Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  Pasgen had no intention of being involved in any of the disgusting amusements Vidal favored and had set in train at the court, but he dared not simply refuse to participate. Then he recalled Vidal’s interest in Elizabeth and realized he could use the need to arrange her death or capture to avoid other activities. He had no personal interest in killing or abducting Elizabeth, but he would need to seem to be working toward those goals.

  First he would need information with which to pacify Vidal and prove he was obeying him. Pasgen created a tiny Gate where he had built the large one through which they had escaped after the disaster in Hatfield, and sent through it a tiny, malicious atomy of an imp. He fixed Elizabeth’s image into its mind and bade it find her. When it returned with the information that her private rooms were the same as those she had had as a child, Pasgen sent it out again with the order to watch and report all her activities and amusements.

  The creature, accustomed to being invisible to mortal eyes, would have done her a mischief if it could. However, when it tried to approach to pinch Elizabeth or pull her hair, it encountered something that made it squall in pain and forced it to leap away to avoid further hurt.

  The sound was small because the creature was so small, but Elizabeth woke, and seeing it hanging on a far corner of the bed curtains, cried out for Blanche.

  Her nursemaid came at once, and within moments, Blanche’s actions told Elizabeth that the creature was no nightmare. That Blanche knew it was there was obvious; that she could not see it nor pinpoint its location was equally obvious. Elizabeth, however, saw it clearly, and when Blanche unhooked one of the larger crosses from the necklace she wore, the child was able to point out where the imp was so that Blanche could beat at the bed curtain where it was trying to hide with the iron cross.

  Squalling, the imp fled again, out of the bedchamber and into a private parlor, furnished not only with comfortable chairs but with a desk for writing. The remains of a good fire were banked in a substantial hearth, but the comfortable chairs were worn and the desk old and scarred with use. The imp had no understanding of what it saw, but when it fled back to Pasgen again, whimpering and cowed, he was able to take the images from it.

  In one way the images came as something of a shock to him. Apparently Elizabeth could see through illusion and her maid could at least sense beings of the Unseleighe. That was a complication, but now that he knew, he believed he could work around it or even make it work to his benefit.

  The images of the outer chamber, however, were all what he had wanted. They confirmed Pasgen in his opinion that Elizabeth was of little account in England’s royal hierarchy. The room was too shabby to be that of one considered a royal heir. There were no pages, no servants waiting there, regardless of the hour, to run to satisfy royal whims, no esquires waiting to bear messages, no sign of the half-dozen tutors that a royal scion would require.

  Nonetheless, since he had already been to the trouble of making the Gate and binding the imp to his service, he sent it back once more with new instructions. It was to avoid Elizabeth herself and her nursemaid. Instead it was to watch all the visitors and to note particularly those who were given personal access to the child.

  It reported every day as soon as Elizabeth was in bed and no longer available to visitors, but some two weeks after Blanche had driven it out of Elizabeth’s bedchamber it arrived in Pasgen’s trap chamber much earlier. The elemental who watched the chamber signaled Pasgen, who Gated to the hidden entrance and released the imp. It was still chittering fearfully and told Pasgen of a Bright Court Sidhe that had very nearly caught it in a net of force. And it had very nearly let itself be caught because the Sidhe looked so much like its master.

  “Denoriel,” Pasgen muttered. “So I guessed rightly that he would be watching the child. Curse him. I thought he was burned out.”

  After a moment’s thought, Pasgen shrugged and broke the binding that forced the imp to obedience. It spat at him and fled. Pasgen shrugged again. There was no point in continuing his surveillance. The “visitors” the imp had shown him over the past two weeks had been exclusively tradesmen, except one messenger from Henry or one of his ministers, who (from the lack of excitement Mistress Champernowne displayed) carried only entirely routine matters.

  The only reason Pasgen had kept the imp watching was for some sign that the king was using or planning to use Elizabeth as a diplomatic pawn. If foreign dignitaries had come to look her over, for example, he might have had to consider acting at once. There was no such sign now, though there might be in the future; the child was young, and even a royal bastard could cement an alliance by marriage.

