“Now that you are conscious,” Arthur says, “let us start the wheels of administration moving. When the doctor makes his rounds I shall convince him that another twenty-four hours is all that is needed for observation.”
“Good.” Eddie leans back against his pillows. “And, as much as I hate to admit it, I could move if there was a marauding army approaching, but not for anything else. My head is pounding and I can feel the ache in my leg even through the drugs.”
Arthur nods. Eddie has moved—and been moved—with worse injuries, but then, as he had intimated, the only other choice had been death. Without fear’s adrenaline charge to numb the pain, moving him could slow the healing process severely.
Eddie looks at Arthur. Already he is drifting back to sleep, but proof that his mind has come through the incident undamaged is found in the sharpness of his gaze.
“How long have you been here?”
“Since soon after you came out of surgery.”
“That was how long?”
Arthur glances at his watch. “About forty hours.”
Eddie’s eyes widen. “And you’ve been here?”
“Of course.” Arthur pats his shoulder. “You needed to be watched over. Vera can manage a few days without me.”
“But you must be exhausted!”
“The room is furnished with a nice recliner. I take catnaps and catch up on work. If you stay in here another day, I may even get to that correspondence backlog.”
“Arthur!”
“Rest, Eddie. That’s the fastest way to get me to my work.”
“It’s not that!”
Arthur grins. “I know, but don’t worry. Modern technology is wonderful. Between my computer, the modem, and a telephone, I’m unable to escape everything I left in my office. Rest now.”
“I…”
“Rest.”
Eddie’s eyelids drift shut, though not without some protest on their owner’s part. Watching him, Arthur realizes that he has lost count of the times that one has watched over the other. So many lifetimes, so many wars, so many assassins, so many just plain accidents.
He wonders which one of them will hold the final vigil or if some merciful power will make it possible for them to die within the same breath. The thought is not a new one, nor is his belief that their deaths will be far from painless.
10
Ewig ist ein langer Kauf.
(Forever is a long bargain.)
—German proverb
“I’ve spoken with the King and he has agreed,” Lovern says, thus beginning his meeting with the Changer.
They were heading to the airport to pick up Anson. Vera had planned on going alone, but the Changer had refused to let her do so, pointing out that Eddie had been attacked while driving.
“So they can pick us both off in one blow?” she had responded tartly.
“I am harder to kill than that,” the Changer says. “At least I dearly hope so. In any case, the wizard wishes to confer with me. If he comes along, I believe we can impose on him for a ward of some sort…”
Lovern had agreed and so the three of them—or four, since the Changer’s daughter sits between her father’s feet—ease through traffic toward the Albuquerque International Airport. The Changer sits in the backseat; Vera drives with Lovern in the passenger seat beside her.
“What has the King given you permission to do?” the Changer asks. “And why should knowing that he has given his permission sway my views one way or another?”
“Well…” Lovern stops, irritated with himself. He is so accustomed to backing his own desires with the authority of another that he has overlooked the Changer’s own likely reaction to such a statement. Also, with that irritating honesty he seems to be bringing to all of his self-assessments, he admits that the ancient makes him nervous.
“Let me begin again,” Lovern says, stroking his beard. “Given the current situation—the attacks on three residents of Arthur’s hacienda, the murder of your family…”
“I know the situation,” the Changer interrupts. “What do you want of me?”
“I want you to come with me when I go to retrieve a potent piece of sorcerous equipment from where I have hidden it.”
“Why me?”
“I have hidden it where few others could go.”
“Oh? Couldn’t another sorcerer go there? Or couldn’t you cast a spell to enable another to journey with you?”
“No. Yes. I…” Lovern stops, realizing that the Changer is baiting him. The yellow-eyed ancient leans back in the bucket seat and lifts his daughter onto his lap so that she can see out the window.
“Pray, continue.”
