing them were a distant memory . . . until he came here.
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