by Doty, J. L.
She said, “No, Young Mage, no mistake.” As she spoke Paul saw her eyes flick briefly to right and left, focusing on something behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder, saw two more guards approaching from the remaining two corners of the garden. When they saw him looking at them they drew their rapiers, quickened their pace from a march to a trot. Paul sensed the woman drawing power, and by that he recognized the essence of the Unseelie Court about her. He drew his own power, but she’d caught him off guard and she slapped him down with hers.
He must have blacked out for a moment, came to lying on his back on the crushed, white gravel, his head spinning. The woman pushed her power at him, and when he tried to draw power again, her power stood between him and his. One of the guards bent down, grabbed Paul by the lapels of his coat and lifted him to his feet like a rag doll. The woman’s power kept pushing at him, confusing him. “Hurry,” she said to the guard. “We must move quickly, get him out of here.”
“Yes, my lady,” the guard said.
Paul thought he could stand, but he decided to feign weakness, let his knees buckle. He caught the guard off balance and the man dropped him. Paul hit the ground face down, both arms underneath him, managed to get his right hand on the hilt of the knife in the underarm sheath and pulled it free.
“You hit him too hard,” the man said to the woman angrily.
Paul felt the man grip him by the back of his collar and lift him again to his feet. He brought the knife up and cut the man’s arm viciously.
Paul had heard what cold iron could do to a Sidhe. The man’s skin smoked and hissed where the blade touched him and he cried out, released Paul and pushed him away. But he pushed him toward the woman. Paul bumped into her, caught her wrist, touched the flat of the blade to the palm of her hand. It hissed and smoked like the man’s arm, and the spell she used to block his power broke. He hit her with a right cross to the jaw and she went down in a flurry of petticoats.
Paul drew all the power he could as the other three guards converged on him. He turned to face the closest one, hit him with all the power he’d pulled, knocked him on his ass, turned to the next, pulled more power preparing for the next strike, but the woman hit him from behind and they both hit the gravel tangled in her petticoats. As he stood she kicked and spit at him, tried to draw her own power, so he hit her hard with the power he’d pulled.
At that moment another of the armed men reached them, and still unaware Paul had the knife, he tried to wrestle Paul to the ground. Paul buried the knife to the hilt in the man’s gut, then felt a sudden, sharp, searing pain lance through his chest. He looked down to see about six inches of silver rapier protruding from a point just under his left nipple. “Fucking A,” he said as he fell forward on his face.
He lay there staring at the pretty, crushed, white gravel in which his cheek rested, staring at the blood pouring out of his chest painting it red. There were shouts, cries from far more voices than the women and her four cohorts could account for. He heard the ring of metal against metal. Someone shouted, “Don’t let them escape.”
Then Paul slipped into a cold, silent dark place of pain and agony.
~~~
Paul’s consciousness bubbled to the surface several times, though never for long, and each time he slipped back into that dark place, though now it no longer hurt. But finally he came to and had the strength to resist the sweet pull of oblivion. He lay flat on his back, Colleen and an older Sidhe man standing over him, both drawing power and casting spells.
“How bad?” he asked.
The older man looked at him carefully, clearly weighing him. “The sword pierced you through the left lung, Young Mage. It also nicked your aorta.”
Colleen had reverted to her thick Irish accent. “You knocked on death’s door a couple of times there, child.”
She looked at the older man. “I think he should sleep more.”
“No,” Paul said. “I don’t want any more sleep.”
The older man ignored him and said to Colleen, “I agree completely.”
As they both reached toward him, he growled, “Don’t do that fucking spell shit.” Then their fingertips touched his temples on both sides.
He awoke some time later. He lay in his own bed now, alone in his chambers. He managed to sit up, felt like crap, but realized he didn’t feel half as bad as he should after being impaled on a Sidhe sword. He sat there, contemplating whether or not he had the strength to make it to the bathroom to piss, when the door to his chamber opened and Colleen, McGowan, Devoe and the older Sidhe man marched in. They must have had some spell set to let them know when he awoke.
