19: Two Magicians
Eric tried to relax; tried to pretend that it was just another gig. After all, the setting wasn't that different from Fairesite—
Hell, I've even played a couple of weddings out here. Not with the Dance, though; with a pickup band—
Beth was tuning that exquisite twelve she was so proud of, fussing over it as if the least little discordance would throw everything out of whack.
And how do I know it wouldn't?
Allie had a little battery-powered Casio synth; state-of-the-art, and capable of producing anything but an omelet. She was giving Beth her pitches; she'd tuned Eric just a couple of minutes ago. The girl looked sleepy and uncertain.
Like maybe wondering about our sanity?
Like maybe I'm wondering about our sanity.
Dan had his bouzouki and was noodling bass runs; he was the only one of the Dance who didn't look nervous. But then again, Uncle Dan was probably stoned to the gills. Jim kept running his finger around the rim of his bodhran, trying not to stare at the elves.
Which was pretty hard even for Eric, who was kind of used to them by now.
The little valley-meadow they'd chosen for the new nexus-point cupped the sunlight and held it, and the bright colors of the elves' costumes and armor shone with ironic festiveness in the golden light. They'd made a circle around the band, Val casting it once, Beth once, and a third elf in brilliant purple- and copper-trimmed robes) the third and final time.
Now the elf-mages had stationed themselves on the perimeter, facing outward; the elf-warriors just outside the perimeter, swords drawn and alert. Kory was right in front of them, his back to Eric, his blue and gold armor shining with a feint, gilding aura of light, a haze that made him look a little unreal, even to Eric, who had given him the magic that made him glow—
He looks like a special effect. Even with that bit of blond fur escaping from under the edge of his helm.
As if the thought had reached him, Kory turned and looked over his shoulder at Eric. And smiled.
That smile is enough to stop anybody's heart. Eric managed a faltering grin in return, and Kory turned back to his watch; scanning, Eric was somehow certain, with more senses than just five.
He realized that Beth had finally stopped tuning, and turned to her, his flute suddenly weighing in his hands like a pipe of lead. He swallowed. "Ready?" he asked.
She nodded, and the other three members of the band gathered around her. "How about you?"
He couldn't read her dark eyes this time. "About as ready as I'll ever be, I guess . . ."
He closed his eyes and brought the flute up to his lips. Better start it fast, Banyon, before you lose whatever courage you've got left—
"Banish Misfortune"—it was the first thing that came to his fingers. Just like diving into water, he slid into the starting descant, tossing in his usual trill on the B, landing solid on the F sharp. He tried to concentrate on the melody, on feeling the power, and on finding a way for it to come to him—
Nothing.
Oh, the magic was there, he could feel it, he could even pull it to him—but the source was still Ria's. He couldn't seem to make it come to him here. Maybe a different tune.
He tried "Tamlin's Reel," "Smash the Windows," "Kid on the Mountain," "O'Carolan's Farewell," all with the same complete lack of success. The band followed him faithfully, taking the changes with him like they'd been playing together for decades, like they could read his mind. And the magic was there—
But just out of his reach.
"Sheebeg Sheemore," "Tom O'Bedlam," "Rocky Road to Dublin"—song after song, jigs, reels, everything.
Nothing.
Eric began to feel angry and frustrated, and his anger increased, until he could scarcely hear what he was playing, scarcely sense the magic through the red haze of emotion.
But a gentle touch on his arm startled him, cooled the rage, broke him out of the downward spiral of trial and failure. He jumped, and ended on a squeak, and the band faltered to a halt behind him.
"Eric?" Kory's green eyes graced him with concern. "Eric, you are not reaching the magic."
"I know," he muttered. "I'm trying, but—"
"You try with that which is already created, already old—but you are a Bard, Eric. Master of the creative magics. Try what you Called me with." As Eric tried to figure out what the elf was getting at, Kory smiled again. "In the Grove, Bard. What you used to reach me, and break the spells of Lock and Ward."
"You mean 'Sheebeg Sheemore'? Kory, I tried that already— "
"No." The elf shook his head, his eyes bright under the shadowing helm, "No, that was what you played that awakened me. Play what you Called me with, what you used to unravel the spellbindings."
"I—"
I sort of segued into something else, something original. God, I was more than half drunk—
More like three-quarters drunk, now that I think about it—
I remember it—I think. But what if I remember wrong?
"Kory," he faltered, "I—"
The elf laid one armor-clad finger across his lips. "No, don't say it. You will succeed, Eric. I know this."