  However, he could get political information in other ways less susceptible to detection by Denoriel. For now, it was not important enough to take the chance that Denoriel would again detect the presence of an agent of the Unseleighe Court. In the future he might need to bring Fagildo Otstargi back from his long sojourn in foreign parts.

  It was unfortunate that Denoriel now knew the Dark Court’s interest in Elizabeth persisted. He would have preferred that his half-brother, who was not nearly so powerless and stupid as Pasgen had believed, think that the girl had been forgotten.

  No. Pasgen sighed as he Gated back to his home and workroom. He was falling into the old trap of discounting the cleverness and persistence of the Seleighe Sidhe, thinking them completely given over to dancing and singing and light-hearted love affairs. His mother was like that, or had been until she had followed her kidnapped children into Vidal Dhu’s hands, but his father, Kefni Silverhair, might well have been of a different kind.

  He closed the door of his workroom behind him, and spell-locked it against intrusion.

  Kefni had successfully torn one set of his twins from Unseleighe keeping and would have had the other pair safe away also, had a mortal not been convinced by his priest to seal off Kefni’s refuge. Perhaps Kefni could have survived bursting through the iron-guarded entrance to reach his Gate, but he feared the infant twins he carried could not. Pasgen sighed. Kefni was always said to have had more courage and strength than sense.

  Well, that was not true of one set of his offspring, and it was wise not to assume it was true of those who still dwelled among the Seleighe. Also, Pasgen told himself, he must never forget that Aleneil was a FarSeer. Whatever the pallid Sidhe in Vidal’s tower Saw, she Saw also. And what she Saw, Denoriel knew. Curse Denoriel! From where had he drawn that white lightning with which he struck down Vidal? There was nothing like it even in the most dangerous of the chaos lands.

  Power … such a great power …

  But then, Pasgen bit his lip and shook his head. That was too much power. He had sensed Denoriel’s pain when he used it. What he had found in the chaos lands was better, safer, more easily controlled, less apt to burn the hand that wielded it.

  His eyes fixed again on the little bubble of force that held a twisting red mist which curled, coiled, unwound into a thin wisp and then coiled and snapped at the force bubble. It was almost animate. The tiny bit Pasgen had drawn out burned him even before he tried to absorb it. As if it knew. As if it resisted domination or assimilation. Pasgen watched the mist as it knotted into a tight ball with one sharp spike extended. The dull mortal world with its petty strivings for power over the twitterings and scrabblings of other mortals slipped from his thoughts. This was real power, and the only power worth having.

  Chapter 5

  Pasgen never did tame the red mist, but his attempts diverted him so completely from mortal affairs that when, months later, Vidal summoned him (Pasgen was relieved that the summons came through the empty house) he did not associate the summons with affairs in the mortal world. He had already sent word to Vidal that the Lady Elizabeth was of no account, but that he was watching her nevertheless, and he had heard nothing.

  Vidal did demand that he and Rhoslyn attend the court periodically, and his purpose was clear—to prove himself superior to the twins. This seemed like just another such summons.

  In
one way the summons were useful because they marked the progress of Vidal’s and Aurelia’s continued recovery, and gave Pasgen a useful way to gauge their abilities without actually testing them. At first the stinging insects and tangling ribbons that Vidal had cast at him and Rhoslyn could be brushed away with a thought.

  Pasgen had to remember to wince—and to remind Rhoslyn to wince—as if they had been startled, so that the court, in particular the other Sidhe, would think that the spells had missed them apurpose. The idea was to leave the others with the impression that Vidal was strong enough that the mere threat of punishment was enough to bring Pasgen to heel.

  At the last summoning, however, the thought had not been enough to deflect the spell completely. Rhoslyn had been touched by a stinging spark, had hissed with rage, and lifted a hand to send it back three-fold. Pasgen had barely been in time to stop her because he had noticed that Aurelia was no longer sitting beside Vidal like a stuffed toy. She still did not move or speak, but there was now a gleam in her eyes that hinted some, at least, of the force of that spell had come from her.

