Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Was doin’ ‘till y’started t’ wave t’ fork ‘round. Who’re y’ arter wiv’t?” the man asked, slyly. “Seein’ t’ings?”

  While the men spoke, Aurelia hurried past them to the stable door. Rhoslyn followed close behind. Aurelia was almost running by the time she squeezed past the meeting of the barn side with the yew hedge, but she stopped in the shelter of the hedge, hissing with impatience because she could not find the Gate. Rhoslyn, catching up, laid a hand on her shoulder. The Gate opened. They darted through, Aurelia moving as if she could not rid her feet of mortal soil quickly enough.

  Safe Underhill, Aurelia turned her back on Vidal’s decaying Gate and snapped at Rhoslyn, “Why did you stop me from blasting that arrogant mortal? How dare he threaten me?”

  “I stopped you because that particular mortal has frequent meetings with Lady Elizabeth and possibly with Denoriel,” Rhoslyn snapped back. “He already suspected our presence. Do you think he would not cry aloud of being bespelled? Denoriel would believe him and set some kind of watch. Believe me, the chances of killing the maid will be much less if anyone suspects an enchantment has been used.”

  Aurelia glared at Rhoslyn, but obviously could not think of an adequate riposte, because she tossed her head and said, “See to it that we do not need to spend more than a few moments waiting for the maid. All that cold iron does me no good. Could you not have found a better place?”

  “Not a place where we could be sure the maid would come.” Rhoslyn sighed at Aurelia’s stupidity. “Where would you suggest? In the palace there is double, treble the amount of cold iron. The maid does not go to the woods or the fields and the groom does not go into the garden. Elsewhere there is little chance for concealment and a great deal of opportunity for rescue.”

  “Very well,” Aurelia spat. “The stable it must be.”

  Rhoslyn nodded. “I can set an imp where it can see the entrance to the stable, but where it will itself be concealed—you remember that Elizabeth can see the creatures and can see through any illusion. The imp will come to me when Elizabeth and the maid arrive at the stable. I will send the imp to you, and you can meet me here.”

  “By which time the maid will be on her way back to the palace where a groom would not dare follow her.” Aurelia’s lips turned down in a discontented grimace.

  “That is possible,” Rhoslyn admitted, “but I think not. It always takes some time to get all the horses out and everyone mounted. And sometimes, like yesterday, the woman does not return to the palace at all, but waits for Lady Elizabeth in the stable. In any case, she usually has a few words with Ladbroke. And do not forget, I can adjust the time to arrive a moment after the imp departed.”

  Aurelia nodded. “And the bespelled one will be close. He will not attack until I say the word, but he will be drawn to the woman. Very well, I will await the imp.”

  Whereupon, she turned away and gestured. From behind the tangled, half-formed brush, the four slaves drew the elegant little carriage. Aurelia stepped into it and sat; a new gesture woke burns on a different part of the slaves’ backs and they hurried forward. Rhoslyn stood watching with thinned lips, furious at being abandoned. Not that she wanted to ride with Aurelia, but now she had the choice of using Vidal’s deteriorating Gate, walking to the other end of the domain, or summoning Pasgen. Selfish, vicious, and cruel; that was Aurelia.

  She settled for the last, stroking the little furry snake nestled under her collar and saying, “Come and get me, Pasgen. I’m stranded near the stable Gate. Bring Torgen.”

  In a shorter time than Rhoslyn expected, the Gate she had been told led only to and from the stable at St. James’s Palace opened wider than Rhoslyn thought it could. Pasgen rode Torgen out.

  “What do you mean you are stranded?” he asked irritably.

  “Did you want me to use that?” Rhoslyn asked, gesturing toward Vidal’s Gate.

  There were now more cracks than floor and, though the lava was no more than cold red rock now, anyone who slipped through would have a nasty fall and might still be impaled on the few stalagmites that were upright.

  Pasgen frowned, in the way of someone confronted with a terrible, even criminal waste. “Why does he let that happen? It is a disgrace.”

  “Either he gets some amusement out of seeing those who come here cope or fall victim, or he has forgotten it even exists.” Rhoslyn shrugged. “Take me up on Torgen. I left Talog in the stable of Caer Mordwyn.”

  “Then how did you get here?” Pasgen asked, hauling her up to sit pillion on Torgen’s hindquarters.

