"The trust of a Bard is no small gift," Chinthliss said gravely. "Wait here."
He got to his feet and left the room, leaving Eric to wait. Eric was too keyed up to stay seated. He got to his feet and began to pace the room, not seeing any of its contents. Even if Chinthliss could give him what they needed to trap Aerune, even if this turned out to be a good idea, they still had to get the Sidhe lord into it.
And what if they failed?
Well, then, at least I won't be around to see what happens next. Cold comfort, but all he had. And if he kills me, at least that will get Misthold up off its duff. Not that I'm sure that's a good thing. I just know that things can't go on the way they're going now.
Just when Eric didn't think he could wait any longer, Chinthliss returned carrying a small box. He held it out to Eric.
"This is what you seek."
Eric took the box. It looked awfully small for a labyrinth, but appearances could be deceiving. The box was about four inches square, made of a highly-polished close-grained golden wood. He opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of blue velvet, was a small, wrinkled, silvery object about the size and shape of a walnut. He glanced at Chinthliss for permission before lifting it from its case. It was remarkably heavy, as if it were made of some substance denser than lead, and tingled coldly between his fingers as if a faint electric current were running through it.
"It is a seed," Chinthliss said. "Plant it anywhere in the Chaos Lands, and such a maze as you desire will instantly appear. It will work in the World Above as well, of course, but the maze that will grow there will be of a different sort—and I do not think it would serve your purposes as well."
"Thank you," Eric said, a little stunned. It almost seemed too easy, but having the maze to trap Aerune in was actually the least part of the problem he and the Guardians faced. "How can I repay you, Lord Chinthliss?"
The dragon smiled. "As I have said, the trust of a Bard is no small gift, and I would be sad to see the place from which comes so many beautiful things destroyed. Only think of me kindly, Bard Eric, and perhaps some day you can do me some trifling favor in return."
"Count on it," Eric said feelingly. "I . . . thank you again."
The dragon bowed. "No small thing, to render a Bard speechless," Chinthliss observed. "Fare you well, Bard—and good luck to you in the coming battle."
"We'll need it," Eric said bleakly.
* * *
It seemed unfair that the day on which they laid Jimmie Youngblood to rest should be so bright and sunny. It was one of those clear sparkling late August days—hot, but without the heat haze that cloaked New York through most of the weeks of summer.
The NYPD had turned out in force to salute their fallen comrade. Jimmie's coffin was draped with a flag, and the chapel where the funeral service was held was filled with officers in dress uniforms and detectives in plain dark suits and dresses. A number of Guardian House's tenants had come as well, and tonight there would be a wake in her honor at the apartment. Jimmie had been well-loved, though no one had known her very well.
Did I know her? If I'd known her better, could I have stopped all this from happening? Eric wondered desolately. He stood beside Hosea at the front of the chapel, both men dressed in dark navy suits with mourning bands on their left arms. Ria was there as well, looking severe and correct in a black Chanel suit. Even Kayla had been persuaded into something less flamboyant than her usual Goth garb. In a plain black dress, her face bare of all but the most minimal makeup, she looked very young. Far too young to expose to Aerune's danger.
If there's any way around it . . . Eric promised himself.
Toni stood close beside Paul, wearing dark glasses to conceal eyes red and swollen from grieving tears. She held a rosary in her gloved hands, her fingers moving over the smooth beads. Paul's face was cast in harsh and impassive lines, the mask of a man who felt deeply and knew the emotion must not be allowed to sway him.
The minister spoke of a life dedicated to duty and service—soothing words, meant to comfort those Jimmie had left behind. But there was no comfort for the Guardians, knowing she had been slain almost randomly by her own estranged brother in a bizarre side effect of Aerune's plotting.
The service and its aftermath passed in a blur, and Eric barely registered the names and faces of those who came up to him to offer their condolences and share their grief. Her co-workers were the men and women who knew Jimmie best, who knew that her death could have come for any of them.
