Knight's Lady, page 26
part #1 of Tenebrae Series
He looked around. Green grass everywhere, and no indication of which way he’d come. “Okay. Which way?”
“Just go back. You’ve no business here yet.”
“Why not?” He figured he wasn’t the one who'd gotten himself here, so someone must think he belonged here. “What is this place?” He liked it, wherever it was, and wasn’t too enchanted with the idea of leaving it.
“’Tis the in-between world. A nether place where you dinnae belong. You’ll be here long before you are expecting it, but not yet. Not today.”
“I kinda like it here.”
“Go back, I said.”
He sighed. “Okay.” He didn’t have it in him to argue. Disagreement would ruin this fine day here, and he was enjoying it so. “Will I hurt again?”
The anger bled from her, and her voice filled with regret. “Aye. There’s no protecting you from that. Always there will be pain there, for that is the way of things.”
That was a disappointment. Then, “What about Lindsay?”
“She’s the reason you need to return. She cannae live without you. Not yet, in any case.”
That was both good to hear and not. He wanted her to be strong, but wanted her to need him as well. He sighed again. “And Trefor. He was left at the castle. Last we saw him, he was looking to fight Reubair. Something about Dagda, I think. Will he be all right?”
Danu ducked her head to peer into his face. “What?”
“I said he’s fighting Reubair. Or was. We’ve been traveling awhile, I think.” He wasn’t sure if it had been hours or days. Maybe just minutes.”
“He’s fighting An Reubair? Or fought him? An Reubair lives, I can feel it.”
“Then I hope Trefor got away.”
“Och!” Danu’s mount danced, sensing she wanted away from there, and she held it steady. “I must find him.”
“Reubair?”
But she didn’t answer him. She only said, “Return to your wife and the priest. Just close your eyes and think of them. I must go now.” Then, without waiting for affirmation or anything else from him, she wheeled her horse and kicked away at a gallop.
Alex watched her go, then took a deep breath and raised his face to the sun. It was nice here. He didn’t want to leave. But Lindsay needed him. Danu said Lindsay couldn’t live without him. Not yet, anyway. And so he wished to return to the world. He closed his eyes, smiled at the warmth on his skin, then cringed at the cold and pain that followed.
“Alex?” Lindsay shook him. “Alex! Oh, God, let him be alive! Alex!”
He gasped and his eyes opened. Lindsay held him and burst into tears. He trembled, but he was breathing. And groaning, muttering something about sunshine in-between somewhere. She made him eat one of the pignuts, and when he realized what it was he wolfed all she had as fast as she could give them to him. She spoke to him in a low voice as he ate.
It was later that day Lindsay, Patrick, and Alex came upon the wall of mist and entered it. They’d evaded their pursuers and soon would be on the coast and headed for home.
Eighteen
Trefor was summoned to the presence chamber.
He’d been in his room gathering himself and his things, ready to leave and make his way back to his men and Alex’s who were with Robert in Ireland, but just as he was about to see about his horses — or someone else’s if his were gone — a squire attached to Dagda came to his room with a command that he present himself to the king.
“Rats,” he muttered to the messenger’s back. The faerie squire turned and gawked to see where the rats were, then hurried on, puzzled when he didn’t find any. Trefor strapped on his sword and obeyed the command, though he thought seriously about simply ducking out. He didn’t want anything to do with the aftermath of this mess. Especially he didn’t want to hang around for Reubair’s execution, for though Reubair deserved to die, there was an element of guilt on Trefor’s part that he was going to die horribly. Already the castle residents were abuzz with the details of the new method of execution the Danann had picked up from the English king nearly a decade before. Reubair and those nobles allied with him who had been arrested over the course of the afternoon were to be hung and eviscerated as traitors, their entrails burned before their eyes while still alive. Trefor’s stomach turned, and he wanted away from the castle as soon as possible.