Korendil's eyes seemed to be seeing right into his mind just as they had this afternoon. Gazing into his heart, so open, understanding him, trusting him in a way that no one ever had before.
:—Eric, my friend—:
Kory smiled, and took his hand away. Still smiling, he backed up, one slow, careful step at a time, never taking his eyes from Eric's. Eric raised the flute to his lips as Kory reached the perimeter of the circle—
—never taking his eyes from Kory's.
He was shaking so hard that his teeth rattled against the mouthpiece; and the first three notes he produced were so aimless that he barely held back a sob of profound despair.
He saw Kory's lips move, soundlessly.
:You can, Eric. I know this, as I know you.:
And Eric's fingers found the melody.
He closed his eyes then, overwhelmed, as it began to flow without any real thought or planning on his part. In moments he was lost to it, within it, more completely than he had ever been in his life.
He could see the spell he was weaving now, just as he had seen the one that brought Kory back from the brink of death, lost to Dreaming. Saw it begin to build a latticework of power, an anchoring-point for the new nexus, a framework to stabilize the rift in the curtain between the Worlds, a patterning that would hold it open forever.
When that framework was complete, his music would pierce that wall, and let the magic flow through. And he knew from the fragility of the net he wove that if his concentration wavered the slightest bit, it would all collapse—and there would be no second attempt. Eric knew he'd never manage to achieve this level of concentration, of power, ever again.
But already the magic he was calling from Ria's stronghold was fading, weakening.
Terrific. I'm running out of juice—
Running out, like a stream trickling away to nothing, drying up.
He wavered—and the memory of Kory sprawled unconscious in the dust of the ruined Grove rose up in his mind. His throat closed, and he braced his shoulders, and poured forth a defiant, liquid run. No! I won't let them—him—die!
So he played with all his heart, forsook the fading stream of power, and spun the shining strands of his spell out of the fabric of his soul.
As the world faded from around him—except for the music, the spell, and his own fierce determination.
The Porsche accelerated past the open metal gate, past the park rangers standing beside their pickup truck, a pair of young men who eyed the crazy lady driver, her blond hair flying with the wind through the open window, with appreciative glances.
But Ria scarcely noticed. Her thoughts were far away, with a particularly scruffy minstrel. Eric, who even now was standing in the knee-high grass, intent upon his music, as the first stirrings of Power swirled around him in scintillating light.
Even without trying, I can see him, touch him, feel his thoughts. Feel the bond between us, living Power calling to Power. How could Eric ever have left me, knowing that there is this between us?
A silent voice interrupted her thoughts. :Ria?:
Concentrating on the twisting road, and on the presence of the Bard, in the hills far above her, Ria bespoke a wordless reply. :I'm tracking them, Father. They're in the park, away from the main road.: She spun an image of the valley, the gathered elves surrounding the Bard, and sent it swiftly to Perenor. :If we park on the other side, their steeds will not detect our approach.:
:Good.: Perenor's mental voice was tinged with satisfaction. :I will meet you there.:
Her lips tightened as his voice faded. I still don't trust him, even if he promised not to hurt Eric. I know how much his promises are worth.
If I can just have enough time to speak, before the elves try anything stupid—
Eric will listen to me. And he'll understand. It'll be easier this way; I'll just send the Old Blood back under the hill, to the Faerie Lands, If they weren't such fools, they'd have fled as soon as they realized they'd lost, instead of lingering here to die.
Her hands were clenched tight on the steering wheel. Before now I didn't care whether they lived or died. I wouldn't have deliberately tried to harm them, even though the temptation is definitely there, especially after so many years of living with their contempt for me, the half-breed. But now it's not worth it. I'll help them, even Korendil, if only so that I'll never have to deal with them again.
So they'll never interfere in Eric's and my lives, ever again.
Ria carefully eased the Porsche off the winding road and parked on a barren, flat strip overlooking a small valley. She stood on the rough gravel, gazing down at the grassy vale, as a white limo stopped beside her.
Perenor stepped from the car and leaned back through the open passenger door to say something to his driver. He closed the door, and the limo pulled away, heading back in the direction of the city.
Ria's father was dressed in a business suit, immaculately tailored as always. As she watched, his outline shimmered briefly. A moment later, he stood in full armor; armor that shone dully, like blue glass or blued steel. He had his sword sheathed at his side.