  Another matter to consider. If Vidal and Aurelia had learned how to blend their power as he and Rhoslyn could, that might be trouble. Such blended power could be too much to counter even for him if they both continued to gain strength, and it would surely be dangerous for Rhoslyn if she were alone.

  Of course there was a little matter of personalities; neither Vidal nor Aurelia was of a sharing kind … but still, now that they were regaining their strength, it behooved him more than ever to attend the court and measure just how strong they had become.

  He met Rhoslyn at the empty house—which was not really empty, just empty of them. It was quite an elegant place, modeled on a Roman domus of the classical period. The only break in its outer facade of pure white marble was a single door, guarded by a bronze gate and a burly construct. The door opened into a narrow hallway through which one could see a handsome atrium. The square area, open to the sky and centered on a pool where golden fish swam amid exquisite water lilies, was paved in marble veined with blue and green.

  On the opposite side of the atrium, the door to the tablinium stood open. Unlike the tablinium of a true Roman domus, this one did not hold any bed. There were several low tables accompanied by large cushions and three-legged stools, and the opposite wall was a huge window containing a door that opened into the back garden.

  Wings to either side of the tablinium held doors opening into rooms furnished as bedchambers. Occasionally those rooms had been occupied by guests, and the sitting rooms and libraries opposite—on the same side as the entrance—had been used as well, and bore the faint traces of the auras of those who had passed through the doors. Not enough to identify anyone, but enough to show that the house was not merely a show place. But the main purpose of the house was so that Vidal or anyone else who wished to communicate with Pasgen or Rhoslyn would have a place to send messages.

  The almost mindless constructs that accepted such messages for Pasgen (male) and Rhoslyn (female) had no other function than to be bound mentally to far more intelligent servants in Pasgen’s and Rhoslyn’s private domains. The bonds were one-way and any touch on them shattered them immediately.

  The other purpose of the empty house was that Torgen and Talog were stabled there, and beyond the stable was a park where the not-horses could graze if they chose (although they preferred to hunt and eat flesh, as if they were descended from the ancient dire-wolves) and where at least a dozen Gates were sited. Every Gate had termini at Caer Mordwyn and all three of the great markets. None could be used to reach Pasgen’s or Rhoslyn’s domains. The two empty places for patterning were sometimes spelled for a guest’s convenience; otherwise they remained blank.

  Rhoslyn sighed when she saw Pasgen coming toward her on the garden path. “If you hadn’t insisted I come, I would have sent a message with an excuse,” she said testily.

  “I might need you,” Pasgen replied, and then, in response to her wide-eyed expression of surprise, added, “It occurred to me, unpleasantly, that Vidal has grown stronger each time he called a court, and the last time his spell was strong enough that I could not divert it without counterspelling. And then I noticed that Aurelia was watching more keenly than she has watched anything since they reappeared.”

  “You think it was her spell?”

  “Her spell?” Pasgen looked blank and then blinked. “I had not thought of that at all, but you could be right, of course. She has looked so much like an image rather than a creature with life and sense that I never thought of it. But she was strong before whatever happened at Hatfield. What I thought was that out of need they had learned to join.”

  “Join,” Rhoslyn repeated, and shivered. “That would be bad.”

  “Yes, but good or bad we must know what to expect.”

  To that, Rhoslyn only nodded and looked ahead to where the servants, alerted by feeling the presence of their masters, were leading the not-horses. Rhoslyn mounted Talog without difficulty. Pasgen had more trouble. He had not ridden Torgen at all in the two years he had been ill, and he did not ride very often now because he spent so much time in his workrooms. Even when he was out hunting mists in the Unformed lands, he often did not take Torgen because he only needed to go a few feet from the Gate.

