Yuaroh gasped as the vague outline of a circle appeared, its edges a thin line of yellow light, about the size of a dinner plate. Once that was established the Mage dumped everything he had into it, and the circle expanded abruptly. A bit sloppy, but it worked. He had constructed a Gate in record time.
The Unseleighe stood in stunned amazement, shielding their faces from the intensity.
"What are you waiting for?" Aedham said to all present.
The King grabbed Joystik's arm and charged headlong into the circle of light.
* * *
The Caprice stopped a half mile from the arena to let Dobie out. "You don't have to do it this way," Samantha said as he unbuckled himself. "She's not going to let you go easily."
With his hand on the door handle, he hesitated. "This is how I have to do it," he said with as much conviction as he could muster. "It's the honorable thing to do."
The lady elf seemed doubtful, even cynical; she must have been down this road before. "Then take this," she said, offering a business card. "It has my cell phone number on it. Use it if you need help. I'd give you protection spells if I could, but she'd be able to dismiss anything Llan or I could come up with."
He hesitated before taking the card. It felt like a betrayal to someone he had come to love, but he took it anyway knowing that Morgan was actually quite dangerous. In the other realm she had pursued him for her own selfish interests. She didn't destroy him then, and she wouldn't now. But as much as he wanted to, there was no reason to think anything had changed.
"We're at the Doubletree. Downtown. The suite's on the top floor," he said. At least I can tell her that much. She seemed grateful for the information. Dobie nodded to Llan sitting in the back seat before getting out. The elven kid's expression was as worried as Samantha's, making him wonder if he really was making the right decision.
He walked into the arena lobby, which was bustling with activity. Hardly noticing the looks of admiration, and in some cases fear, he went over to the big screen where the day's scores were displayed. As usual, he had the highest and second highest score of the day.
"Are you The Hound?" a boy of about eleven asked him, looking up with an expression of pure awe.
"Yeah," he replied, but something else was distracting him. An expanse of red flashed by the front doors as the Corvette pulled in. A moment later Morgan stood in the doorway, regarding the lobby as if she owned it . . . which she probably did.
The moment their eyes met, his resolve to rid himself of her faltered.
"There you are," she said, walking up to him. At one time Dobie would have enjoyed the attention they received while they were together, but now it seemed like a curse. And given who he was dealing with, that probably wasn't too far off the mark. She looked at the screen. "As usual, you're doing well," she said. "Care to go back to the room for dinner? I'll call room service."
Everything he'd planned to say to her had inexplicably vanished from his brain. "Okay," he said, and followed her to the Corvette.
"You seem a bit . . . out of sorts," she said as she started up the 'Vette. "Is something wrong?"
What to tell her? Hell yes, everything is wrong. I shouldn't be in this car, I shouldn't be going back to the room. And I shouldn't be thinking that maybe we have a chance together after all!
"I'm just really hungry," Dobie replied, and that was no lie. He hadn't eaten all day, and before meeting Llan and Samantha he had played ten intense games. His stomach growled in agreement.
"I see," she said with a distant smile, which didn't seem genuine. She turned left at the intersection of 41st and Yale and went south, to I-44. "Any idea who that is behind us?"
"Huh?" Dobie articulated, looking in the side rear view. The Caprice was tailing them conspicuously, with Samantha clearly visible in the driver's seat. Llan was sitting in the passenger's side. Shit. "No. Who is it?"
Morgan didn't reply, and an uncomfortable silence fell on them. Suddenly it didn't seem like a good idea to go back to the room.
"Why don't we stop at this Denny's over here?" he suggested, but her look sent a cold shiver through him.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "You deserve better than that," she added, and continued to drive.
He didn't know if he should go with her or jump out of the car. With Samantha so close, he felt less threatened. If only she stayed within sight, and close enough to help him.
