The memory was not so distant now, the King thought, contemplating Zeldan Dhu's work.
He did not notice the golden eagle perched on the jagged section of fallen stone until he was within a few paces of it. It was amid these ruins that another eagle, a black monster big enough to carry him off, had attacked him; the eagle was Zeldan's Dhu's spirit, waging war in elven dreaming. This eagle was something else altogether. Aedham relaxed.
"You are a god," the elf said at last. Aedham already knew this conflict of Sammi's extended well beyond the elven lands of Underhill, and had wondered when the rulers of the other realm would show themselves. The time had come, and he was grateful; now he felt progress might be possible.
The Lord of Light greets you on this neutral, and sacred, ground, spoke the god to his soul.
Aedham appreciated the god's reverence. So many others had defiled this site. The golden eagle, a dark brown raptor about half his height, was only one of the forms Lugh had been known to assume. As a god, Lugh had many choices. Perhaps this was the least intimidating? Aedham did not know, he had never had cause to speak with these gods before. They seldom left their own realm. Thorn, the Rider Guardian brought into the Underworld by the Lord of the Land of Shadows, moved freely among the gods and the sidhe. Thorn and his ancient Harley bike Valerie was, until now, the most exotic spirit to contact him in his homeland.
Aedham briefly reviewed the sequence of events so far, to try to get a hold on this entity's vantage point. Japhet Dhu had brought in other spirits to fight their battles, and had even sought to enslave a half-human, half-elf for his own purposes. The gods had remained distant even from that, perhaps even looked upon the conflict with amusement. The death of Japhet Dhu had been the end of that battle; afterwards, the elves of Avalon had gone about their business.
Until the Lazerwarz arenas started snatching children. Straightforward Unseleighe tactics, save for the level of energy used in moving the megaliths. The Unseleighe Court had not the power to accomplish something like that.
But the gods did.
Aedham wondered, Is this the god at the center of this conflict? Did he initiate the battle, or is he simply reacting to its effects?
The eagle cocked its head and studied him with a single eye. A singularly raptorlike gesture, which gave the King pause to reconsider: am I in danger here?
I am not here to harm you, but to enlist your aid, Lugh said. You have been drawn into a conflict not of your making, yet its outcome will determine precisely what form you and your people will choose forever after.
Aedham surveyed the god evenly, looking for signs that this creature was not what it seemed, but finding only truth.
The King spoke, "I have been taken prisoner in the Overworld. Are you my captor?"
If anything, I will be your liberator. But you must help me. I am struggling to understand this struggle just as you are. In that regard we are similar.
In Aedham's mind he saw the conversation the god had with his wife, Ethlinn. The transfer took only an instant. In the vision he saw Niamh, distraught over the theft of . . . the elvenstone technology? Great, just great! The enemy, armed to the teeth, with our weapons! While not pleased that his kingdom had been violated once again by hostile forces, and robbed of its powerful technology, he was grateful none were injured. The thieves must not have time to divert themselves from their main mission.
I will help you, Lugh said. If you help my son. He will be an asset, or a liability, depending on the swiftness of your actions.
Aedham spread his arms, palms up, a universal gesture of helplessness. I am a prisoner. I cannot yet free myself, much less be of help to my kingdom, or your son.
The eagle spread his wings in apparent imitation of Aedham's gesture, presenting a span of about twenty feet, but this conveyed anything but helplessness. Your imprisonment is temporary. Your captors are imperfect. You will find a way to escape.
The King was not so certain. Who are my captors? Not the Unseleighe.
Lugh gracefully tucked his wings at his sides, then replied, They are the Foevors.
Aedham stared, holding back an involuntary shudder. The Foevors were a distant memory in the family of elves, a powerful race the Tuatha defeated only at the greatest cost. The Unseleighe's evil paled in comparison to theirs. In his mind's eye he picked up the image of the Foevor in question.
He blinked in disbelief. Mort?
As many things are in the Underworld, Mort was not what he seemed. The Unseleighe Court of Aoncos are the Foevor's hired mercenaries. You have dealt with the Unseleighe many times before, and you know their weaknesses.