After the service itself, the coffin was taken to a cemetery on Long Island for interment, at a second ceremony attended only by the departmental honor guard and Jimmie's closest friends. As the coffin was being lowered into the ground, the terrible finality of it all struck Eric like an unanticipated blow. This was real. This was forever. He stood, gazing down at the ground, until Kayla came and pulled him away toward the waiting Rolls.
Ria had volunteered her car to drive the Guardians and Eric to the cemetery, as New Yorkers rarely kept cars, Lady Day couldn't manage anything larger than her Lotus Elan shape, and Toni's venerable Toyota couldn't accommodate them all.
Why do we grow up thinking life should be fair? Who told us that it should be? Because it never is, and finding that out . . . hurts worse than a lie.
As the car passed through the gates on its way back to New York, its occupants were unusually quiet, constrained by the depressing occasion. Even Kayla had nothing to say.
Ria leaned forward in her seat and caught Eric's eye. "Whatever you're planning, I want to be a part of it."
Eric blinked, taken by surprise. Ria took the hesitation for disapproval.
"Oh, come on! Do you think I think you're going to just let this slide? You're planning something, and I can help."
"I, um . . ." He hadn't really thought about involving Ria. He'd gotten used to thinking of this as his fight, and the Guardians'. But Ria was a trained sorceress. And someone with her high-level Real World contacts could be a lot of help in unraveling the human end of Aerune's plot. "Are you sure? This isn't really your battle."
"As much mine as yours," Ria pointed out, with a certain justice. "Leaving aside the altruistic—that he's coming after everyone pretty much equally—let's descend to the selfish: if Aerune does what Banjo Girl says he wants to, I'm going to be persona non grata on either side of the Veil."
That much was true: Ria's mixed blood would make her as unwelcome with Aerune as it would make her a target for Aerune's human allies.
"I know," was all he said.
"And for that matter, I'm already involved. You know I've been chasing down the people Lintel was selling Threshold's black-ops drugs to. What do you want to bet that some of them are the same people Aerune's dealing with?"
"It's kind of you to wish to help . . ." Paul began.
Ria snorted. "I'm not kind. Ask Eric. But I'm not stupid, either. You have a better chance of success with my help than without it."
"We don't generally involve outsiders in what we do," Toni said, her voice neutral.
"I'm not an outsider, any more than Kayla and Eric are," Ria shot back. "You Guardians think you're special because you have abilities most people don't, and know more about the way the world really works than most people do. Well, surprise, so do I."
This had all the earmarks of degenerating into a nasty fight. Eric spoke up quickly.
"If this were just a problem like you've faced before, Toni, I'd be glad to stay out of it, and Ria too. But Aerune's my problem too, and Ria's. This involves both Underhill and the World Above, and you're understrength at the moment. Hosea's untrained, either as Guardian or Bard, and from what I've found out, Aerune eats guys like you for breakfast, no offense."
"None taken," José said gravely, glancing toward Toni and Paul.
"So let's wait till we get back to my place and hash things out. I've got the maze-seed. It might take Aerune out, but it's going to take teamwork to use it."
* * *
"That?" Toni Hernandez said
in disbelief an hour later. "That's our weapon? What next, a sack of magic beans?"
There had been no chance for Eric to talk with the others before the funeral, so this was the first opportunity they had to hear the tale of his visit to Chinthliss. He'd produced the box containing the maze-seed and passed it around for the others to examine.
"All the old fairy tales have their roots in truth, maybe more so than we imagine," Paul said musingly. "So . . . yes. Magic beans are not impossible." His eyes sparkled with the excitement of a scholar on the trail of hot new information. Toni passed the box to him, but Kayla grabbed it next.
"Hey," she said, holding the silvery seed in her closed fist. "It tickles. Weird."
Ria frowned at her firmly, and she passed the seed to Paul. José took possession of the box, examining its craftsmanship with pleasure.
"If this will not be needed afterward, may I have it to keep? It is a beautiful thing."
"Sure," Eric said. "I only hope we're going to be in a position to want souvenirs after this is over."
"Hear, hear," Ria drawled. "Okay, you've got your prison, and it shouldn't be hard to get the six of us into the Wild Lands to plant it. But how are you going to get the genie into the bottle?"
