Cathad, Samantha and the elven kid Llan all exchanged looks.
"I think we can oblige you," Cathad replied. "With your permission, of course."
Dobie nodded tentatively.
"Close your eyes," the druid commanded gently. "And we will take you back to another place, and another time. Know that which was, so that you can be again, now and in the future."
* * *
Cu Chulainn woke at the sound of a crackling fire and the aroma of cooked meat. The warrior found himself in the Ulstermen's camp, lying on the ground next to small fire pit with rabbits on a stick.
He rose to a sitting position, puzzled over the lack of his physical injuries; the last thing he remembered was fighting Queen Maeve's army and taking quite a few wounds. Gashes to his arms and face where a Connacht sword had found his flesh, and half a hundred bruises from sling-thrown rocks. All had healed mysteriously.
"Combat had taken a toll on you," a voice spoke from behind him. A wise looking man stepped closer, carrying an armload of firewood. "You have slept for days. I saw to it that you did."
Cu Chulainn was suspicious of the stranger. He was no druid, the warrior saw as he dropped his load of dry deadwood. He wore a divine aura, and under that a green cloak. A gae bulga that was not Cu Chulainn's lay nearby beside a foreign, black shield. The warrior knew he might have been anything, evil or wicked, a demon from the underworld . . . or a benefactor.
"I sleep when I choose," the warrior proclaimed proudly. Now he recalled nodding off on watch, his hand on his sword, sitting on a hill overlooking the valley. But he hadn't fallen asleep, had he? The Ulster men continued to sleep, their still forms lying everywhere about him.
"Then you must have chosen to sleep for three days and nights," the stranger replied, the twinkle in his eye flashing brightly, further convincing Cu Chulainn of his divine origins. "For that is how long you have slept."
Cu Chulainn was furious; this was an insult. Three days? Only the sick or bespelled slept that long, and the warrior was neither. If the stranger had bespelled him, he had also healed his wounds, something no enemy would do knowingly. True, he felt renewed, to such a degree that only a long sleep would explain it.
"Where is the army of Connacht?" the warrior asked. They would not have been idle during those three days, he was certain.
"They are encamped in the same place you saw them last, afraid to approach us here, for fear of meeting you," the stranger said evenly. "But, truth be told, that is not the real threat to you now." He spread his arms wide, a graceful gesture that reminded Cu Chulainn of an eagle spreading its wings. "As Cathad has taught you, everything is connected. Past, present, future . . . what you see here is but a memory. Your future is here," the stranger said, as a scrawny youth wearing a strange tunic stepped into view, transparent like a spirit. Cu Chulainn recoiled from the sight; without a druid present, the warrior did not wish to deal with anything from the spirit world, not by himself.
"This is your future, my son, and your future self is in trouble," the stranger said.
Son? "You are Lugh, god of light. My father?"
Lugh nodded; the aura flared in confirmation. "The Morrigan has courted this young lad, who knows not who she is. You have spurned her once, for good cause. She is persistent, for she has pursued you across time in order use you as her warrior, and once she is finished with you, she will destroy you."
Cu Chulainn regarded the youth with mild contempt. He would not have willingly chosen to become such a feeble looking being. Perhaps in this future world, the rules were different. That tunic, and what had to be a weapon at his side, perhaps his future self was skilled in such weapons. Whatever the situation, the Morrigan would easily devour him in his ignorance, and that he could not allow.
"The druid Cathad has sent you here for my instruction," Lugh informed him. "He has joined you in the next life, as he promised you long ago. Cathad will counsel you wisely, as he has in the past. Do what you know is right. Choose your battles wisely."
The warrior stood, knowing intuitively what to do. He looked again at his arms and hands, and saw that he also was spirit. The two warriors walked slowly to each other, then fused together in a flash of intense whiteness, becoming one.
* * *
Dobie came to sitting in his chair, then leaped to his feet as a something akin to a lightning bolt struck his soul.
"It's all right, it's all right," he heard someone say, as he stood shaking. Phosphenes of brightness drifted in his vision, then faded. Alfred was holding his arms at his sides, and Dobie was dimly aware of him and others urging him to sit back down.
