Forging the Runes (24 page)

"Hurry, Sidhe, hurry!" the Tylwyth Teg hissed from the side of a huge oak, its roots curving out over the earth like great, gnarled arches. "In here, Sidhe, hurry!"

But Ardagh brought himself suddenly up short, just in time for a spear to flash by his cheek and slam into the tree, showering him with splinters. "Close!" Cadwal gasped.

"Too close!"

Another spear smacked into the ground by the prince's feet. He raced forward again, pulling Cadwal with him, dove into the sanctuary the Tylwyth Teg were offering.

"Wait!" the mercenary cried in alarm. "Stop! There's nothing here but a—a gap under that tree's roots—we can't all fit in there!"

"We can. What you're seeing is illusion. Close your eyes and trust me."

"Easy for you to say! What I'm seeing is us about to dash our brains out against a tree!"

But Cadwal squeezed his eyes shut, and Ardagh pulled them both inside in a frantic scurry, spears thudding into the tree and ground behind them. There was sudden silence, and the sense of no longer being quite in the same reality as before.

And, Ardagh thought with a fierce grin, as far as the hunters were concerned, their prey had once again simply . . . vanished.

Back to Hell, humans, that's surely what you believe. Very well, think of that, humans, and be afraid. For what goes into Hell, your teachings tell you, may yet return.

And so shall we.

Powers, of course, willing.

Seductions
Chapter 24

If all this doesn't put the fear of their deity into the humans,
Ardagh thought as he and Cadwal followed their Tylwyth Teg guides out of human reality,
nothing will!

The cavelike gap under the roots turned without warning, as he'd more or less expected, into a narrow earthen tunnel, which in turn quickly became a stone stairway leading down past stone walls. This in turn became a wide, high tunnel of smooth, seamless limestone that apparently stretched off in a straight line for some distance—or at least so Ardagh guessed, since even the Sidhe needed a
little
light by which to see.

One of the Tylwyth Teg, probably just as handicapped by the total darkness ahead as the prince, gave an annoyed little "Tchah!" In the next instant, a row of torches lining the walls burst into light, sparked, Ardagh
felt,
by a flash of magical will. The flames were a clear, pale blue, totally without smoke or heat.

A pretty device,
thought Ardagh, who recognized it,
if not particularly Powerful. In fact . . . now that I think about it, I don't sense all that much Power anywhere. Mm, yes, and the fact that the torches weren't lit and waiting for us means these folk are fallible.

Comforting to know, in a way. "Wait a moment, Cadwal," the prince said hastily in the human tongue. "Don't open your eyes just yet." Right now, he suspected, the human would have seen nothing but the terrifying illusion that he was buried alive in bare earth.

"Uh, sure," Cadwal agreed, probably suspecting the same thing. "Look," he added in a quick, nervous undertone, "I appreciate the sanctuary, or whatever this is, but wandering around blind in God knows what isn't my idea of fun, and I really would like to know what the hell's going on."

"I called to the Tylwyth Teg. They answered. You're in no danger just now."

"Just now? And isn't
that
reassuring!"

"I didn't mean it that way. Wait a moment more." Switching back to the Sidhe tongue, Ardagh told the Tylwyth Teg, who were watching them with great fascination, "Drop the glamour about him, if you would, so my friend can see where we're going."

A very put-upon sigh whispered through the tunnel. The Tylwyth Teg plainly had been enjoying the game of Bait the Human.

"Do it," the prince said flatly, royalty brooking no argument.

Another sigh, this time in resignation. "If it must be, it must," someone murmured. "Agreed. There. It has been done. Now, come."

The prince heard Cadwal's soft gasp as he suddenly could see the Tylwyth Teg. But to Ardagh's delight all the mercenary said after that first startled moment of glancing from them to the prince and back again was a laconic, "Cousins, I take it? Definite family resemblance."

There were admiring little chuckles from those of the Tylwyth Teg who understood the human tongue. Ardagh looked at them, now that he thought about it a bit insulted by the easy comparison, noting their small stature, their golden hair and foxy-sharp faces, and corrected dryly, "Distant cousins. Very distant."

"Brave of being, this the human is," a woman murmured, and there was genuine admiration in her voice. "So suddenly into our place-world snatched, yet nothing of fear is within him."

Well now, interesting! This was surely the same woman who had made that rather flattering comment about Cadwal's appearance back in the forest. She moved quietly to the mercenary's side as innocently as though she meant merely to guide him.