  The not-horse snorted and Rhoslyn could feel the muscles of his rump tighten as he prepared to buck her off. “Don’t you dare, Torgen!” she snapped.

  Pasgen laughed as the not-horse quieted. “They still obey you. I suspect that even my guards would obey you.”

  Rhoslyn blinked. “I never thought of it. I suppose they would. Would you like me to—”

  “No.” Pasgen shook his head, an amused expression on his face. “Actually, it is a kind of safeguard. If I should be struck down or some accident make me helpless, it is well that the guards would obey you.”

  Rhoslyn tightened her grip on Pasgen slightly, warm with pleasure at his trust, but all she said was, “As to how I was stranded here, Aurelia took me with her from the palace but she was displeased because I would not let her strike down Elizabeth’s chief groom—he who was once a servant Underhill—and out of pique, she would not take me back. It is rather too long to walk, especially in a gown.”

  “She needs a lesson in manners,” Pasgen said, as Torgen’s long strides brought them to the gates of Caer Mordwyn. His voice was cold, and he gestured at the gates, which immediately opened inward with such force that they slammed the walls to either side.

  “Gently, dear heart,” Rhoslyn said. “You are too careful of my pride. It is true that she holds herself too high and mighty, but often that makes her useful because she tells me what Vidal is doing in order to make herself seem important.”

  Pasgen did not reply to that, and Rhoslyn slid down from Torgen’s back when Pasgen stopped it by the stable. A newt-servant hurried out and Rhoslyn asked that Talog be brought to her. Ichor oozed from the shoulder of the groom who brought the creature and Rhoslyn saw wheals on Talog’s hide.

  “Who did that?” she snarled.

  The groom collapsed on the ground, releasing Talog’s rein, and the not-horse promptly rose and brought its clawed feet down. In moments the groom was a bloody ruin. Rhoslyn said, “Enough,” to the not-horse, who snapped at her irritably. She struck its muzzle so that blood flowed from the lip, cut on the predator’s teeth, but she also turned and ran her hand over the wheals and they disappeared.

  Together she and Pasgen rode to a little-used Gate at the back of the palace, made two transfers from different Gates, and arrived at the empty house. Only this time when the not-horses were sent off to the stable they settled down in the seldom-used parlor.

  Rhoslyn called up an imp and dispatched it with clear mental commands as to where it was to wait and what should trigger its return—a return to her presence, not to the place it started from. When it was gone, she told Pasgen everything that had happened. He was not much interested, except in the fact that Ladbroke seemed sensitized to the use of magic. And he shook his head over the drink to which Aurelia seemed addicted.

  “It soothes her and relieves her pain and it is prepared for her by a mortal healer?” he asked. “It seems unlikely. When have mortals ever been able to do anything to heal the Sidhe?”

  “I have not asked, but that is what observation tells me,” Rhoslyn replied.

  Pasgen shrugged. “Does it muddle her mind too?”

  Rhoslyn took pains to recall everything she could. “Of that, I am not sure. Once when the pain struck her hard and she emptied the glass, she seemed to forget who I was for a moment. But the memory returned. And when she takes less of it, it does not seem to affect her mind or abilities. The spell she set on the groom was faultle
ss.”

  “Ah, well, it is something to keep in mind,” Pasgen said as he rose to his feet. And as he left, he looked over his shoulder to say, “Be careful, sister. Call if you need me.”

  Rhoslyn allowed the servants to bring her a meal. It was not very good—mostly the servants were used to transfer messages—but it was wise once in a while to act as if she and Pasgen did live in the house. While she ate, Rhoslyn thought of Pasgen’s trust in her and smiled slightly.

  It was a rare thing in the Unseleighe Court … trust. But then she thought of his reason for allowing his guards to obey her—that he might be struck down or be made helpless. Struck down by whom? Had Pasgen enemies of whom he had not told her? Made helpless? By that accursed mist? She did not like the questions that were occurring to her, but there was little she could do about them. Pasgen would do what he was going to do, and she could not stop him.

  Eventually Rhoslyn left the empty house and made the multiple Gate transfers that would take her from there to her own domain. To her surprise, her mother came down to meet her, somewhat flushed with pride and pleasure. One of the male constructs had torn its hand badly while gardening. It had been waiting, moaning softly, for Rhoslyn to return and Llanelli had found it, and had used a healing spell on it.