"You won't need that, Father," Ria said slowly. "Remember your promise to me? You agreed not to harm any of them, not unless my plan doesn't work."
Perenor chuckled dryly. "You forget, my dear, how thick-headed your full-blooded cousins are. If nothing else, this may impress them a little. I expect they look rather shabby—it has been several lean months for them since the nexus was destroyed. If they see how much Power I can command at this moment, they may listen to reason. I can sense all of them, including your Bard, down there." He gestured at the valley below them. "Shall we join them?"
Ria nodded, following her father down the grassy hillside.
I don't think I can trust him. I think he's going to try something, as soon as we're close to the elves.
And he's going to expect me to help him. Because the elves will attack me, as well as him, and he probably thinks that I'll have to fight, if only to keep myself alive.
Except—I won't.
She stumbled a little and cursed her high-heeled pumps—then, recklessly, changed them to flat, glove-leather boots.
It'll be a risk, because the elves won't know that I don't intend to fight them. And I might get hurt. Or killed. But if I raise Power against them, I've lost. Because Eric will never trust me again.
Yes, it's dangerous. But I can't risk losing Eric, not after everything that's happened between us, not the way I feel about him.
Her father strode along ahead of her, the heavy armor encumbering him not at all. She picked her way through the weeds carefully, and noticed how he looked neither to the right nor the left; simply trod over everything in his path.
And after I've sent the elves across the veil, back to the Faerie Lands, when there's nothing more that can stand between us, Eric will make a choice. And if he wants to walk away from me again, I won't stop him. Or coerce him. I want him to choose to stay with me of his own free will.
And he will choose me. He has to. How can he deny what is between us, the way his Power is reaching out to mine, even now?
Through the sparse trees she saw the circle of elves, the human musicians, and the young man with the flute. Even at this distance she could feel the power of his music; a melody that resonated through her, a power that made her hands tingle and her heart ache.
He's so beautiful, with the magic shining through him like a beacon. I'll never let him go again—
As Ria paused on the hillside, gazing at the Bard, Perenor strode forward impatiently. She caught up with him at the edge of the trees. The elves saw them, and moved closer together, forming a living barrier between them and the musicians.
"Eric!" Ria called, but the Bard did not move or even look at her. He seemed entranced, lost in his music, oblivious to everything around him.
One of the elves drew her sword in a swift, fluid movement. Ria set her hand over her father's sword arm as his hand reached for the sheathed blade.
:No. You promised me, Father.:
Perenor gave her an askance look. :Of course, daughter. But I doubt you'll be able to convince these fools of anything.:
:But let me try, at least.:
He nodded cursorily, and stepped back a pace. Ria took a deep breath, the narrowed eyes of the elves intent upon her.
"We don't have to fight," she said, pitching her voice loud to be heard over the music of the band. "There's no need for bloodshed. I'll help you, transport all of you back to the Faerie Lands. It won't matter anymore that we control the nexus, you'll be safe. All I want is Eric."
An elf in blue and gold armor stepped between her and the young Bard.
"Touch him, sorceress, and I'll kill you," Korendil said quietly.
Ria restrained the impulse to summon the lightnings and burn that insolent look from the elf s face. "There's no need for that. I won't hurt him. He'll be happy with me, I can assure you. And all of you will be safe, far from this place."
Another, in green and silver, raised his visor and looked at her with an expression full of irony. "What makes you believe that is what we want?" Eldenor asked calmly. "Why should we flee this land that has been our home for so many years? What right do you have to demand this of us?"
Perenor spoke, very softly, before Ria could answer. "The right of the strong over the weak, Eldenor. Of the master over the slave." His voice grew in strength, filled with hatred and madness. "The right of the one who was unjustly banished, cast from his place among you, and has dreamed of the moment when all of you shall lie lifeless in pools of your blood—"
An invisible fist reached out and gripped Ria, ripping through all of her carefully-constructed defenses, through the layers of self, to the wellspring of her powers, her innermost being. She screamed, caught helplessly in the whirlwind, as her life and magic drained away.
She fell to her knees, controlled by forces beyond her imagination. A last thread of coherent thought battled through the waves of pain, the maelstrom of power surrounding her.
He—he planned this for years. When I was a child, too young to stop him, he set this up. Knowing that he could do this to me at any moment he chose—
And he's mad. Completely insane.
He's going to use everything against them, and kill me, to destroy the elves.
And then he'll murder Eric—
NO!
Beth focused on her fingerings like a mantra; kept her eyes squeezed shut to keep her attention on one thing.