Colleen and the older Sidhe immediately began poking and prodding him, mumbling back and forth between them. “Enough,” Paul growled. “Leave me alone. I have to piss.”
The older Sidhe looked at him disapprovingly. Colleen said to him, “I believe, Lord Sinthas, you may report to Her Majesty our patient is well enough to be grouchy and rude.”
“Yes,” the older man said almost regretfully. “He’ll survive.”
He bowed to Colleen. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go straight to Her Majesty.”
Paul got Devoe to help him to the bathroom, relieved himself, pulled on a rather elaborate robe provided by his Sidhe hosts and sat down in a chair. “Was that another test?” he growled. “I’m getting tired of these tests.”
McGowan shook his head. “Nope, not a test. That was an honest-to-goodness kidnapping attempt, with orders to kill you if they couldn’t succeed at the abduction. But it did have the effect of one hell of a test. You took down three Unseelie warriors and a powerful Unseelie witch. Even when they took you by surprise, and they had rapiers and all you had was a knife. By the way, glad to see you were paranoid enough to carry some hardware.”
Colleen added, “There won’t be any more tests. Not after this.”
Paul had reached the limit of his patience. “I’m getting tired of this, old man.”
Colleen said, “There is a silver lining to this cloud. Magreth has been shamed that she couldn’t protect a guest in her own Court, one under guest right and the full protection of the Court itself. She has no choice but to ally with us now against Ag. She’s sent a message to the Winter Court, asking that they send an ambassador to discuss this matter. Ag would have snubbed us, might have snubbed Magreth, but now that he’s violated the sovereignty of the Summer Court, he dare not.”
Paul asked, “What’s that mean?”
McGowan shrugged. “We’ll have to wait and see, kid. Just wait and see.”
~~~
“And so you failed miserably,” Ag said to Simuth, who knelt at his feet. Ag spoke quietly, no ranting or raving, a very bad sign.
Anogh could have told them to expect failure, if they had consulted him. The young mage had grown too strong to be taken so easily.
“You failed to abduct him,” Ag continued, his voice almost a whisper, “and you failed to kill him.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Simuth said, literally trembling with fear.
“And you say he single-handedly bested one of our most powerful witches and four of our warriors.”
Simuth’s hands shook as he said, “He only bested three of the warriors, Your Majesty. The fourth was able to wound him gravely.”
“Four warriors with rapiers and a powerful witch,” Ag snarled scornfully, his anger rising with each word. “And he with naught but a short blade. Two of the warriors and the witch completely disabled, a third wounded, and all the remaining warrior could do was wound him?”
Ag flew into a rage, struck Simuth and sent him sprawling, began kicking him brutally. Anogh had suffered such punishments, actually felt a moment of pity for poor Simuth, then recalled upon whom he was lavishing compassion, and the pity died.
When Ag had sated his anger he stood over the bleeding Winter Knight. Simuth lay at his feet, whimpering, but managed an agonized whisper, “There is yet a way to bind him to us, Your Majesty?”
Ag, breathing heavily from his exertions, calmed and looked down at Simuth. “You have a plan, Sir Knight?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Simuth said, struggling to his knees. “We must get him here, to the Winter Court, even if we must grant the protection of the Court. And then I believe we can use the young woman against him.”
Ag considered that for a moment, then said, “You may yet redeem yourself.”
Chapter 21: Not Really Welcome
“How does it feel?” Colleen asked.
Paul had stripped to the waist in her chambers so she could carefully examine the entrance and exit wounds the sword had made. “Like I was stabbed by a sword,” he growled.
She looked at him crossly. She’d spent the day patching him up, and he had the impression she might try laying him over her knee and spanking him. He also had the impression she just might be able to do it. “All right, all right, I’m sorry. No, it feels pretty good. Some stiffness, mainly I can feel the skin pull when I lift my arm high, but no real pain.” He lifted his arm to demonstrate.
She probed at both scars. “That’s just the scar tissue. When I have a little more time, we can eliminate most of that too.”
McGowan burst into the room and said excitedly, “An Unseelie ambassador has arrived. The Court’s abuzz with the news. It’s Anogh.”