"Hey," Kayla said. "Can't you count? Seven—Hosea, the other three Guardians, you, me, and Eric." The others looked at her. Kayla glared back stubbornly. "Oh, no. You're not cutting me out of this deal, pat me on the head and leave the poor little girl on the sidelines to see if you come back. You need me! Who's going to put you back together when you come to pieces? Who's going to sucker this Aerune into coming after you in the first place?"
Eric shot Ria a guilty look. Involving Kayla would be an enormous help in bringing off the plan he didn't quite have yet. But it wasn't fair to involve a teenager in this. The danger was too great.
"No," Ria said flatly. "Elizabet would skin me with a dull knife."
"It might not be necessary," Eric began reluctantly. Kayla made a rude noise.
"Perhaps it would be simplest if you began by telling us what you had in mind," Paul said, handing the maze-seed to José. The other man placed it back into the box and handed the closed box back to Eric.
"The plan is to keep Aerune from being able to meddle in the World Above ever again," Eric said. "The method is to trap him inside a magical labyrinth—he won't be able to get out, and no one else will be able to get in. So we decoy him into the Wild Lands, and distract him while we plant the seed. When it grows up, he'll be inside, we'll be outside. Simple." I hope.
"Nothing in life is ever that simple," Ria commented.
José frowned. "I see two weak points in this plan. How do we get him to come to us in these Wild Lands—and how do we distract him until the labyrinth is complete?"
Hosea fingered the strings of the enchanted banjo, listening intently. "Jeanette says that Aerune's fief is carved out of the Wild Lands—would that be about right, Eric?"
Eric nodded. The borders of some Underhill domains actually touched, but more of them didn't.
"So if we raise up a great big magical fuss just outside his front door, he's bound to come and see who's out there," Hosea said.
"Then all we have to do is fight him to a standstill for long enough for your magic beans to grow." Ria looked at Eric. "Do you think it's possible?"
"If anybody has a better idea, I'm open to suggestions," Eric said grimly. "What we've got going for us is that the Guardians' powers are going to be as unfamiliar to Aerune as they were to me. And we don't have to defeat him. Just hold him for however long the maze takes to sprout."
"Then you definitely need me," Kayla said. "You've said that Aerune likes to eat Talent. Well, I've got Talent. He'll come after me."
Eric expected an immediate objection from Ria, but she actually appeared to be considering Kayla's suggestion. "You're right that we need bait to draw him out, someone chock-full of tasty Talent. We can't use Eric—Aerune's met him before, and Aerune might not want to antagonize the Elfhames by openly attacking a Bard. But he offered me an alliance, once. I could say I've changed my mind."
"But wouldn't he be suspicious? You turned him down once, and he's seen you with us now," Paul said.
"It doesn't matter if he's suspicious, so long as he comes," Ria said simply.
The talk went on—arguments, objections, attempts to plan for a situation that none of them could really predict. Ria pointed out that they would need armor and weapons of Cold Iron. The Guardians had swords, and Ria promised to provide them with chain mail shirts similar to her own, which would at least deflect any levin-bolts Aerune chose to throw. Kayla continued to argue for her inclusion in the mission, and Ria was just as firmly opposed.
"I think we're all forgetting something," Toni said at last. "The other night, when Aerune attacked Guardian House, Kayla was the only one who noticed. I think she needs to come."
Ria opened her mouth to protest. Toni raised a hand.
"I don't think she should be the bait. But I think she should be there. We've planned for the fight, but we need to plan for losing it, too. If we lose, what happens to Kayla?"
"Aerune will naturally return to Guardian House," José said, "seeking to complete his revenge. If Kayla is here alone—forgive me, querida—she will be easy prey."
"Whereas if she's with us, and things go bad, we can put her on a fast horse out of Dodge—Eric, is there somewhere you can send her that would be safe?" Toni finished.
"Lady Day could take her to Beth and Kory at Elfhame Misthold," Eric said. "Quit glaring, Kayla. Somebody's going to need to tell them that things went wrong, and how, and who was responsible, and an elvensteed won't be able to."