The music.
Caught up in the melody, Beth could feel the currents of power dancing around her; tendrils of magic like a living creature, weaving and darting in strange patterns.
This—this is almost better than sex. Witchcraft never felt anything like this.
She smiled. Her eyes were still closed, and she concentrated on the music. Her hand moved lightly upon the guitar, fingerpicking a quick-running counterpoint to complement Eric's melodic line.
Lovely work, Banyon. For a while, I wasn't certain if this was going to play, but this sounds—feels—just right. Like everything is coming together, fusing, creating something new and wonderful—something truly enchanted.
Then she heard something else, a distant noise like pieces of metal clanging together. Beth opened her eyes, looking past Allie and Jim, towards the edge of the circle.
And her heart stopped beating.
The sunlit meadow had been transformed into something from one of her nightmares: a shadowy glen surrounded by billowing black fog, from which half-glimpsed creatures appeared, attacking the elven warriors, then fading away.
Beyond the elves she could see another figure in bluish-silver armor, battling sword against sword with Eldenor; and a blonde woman, kneeling motionless on the ground.
Somehow, in a way she didn't quite understand, Beth could sense the flow of power between Perenor and Ria, as the elf-lord drew strength and will from the sorceress.
Perenor. And his bitch daughter. They've found us—
And the bodies, littering the ground: Val, the lovely silver-haired elven woman, with claw marks across her face and throat; an armored swordsman, his turquoise breastplate nearly buckled in two, as if some immense force had crushed him like an insect in its grip.
They're working their way past the defenders, trying to get at us—at Eric—
She realized that she had stopped playing, and forced her fingers to continue, even as Perenor's sword bit deeply into Eldenor's side. The purple-mohawked warrior staggered back, into the murky depths of the unnatural fog.
Something, a creature that Beth's mind refused to admit could exist, reached out and dragged Eldenor back into the darkness.
Not even the music could mask his screaming.
Oh God—please, no—this can't be happening—
Her hands were shaking so much she could barely hold on to the guitar, much less play the chords. As Eldenor's screams faded, Perenor looked across the meadow at the band.
His jade-green eyes met Beth's through the slits of his helm. He moved toward her.
Then Korendil was between them, sword raised, forcing Perenor back with a wild flurry of blows.
For a moment Beth thought that Kory had a chance, that he could defeat the elf-lord. Then Perenor recovered his balance and counterattacked.
She could barely hear the music over the clashing of blades, the combatants' harsh breathing, the distant howling of the mist-creatures and the war cries of the elves; as Perenor forced Kory back a step, then another, and another, all the time moving closer to the band.
Edged steel clattered in strike after strike as Korendil fought grimly. From his stance, and his desperation—and from the strange magic that seemed to bind her, the elf, and Eric together—Beth knew that he knew he had no chance, but he refused to give up or falter—
Perenor feinted high, then came in at Kory's side.
Kory swung low, trying to shove Perenor's blade to the side, but not fast enough, recovering a split second too slowly.
Beth saw the opening, even before Perenor pivoted and brought his sword around in a fierce, whirling arc—
Oh God—he's going to kill him!
—and the blade sliced through Kory's armor.
Kory made a strange sound, a choked gasp, as the sword cut halfway across his torso. Beth saw him slip to one knee, then fall silently to the damp grass.
No—please, God, no—
The sounds of the battle, the horrific snarling of the monsters, all were nothing compared to the noiseless screaming in Beth's mind, the convulsive pain that gripped her heart.
Oh Goddess, no—Kory—he can't be dead—he can't be.
Perenor braced his foot against Kory's chest and yanked his weapon free.
Sobs tore her chest; her throat ached from holding back a scream. No—please, no, anything but this—
Perenor looked up; looked straight at her—
And smiled; a smile that froze the scream in her throat, turned the tears on her face to ice.
He took one slow, deliberate step toward her, smile widening as she backed up a pace.
You sadistic bastard—you won't take me without a fight!
She stopped playing; reversed the guitar and took its neck in both hands, her tears now as much of anger as sorrow.
Yo« got Kory—but you'll have to go through me to get Eric!
He licked his lips slowly, sensuously. And with a start, she heard a low, ironic voice in the back of her mind.
:That can easily be arranged, mortal child. Especially if you propose to fight me with nothing but that foolish piece of wood—:
"Indeed?"
The new voice rang out over the sound of the fighting like a trumpet-call, startling Beth so much she nearly dropped the guitar.
