"Oh, leave him alone," a thin female voice said from behind the kid, who turned and wrapped his arms around a young lady, a child even, dressed in black as well. "You were new here once."
"Tell me about it," he said with a laugh, nuzzling the maiden with abandon. They started kissing, right then, right there. Beneath the glamorie, Llan felt his ear tips burn with embarrassment. Randy, mannerless humans! It looked like they were going to devour each other's faces. The elf half expected them to disrobe and fornicate right there on the floor.
The kid came up for breath. "My name's Zeus. See that guy over there?" He pointed to a tall, older man with silver hair standing at the end of the line. A set of goggles hung around his neck.
"That's Elvendude. Stay away from him. He'll kick your ass."
"I thought this was laser tag," Llan said, in proper, cultured tones. "As I understand it, the kicking of asses is not allowed here."
Now the girl let loose a peal of laughter, then looked as if she regretted her outburst. "In America, 'kicking ass' means conquering or winning, as well as other things. That's what numbnuts here is trying to tell you."
Zeus ignored the jibe. "And that one, over there," he said, indicating another youth, who had something different about him. "He's The Hound. Between you and me, you should go find some easier targets. The Hound gets kind of weird. Eyes get all strange. Face gets all radical. Sometimes it looks like there's light coming off him."
The Hound looked as alone as Llan felt right then; he was human, yes, but something different about him, intangible but there, definitely there . . . what was it? Why can't I see auras like the King can?
The door opened suddenly, and the line of kids streamed into the still more darkened room. Here a human, called a judge, instructed them in the ways of laser tag. The device looked something like a suit of armor, but with the electric lights that were everywhere in the human's world. Next, the judge led them into a place where rows of the laser rigs hung on the wall.
It was a strange way to fight war, Llan mused as he entered the maze. Fighting everyone but yourself, no armies, no commanders, and above all, no swords . . . but this was a game, one these humans took seriously. They scattered into the arena, a dark maze that at first glance looked like Underhill, complete with mist. The game started, and around him laser beams sought their targets. Amid the web of light one of the beams hit him, extinguishing his pack like water on fire.
Into the arena. Find the King, he reminded himself, chanting the mission's directive as he plunged into the darkness. Weaving through the maze, Llan tried to imagine what the King would do, what path he would take. To make it look convincing he fired at some of the moving targets in the distance, hit one, and moved on. Sammi had said it would look suspicious if a kid his size came out with the lowest score of the game.
Then the human called The Hound came into view, moving through the maze like a wraith, tagging Llan casually as he moved. A swarm of kids led by Zeus pursued The Hound with undisguised glee. Suddenly the game had turned into something else, something dishonorable. Sammi had warned him of this dark side of the human character. They outnumbered The Hound five to one.
Intrigued, Llan followed, tagging a few from the rear, undetected. The Hound stopped and faced them down, shooting in a frenzy of laser that, for a moment, looked like a spider web of light, touching all of the targets at once. Nothing short of a Mage could do something like that, unless this was a warrior of warriors with divine powers. Llan had seen such warriors Underhill; they were not Mages, yet they worked another, powerful enchantment, from a fierce inner fire that crossed from combat to magic.
The gang of youths stood quietly, and darkly, until one by one their packs returned to life. Llan had his turn with them, but soon found himself overwhelmed. The elf retreated into a dark corner, waited for his pack to come back, and reemerged. He was alone. The others had moved on.
He took this opportunity to explore the maze a bit before the end of the game, but found no traces whatsoever of the Gate that had whisked his mentor away. It was frustrating, for Sammi had insisted it was here, she had seen the power herself. But there was nothing, just this strange human environment with peculiar odors and sounds.
At the game's conclusion Llan hung his pack on the wall and joined the others outside beneath another screen. Groans erupted in the crowd when the scores appeared. The Hound was number one with 1320, Elvendude with 1233, and Zeus with 905. Llan was down near the bottom with 500, but by no means in last place.