Colleen grimaced. “Ag has always been one to rub salt in a wound.”
“Put on the wizard’s robes, kid. We’re going to meet with him.”
~~~
Magreth carefully orchestrated the meeting in a private audience chamber. McGowan, Colleen and Paul attended, meeting Anogh and two of his lieutenants, with Magreth and Cadilus present to referee. One of Anogh’s lieutenants had coal black skin, which was quite unusual. Up to that point the Sidhe had all been quite uniform in skin tone, tending toward a pale shade of white; not pink-white, like Caucasians in the Mortal Plane, but white-white. Anogh introduced the black Sidhe warrior as Andalous, and Paul couldn’t overcome the feeling he knew the fellow.
The scene reminded Paul a lot of their meeting with Cadilus in McGowan’s study. Magreth began with introductions, then served them all the drink of their choice. Paul followed McGowan’s lead, took a couple fingers of whiskey over a single cube of ice. He had expected them to square off on opposite sides of a negotiating table, but instead the first order of business was to mingle, so Paul took the opportunity to approach Anogh off to one side where they were effectively alone. Paul tried to keep his voice from trembling with anger as he asked, “When we met in the street in front of my apartment, you gave me reason to believe my wife’s death was not an accident. Am I to assume you murdered her?”
Anogh looked at him carefully and smiled sadly. “You should assume nothing, Young Mage. However, believe me when I tell you that when the time comes, you will know the truth of it.” He smiled again and walked away.
A bit later Paul faced Andalous, the coal black Unseelie warrior. He was polite, quite nice, in fact. That was the hallmark of Sidhe interactions: treat your enemy as nicely as your best friend, then stab them in the back at your first chance. “Forgive me for being abrupt,” Paul said, “but there is something about you that seems familiar, as if we’ve met before, yet I know that’s not the case.”
Andalous laughed quietly, then leaned forward and spoke just above a whisper. “You never fail to impress me, Young Mage.” He smiled, turned and walked away.
When they got down to business it was rather straightforward. They would be allowed to come to the Unseelie Court, and granted the protection of the Unseelie Court. They would not be allowed to come armed, and they must provide their own escort. Magreth was free to provide the escort and accompany them herself, with whatever retinue she chose. Try as they might, they could not better the terms.
Later, when they adjourned to McGowan’s suite, Paul asked them if they knew anything about the black Sidhe. Both McGowan and Colleen looked at him strangely, and both asked simultaneously, “What black Sidhe?”
Paul tried to remember the man’s face, couldn’t; tried to remember what they’d spoken of, couldn’t; tried to remember anything about the man, couldn’t. “I don’t know,” Paul said. “For some reason I keep thinking of one of them as the black Sidhe. But, for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you why.”
~~~
Magreth did choose to accompany them, and brought along Dergindaal and his entire guard as escort. Dergindaal and his men rode the incredible Sidhe steeds. The animals were certainly horses, but calling a Sidhe steed a horse was like calling a Lamborghini a car. The animals each stood eight feet at the ears, two-thousand pounds of sleek, muscled tension, always ready to challenge the wind for speed and endurance. They were beasts of pure magic, elemental constructs spawned of the essence of Faerie. When they ran, their hooves touched the ground only every three or four hundred feet, and McGowan, who had ridden a Sidhe steed, assured him it was in no way a jarring or harsh ride.
McGowan, because he was experienced, chose to ride also, even tried to get Paul to ride one of the steeds. “I’d be stupid to do that,” Paul said. “I’ve never ridden a horse in my life. I’ll fall off and break my ass.”
“With these animals, if they don’t want you to fall, there’s no way you’ll fall. And if they don’t want you to ride, there’s no way you’ll ride.”
Paul declined. “I’ll ride in one of the coaches.”
Jim’Jiminie and Boo’Diddle also chose to ride with the guard, sharing a steed between them. Paul had asked McGowan why they had bothered to bring the little scampering fellows along. McGowan reminded him of the hundred years of bad luck that came with killing a leprechaun in anything other than self-defense. “Remember their traditional neutrality,” McGowan told him. “If those two leprechauns decide that we’re the injured party, that could isolate Ag from all of Non-aligned Faerie. The Unseelie Court would then stand alone.”