“I’ve hidden something under the sea,” Lovern says bluntly. “Your brother and I are not on the best terms. Previously, when I have visited my item I have done so astrally; thus, there has been no need to trouble Duppy Jonah. This time, since I need to physically remove it, I will need to deal with the Sea King.”
“And when you first hid it?”
“I did so without his permission. Thus, the ill will.”
“Unwise.”
“I know so now. I had not realized that he could hold a grudge for so long. Then, however, we had been on opposite sides during a then-recent conflict.”
“Ragnarokk.”
“Well… Yes.”
“I see. Legend speaks of Mimir’s Head being kept in a well. There is often a small amount of truth in such tales. A sea could be said to be the bottom of all wells.”
Vera clears her throat. “Gentlemen, we’re just about to the airport. Do you want to continue talking while I collect Anson? I don’t think I’ll be in any danger. Security at these places is pretty formidable.”
“I shall defer to the sorcerer in this matter.”
“Vera, if you don’t mind…”
“I’ll go,” she says. “Lovern, drive the van down to the baggage-claim level. We’ll come out there.”
“And if the plane is late?” the Changer asks.
The warrior maid taps her cell phone. “I’ll call if it is.”
As soon as Vera is gone, Lovern resumes the discussion where they had left off. “Yes, I’ve hidden Mimir’s head in a well. It’s safe there and, more to the point, so am I. When you create something closely tied to your own essence, it can endanger you.”
“Nimue must have wanted to know its location very badly,” the Changer says. “I congratulate you on your fortitude.”
Uncertain whether he has just been subtly insulted by the reminder of his captivity or truly complimented, Lovern chooses not to respond: “Will you accompany me?”
“And negotiate with the Sea King, my brother?”
“Yes. And help if our enemies attempt to prevent me.”
“I dislike the concept of the Head, Lovern. I have since you created it.”
“It has permitted me to do great services for the athanor.”
“Perhaps it has, but from my first sight of it, it struck me as a corruption of all that is natural.”
Lovern decides that silence is his best reply. The Head is a corruption of what is natural. That it has expanded his abilities greatly made that corruption acceptable to him. Still, the revulsion it would spawn if its existence was generally known is partially why he has kept it hidden for so long.
“Will you help me nonetheless? The knowledge I have stored in Mimir’s Head will help—and I have enchanted it with a gift for prophecy. It may be able to tell us who our enemies are.”
The Changer narrows his yellow eyes. “Why can’t you ask it these things with it stored safely beneath the ocean? Surely you haven’t forgotten how to make an astral journey.”
Lovern flushes. “I have not. I am…” He takes a deep breath. “I am afraid, Changer. During the astral journey my soul is connected to my body by only a slim silver cord. There are magics for severing that cord. Nimue knows some of these. Our unknown enemy may as well.”
A small smile of approval that Lovern has been honest curves t
he corners of the Changer’s mouth. Almost embarrassed, Lovern feels himself warm at the ancient’s regard.
“Lovern, let me think about your request. Here comes Vera with Anson. You would not wish your secrets discussed publicly.”
The Changer loops his daughter’s leash firmly around the door handle next to her, then opens the van’s door from the inside. Stepping down, he crosses to where Vera walks beside a long, wiry black man with an incongruous little potbelly, his hair bundled into dreadlocks.
“Anson.”
The black man, his dark eyes deep pools of laughter and sorrow, ducks a slight bow of acknowledgment. “’lo, Proteus.”
“Let me take your bags,” the Changer offers, lifting two hard-sided suitcases from the metal carrier Vera has been wheeling. “You don’t travel light.”
“Or I travel very light,” the Spider answers, taking the other two bags and leaving Vera to gather the carry-on, “since my luggage contains most of my worldly goods. Not all of us are as footloose as you.”
The Changer laughs. “Not so footloose as once. I have my own worldly bond with me. ‘Ware the pup. She’s coyote. She’s prone to nip or pee when she gets excited.”
“Ah! Vera mentioned something about her.”