This didn't seem to be in the cards. As soon as the Corvette hit the expressway Morgan punched the engine, scratching the road in third. The sharp acceleration pressed him back in the seat, and cars blurred past as if they were parked. The 'Vette's nose seemed to be shifting to the red end of the light spectrum. For a blessed moment all he could think about was not dying.
He risked a glance in the rear view; Samantha was long gone.
"No matter," Morgan said, and moment later she had pulled up in front of the hotel, a valet took the 'Vette, and they were back in the room, all in what seemed like seconds.
The moment the door had closed Morgan spun around and slapped Dobie in the face, hard enough to snap his head back. He was too stunned to feel it.
She glared at him, all fury and flame, with her hands on her hips. "Now what the hell is going on?"
"What do you mean, what's going on?" Dobie said, trying hard not to whine. His new-found self didn't seem to have much useful to contribute, and he found himself withdrawing into the old shell of Dobie the Wimp.
"You left with that elven bitch a few hours ago. We have it on the cameras. And then she was following us. What are you trying to do, set me up?"
Caught red-handed, he didn't know what to say, at first. Particularly when he wasn't sure what he was guilty of. Oh, to hell with it! "It's nothing you don't deserve," he said, and grabbed the doorknob, expecting it to turn, expecting the door to swing open. The knob didn't yield, in fact seemed to have become one solid piece with the door.
"Try again," she said, with a wicked smile.
It was the only door into the room. He went to the phone, which was dead. The windows led nowhere but down. Shit. I'm trapped.
Morgan walked casually into the main living room and flopped down on one of the chairs, kicking off her heels in two fluid motions. "So who got to you? The elves or the druid?"
"Neither," he said, glaring at her. "I grew up."
Her laugh was loud and bitter. "You are a child, warrior. You were before, and you are now. And without me you are nothing."
"With or without you, I'm The Hound of Culann," he replied, but the anger was making him tremble.
Her look was cool and appraising, and bit surprised. "So you finally figured out that much. The druid must have pulled that out of you. He needn't have bothered, I would have done the same. But since you're the perfect boy toy, I wanted to play with you some more, first. And I still can."
"It takes two to screw," Dobie said, rolling his eyes. Even he knew that.
"No, it doesn't," she said, with a confidence that was chilling. "It only takes one goddess." She raised her right hand and closed her eyes as something shuddered through the room, shaking the walls briefly before it was gone. By the time she opened her eyes again Dobie was uncomfortably aware of an unwanted heat in his loins, and a total lack of resolve. He wasn't even angry at her anymore, though something deep within him screamed at him that this was not right.
"Now, I want you to go into the bedroom and wait for me."
With only a vague sense of humiliation, he did as he was told.
* * *
With Joystik in tow, Aedham hit the yellow light and waded through the expected disorientation of gating until he found solid ground on the other side. As anticipated, he found himself nose to nose with the Seleighe army.
Of course, they didn't know who had made the Gate, or who would be coming through it. A battalion of archers filled the horizon, two rows, kneeling and standing. The King had counted on their hesitation at the sight of his human clothing, and made the obvious Seleighe move by
shielding the human child with himself. He achieved the desired effect; as one the nocked arrows pointed to the sky, away from Aedham.
Aedham scanned the army for a familiar face, and found one.
"Petrus!" the King shouted, and moved towards the army, glancing warily at the Gate behind him.
Petrus, in full battle armor, led his elvensteed Moonremere through the archers and approached the King. The elf had been among the small group who lived with Aedham in Dallas, and had seen more of the human's world than any other Avalon elf besides himself and Samantha; now he was the commander of his army. Still on the youthful side, with long blond hair spilling out from behind his helmet, he could pass as Llan's much older brother.
"Aie, King! You escaped!" he shouted triumphantly as Moonremere gaited to a halt.
"No time! There are three Unseleighe on the other side of that Gate," Aedham said, moving out of the way of the archers. Petrus followed suit. "I suspect they'll be coming through any second now! I must get this child out of the way."
The ranks opened up to allow them past, and Petrus gave orders to the archers to resume their aim on the Gate. Joystik seemed to be taking it all in stride, though it wasn't clear the boy fully comprehended what was going on.