  “I did not know whether a spell designed for us would work on a construct,” she said, with pleasure and pride, “but since it was a spell of construction I thought it could do no harm. And it worked!”

  “Well, now, Mother, I am very glad to know that,” Rhoslyn said, leading her mother into the living room where they both sat down. “Of course when I make them out of the mists in the chaos lands, I suppose I draw on my knowledge of what a Sidhe looks like and likely how my own muscles work, so I suppose it is reasonable that what would heal me would also heal the constructs. Still, it is of worth to have that proven. You have done all of us a valuable turn today!”

  “Yes, and I was glad to do it, very glad to know that the spells I have been learning work,” Llanelli said, flushing. “But … but I am coming to a point in my studies when I really need to … to practice what I have learned.”

  “But I can’t let you advertise for patients and have them come here,” Rhoslyn protested. “You know why Pasgen and I keep our true dwellings secret. Vidal Dhu and, even more, Aurelia cannot be trusted. They might destroy everything just for spite or lay some trap to catch us unaware so that we might be bound to their wills.”

  “And you think I want to be free so I can get oleander.” Llanelli sighed. “It isn’t so. I hardly ever think of it now that I have something else to think of. But if all the study is just sterile make-work to keep my hands and mind busy …”

  Rhoslyn shook her head. “Actually, I wasn’t thinking about the oleander. I thought at first that perhaps you could set up as a healer in one of the markets, but it would make you too vulnerable—not so much to the drug as to Vidal. No, I would like for you to set up as a healer. There are few enough among the Unseleighe; you could earn many favors, and make allies for us as well.”

  Llanelli said nothing, only clasped her hands and watched her intertwined fingers.

  After a long moment, Rhoslyn said slowly, “There is the empty house. Perhaps it could be safeguarded. With your maids, a couple of my girls, who are very clever, and perhaps Pasgen’s guards or a few special constructs …”

  Llanelli’s face transformed with enthusiasm, and she seemed to light up from within. Her eyes became more green, less like transparent marbles. “Oh, yes. There are Gates from all three markets to the empty house. It would be easy for patients to come to me.”

  “Easy for anyone,” Rhoslyn said rather flatly, but when she saw the life fading from Llanelli, she smiled and added, “On the other hand, the servants there are all keyed to my mind and Pasgen’s so we could be summoned from wherever we were … Let me talk to Pasgen about this, Mother.”

  Llanelli wilted. “Pasgen will say no.”

  Rhoslyn laughed. “Yes he will, but only at first. I will explain, and once he thinks about it, I believe he will agree. Meanwhile I will tell the girls and the servants here that if they are hurt they should not wait for me, but go to you for help.”

  “You won’t tell the girls to hurt the other servants just so I can have patients,” Llanelli said doubtfully, knowing the ways of the Unseleighe.

  “No, I won’t do that,” Rhoslyn said, laughing again. “There are accidents enough among them to keep you from being entirely bored—they are like children, you know, who try things with little judgment and no care for consequences. But how will you let those who come to the market know that you are a healer and keep your real identity secret?”

  They talked about that for a while, seriously at first and then suggesting ridiculous ploys to each other so that they giggled like children. And after a while, Llanelli, still smiling, leaned forward and kissed Rhoslyn.

  “Thank you, my love, thank you,” she said. “I’ll go now and look at the gardener’s hand to see if my spell is holding and the construct flesh is binding together as Sidhe flesh would heal. You have things to do, I’m sure.”

  In fact, Rhoslyn did have a few projects waiting, the creation of constructs for several of the dark Sidhe, but she had time yet and was not in the mood for building sex objects that looked mortal but were more durable than the poor mayfly humans, or guards that could rival an ogre in strength. And suddenly, thinking of the horrible death coming to the maid, she felt unutterably weary. Sidhe did not sleep as such, but that was exactly what Rhoslyn wanted to do … sleep.

  Too much Aurelia, she told herself, as she climbed the stairs and let herself into her suite of rooms. There was a bed, of course, usually used for purposes other than sleep—but there had been no one for a long time that Rhoslyn could tolerate as a bedmate. She did not even think of that as she waved her clothing away and lay down.