Llan spied the winner talking to someone over by a water well. Until now The Hound didn't appear to have any acquaintances, but this man seemed rather familiar with him. His father? Perhaps, but it didn't really seem that way. He sensed the same sort of distant magic about this man as he had The Hound, with a hint of Underhill somewhere in the mix.
Are these the ones responsible for the King's disappearance?
This was the what Llan had come to learn. But despite the vague magical impression they had both made, he did not feel any danger or threat about them. Perhaps they were connected, in some obscure way, to the standing stones outside.
The older man glanced up and looked directly at Llan. The gesture froze the elf where he stood, and for the first time since gating here Llan thought that his identity had become known. The elf didn't like the idea of humans reading his entrails, but he didn't want to bolt for the door, either. Not yet. Instead his hand moved toward the pocket where the little black box with the button lurked.
Finger poised over the button, Llan moved towards the water fountain. The Hound had gone elsewhere. Activity buzzed around them, from loud blinking boxes with controls that had the kids mesmerized, and from unseen voices called speakers, some human technology which Llan had become familiar with in Aedham's solar.
Llan drank from the well and stood, regarding the man quizzically. He was still gazing directly at Llan. He must know I'm an elf! Yet, his instincts told him there was no danger, and his hand moved out of his pocket, away from the black box. This, he felt, he could handle without Lady Samantha's intervention.
"I know you are of the sidhe," the man said with an aged, gravelly voice.
What a disconcerting way to begin a conversation with a human, Llan thought. He met his eyes evenly. "How can you know that?"
The man smiled, reminding Llan of his own grandfather, long dead. "Not all humans are blind to the other worlds," he replied, then nodded towards the front doors, beyond which stood the Henge. "Even when the other worlds come directly to their doorstep. My name is Cathad," the man said, extending his hand. As Llan took it he felt a power which went far beyond his humanity. "I am a druid."
A human Mage! The elf believed him without question, though reason would have insisted he investigate further. Again, his instincts spoke from his gut—the man is who is says he is. The druids were one of the few groups of humans to actually reach the elves in Underhill, but that was an eternity ago. Their brief visits were described in dusty old elven legends, told to littles at bedtime. The druids were the kind ones, the wise ones who offered magical protections to their tribe, who tended battle wounds and healed the sick, and who beseeched the earth and sun for food, water and warmth. The druids had vanished long ago. Or so Llan had thought.
Druid. A human who knew magic. But can a druid be behind the evil that kidnapped untold hundreds of human children, and the elven King, Aedham Tuiereann? Hardly.
There was also the feeling this had more to do with the visit Lugh made to the elfhame. What exactly did the god say? The memory lurked just beyond reach; perhaps this conversation would bring it closer.
"Let us discuss this privately," Cathad said, and Llan felt an invisible shroud surround them, and blocked most of the sound from getting inside it. The ambient noise of the Lazerwarz lobby had become a distant murmur, and it was obvious the shield worked both ways. Their words would remain in the shroud.
"My druid name is Cathad. My name in this life is Alfred Mackie, and I have
come from Britain to examine the stones which have so mysteriously appeared outside," the wise man said. He was well advanced in years, but had that glow of eternal youth common to most human Mages. To think him an old man would be a mistake, Llan knew; the elf hoped Cathad would not misjudge him because of his obvious youth. "I did not expect to find a faery here, so far from my homeland."
"Nor did I intend to be spotted by a human," Llan replied. He surreptitiously probed the area around them for hidden traps, in case this druid was not as benign as he seemed, but found none. "I would think that my purpose for being here might have some connection with yours."
"It would seem the obvious conclusion. Tell me, does the name Cu Chulainn mean anything to you?"
"It's old Gaelic, I think," Llan said. "Someone's hound. Culann's?"
Cathad smiled appreciatively. "And beyond that?"
The Hound. Wait, isn't that . . . Llan scanned the lobby before replying. The Hound who had won the last game was standing in line to sign up for another. He seemed timid out of his element, and was clearly trying to hide his hands for some reason. Llan peered closer, venturing the use of his Mage sight, and saw why. The youth had seven fingers on each hand.