But he was stuck. To flee might bring suspicion on himself, and a pack of Dagda’s knights on his trail. He found the king in Reubair’s presence chamber, and noted it hadn’t taken long for him to make himself comfortable. Trefor figured that was the way things were around here: in theory the king owned all the land, so he naturally felt at home everywhere. The room was jammed with courtiers, all of them visitors pledged to Dagda. Reubair’s courtiers had either been rounded up or had fled for their lives. The glitter of the king’s knights was far beyond even the shine of Reubair’s faeries. They parted for Trefor as he entered to approach the dais. Trefor went before the king and knelt, head bowed. “Your majesty.” All eyes were on him, everyone unsmiling, and he didn’t know whether he was to be hero or goat.
The king sat in Reubair’s chair, lounging in a relaxed manner Trefor figured must be a lie, for he was being stitched up by a faerie seamstress. A large silver bowl filled with pink water stood on the floor at his feet, and the woman hovered over an arm laid across the arm of his chair. Blood dripped onto a puddle on the floor, and the woman’s fingers were covered with it. The needle went slowly and carefully in and out of Dagda’s skin, and his nostrils flared with each stab. But his voice remained steady and his breaths even.
With a languid gesture, Dagda ordered Trefor to rise. The king seemed fully recovered of his wits after his near assassination, but Trefor didn’t imagine it could be so simple. The king would need to appear unruffled whether he was or not, or risk losing the respect of his followers, a vulnerability nobody could afford. Sitting in the chair that earlier in the day had been occupied by Reubair, he seemed to have a core of steel and the calm of a summer’s day. He said, however, in a tone of utter sincerity, “I owe my life to you.”
Relief flooded Trefor. Hero, not goat. He resisted a smile and said in all seriousness, “I pledged my allegiance to you; it was my duty. Even if it meant taking a bul— uh, a bolt... Reubair’s dagger for you.”
“You’ve proven yourself valuable to me, Sir Trefor. Continue to be valuable, and I will reward you accordingly.”
Trefor took a deep breath. Robert sprung to mind. Trefor’s hopes had been set on maneuvering himself into the notice of the human king as his father had. It was mental whiplash to realize he’d just done that very thing with the Danann king. Never mind how he felt about faeries, he could no longer deny he was one.
Dagda continued, “Follow the example of An Reubair, however, and you’ll find yourself in similar straits. I will not tolerate those who stray from me. Or from Danu.”
A frisson of apprehension regarding the goddess skittered up Trefor’s spine, but he shook it off and focused on the matter at hand. Then there was Lindsay. For a second or two he wondered whether she would be proud of him, but he told himself it didn’t matter.
Another second, and all hell broke loose.
A voice from the door caught the attention of everyone in the room. “Majesty! Majesty! An Reubair has escaped!” The messenger shoved his way through the crowd in a hurry, shouting the whole way. “Reubair has killed his guard and has escaped to the countryside! He’s taken all the other prisoners with him as well.”
Dagda made no move, but cursed the name of An Reubair and all his descendants to seven generations. “Which direction did he take’?”
The breathless messenger said, “He’s not disguised his intent to seek refuge with Nemed. He’s gone straight as an arrow to the north.”
Dagda looked to Trefor with a bland gaze. “Sir Trefor, it would seem you’ve another chance to prove yourself, and so soon after gaining my favor.”
Trefor’s heart sank. He wasn’t ready for this, and wouldn’t want it if he had been. “I’ve got no men with me. They’re fighting elsewhere.” And painfully few, as well.
“Take some of mine.” The king pointed out five knights standing nearby and ordered them to bring with them their squires. To Trefor he said, “By my reckoning, that will give you close to thirty men-at-arms to find your fugitive. Lead them well. Go straight to Nemed’s lands, and hope Reubair delays himself by attempting to throw you from his trail along the way. He won’t, though. I assure you he’ll go at speed for as long as his horse holds out.”
Nemed. Trefor had heard stories about that guy, none of them pleasant. But he didn’t flinch. Couldn’t let Dagda see him hesitate. He turned to the king and said, “Aye, your majesty. And thank you.”
Dagda waved him off, and Trefor left the room with an air of determination he did not feel.
***
It was no trick to follow Reubair. He made no secret of his destination, and plainly was depending on his head start and speed to elude pursuit. Trefor took his band of faerie knights after him at a dead run, in hopes of overtaking the fugitive.