  Sidhe did not usually sleep, but Rhoslyn achieved that state, or something close to it before she was jarred out of her peaceful meditations on nothingness by a lance of pain—

  The pain of having her hair pulled. She nearly blasted the imp that was laughing as it tugged, but it began to chitter, “On the path. Near. Near.” And she remembered setting the imp to watch for Elizabeth and her maid.

  She sent it off to Aurelia and sprang from the bed. A thought clothed her in full mortal dress and she rushed out, mentally calling to her servants to bring Talog. It was there in moments. Rhoslyn mounted and rode to her private Gate, cursing the need for the circuitous route to protect her privacy. In no long time, however, she rode Talog out of the little-used Gate in the rear of Caer Mordwyn. This time she did not dismount in the courtyard, only sent a servant to inform Aurelia that she had arrived.

  Vidal’s consort emerged promptly but made a grimace of dissatisfaction on seeing Roslyn mounted. “I thought to supply you with a little extra power,” she said. “My slaves do not get enough exercise these days.”

  “The less I need to adjust the time the better,” Rhoslyn replied, and added mendaciously, “The Gate is temporary—Pasgen had not the strength nor the audacity to build a new permanent Gate in our lord’s domain—and it might fail if it is tweaked too much. I hope that you will settle for swiftness and ride.”

  Aurelia did not look happy, but she called for a mortal servant to bring her horse, and when he did and had helped her to mount, she broke his arm and seared his naked chest, sucking in the outflow of pain and terror. Rhoslyn did not crowd close to take in whatever Aurelia missed.

  Rhoslyn found she had less and less taste for the sour burning power of mortal misery, and as they cantered away, she thought again of Pasgen’s ability to take into himself some of the power intrinsic to the roiling mists of the chaos lands. They were twins, almost the same blood and bone; surely if Pasgen could do it, she could too. The next time she molded mists into a living construct, she would—

  “Here is Vidal’s Gate,” Aurelia said, breaking into Rhoslyn’s thoughts. “Has Pasgen’
s died already? I do not see any sign of it.”

  “No,” Rhoslyn affirmed. “I can feel it, and it is in better condition than Vidal’s.”

  “Vidal is careless sometimes,” Aurelia replied, not looking toward the disintegrating Gate; the roof of the black glass temple had fallen in places and the left-hand path had disappeared completely.

  Rhoslyn directed Talog around Vidal’s Gate and stopped the not-horse by the bent tree rising out of the unfinished mess that was probably meant to be brush. She dismounted and led the not-horse behind the ill-defined bushes. Aurelia followed, dismounted, and looked at the ground, frowning. A glowing copper rod with loops at the end of a crossbar appeared. Aurelia fastened her horse to one loop and invited Rhoslyn to use the other. Rhoslyn laughed.

  “Talog could have that out of the ground in one pull.” She turned to the not-horse, put a finger on its forehead and said, “You will stay here and wait for me. You will not eat the horse that is tied here. You may eat anything else that comes along, but do not go far from this place.”

  For answer, the not-horse snapped at her and she clouted it, but it did not attempt to savage her when she turned her back on it. Vicious as its temper was, it obeyed her, and that vicious temper was useful at times like this. Around in front of the bent tree, Rhoslyn took Aurelia’s hand. The Gate opened to her will.

  They stepped through into a perfect summer day. The sun was bright, there was a cool but very gentle breeze, everything smelled fresh—if rather strongly of yew—and the sound of voices, a girl’s and a woman’s, came to them through the hedge. They hurried forward toward the open area near the stable door, Aurelia pulling her flask from her pouch.

  Rhoslyn glanced at Aurelia and quickly covered her elaborate, diamond-studded gown with the illusion of an upper servant’s sober dress. Aurelia drank from her flask, closed her eyes, sipped again, then capped it and put it away. Rhoslyn breathed a small sigh of relief, having been afraid that Aurelia would take too much.

  Both whispered the Don’t-see-me spell, but Rhoslyn pulled Aurelia close and reminded her that Elizabeth could see through it and that they must remain hidden until the girl was gone. They did not need to wait long. Apparently a message had gone down to the stable that Elizabeth would ride and all the horses were ready. It was only necessary to lead them out. Nyle and Shaylor mounted. Ladbroke lifted Elizabeth to the saddle.