Then he remembered the elves, and they were right here, helping him. They'd given him a ride here, to his house. He was breathing hard, and his heart was pounding away in his ribcage, like he had just played a savage game of Lazerwarz. Gradually he relaxed, caught his breath, felt his heartbeat slow.
He looked at them, one by one, and saw friends he could trust. Cathad in particular—he had a track record with him.
"I remember everything," Dobie said.
Cathad's relief was evident in his eyes. Samantha smiled, and her features no longer frightened him. And Llan beamed happily, almost with the brightness of Lugh's aura. Yes, he could trust them.
"So now you know who Morgan is," Cathad said.
The question brought a wave of grief. Dobie closed his eyes and held his face in his hands, willing the tears away, to emerge at a later, more appropriate time. His lust had turned to love, and it was his first love, as Dobie—and the love was misplaced. But how could he break away from her? She had done so much for him, and in that moment Dobie realized what a double edge the gifts had. They brought guilt, a sense of obligation he hadn't asked for, and certainly didn't want now. The gifts were, if anything, an emotional weapon, intended to keep him in her debt.
So was the sex a gift, too? A pity fuck for a skinny kid with nothing going for him. . . .
Dobie pushed the old pattern of thinking aside. It mattered not what he looked like now, or what he had done (or didn't do) as Dobie, in the past. The visit with Lugh had shown him that. It's what I am now, not what I was.
"I can't see her anymore. But I have to go tell her myself," Dobie informed them. "Now, I can do it."
They didn't seem to think this was a terrific idea, the elves in particular. Llan looked downright grief stricken. But it was the only way he could do it: in person. "Look. She didn't get me before, but this time she got what she wanted. I'll be all right."
"So be it," Samantha said softly. "We cannot fight her—only you can do this. But be careful. Shall we give you a ride back now?"
"Yes," Dobie said, standing again. "Take me back to the arena now."
Before I change my mind, he amended to himself.
* * *
Morrigan burst into the Lazerwarz control center, unannounced, and unwelcome. Mort turned around in the big chair and scowled.
"What?"
She walked up to him, her heels click clacking on the linoleum floor, and folded her arms.
"The Avalon elves are here."
Mort nodded thoughtfully. "And I'm supposed to give a damn?"
Morgan made a loud, exasperated sound as she exhaled dramatically. "Samantha McDaris is an FBI agent. Unless I miss my guess she is investigating the disappearance of several hundred kids in Lazerwarz arenas around the land."
The Foevor found the news alarming, but not disastrous. "Soon it won't much matter. The weapons we will need for success are manufactured. As we speak they are arriving in the palace. The army is trained. They are ready to fight." The calm he exuded surprised himself. "Now tell me, what contribution do you have to make to the war effort? So far all I have seen is a useless collection of megaliths in our parking lot. And lest I forget . . . the human lad you have been diddling."
Morgan's expression turned triumphant. "The human lad is a warrior of warriors. You've watched every game he's played, you know what he can do. And who he is." She nodded
toward the rack of file servers. "The God program is still running."
Mort conceded the point. "He's Lugh's son. And he is quite a good player . . . but unless we can control him, make him fight for us, what difference does it make?"
Morgan smiled in a most disarming way. "I have him wrapped around my little finger. He'll do anything I say."
Chapter Ten
"Wake up, King," the Mage heard through the gray mists of his fading dream. "It's time."
Aedham rose from the hard, cold floor and regarded the Unseleighe gathered at his cell's door. Joystik was with them; evidently the boy was given the honors of opening the cold iron door for them. As they escorted him from the cell he had the uncomfortable feeling they were leading him to his execution.
Joystik lingered behind them, putting on a good "stoned" routine, moving lethargically like the other rubyheads in the cell, drooling a little for good measure. The kid must have been doing this for a while, the King decided; he was quite convincing.
"Just remember the two swords behind you," Yuaroh said, without looking back. Aedham felt two jabs on either side of his spine. "We just spent the last candle mark sharpening them."