Leaving the Changer to assist Vera in stowing the luggage in the back of the van, Anson climbs into the passenger section. Carefully, he extends a hand, wriggling the long fingers slightly. The puppy wriggles happily in response, her tail wagging as if she has just met her first and oldest friend.
Vera blinks in astonishment. “You have quite a way with wild things.”
“Not with wild things, no,” Anson says, letting the Changer take the puppy in his lap, then settling into the seat beside him, “with young things. They appreciate whimsy in a way that their elders have forgotten.”
Lovern makes a sound midway between a snort and a sigh as he pulls the van out into traffic. “Thanks for coming, Anson.”
“Hello, wizard. Here early for the Lustrum Review? Got to getta word inna King’s ear first, eh?”
“Perhaps,” Lovern says dryly, refusing to be baited. “Perhaps not.”
“And how’s my buddy, Eddie?”
Vera answers, “Arthur says that he is awake and alert. There was some fear of brain damage, but that is past. Arthur is agitating to take Eddie home. I’m supposed to ask you if you mind tending him on an upper floor—he has a broken leg.”
“Not a problem, Lady Grey Eyes. I can spin a web and bring him down into the public places if he wishes. I think he will heal faster in his own rooms—keep him from trying to work too hard, eh?”
“I think so,” Vera answers. “He’s going to be worried about not pulling his weight while we prepare for the Review. Arthur has already told me that we need to keep him from fussing.”
Anson A. Kridd chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that makes the coyote pup lick his fingers and wriggle in delight. “I think I can do that. Oh, yeah, that I can.”
The drive back to the hacienda passes quickly as Anson asks after various athanor. By silent consensus, the others agree to wait to brief him about their secret enemy until the group is all safely returned to Pendragon Estates.
When they arrive, the Changer glances over at Lovern and says a single word.
“Yes.”
Logging off his rebellion website, Sven Trout rubs his eyes and permits himself a feeling of pride. The postings he has been reviewing for the past hour are so very promising. His little cadre of monsters and outcasts are ready to agitate for their rights. It’s almost a pity that he can’t stick to his original timetable and have them descend on Arthur for the Lustrum Review.
Two weeks, though… That’s not much time to make all the arrangements. No, although he burns with impatience, he must bide until autumn.
Picking up the phone, he taps the numbers for Louhi’s spell. After a brief pause during which he can imagine the confused computers passing on an improbable signal, he hears two sets of clicks. Luck is with him. Half the time, Louhi doesn’t answer the connection. He suspects that it’s pure cussedness on her part, keeping him on his toes, forcing him to leave a message she can dissect at her leisure.
“When shall we three meet again?” Sven intones.
“How about right now?” Louhi’s beautiful voice is unamused. “I’ll bring the Head on.”
Sven waits while she does this, her success announced by a new voice saying: “Felicitations, fire born, and mistress of magics. Your bodiless brother has long yearned for congenial converse. The hoary-bearded hawk has strangely silent been.”
Sven frowns, his free hand burrowing in a bag of tortilla chips. “You mean you haven’t heard from Lovern?”
“So said I.”
“Sorta,” Sven mutters. “Any thoughts why?”
Louhi cuts in. “I have a few conjectures. Head, by the spell that you wish from me, I bind you to answer simply…”
“Ever shall I obey thee.”
“How often in noncrisis conditions does Lovern normally contact you?”
“In isolation silent…”
“Just tell me, dammit, if ever you have hoped for a body!”
“Once a week, maybe less often.”
“And during a crisis?”
“Daily, sometimes every few hours.”
“And how long has it been since you heard from him?”
“Three days.”
Sven whistles. “Well, now, that is interesting. What are your conjectures, Lady Lou?”
He can almost see her scowl at his flippancy, but her chill voice could hardly become chiller.
“If Lovern is refraining from contacting Mimir’s Head, then I suspect that your failed attack has made him fear for his life. During the long years he was captive to me, he also did not contact the Head.”