Llan remembered an old tale about an Irish warrior who had the same deformity, who slew armies single-handed, and was the son of the God of . . .
It fell into place. The revelation shook him to the core; the memory of Ethlinn's conversation with Lugh on the palace grounds surged to the surface.
Lugh's son, the incarnated human, a warrior of the arenas.
Llan hazarded another glance at The Hound, who was still in line. Yes, the spark hung about him still, as likely unseen by the humans around him. The son of a god. And he doesn't know it.
"Lugh contacted us," Llan said to Cathad. "He even mentioned you, in part. The task of the druid includes teaching the humans that there is life after death, many lives . . . that's why you're here. The Hound needs a teacher."
"Indeed, he does," Cathad admitted, with an air of futility Llan found unbecoming in a wise one. "His past is buried so deeply into his soul. I don't know . . . if I can reach the divine part of him, with what I have. I have been separated from the Old Order for a long time. My skills are, alas, rusty."
Llan tested the muting shroud. "It seems intact to me. This is excellent work, for a human."
Alfred's eyebrow arched, as from a mild insult. "Thank you. I think. So, when have you last confronted a Foevorian?"
"I never have," Llan admitted. "Our realms don't overlap as much as you might think." By now The Hound had made his way through the line and was waiting for the game to begin. "The Foevorians want him for their army, don't they?"
"For all we know, they already have him. Either way, he doesn't know much of anything of his origins." Alfred shook his head sadly. "The poor lad has trouble holding his head up among his peers. If only he knew who he was."
"Perhaps we can both bring him to this knowledge," Llan said, as a plan began shaping up before him. "I think that is what Lugh had in mind for us all."
* * *
Sammi waited patiently in the Caprice, the car running to power the air conditioner. She hadn't counted on such a hot day, and her fuel tank was running low. At the corner of 41st and Yale was a Texaco, in full view of the arena; she decided to go fuel up, keeping an eye on the arena, and an ear to the pager connected to Llan's black emergency box.
She pulled around to the parking lot, and was waiting for traffic to clear so she could pull onto Yale, when a red Corvette whizzed past, going south at a high rate of speed.
The Corvette's top was down, and driving it was a woman with long, red hair, who for some reason possessed a divine aura which did not belong in this realm.
Let's check this out, she thought, already certain that somehow this had something to do with the King's kidnapping.
Sammi turned south on Yale, and followed.
She was no traffic cop, but as special agent Sammi McDaris she had the authority to pull over pretty much whoever she wanted. On the floor was a red, rotating cop light that plugged into the cigarette lighter. Keeping a steady eye on the 'Vette, she fumbled with the light and plugged it in, hoping it worked.
It did. She pulled up right on the tail end of the 'Vette, and in lieu of a siren, honked once.
That's right, I'm right on your tail. And the spinning cherry is in plain sight.
The redhead looked up, and their eyes met briefly her rear view. But the 'Vette showed no intention of slowing down. Instead, the driver used the rear view to send a blast of . . . something, directly at her.
Sammi suddenly couldn't see.
She slammed on her brakes, feeling the Caprice fishtail under her. Cars behind her honked and swerved, but the impact she expected next didn't happen. Slowly, her vision returned, and when she could see enough to drive she restarted the stalled engine and floored the accelerator. Pulling on the scant reserve of node power at her disposal, she constructed a crude shield between her and the 'Vette, and hoped it held up against whatever else this bitch sent her way.
The 'Vette was well ahead of her, but was stopped behind traffic at a light. It looked like it was trying to nose past a pickup and flee onto a service road on the right. Oh no you don't, not on my watch you aren't, she fumed, riding right up to the Corvette again.
The traffic moved ahead leisurely, and the Corvette, evidently surrendering to the pursuit, drove slowly onto the service road, pulled over, and stopped.
Sammi pulled up behind her, calming herself. The redhead was sitting casually in the driver's seat, her arm hanging over the door, as if she were drying her nails.