But after only a few hours’ travel, just the other side of a ford that crossed a river unfamiliar to Trefor, a gut instinct made him pull up short and halt his men. They stopped on the track, and Trefor put up a hand to still them. He sniffed the air and found something funky about it he couldn’t quite identify. Then he dismounted and felt of the ground. There was no sound, no smell, but there was a miasma in the air. The elf was near; Trefor could sense the evil. Though he’d never met Nemed, he knew enough about the ancient king to understand the malevolent intent, the anger, the hatred he felt in this place.
“Go back,” he said to his knights and remounted. “It’s too late. Reubair has found his sanctuary.” They turned and signaled the rest of the men to return across the ford.
A whoop and holler went up from inside a stand of trees upslope to the north. Trefor wheeled to find several hundred Danann and human knights thundering down upon them. His mount lunged and reared. His heart leapt to his throat, and he suddenly was certain this was his day to die. But he wheeled his mount, drew his sword, and shouted to his knights to attack, for they were caught against the river and would be shredded in the slow crossing of the ford, with their backs to the enemy. Trefor intended that his men shouldn’t be asked to die while fleeing, and if he was doomed, he was going to take Reubair down first. He kicked his mount to a gallop and led the charge.
The onslaught was quick and terrifying, the faerie swords slashing at each other like polished silver fangs. Trefor’s company rode into the midst of Reubair’s and clashed with a ringing of swords and bellowing of voices. Trefor searched the melee for his enemy and found the tall, blond faerie coming at him. He kicked his mount forward and swung his sword hard. Reubair’s rang off his as they passed each other, then whirled for another try. Trefor closed on Reubair and engaged him, trying to unhorse him. He wanted Reubair on the ground, and wanted to pin him to it with his weapon.
But then Reubair broke away and fled to the trees at a gallop. Trefor followed, blindly, like a fool. Anger reddened his vision, and all he could think of was how this guy had compromised and abused his mother. As far as Trefor was concerned, Reubair was a dead man. They blew past trees and leapt bushes of gorse and bracken in their race.
There was a large clearing within the forest, shaggy with new grass and dotted with bare rock. Reubair reined in and wheeled to face Trefor in the center of it. Trefor also reined in, for he saw what stood behind the suddenly bold Reubair.
It was the evil itself, Nemed, he was certain of it. Red eyes glowed from beneath a hooded cloak. His horse was huge and black, a stallion standing as cool as a cat but alert for commands from his master. The miasma was so strong, Trefor could barely breathe, and for a moment he had an urge to wheel and spur his horse in retreat. But he held his ground and faced Nemed and Reubair.
Reubair said, “Fool.”
“I’m not the one who just lost all my holdings.”
The faerie flushed at that, and his lips pressed together. He spurred his horse and came at Trefor with his sword. Trefor fended, but just barely, and he sidled his horse around to face Reubair. Then another quarter turn to keep Nemed in sight as well.
“I’ll kill you.” Reubair spat the words with all the venom at his command.
“He’ll kill me.” Trefor indicated Nemed with a toss of his head. “But only after I’ve cut your throat.”
The dull light in Reubair’s eyes said he knew what Trefor said was probably true. He wore no armor and wasn’t well armed, where Trefor was fully equipped. He blinked sweat from his eyes, then wiped his forehead with his sleeve and said, “I want to know why. Why did you do it? What did you gain by it?”
“Lindsay. You shouldn’t have messed with her.” He spun his sword in a threatening mulinette.
Now puzzlement deepened. Aristocratic contempt came over Reubair’s entire frame, and he straightened in his saddle. “Your cousin? You are about to die, you know. You’ve given up your life for the sake of someone who not only is just a woman, but isn’t even particularly—”
“His mother.”
Reubair looked to Nemed. “His what?”
The elf’s voice cut through the air in the clearing like a claymore. “Lindsay MacNeil is his mother.”
Reubair peered at Trefor, even more baffled. “That’s not possible.”
“This man was conceived less than two years ago, and born seven centuries from now.”