Aie, I do, Aedham replied. I've not heard of Aoncos before.
Lugh seemed apologetic. Nor have I. I believe they are the remnants of all the Unseleighe tribes your court has defeated. However, their numbers are few.
Aedham sighed inwardly. I knew they must have gone somewhere. It shouldn't surprise me they have overcome their greed and power lust to form a cohesive band, but it does. Then he looked on the bright side. Their actions will be easier to predict than those of the Foevors. But do you know what they want, what they will gain from all of this? How can I trick them?
Lugh spread his wings once again, flapped once, then leaped into the air. You know them better than I do, King of the Sidhe. Exploit them.
The eagle circled once then set off to the north.
Lugh sent the parting words, We will meet again.
* * *
As Aedham came to from his restless dreaming, he found himself in a square dungeon, barred on two sides with cold iron. He moved away from the iron's painful heat, and took in his situation. Indeed, he was a prisoner. He reached for node energy but found only a tight, magical wall surrounding the dungeon, severing whatever contact he'd had with the nodes. He retained a bit of Mage sight, and with it explored the caging spell carefully, admiring its simplicity and utter effectiveness. He was without magical defenses, and was as vulnerable as a human.
I have no magic, no weapon, but I do have information. Lugh was kind to give me that much.
The walls and floor had a recently kenned feel to it, and within the cell lingered a trace of unformed mist which hadn't settled yet. This was his first clue as to where in Underhill he might be. Some time ago Japhet Dhu had claimed a pocket of the Unformed, the King remembered, a territory on the fringe of populated Underhill which became his base of operations. Here he had imprisoned Wenlann and a young human named Lucas; Aedham and company had crashed the party to free them, but Japhet had escaped through another Gate. Since Japhet's defeat, the King had dispatched a few guards to this place to see if anyone had returned, but after a while he slacked off. After all, there was no need to police every square inch of Underhill, especially when so much rebuilding was necessary at home.
He cursed himself. Now, it seemed, he would be paying for his lack of vigilance.
Aedham was not the only one in the dungeon. His cell was only one of many, and in the one across from him were humans . . . young kids, dressed like the teenagers in the Lazerwarz arena he had just been seized from. This was where Sammi's missing children had been taken.
Not wanting to brave the cold iron just yet, he called out to them from where he sat. "Are you hurt?" There were three or four sleeping to a cell, or sitting up looking about in a stupor. They had been bespelled into submission, and had none of the built-in defenses of an elven Mage. Flickering torchlight cast shifting shadows over them. If they'd heard him, they did not respond. Aedham wondered if anything was left of their minds; they looked like vegetables.
An old song from The Who began playing irritatingly in his head. It's only teenage wasteland . . .
From around the corner came a loud clang that could only be a cell door slamming shut. Then footsteps, getting louder, drawing closer. Aedham stiffly got to his feet; he might be defenseless, but he didn't have to confront his captors sitting down. When the source of the footsteps came into view, he relaxed. It was another kid, smaller an
d less threatening than the others. A child, sixteen maybe, wearing a dirty tunic of some thick fabric that could not have been of Underhill origin. He held a tray with a chunk of mutton and a wooden stein. Dinnertime.
The boy slid the tray under the door and regarded Aedham inquisitively. His eyes flashed with intelligence. Clearly he wasn't as trashed as the other youths. When he turned to leave, Aedham saw a flat, red jewel affixed to his temple, reflecting torchlight.
Aedham knew exactly what the jewel was. Zeldan had enslaved a Seleighe technician with such a device. But the boy's expression was defiant, as if the ruby had not completely extinguished his will.
"You're not one of those bastards, are you?" Aedham tested, taking a few steps forward.
The boy stopped, and turned around.
Aedham continued, "They're trying to manipulate you like a puppet. But they can't. You're too smart for that. I can see it in your face."