Sammi held the Glock down, at her side, but plainly visible. Her shield, with some careful maneuvering, traveled with her. And she made sure her badge was visible from her lapel.
Sammi walked briskly up to the 'Vette. "I'm Special Agent Samantha McDaris. Who the hell are you?"
The driver looked up casually. There was nothing here to identify her as nonhuman, except for her use of magic. Even a good human Mage couldn't have temporarily blinded an elf.
"Would you like to see my driver's license and insurance verification?" the driver asked in an oily, patronizing tone.
Sammi had heard this voice before.
"Yes, let's have it," Sammi said, checking out the car, the driver, the whole weird situation.
The driver searched through a red purse; Samantha leveled the Glock at her. If this was a god the gun wouldn't be very effective, but it did make her feel better.
"Special Agent McDaris," the driver said conversationally. "You really are moving up in the world. You were a homicide detective, I think. The last time I saw you was at the New You Fitness center in Dallas . . . moments before it imploded."
Sammi didn't have to search her memory very hard. "My dear Morrigan. I didn't recognize you."
Sammi kept the gun aimed at her, and hoped the scene wasn't attracting any unwanted attention. To say the least, this would be difficult to explain if it came to the attention of her boss.
"Interesting little realm you have here. The sun is a very interesting feature. And the youth of this place . . . I understand they are drafted at an early age to fight wars."
Sammi let this pass without comment, keeping her focus on the gun and what Morrigan was doing with her hands.
But she couldn't resist a comment or two. "You look, well, different. Sexy. Big breasted. And dare I say, promiscuous? What, you didn't like the 'Snapple Lady' look?"
"It didn't suit my purposes," Morrigan sneered. "For this project."
Sammi lined the Glock's sight up with her face. "Where is our King?"
Morrigan made an impatient gesture. "What, you've misplaced him again? How should I know where that silly Seleighe has run off to?"
"You and Mort have him," Sammi stated. "You're involved in this Lazerwarz arena. And I'll even bet you're the one who moved Stonehenge to its present location. Whatever were you thinking?"
"Bu
siness," she said severely. She put the purse away. "Samantha, do yourself a favor. Stay out of this. It's more than you and the entire Seleighe court could ever handle."
"You know I can't do that. Shall I take you in for questioning?"
The peal of laughter was piercing, and unexpected. And backed with a great deal of confidence.
"You're welcome to try," Morrigan said, as she and the Corvette vanished in a bright flash of light.
* * *
Whenever Dobie entered the arena at the start of a game, he felt a change sweep over him, a metamorphosis into The Hound. It felt good, and right, and somehow overdue. Dobie knew intuitively that The Hound always had been a part of him, but had remained hidden until he'd discovered the arena.
And Morgan.
The third day now after meeting her his life was nothing like it had been before. For most of those three days, secreted in her hotel suite, they made wild, passionate love, for hours on end. She introduced him to the Kamasutra, which had quickly become an aerobic workout, and they weren't even halfway through it. Now he was dehydrated most of the time, and had to guzzle Gatorade by the liter just to keep up with her. And as soon as they finished . . . she was ready to go again! He obliged her willingly, drawing on some untapped pool of energy he still didn't understand, thrusting into her with ever harder and deeper strokes. And still it didn't seem to be enough.
Finally, when she dropped him off at Lazerwarz today, with kiss and a slap on his spandexed butt, he discovered he was in pain down there. He walked with a funny gait which he hoped was not noticeable, but probably was. "Please, just let me recover, for Pete's sake!" he wanted to wail, but to do so would break whatever magical spell had created this situation in the first place. And he didn't want it to end, not yet. He comforted himself with the knowledge that every male in that arena, from puberty on, wished they had his problem.
And this guy, this Alfred, the archeologist. He didn't seem to be studying Stonehenge very much. The older man seemed inexplicably interested in him, though not in any sexual way (thank God). Alfred had a power about him, which at times triggered memories which bore a striking resemblance to his dreams of the old civilization.
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