"And, meanwhile, she might be able to keep Aerune from pulling the wool over our eyes," Paul said. "I'm afraid I'm in favor of including her. She's not so much younger than Toni was when Toni became a Guardian."
"And I've already been an elvish blue-plate special once," Kayla pointed out. "And if something happens to you, Ria, Elizabet will kill me. So it's settled. I'm going."
Ria sighed, recognizing defeat. "Maybe we'll be lucky and all be killed," she said sardonically.
"I guess it's settled, then," Hosea said. "We all go. And the Good Lord willing, we all come back. The only question left is . . . when?"
"Soon," Eric said. Aerune had boasted that he was in no hurry to implement his plans, but that didn't mean he would leave them alone. If they were going to attack at full strength, it had better be a preemptive strike. "How soon can everyone get things ready?"
FIFTEEN:
THE EAGLE AND THE HAWK
The funeral and war council had been on Wednesday, and Ria said it would take a few days for the armor to arrive, and for her to make arrangements to be away from her office for a few days. The others also had real-world commitments, and arrangements to make—fortunately, Caity had one of José's birds, and could be trusted to take care of the rest of his little ones for a few days. Toni would send Raoul and Paquito to her sister in Brooklyn for the weekend, and none of the others had any dependents to be harmed by a few days' absence.
Eric was particularly glad to have the extra time to prepare. Hosea needed to know everything Eric could teach him, and he needed to know it fast.
Eric remembered Prince Terenil, who had been the first to show him what magic was. Terenil had done it by loaning Eric his own memories—a quick-and-dirty form of training worlds apart from the slow disciplined instruction he had suffered later under Lord Dharniel. But that had been a desperate time, with Perenor set to destroy all of Elfhame Sun-Descending and its inhabitants. And it had given Eric the first insight into using his power. If they were to face down Aerune in his own back yard a few days from now, Eric owed Hosea at least as much help as Terenil had given him.
Little good though it had done Terenil, in the end. He had died in the battle for the Sun-Descending Nexus, though at least he had taken Perenor with him. And the rest of us are still here, and so are the elves, so I guess
we have to count that as a victory, even if it doesn't feel much like one when I think about it.
* * *
"I don't know if this is going to work," Eric said. The two Bards were sitting in Eric's apartment the morning after the funeral, Hosea with his banjo, Eric with his flute. "I'm not even sure I can do it."
"I reckon you can," Hosea said in his slow Appalachian drawl. "I reckon it's like quilting—if you trace out the pattern, and I follow it, I'll end up with something that's mine alone."
"I guess," Eric said dubiously. "I hope. This isn't the way I wanted things to work out."
"We can't always have what we want, Mister Bard," Hosea said with a smile. "And I guess, if I came all this way to have you kindle up my shine, I can't kick about how you do it."
"I . . . yeah. So let's get started."
The first thing Eric did was summon up some heavy duty shields to insulate them from the rest of the House. It had been a rough week for the psychics who lived there, and he didn't want to add to their troubles, especially if something went wrong.
The healing circle Kayla had organized at the wake last night was a good start to healing the damage Aerune had done to the psychic fabric of this place. The more Eric saw her work, the more impressed he was. Kayla had good instincts. And if her Gift wasn't as flashy as Bardcraft or as initially impressive as that of the Guardians, in the long run, it made a lot more difference to the quality of life for ordinary people.
I guess that's what Jimmie meant about the Guardians' job being to let other people get on with their lives. It's all that, and about making a safe space for people like Kayla to use their gifts. She'd make a great battlefield medic for the psychic wars, but the important thing is to make a world where she can do something else instead. And I'd better get on with my part in arranging that.
He didn't think he could do what Terenil had done—there were advantages to being as long-lived as the Sidhe, and having a thousand years to practice your craft—but he could try to do something that had the same effect. Raising his flute to his lips, Eric began to play: long slow tones, not yet a tune. No one would be able to hear it but Hosea, and as he played, Eric tried to will his experience into the music, letting his mind rove over every time he'd used his magic, over all his lessons with Dharniel. As he did, the slow notes slowly evolved into music, a slow wandering tune of nothing in particular.
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