The weapons. We must claim them, Aedham thought, and found a supply wagon. "Stay here," he said to Joystik, and to the puzzled driver said, "Protect this human. I'll return shortly."
Aedham returned to the front line just in time to see a rain of arrows strike three rather surprised Unseleighe as they stumbled through the Gate. He saw with approval that Petrus had ordered elf shot; it made their deaths quick. Petrus was looking to him for further instructions.
"I need . . . all the infantry to line up here," he said, stepping over the arrow-riddled bodies. "We're going to raid the enemy's armory."
A cheer went up as elven infantry lined up as ordered, swords drawn.
"After me," Aedham said, charging back into the Gate. In the weapons room Aedham grabbed eight of the vests, four on each arm, and gave them to the nearest Seleighe. "They're light. And they're not fragile. Grab as many as you can and drop them on the other side of that Gate, and come back for more. Now move like you have a purpose! We won't go undetected for long!"
Some of the infantry were from Avalon, some weren't, but they moved as if they all had grown up under his command. The operation went with a minimum of chaos as the King guided the flow of traffic in and out of the Gate, and with growing exhilaration watched the racks empty at a phenomenal rate.
The infantry's movement, not to mention the armor they wore was not quiet, however, and Aedham's anxiety grew. He ventured into the darkness of the weapon's room until he found a door at the other end; on the other side he sensed more Unseleighe. From here the operation was anything but quiet.
Certainly they must hear what is going on in here? he thought, then recalled, but of course they hear an army making off with the weapons. But they think it's their own forces! How generous of them to guard the door for us.
The operation went smoothly, the only wrinkle being when Aedham saw Joystik walking into the Gate with a dual armload of levin rifles. The King might have objected to putting the boy in unnecessary danger, but the lad seemed capable, and a direct confrontation with the Unseleighe seemed unlikely this round. I'll have to have a talk with him about obeying orders.
After several more passes, his men had cleaned out the armory. He looked up to see row upon row of empty racks. Not a levin rifle remained; the King resisted an urge to thank his Unseleighe guards for their loyal assistance, but felt that would jinx an otherwise successful operation. After a thorough search of the now quite empty room, he decided everyone was out and took his own leave through the Gate.
"Is everyone accounted for?" the King shouted to his men, and as Petrus did a head count he looked for and found Joystik, who was grinning like a monkey next to a long pile of levin rifles that was taller than he was.
"Everyone accounted for!" Petrus shouted. "Do we have any more Unseleighe to contend with?"
"Negative!" Aedham called back, and prepared to dismiss his creation. He considered siphoning off the three nodes under Mort's palace to fortify his own, but that would definitely draw unnecessary attention. Instead he quickly shut down the Gate, which folded in on itself quite easily, no surprise given its quick and dirty construction. When the last trace of it was gone, a cheer rose from the army.
"Well done, King!" Petrus said, dismounting Moonremere to slap him on the back. "So tell me, what did we just steal?"
"Remember the work Niamh was doing with the elvenstones? That's what was stolen during the sleep spell attack on the palace. Our enemies have done us the favor of making Niamh's work operational."
The King picked up one of the vests and put it on. The gun was connected to a cable much thicker than the phone coil of the original Lazerwarz rifle, but otherwise was exactly like the "toy" version. But this is no toy. The gun was a black tube as long as his arm, and wide enough to put his fist in. On the grip he found a power switch. "Unless I miss my guess, this turns it on," he said, but flipping the switch did not have any effect.
"Yes? And?" Petrus said eagerly.
"Something's not right," Aedham said, with growing unease. He took the vest off, and Petrus held it for him as he examined the back. He removed a panel, which revealed a wheel adorned with elvenstones. Aie, the node generator, Aedham thought, but something was still wrong. What turns the generator? What makes it— His eyes fell on six empty slots, and groaned as he understood what was supposed to be in those slots.