"It's a shame we have to do it this way," Aedham commented. "I'm on your side, you know."
The comment went without reply. Either they didn't believe him, or they were mulling his words over. After a long walk past several cells, Joystik scampered ahead of Yuaroh and opened another, larger cell door. They climbed a flight of dark, damp stairs, which led them to a spacious area resembling an empty warehouse; it was a long, unfinished section of the palace. The smooth, gray surfaces looked like perfectly carved granite. This castle must be as large as a city! Aedham thought as he surreptitiously checked for node access. There they were, deep under the palace: three nodes within his reach. The dungeon's barrier that had prevented him from feeling them had vanished.
Two sword tips jabbed him, again. A reminder.
"You have probably found the nodes by now," Yuaroh said. "There is no need to reach for their power yet. I would know, and my men would know, if you did. So don't. If you want to live."
"Of course," Aedham said. "It's not time to build the Gate anyway." Joystik wandered on ahead, apparently knowing where the Unseleighe were leading him. I don't want him around when the fireworks start! Aedham thought, but saw no good way to get him out of the way. Should have discussed this part of it sooner, when we had a chance.
The enormous hallway gave way to a smaller one, with a long opening offering a view of the grounds below. The area was larger than several football fields, hell, larger than the Tulsa International airport. Part of the palace wrapped around to the north of it, its stone facade looming over it like a mountain. Down on the grounds were tall, dark creatures that had to be Foevors, drilling several units of young human soldiers. Rubies showed clearly on their temples in the murky nonlight of Underhill. The loose, black clothing they wore as a uniform reminded Aedham of Viet Cong in their silk pajamas. There had to be hundreds of them, moving in perfect rectangles of discipline.
Yuaroh stopped a moment, then turned to regard the grounds, leaning on the long window's sill with both hands. "Impressive, aren't they?" the Unseleighe commented. "The magics they've worked with those red stones have given the Foevors an obedient, expendable army." Yuaroh glanced at Aedham sideways, giving him a sly wink. "And your court developed it. What were you thinking?"
While Aedham could not deny that the Seleighe Rathand had developed the ruby technology, he also saw no point in mentioning that he had done so under the orders of Zeldan Dhu. The King merely shrugged a reply.
"Those tall, dark creatures. They're the Foevor officers in charge of the individual units." Yuaroh squinted, as if looking for someone in particular. "And I don't see . . . ah, yes. Here they are. The Clapperlegs."
An enormous palace gate opened up, and out hopped a dozen or so deformed giants. Each wore vests with large, shoulder-mounted laser guns the size of bazookas. They were creatures Aedham knew only from legends, and until recently it had been common knowledge that Clappers, and the Foevors in general, were extinct.
"When the Foevors emerged from the sea, their first land-based form was the Clapper. One arm, one leg, one eye. Taller than three of us put together. See how they move," he said, as the Clapperlegs spread out, and took up positions at each of the units. Their arms were long enough to help them walk, and they did so with fluid, slippery motions that looked like a snake slithering through sand. "They can walk faster than you and I can run. Each unit of humans supports and provides cover for a Clapper. This is the first time I've seen them with the new weapons, however . . . and that is distressing. Perhaps we should move along and get our job done, don't you think?"
The sight left Aedham speechless. At first glance this was strongest army Aedham had ever known to exist in Underhill, perhaps bigger than the combined forces of the Seleighe elfhames . . . who didn't have The Weapon. The true magnitude of what they were up against had finally dawned on King Aedham, and his knees were feeling a bit weak at the prospect.
I have to admire Yuaroh's bravery in trying to take this army on, Aedham thought. Even if I still don't trust them for anything. Then another thought came, unbidden. Are the combined Seleighe armies up to this? It disturbed him that he couldn't even come up with a guess.
They proceeded into another torch-lit passage. The Unseleighe Lord took a burning torch down from the wall as Joystik opened yet another door, this one smaller, like a hatch. Aedham bent low to go in, the swords urging him along. The boy followed and shut the door behind them.