Aedham knelt and reached for the tray, braving the heat. Food was the last thing on his mind, but he saw an opportunity to establish trust. Taking the food without question might just make the right impression. Aedham sat cross-legged, and set the tray on his lap.
"Mutton," he commented, holding joint up by the bone. "It's what's for dinner." He sniffed at the stein before drinking from it.
"It's just water," the boy said, and Aedham looked up to see him holding the bars and peering intently into his cell. "I saw them moving it through the gate in large casks. I guess they can't make it here, or something."
Aedham tried not to look too surprised. "Water doesn't exist in this part of Underhill in any quantity, no. Who are you, by the way?"
The boy looked furtively right, then left, before answering. "My handle is Joystik. My real name is Alan Barker. I was playing Lazerwarz in Baltimore when . . . well, something pretty weird happened."
"Let me guess," Aedham said conversationally. "In the arena a big yellow circle opened up, and a bunch of bipedal lizards grabbed you and took you away. I'll bet you even won that particular game, too."
"Yep, that's what happened, all right," the boy replied, warming up him. "I win all the games, or most of them." He peered closer. Aedham became conscious of his own pointed ears, which without the glamorie, were plainly visible.
"You're not one of them, are you?" Joystik asked cautiously.
He had to be honest. "Well, yes and no. I am from this land. But they are my enemies. That's why I'm here, behind these bars."
"You're a faery," Alan observed. Without a doubt Aedham heard the e in the word instead of the i, and his respect for the kid's education went up a notch. "And this," Alan said, looking around him, "Is the underworld. Isn't it?"
Aedham stared him with unconcealed amazement. "Yeah, that's it. You're the first human I've never had to explain it to."
"I read a lot," Alan said. "Celtic mythology is one of my favorite subjects. I read the Book of Invasions in the fourth grade." He amended, "The English translation, of course."
"Then that will simplify things," Aedham said, then considered: he has the human side of the story. It's not altogether accurate, but it will make a convenient head start. "I am of the Tuatha De Danaan, the people of Danu, and I am King Aedham Tuiereann, ruler of elfhame Avalon."
In spite of himself, Alan was grinning widely. "I thought Avalon referred to the entire land?"
"A long time ago, it did. Avalon changed most dramatically when our people split into two groups. My ancestors, the Seleighe court, wanted to make peace with the humans. The opposing court, the Unseleighe, wanted to wreak havoc on them for exiling us to this world within a world."
"So who won?" Alan asked, without a hint of sarcasm.
"I would say we did, but as I am now their prisoner that cannot be entirely true. But I don't think the Unseleighe have the ability to create all this," Aedham said, indicating the dungeon in general. "The gods have told me some things," he continued. "Perhaps you can confirm a few of them."
"Which gods?" Alan asked excitedly. "Dagda? Danu herself?"
Aedham sighed, wishing his people's namesake were involved. It would sure tip the scales in their favor. "Dagda fathered many of our gods, but he doesn't exist in his original form, nor does Danu. Gods live a long time, but even after a while they change, become different thought forms. Some of these forms we can no longer communicate with; we have become alien and unrecognizable to each other.
"I had thought such was the case with Lugh, the god of light. But Lugh is still among us, in fact is a central player in this mess. As is his son."
"Cu Chulainn? The warrior?" Joystik pressed his face through the bars, eyes wide with amazement. "How is he involved?"
"According to Lugh, he is a reincarnated human. And is playing in the Tulsa Lazerwarz arena, and getting pretty good at it."
"Holy shit," Joystik commented. "I'm not so sure I'd want to play against him. The son . . . of the God of Light? A hell of an advantage in a game of laser tag, if you ask me. Who's side is he on, anyway?"
The words hung heavily in the air; Lugh's warnings notwithstanding, the boy had a point. "The Foevors seem to have their claws in him. To what degree, I don't know."
"So that's who's running this place. I thought it was a demon . . . he calls himself Mort, but others have called him Morca. Morca was a ship's captain in one of the battles over Ireland. He must have been around a long time."
"Do you know where Mort is?" Aedham asked eagerly.