Oh, indeed,
the bemused Ardagh thought.
Guide him
where
is, of course, another matter.

Trying not to grin, he watched as the woman, young—at least as the Folk reckoned age—slim, pretty and seemingly guileless, put a shy hand on Cadwal's arm, looking up at him as though he was an unexpected wonder. "Fear have none," Ardagh heard her murmur to the mercenary (who, by all the Powers, was actually reddening). "Nothing of harm here is there for you. Gwenalarch I am of the naming, and so vow I this." Seeing his blank face, she switched easily to Cymreig, presumably repeating her reassurance.

"
Nothing of harm is there for you,
"
the prince repeated with an inner laugh.
True enough, Cadwal, true enough.

Well now, the human was an adult and hardly naive; he could speak and choose for himself. Gwenalarch was using no Power other than the normal magic of a woman finding a man intriguing, and since she had given her word to do him no harm . . . Ardagh shrugged, grinning to himself, thinking that Cadwal was a lucky fellow—and about time, too—and went on.

But as they moved forward down the tunnel, a sudden blaze of golden light burst upon them, and the prince heard Cadwal gasp in renewed shock, and nearly gasped as well.

Ahead lay a great hall, high of ceiling and dazzlingly bright, glinting with gold, silver, fire-bright copper, gleaming with tapestries rich with a hundred hues. A few of the Tylwyth Teg sat at a long table of polished, amber-red wood; others stood in small groups of two or three, their clothing richly hued as the tapestries.

To Ardagh's surprise, a few laughing, excited children raced among the adults, their cheerful noise an incongruous touch amid the tranquillity: human, most of them. Not surprising, given the Folk's tendency towards infertility and with the human world so near to hand. Changelings? Unwanted babies given freely? Whatever, they looked happy and healthy; none of the Folk, no matter what their race, harmed children.

They must be frequently taken up out of the caverns for light and air; they'd have to be. Humans cannot thrive without the sun.

He took a wary step forward, and every one of the Tylwyth Teg in the hall froze, staring in undisguised curiosity. Even the children, puzzled by the adults' behavior, stopped to stare.

Don't see strangers very often, do you? Particularly not a stranger who is one of the Sidhe, I take it.

Unfortunately, his Sidhe eyes could, like it or not, see through illusion—and after the first dazzled moment, he realized with a touch of regret that nearly all the splendor was just that—illusion. The rich clothing was nicely dyed, yes, but the fabrics were merely wool or linen. And the hall itself . . . Ardagh looked right through the glory of it to the plain grey cavern, the mundane reality, behind it, and felt a twinge of genuine disappointment.

Illusion. Nothing much more.

And why should I be disappointed? They never were known as the greatest mages, not even in the Faerie Realms.

No wonder, then, that they chose to live here in the human Realm, where any Power was a great marvel and they could be all but worshiped by those they deigned to let see them.

Did I really think that such as these could help me? That they'd somehow, miraculously, reveal a Power unknown to the Sidhe, a strength I lack? The strength to actually open a Doorway home? How could I be such a fool?
Ardagh blinked fiercely, furious to find his vision suddenly blurring, and snapped at himself not to be more foolish yet.

Cadwal, of course, even with the Otherly glamour removed from him, was still human; he could only see all the splendid illusion before him as solid truth.

And the shock of it all must have been truly overwhelming. Cadwal stopped short in the entrance to the great cavern with a muttered, "No." Ardagh and Gwenalarch both turned to him in alarm, and he gave them both a wild-eyed glance before turning to stare again at what to him must have been a glorious, impossibly alien hall.

"No. I'm sorry." In his voice was the unnaturally calm desperation of a man who has finally gone beyond the last of his endurance. "No. I . . . I could take the rest, but this . . . this is just too much. Sorry. This is as far as I go today."

Not surprising, Ardagh mused. It was amazing that the human had lasted as long as he had, what with all his world turned aslant again and again in the past day. Gwenalarch gave a low, worried cry, having evidently puzzled out enough of what Cadwal had said. She caught him by the shoulders so that she could look directly up at him, her face a study in genuine concern, and told him gentle words in Cymreig.

Ae, clever!
Ardagh thought.
No open seduction, nothing alarming. No, no, she's being downright maternal—for now. And, no doubt about it, she really does mean to help.