"Batteries not included," he said with disappointment. "Six of them." He glanced at the mountain of levin rifles, with Petrus and Joystik selected a few randomly and checked the back panels. No batteries in any of them.
"We need batteries." How many of these did the late Yuaroh Dhu say there were? Three hundred? Times six? Damn! "We need one thousand eight hundred D batteries."
Petrus frowned. "I don't think we have that many at the palace."
"I know we don't," Aedham said. "There's one place that would have that many batteries."
"Where?" Petrus asked.
"Wal-Mart. We'll need money," the commander pointed out. "Can you ken a big pile of twenties for us?"
"Not without an original to copy it from," Aedham replied, and addressed his army. "Does anybody have any human currency?" He shouted. "A twenty or fifty dollar bill?"
His answer was a sea of baffled elven faces.
"What about gold?" Petrus said. "Here, on this sword, on the handle. There's a bit of gold here . . ."
Aedham didn't notice Joystik, who had sauntered up to the conversation. "Why use gold when you can use plastic?" the boy interrupted. He opened up a black leather wallet, revealing an impressive assortment of credit cards. "I don't leave home without them."
"Very resourceful," Aedham said, looking over the cards. "Plenty of credit?"
Joystik looked mildly insulted. "Of course. Dad pays them off each month. And one's an American Express."
Aedham saw the green and white card and nodded his approval. "Fine, then. We can do it this way," Aedham replied, but something about the deal felt intuitively wrong. It wasn't how they were going to pay back the money—Avalon would do so at the first opportunity, with solid gold, if that's what the boy preferred.
What's bothering me about this? The ruby on his head? The stone was dark and inert, but it was still attached to his temple. Aedham wanted it removed altogether before they returned to the Overworld.
"Give us a moment," Aedham said to Petrus, and took Joystik aside. "This stone on your head. I think it's time we removed it, don't you think?"
Joystik reached up and touched the flat stone. "Hell, I almost forgot it was up there. Yeah, go ahead and take it off. I don't know how they got it to stay in the first place."
Aedham ran his finger around the edge of the stone, feeling its dark magic but no obvious adhesive, like glue. With the edge of a bronze da
gger loaned by Petrus he probed where it connected to skin, but only received painful grimaces from Joystik for his efforts. The unpleasant possibility of having to cut the thing from his skin kept him searching for an alternative.
"It's connected with magic," Aedham decided.
In a mild trance, the royal Mage entered the stone, finding an amazingly complex structure of magical paths. Drawing on a bit of node power, Aedham dampened the paths closest to Joystik's skin.
"Something's happening. I feel it tingling," Joystik said anxiously. "It's not gonna blow up or anything is it?"
"No, of course not," the King said, but he wasn't certain himself. With another push of power, the jewel fell off the side of Joystik's face; the King deftly caught it before it hit the ground.
"It's off," the King announced triumphantly. He held up the round red jewel to show Joystik. "How do you feel?"
"Great. It itches up there though," the boy said. "Okay to scratch?"
Aedham examined the round patch of skin where the stone had been. The only difference was that it was a clean white circle on a dirty, dust streaked face. The King shrugged.
"Scratch away," Aedham said, and Joystik rubbed the area with his fingertips.
"It's not numb or anything," the boy observed. "Feels normal."
"Then I'd say this didn't do anything to you permanently," Aedham said, studying the stone. It looked like nothing from Underhill, and didn't feel like it was from the human's world, either. Then he remembered the path of matrices, and explored it from another direction, until he found what he sought.
It's synthetic! he discovered. The Foevors made this from . . . who knows what. The matrix is like a code. Chances are the other stones in the other rubyheads are kenned from the same stone. The patterns of power flowing through them would be identical.
Then he saw a way to break the rubyhead spell. Send a mild magical blast encoded with the reversed pattern of paths. It might cancel out the other spells, or at least interfere with them enough to make the stones ineffective. The only question is how to do it for more than one person at a time.
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