Magreth provided two fantastical coaches, dripping with gold gilt and silver piping, gargoyles and strange creatures carved into almost every feature. She and Colleen and Cadilus rode in the larger coach, while Paul, Devoe and Lord Sinthas, Magreth’s personal physician, rode in the other, smaller coach.
It was a comfortable ride, and for the first time in a long time Paul had time to watch the countryside pass by and think. Since they’d come to Faerie he’d been obsessed with that spiral-slippage-through-reality feeling he’d sensed every time they crossed over from the Mortal Plane. He’d now felt it several times, and while supposedly Jim’Jiminie had brought him and Katherine back after the heart arrow incident, he didn’t remember Jim’Jiminie returning for them. He was almost certain it had been just he and Katherine in the small copse of trees just before crossing back, almost certain. And he remembered that little, spiral twist quite vividly.
On the other hand, crossing over into the Netherworld was more a sideways slippage in reality. The two sensations were distinctly different, yet similar. And he thought if he could find time to work on it, time to experiment, he might repeat them both. But McGowan and Colleen had told him time and again that was impossible. Only the fey could indiscriminately open pathways to and from Faerie. And no one could do so to the Netherworld.
They crossed a stream, and Sinthas informed them they were now in Non-aligned Faerie, where neither Court claimed sovereignty. He explained that leprechauns, certain forms of sprite and pixie, and other forms of fey lived without fealty to either Court. Some, like the leprechauns, were welcome in either Court at any time. And some, like the Baen’Sidhe, were shunned and never welcome under any circumstances. He said nothing about the black fey, and Paul thought that odd.
He thought again of Anogh’s words in front of his apartment. The love for which you grieve must be avenged. And when you learn of love’s betrayal, remember this lesson . . . He’d then shown Paul how even a normal heterosexual male could be drawn into a wild homosexual fantasy by the beguilement of a Sidhe male. . . . she could not have resisted him . . . he’d finished.
And then only yesterday, in Magreth’s sitting room, when the time comes, you will know the truth of it.
What game was Anogh playing at? He was Sidhe through and through, and Sidhe played games like mortals breathed air. Was he merely trying to deflect Paul’s suspicions from him, confuse him, focus him elsewhere?
“Young Mage,” Sinthas interrupted his thoughts. “We are approaching the outer boundary of the Unseelie territories. You should prepare yourself. Proper introductions will have to be made before we can proceed.”
The coach slowed even as Sinthas spoke. Paul put his memories of Suzanna and Cloe away, though he swore that, if his growing suspicions were true, someday there would come a reckoning, and someone would pay.
The coach came to a complete stop. Sinthas opened the door and held it for Paul. It was awkward climbing down from the coach in the long wizard’s robes, but Paul managed not to stumble and make a fool of himself.
McGowan and the leprechauns had dismounted, gathered around Magreth along with Colleen and Cadilus. Dergindaal sat astride his steed, and having crossed a small stream he faced an Unseelie warrior draped in armor of lapis lazuli, silver and mother-of-pearl, wearing a helm with a fantastic facemask of silver and peacock feathers, and scales of black flint and white opal. Dergindaal and the Unseelie warrior were in the middle of conversing as Paul approached the small group surrounding Magreth, but for an instant Paul met the Unseelie warrior’s eyes, pitiless, unforgiving eyes that took Paul’s measure and clearly found him wanting. The facemask ended just above his lips, and he smiled cruelly.
The Unseelie warrior looked away, but Paul couldn’t take his eyes from the fellow. He nudged McGowan and asked, “Who’s the shithead with the face mask?”
But it was Anogh who answered him. “That, Young Mage, is Simuth, the Winter Knight. Beware the Winter Knight. He will be your undoing, and your salvation.”
Paul had had it, just plain fucking had it with the bastard’s obscure, little proverbs. He drew power, drew copious and dangerous amounts of power, turned on Anogh and snarled viciously, “And I will be your undoing, Summer Knight.”