Aedham found himself in a long, narrow chamber. One of Yuaroh's men lit the torches along the wall, and in the new light Aedham saw a long line of brand new laser vests stretching into the darkness. The place had a synthetic smell of newly molded plastic.
"All told, around three hundred so far," Yuaroh said. "Enough to equip the army we just saw outside."
"Where are the guards?" Aedham said, unable to believe such a horde of weapons would be left unattended.
"At the far end. Don't worry, they're my men, Unseleighe."
Seems foolish to trust them, Aedham thought. Then again, I've had more experience with this lot than they have.
Yuaroh pulled out a long bronze sword, and held it in front of him, blade down. "As I am not ignorant of the conditions of Gate making, I know that you can conjure an opening here to any location in Underhill. A hundred of my soldiers are awaiting this Gate to open in a location you know all too well."
"Which is?" Aedham asked, but already he had a good idea where it was.
"The former site of Avalon. Where Zeldan Dhu first defeated you, Aedham. Or I should say . . . your father." With the sword pointed at Aedham, Yuaroh moved around to his right side. "I do realize this is a sensitive location, and my people have defiled it a number of times in the past. But please understand I needed a place you knew quite well . . . a place unguarded by Seleighe. No disrespect is intended, of course."
"None taken, to be sure," Aedham said. "As we are now allies, I have no problem with the choice. What has happened between our two clans in the past is no longer relevant." The lie came smoothly and evenly, and the King delivered it with ease. Yuaroh raised an eyebrow in apparent surprise, as Aedham made a note not to lay it on too thick.
Aedham continued, "It will require our combined resources to fight the army I saw just now. If we have any chance in defeating the Foevorian race, we must set our differences aside."
"Well said!" Yuaroh said, and sheathed his sword, and nodded to the two standing behind him. While he didn't hear them resheath their swords, they no longer jabbed him in the back. "Shall we get started?"
"Of course. First, I would like the human over here, closer to me on my left. He will be less of an obstruction to the forming of a gate." Aedham paused at Yuaroh's puzzled look, and with exaggerated impatience explained, "He's not from Underhill. He would interfere with the optical orbit of the primary node
branch. That could cause some phlogiston problems, and we don't want that. Over here," he said, jabbing a thumb toward Joystik, who had shuffled over to a spot on his left, immediately next to him, "The node branch is neutral." Aedham furrowed his brow at Yuaroh. "You mean you don't know that?"
If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.
"The art of Gate making wasn't covered in my training," Yuaroh replied apologetically. "I shall take you at your word."
"Aie, then," Aedham said, and prepared himself for the Gate making. "Give me a moment." He closed his eyes and sent his Mage sight outwards, to areas of Underhill in question. The Unseleighe can wait for a Gate to appear at the ruins of old Avalon all they want to. I'm going to find the Seleighe army! Plundering the elvenstones had to have triggered a call to arms; The mines were well guarded and monitored by all the elfhames. The foray into Outremer alone would have been enough to stir up our defensive forces. Where are they?
Aedham's mage sight, fueled with carefully selected tendrils of node power, swept across Underhill with lightning swiftness. He saw his new palace in the distance, but on a hunch directed his vision towards Outremer. Halfway there, he saw what he looked for. Indeed, Avalon's army had joined their brethren, cavalry, infantry, and a few Mages from Outremer for good measure.
"I see the Unseleighe army," Aedham said. "I think I shall put the Gate a bit further down the hill, towards the bridge. In case I misjudge the placement. Anyone standing where the Gate appears will be obliterated."
"Good thinking," Aedham heard Yuaroh say. The Mage pulled out of his trance and opened his eyes.
"Now for the Gate," the King said. "They are rather bright. You might want to look away."
Aedham reached for the nodes beneath Mort's castle, brazenly scooping up huge potloads of energy for the Gate. Joystik watched, wide-eyed, as Aedham focused the power arcing between his fingers to a spot a few paces before him. He ventured a glance at Joystik, who seemed to register the unspoken signal, and went back into zombie mode.
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