The fog parted—and through the rift came another armored figure. Gold armor, with touches of brilliant scarlet, so brightly polished it hurt to look at it. The stranger raised his visor—
Beth gasped. Terenil? But—
"So, High Lord Perenor has taken to slaughtering children, has he?" Terenil said contemptuously. He glided confidently through the tangled knots of fighting, around the fallen bodies, with no sign of his ever having been the wreck Beth had seen after Eric vanished—
—except for the sad and haunted look in his eyes; the look of someone who has seen himself in the mirror and found only self-condemnation for what was there.
He stopped, just for a moment, beside Beth; caught up her hand and pressed it to his lips.
:Forgive me, child.:
Before she could react to that, he gave her an odd half-smile, turned on his heel and took Kory's place between Perenor and the band, pulling his visor down as he did so.
Suddenly a golden blaze of light flared up around him as he brought his sword up to guard position.
Perenor snapped his own visor down and his blade up—and an answering glow of cold blue sprang up about him.
Beth couldn't tell which of them moved first; they seemed to spring at each other simultaneously, blades and magic clashing in an exchange of lightning-quick strokes.
Unlike Kory's fight, or Eldenor's, this one involved both sword and Power. Which, since Ria was channeling magic to her father, made it two against one.
By the gods, if I can't do anything else, I'll see if I can't fix those odds!
There didn't seem to be anything but fallen bodies off to her left. Beth edged slowly past the band, out of the circle, never taking her eyes off the sorceress. All of her attention seemed to be on her father.
Funny, if I didn't know better, I'd swear she was fighting against him. That strained expression on her face—
Whatever she was doing, Ria was not watching the puny mortal witch making her way toward her, guitar neck still in both hands.
Just a few more steps—The fighters were evenly matched; even Beth could tell that. Neither one drove the other back for more than a step or two, and always ground lost was regained in the next exchange of blows. Terenil gave Perenor no openings at all; Terenil could find none in Perenor's defenses—
Which means if I deep-six that bastards magic source— She was almost within reach. Then she was within reach. The sorceress stared blankly ahead, apparently oblivious to Beth's presence, or anything else happening around her.
Oh my beautiful guitar—you're all I've got left—
Gods. She raised the instrument over her head. This is for Kory, you—
Ria turned suddenly, and stared right at her.
Beth froze.
There was a flicker of something unreadable in the blonde woman's eyes before she closed them.
:Damn you, witch, DO IT!:
Beth brought the guitar squarely down on Ria's head with a splintering crash and a jangle of strings. The woman folded soundlessly.
Beth whirled, expecting that now, now she would see Terenil take the upper hand—
—only to watch in horror as Perenor snaked his blade around Terenil's guard, and ran him through.
Beth screamed.
Terenil went to one knee, Perenor's blade embedded in his chest—and looked up into his enemy's face. As Perenor stood, seemingly frozen, Terenil reached for Perenor's sword arm—
And pulled himself toward the dark elf, impaling himself still further on the blade lodged in his chest.
And while Beth watched, he grabbed Perenor's shoulder, hauled his enemy within reach of his own blade, and drove his sword into Perenor's side.
Terenil cried out something—a word Beth didn't recognize, a war-cry, perhaps—and the last of his sorcerous power surged up his blade and into the body of his enemy.
At Beth's feet, Ria began to stir, rising to her feet—
Oh shit—
Perenor's body jerked, convulsing impossibly—and the energy lashed from him in a visible arc into the body of his daughter.
Ria shrieked, clutched her head with both hands, and fell.
Terenil folded around the blade lodged in his chest, the light fading from him, as Perenor toppled to the ground beside him.
Christ!
Beth shook off her shock; ran to Terenil's side and knelt there—but as she opened his visor, she could see that the Prince had gone far beyond anyone's reach.
But—but he's smiling.
He's smiling—as if he's having a peaceful dream. Oh gods, Terenil—
Terenil—what about Eric?
She lifted dazed eyes toward the band—but her eyes fell on Kory instead.
KORY!
Before she realized she had moved, Beth was on the blood-soaked ground beside him. His skin was as cold as the metal of his armor as she cradled his face in her hands, silently begging for him to live, but knowing, knowing . . .
She heard his voice through her tears, a last dying whisper in her mind.
:Beth—my love—:
Then silence, like the emptiness within her soul.
No—God, no—it can't end like this—please, I love him, I can't live without him—