“Long years of lengthy, lingering, loneliness encircled the sorcerer’s scion, creeping close as salt in the sea.”
“I’m sure.” Louhi doesn’t sound particularly sympathetic. “The spell by which I bound Lovern did not include a restriction against astral travel, but he was aware (having taught me himself) that I knew how to attack an astral body. Therefore, he protected himself by inaction, much to my dismay. I had hoped to follow him to the Head.”
“Do you think he knows that you’re in on this?” Sven asks worriedly.
“No, I do not,” Louhi assures him. “I’m not the only magic worker who knows how to sever a silver cord. My guess is that Lovern is simply being cautious.”
“Then, dare we hope that he’s going after the Head?” Sven grins in anticipation. “How long will he do without access to his most powerful tool?”
“I assume that is a rhetorical question,” Louhi says. “He can do without the Head indefinitely, but I doubt he will choose to do so. My guess is that he is planning to retrieve it.”
“The Sea King shall seek to stop him,” the Head says. “His sea of hatred for the sorcerer’s trespass has not ebbed.”
Sven shrugs. “Lovern must have a plan to deal with Duppy Jonah. If his plan fails, then I will negotiate with the Sea King to gain access to the Head. We have been allies in the past. However, I would prefer to wait until Lovern has failed. The Great Durag and I are, by nature, antithetical. I don’t want to waste what regard he has for me.”
“That makes sense,” Louhi agrees. “How goes everything else?”
“Eddie is recovering, but Arthur remains at his bedside, so I haven’t been able to get another shot at him. On the good side, the King hasn’t been home since my little encounter with the Changer. Anson A. Kridd is en route—he may even be there already—to serve as Eddie’s nurse. My reporter is slower than I’d like. I’ll need to toss something else his way. Everything is on edge, but nothing has fallen apart.”
“Still,” Louhi responds with more kindness than Sven had expected, “this may be all for the good. Now that we are waiting until autumn to spring our coup, it would not do to have Arthur’s power base disintegrate too quickl
y. If it did, we might find ourselves with rivals when we raise the vote of no confidence.”
“I had considered that as well,” Sven says quickly, although, in fact, he had not. “Yes, the last thing we need is an extra party. We want people voting for us and against Arthur—not spending their vote on some other candidate.”
“Proteus’s potent blood…” the Head hints.
“Yes, yes,” Sven says. “I’ll keep trying to get some. Still, the Changer’s blood won’t do us much good until you are out of your undersea prison. Don’t worry, I won’t just be sitting on my hands until autumn comes.”
“That reminds me,” Louhi says, “of something I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you intend to attend the Lustrum Review?”
Sven frowns. “I hadn’t decided. What does our prophet advise?”
“And answer simply,” Louhi warns.
“If you are present,” the Head says slowly, “then perhaps you shall be dismissed as the maker of this mischief.”
“I agree,” Louhi says. “And I shall snub you. If we are both present, we will be able to hide in plain sight.”
“I can get into that,” Sven answers, “though I really hate the Harmony Dance.”
“You would,” Louhi says dryly, “although being both in Accord and in Harmony is your greatest armor.”
“I know.” Sven sighs. “I know. We will use Arthur’s Accord against him in the end.”
Louhi agrees. “That is the plan.”
The Head makes a coughing sound, although, not possessing lungs he cannot truly cough. “Within hacienda halls, there are many mansions—or at least sundry suites. Should one of you reside within…”
“That is a very interesting thought,” Louhi says. “Unhappily, I cannot imagine that Arthur would be comfortable with Sven’s presence. He would be certain to set a guard on him. Lovern would take similar precautions with me.”
“Still,” Sven chuckles, “we are members of the Accord. He’s going to need to be tactful about assigning guards. If one of us is there, our mere presence will keep Arthur a bit off balance.”
“True,” Louhi says, as she is reluctant to accept Sven’s point.
Changer (Athanor) Page 16