High pique and confusion brought a tone of irritation to Reubair’s voice. “Nonsense. You talk like a Bhroch—” Then it clicked, and a light of understanding sparked in his eyes. He said to Trefor, “Ah. A changeling returns to his family and finds it not what it might have been. I see.” An ugly grin splashed across his face. Trefor wanted to take Reubair’s head and stick it on a spike. The horse between his knees danced with the tension in them as Trefor watched for a chance to charge. The blond faerie continued, his contempt thickening, “Is your mother from the other time as well? Your father? That could explain much.”
Trefor’s reply was to raise his sword and spur his horse forward. But before his mount could even lunge, Nemed held up a palm and the world froze solid with noise and pain. Trefor screamed, but the sound couldn’t leave him. It stuck in his chest and shook his frame so that his bones rattled in agony.
Reubair laughed, a long, loud guffaw. Then with a leisurely flourish, he approached with his sword. One mulinette to the side, and he hauled back to give Trefor the death stroke.
But the sword fell from his gauntleted hand and thudded to the grass below. His arm went limp at his side. He spun, and from the corner of his vision Trefor saw a shining figure astride a white horse. A woman, light of hair and dressed in a gown of ancient style that glowed a pale blue. One hand was poised in a gesture Trefor recognized as warning. A spell was ready, and she threatened to use it. By the trembling of that arm, he could tell she was already spending a great deal of power on the one that had stopped Reubair’s sword arm.
“Cease!” she called out.
“Danu, leave this place!” Nemed spoke to her like a disobedient child who just wouldn’t follow orders.
“You’ll not murder him!” The goddess was grim. Determined to stop this conflict.
“He’s mine now. I’ll kill him if I like.”
“He’ll never be yours, Nemed.”
“My lands—”
“My blood!” She shouted now at full voice, anger straining it. “My blood, you beast! Leave him be, or I’ll make certain you and the entire memory of your race are blotted from human thought.”
“You think—”
“It’s all you’ve got, Nemed! Some land and a bit of notoriety. Take it and get away from here. And take your dogs with you. They blight the countryside.” She indicated with her chin Reubair, who sat his horse, unable to use either arm so long as she held her spell.
“I’ve more land than—”
“I said get out! You’ve taken on more trouble than you know. More trouble than you’ll ever truly want, in any case. I know you, Nemed. You’re lazy. Too lazy to stand up to what would descend on you, should you kill this boy today.”
There was silence as Nemed considered these words. Reubair looked to him, a frown darkening his face, then at Trefor, still gripped by Nemed’s spell. Then the agony ceased, and Trefor collapsed over the neck of his horse. Bile tried to rise, but he swallowed hard and held his breath until the need passed. Then he gasped for air and struggled to see straight, through the remaining ache. His body felt as if it had been yanked apart by a giant hand.
Reubair looked to the ground, then at Danu. “My sword?”
“Return for it later. Leave now, and allow Sir Trefor and his surviving men safe passage home.”
Reubair gazed at the sword, as if debating the value of attempting to recover it anyway, then at Danu, then took his reins and spurred his horse toward Nemed, past him and on into the trees.
Nemed gazed blandly at Danu for a moment, then without a word followed his vassal.
Trefor pushed himself erect in his saddle to address Danu, but she was gone. He looked around the clearing but found nobody. His stomach heaved again, and this time he vomited onto the ground beside his horse. Then he slipped his sword into the ring on his belt, spat on the ground once more, and returned to his men.
***
It was nearly morning when the exhausted and decimated company belonging to Dagda stumbled through the portcullis of Castle Finias. They were received at the stable, and the knights went to barracks or keep according to their status with the king. Trefor went directly to the presence chamber, though his greatest desire was to crawl into bed and stay there. He wasn’t even hungry. Too tired to eat.
Dagda wasn’t there, but the guard on watch had orders to wake him on Trefor’s return, and Trefor was immediately escorted to the guest chamber near the top of the keep. There he found the king just risen, rumpled from sleep and wearing only an unbelted silk tunic. The bandages on his arms were dotted with blood. He stood by the washstand, splashing water on his face, and a knight stood by with a towel for drying.