Cadwal, being no fool, had to know exactly what he was being offered—in addition, that was, to a peaceful night away from everything. The mercenary glanced uncertainly at Ardagh, a wild mix of confusion and longing on his face. The prince nodded ever so subtly—
yes, it's safe, it's permitted
—and saw relief flash in Cadwal's eyes. His hand in Gwenalarch's, the mercenary let her lead him away.

"He shall of no harming come," a woman murmured, and Ardagh just barely kept from laughing aloud.

"I know," he said with great restraint.
On the contrary, this may prove the best medicine any could give him!
The prince turned to see who'd spoken:

So-o! This could only be the ruler of this clan, a woman lovely and ageless in the foxy-sharp Tylwyth Teg way—lovely enough to send a little prickle of pleasure through him. It had been long and long again, after all, since he'd seen any woman of the Folk.

Control,
he warned himself, well aware of the casual awareness of authority surrounding her. Tall for her people, she came almost to his shoulder, her eyes as green as his, her hair a long fall of reddish-gold held back from her face by a thin silver coronet worked to resemble the graceful curl of waves. The Otherly silkiness of her gown was no illusion, nor was its color, a smooth bluish-green, the exact shade of ocean touched by moonlight; the fabric was patterned to shimmer like the waves with even the slightest movement. Not a gown or a coronet, the prince thought, for a cavern-dweller to wear. But then, the Tylwyth Teg were said to love the sea.

No sea, no bodies of water of any size, anywhere nearby. Odd.

Nothing odd at all about the way she was studying him, and unlike he, making no attempt to hide her pleasure.

Flattering, Powers, yes. And Powers be thanked that I am not a human, to let animal instinct reveal itself. One way or another.
"Lady," Ardagh said smoothly, and bowed, royal to royal.

She returned the bow just as graciously. "Sidhe lord. Seldom-rare is it that the race of yours visits ours." A pause. "Tywthylodd am I, Princess Tywthylodd Gwythion of the Tylwyth Teg. Your name is for my knowing?"

She obviously hadn't been out there scrambling away from the human attack. "I am—ah, Ardagh Lithanial am I, Prince of the Sidhe."

"Ah. Pleased will you be to with us dine?"

Hunger, fiercely suppressed all during the long chase, woke with a roar. "Pleased, indeed, Princess Tywthylodd, and my gratitude to you. But first . . ." His rueful gesture took in his soiled, tired clothing and self. The princess smiled with a touch more amusement than his dignity would have liked.

"Of course," was all she said.

The bath had been wonderfully, magically hot, and Ardagh had nearly fallen into exhausted sleep in the middle of it. Only the sharp impression that he was being secretly watched kept him at all alert.

Tywthylodd? Possibly. Or perhaps it was some of the pretty little servants he'd shooed away (thinking that it lacked all courtesy to his hostess to, as it were, welcome the servants before the ruler). The Sidhe lacked the humans' ridiculous prudery about their bodies, and he knew he had nothing of which to be ashamed, so Ardagh had ignored the watcher or watchers, knowing they'd meant him no harm. Now he let other servants—male, this time—dry him with towels of human weave, though nicely soft, and bring him blessedly clean clothing, sky-blue tunic and sea-blue leggings, of human weave, again, but of exotic Tylwyth Teg design.

"This way, if pleasing you this is," one servant said politely, and led the prince back to the splendid-seeming hall. Princess Tywthylodd was already there, seated at the precise midpoint of the great table. If it had, indeed, been she watching him, she gave not the faintest sign of it.

"Come, Prince Ardagh, seated here be, by my side."

The food was not as elegant as he'd expected; earthly plain, but it was nicely seasoned and plentiful. All around him, the Tylwyth Teg chattered and laughed as they ate, surrounding him with a cheerful babble of noise, though none, not even the princess, tried to engage him in conversation.

Which was fine with Ardagh. This was the first true meal he'd had in . . . Powers, just how long had it been since he'd eaten a genuine, cooked-and-served meal? Unlikely that his hosts would try to poison or ensorcel him; the various races of the Folk generally saw betrayal during a meal as impossible falsehood. Besides, the prince thought cynically, even if these Folk had been . . . influenced by human behavior, his Sidhe senses would still warn him of any problems—

As they were warning him of one right now: Ardagh, seated to the right of the princess, who kept giving him sly little glances of approval, was growing very much aware of the man who sat to her left. He was as elegant as she, in robes of the same sea-blue richness. His hair was a shimmering mass of gold, his eyes a glowing dark green—and full of a light that was definitely not approving.