"Not right now. There is a royal chamber of some kind, which is in this world and my world, depending on his mood. I wait on Mort. He thinks this ruby has total control of me. It doesn't. You already knew that."
Aedham paced slowly in the cell, touching the cold, moist walls. "Can you get me out of here?"
Joystik frowned, shook his head. "I don't have a key to the cells. Mort has all of them, and watches them carefully. And there are elves, watching this place, and they can't handle the keys, just the lizards, as you called them."
The king's hopes sank. "As I suspected. There are other ways I might be able to gain freedom. I have done it before, in situations more dire than this."
"It's a really big place," Joystik said. "The elves, they say they're of the clan Aoncos. That's not your clan, is it?"
Aedham looked away, trying to hide his despair. "No, they are Unseleighe. Mercenaries."
"Well anyway, they're all spread pretty thin. There are hundreds of these cells, most of them unoccupied. I get the idea that they're still building their army." He turned, pointed to the incapacitated youth in the neighboring cell. "They grab good players, blow some sort of magic smoke in their face that puts them out or something, then give them jewels to control their minds. Like mine," he said, tapping the red stone at his temple. "Every once in a while one of the stones don't take and they put a double whammy on them that, well, you see the results." Again, he indicated the youths behind him. "Looks like they're on thorazine or something. The rest, they train like they're in an army. But it looks like . . . they think they're playing Lazerwarz."
Aedham perked up at that. "Like Lazerwarz? What are they using for weapons?"
"I think they're real lasers. Only they don't work down here very well—they're just training with them. But I heard Mort say something about getting the right technology from the Seleighe so they can work here." He paused, considering what he had just said. "Is that something your clan has?"
"Lugh just informed me that the technology had been stolen from my palace. Looks like they got what they wanted, too." The King's thoughts darkened as he imagined an army of human youths blindly attacking Avalon forces. How long would my army hesitate before firing? Long enough to be leveled by the levin rifles?
A sound from down the hall interrupted him. Voices, then footsteps. Joystik looked alarmed. "I have to go. I've been gone too long."
"Keep pretending to be stoned," Aedham said to his retreating back, and groaned at his own pun.
The boy grinned at the weak humor. "I'll come back a
s soon as I can. With a key, if I can swing it," and he disappeared into the dungeon.
Chapter Seven
Mort surveyed the Dallas skyline from his twentieth story corner office, smugly warming up to the notion that what he surveyed would some day be all his.
But first things first. Underhill must submit to me. Then we'll go from there.
In this human seeming he was a silver-haired, fiftyish man in a blue three-piece suit. Moments ago he'd finished a two-hour teleconference with the electronics and plastics firms who would make the parts for his new, modified gun design.
It was the perfect front for manufacturing his weapon, Mort decided, right here in the middle of Dallas' high rise, high-tech neighborhood. Lazerwarz, Inc. was already making laser tag guns in this facility, and now that he had Avalon's elvenstone technology the next stage of his plan could begin. When the new parts arrived in the next twenty-four hours, Mort's existing laser tag toys would be converted into lethal rifles capable of firing levin bolts, by anyone, human or non. In the assembly plant one floor down, the works would start churning out the guns at a rate of fifty per hour.
Before him on an enormous oak desk lay the prototype of the new rig, its design quickly cribbed from the crude gear stolen from King Aedham's palace. The principle was so simple he wondered why no one of Underhill had come up with it before. Odras, an Avalon Mage, had originated the concept and had first applied it using the wheel of a BMW motorcycle. Three Underhill rock formations—amene, topolomite and diaspar—were arranged on the wheel and opposing forks to induce node energy; the faster the wheel spun, the more node energy was generated. This was a first for Underhill; until now, magic existed as pools of energy, or nodes, lurking beneath the ground.
The existing Lazerwarz pack had a round target of lights on the front, covered by a plastic housing. This would be replaced by a spinning disk assembly which contained the three-stone configuration. Node energy tended to track along electrical pathways, and the existing laser beam array acted as a pointer, like the laser sights for human handguns.
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