  Once the not-horses were under control, Rhoslyn and Pasgen went to the nearest Gate—a fantastic structure designed to look like a gaping mouth with far too many fanged teeth—which was large enough for the two not-horses abreast. They thought of Caer Mordwyn, Pasgen set the Gate spell in motion, and they rode into the fanged mouth, and instantly out of a shadowy structure that might have been a bit of dead woodland with great trunks, stripped of bark, leaning against one another, or a very large and rather ruinous barn. It was not enough of one or the other to be readily identified, but the first thing that sprang to mind was that the work of creating it was second-rate and sloppy.

  Pasgen snorted and even Rhoslyn looked dissatisfied. Despite their differences about what was beautiful, neither tolerated shabby or careless work. However, neither spoke. This was Vidal’s domain and the careless, unfinished-looking surroundings might house prying eyes and listening ears. Certainly the Gate that at one time had terminated very near the castle, now had released them at what looked like the border of the domain.

  “The horses will have a nice run,” Pasgen said.

  “That was what I hoped. I have been away and Talog needs exercise.”

  Rhoslyn grinned and picked up the pace so that they arrived at the black gate of the palace at a near gallop. Indeed, they were coming so fast that Pasgen had to circle Torgen before he could slow him enough to pass through. And that left the not-horse in such a fury that he savaged the first servant who came to take him, leaving the long, thin newtlike thing mewling, with its face torn open and its bowels oozing onto the cobblestones of the courtyard.

  “Tsk,” Rhoslyn said, gesturing first at the servant, who dissipated into mist, and then at Torgen, who ceased from plunging to the end of the rein that Pasgen had dropped and appeared fixed immovably to the ground. “That will be enough temper for one day, I think.”

  Both not-horses now allowed themselves to be led away and Pasgen and Rhoslyn joined the gathering throng of dark Sidhe, boggles, bane-sidhe, red-caps, trolls, ogres, phookas, and other creatures who were mounting the black marble stair to the entrance of Caer Mordwyn. Faintly a cry came from beyond the great open doors. The twins glanced at each other.

  “Shields?” Rhoslyn murmured.

  “Ready,” Pasgen replied.

  Inside, the unrelieved black of the external palace was brightened, if not much lightened, by red marble veined with gold. The floors, too, had golden lines snaking curvaceously across their width. Rhoslyn frowned, not recalling whether the floor had always been so enhanced, just as a rather small ogre tripped over one of those curving lines, fell to the ground and began to shriek as something in the floor rose up to pierce him.

  Whatever
it was did not hold him long, for a moment later the ogre jumped up, wailing. The experience had not been fatal—seemingly Vidal did not wish to diminish his court further, perhaps because he had finally realized that during his illness many had slipped out of his control and not returned. However, the little ogre seemed shrunken in size and could only stagger forward with a stain of dark blood trailing from his belly. Pasgen’s and Rhoslyn’s glance met; doubtless this was a new way for Vidal to suck power from his subjects.

  Pasgen’s hand closed on Rhoslyn’s arm and she felt the tingle of a shield sliding over her. It was just as well, in being careful to avoid another trap on the floor they came too close to one of the pillars, which lashed out at them with red ribbons that had been invisible against the red marble. The ribbons shriveled on touching Pasgen’s shield, but others were not so fortunate. The twins heard grunts and cries from those both before and behind.

  As they took their places in the front row of the throne room, Pasgen sighed. Vidal was growing stronger. He looked alert and mildly dissatisfied over someone or something that had not yet arrived. Aurelia, beside him, was actually smiling. Pasgen pushed a little more power into the shield and tried to watch all around him for the next attack without seeming to do so.

  Thus Pasgen was taken completely by surprise when Vidal said, “I visited the FarSeers’ tower a few days ago. Tell me, Lord Pasgen, why my FarSeers are still having Visions of the reign of Elizabeth. Why has she not been removed, one way or another as I ordered?”

  Pasgen almost asked “Who?” as he had asked the first time Vidal had mentioned Elizabeth, but recalled himself in time. He shrugged, gestured indifference.

  “I have not forgotten nor intended to disobey your command, Prince Vidal. I have merely been trying to be rid of the girl in a way that cannot be traced to the Unseleighe. Although she has been declared illegitimate, she is still part of the royal family, and Oberon—”