“As well as I can be, considering.” Bram still couldn’t look at her, but not because of her beauty. “Thank you, Isbet. You saved my life—” among other things, “—though I wish you hadn’t risked your life like that.”

  “I would not let a friend come to harm,” Isbet said. “You are welcome.”

  Bram couldn’t help but smile slightly. “But you’re all right now? You were not gravely injured?”

  “I am fine,” Isbet said. “I am uncertain if you know but Calla granted Aimeli and Briwyn’s request.”

  “Oh, I know,” Bram said. “She told me last night.”

  He could see her head turn out of the corner of his eye. Bram exhaled sharply. He may as well tell her so there would be no misunderstandings. “Serval tried to entrap me earlier in the evening.” Bram told her of the summons to Serval’s rooms and how the Dokkalfar nearly caught Bram in his spell.

  “You will be relieved to know Calla plans to punish Serval, although she advised me it had been a long time coming,” Isbet said.

  Bram could well believe that.

  “Besides, I knew you did not want Serval and the trouble it would cause if he took you by force,” Isbet went on. “It would have gone badly later on.”

  “What do you mean?” Bram asked.

  “I am sure you have heard stories about mortal men and women falling in love with fey creatures?” Isbet said.

  “Yes,” Bram said. “Always in the fairy tales, they either are willing to go or are carried off into Underneath. The stories usually end happily, or the person misses the sunlight so much they leave.”

  Isbet shook her head. “At times they are happy here if they were gravely unhappy while on the surface. However, once you have been intimate with a fey creature, you become incapable of leaving them. Your very soul joins with theirs whether it is consensual or not. Yes, a great majority of the time the mortal cannot stand being in the darkness and hungers for the light, but the fey will not allow them to leave.”

  Bram shivered, wrapped his arms around his chest. “Serval said once he’d – taken me, I would be his.”

  “Yes, unfortunately,” Isbet said. “And if a mortal does manage to escape, they would not be able to live Above Ground either, for their bodies would crave the touch of their fey lover. So, depending on how physically and mentally strong that person is, they may be able to fight or come to accept their situation, but there are a few who go mad. Then the fey will cast them aside and they will be unwanted in both lands. Forever branded a pariah.”

  “Triune,” Bram said. “Then I suppose I have even more reason to thank you.”

  “You would more than likely have been able to fight off Serval’s influence,” Isbet said. “You strike me as having great strength of spirit, Bram. More than you apparently realize.”

  Bram didn’t know what to say, completely in shock from the compliment. He was thinking the exact opposite after allowing Serval to take him so easily.

  Bram noticed how quiet Isbet had gotten. He could see by the slight frown and the tightening of her features that she was pondering something. “Isbet, what are you thinking of?”

  Her face relaxed just a bit. “I suppose I should tell you. There is trouble coming to this land because the rogue magic’s making the Vine grow. The Vine gave me a vision of things to come.”

  “It’s going to be bad, isn’t it?” Bram said.

  “Yes, but I believe this is merely the start of things. This will just be a mere skirmish, but people will die.”

  Bram could hear the sadness in her voice as she gazed at the youngsters who continued at their play. “I placed a luck touch on each of them. It is a simple spell many of the Gifted know, and it’s not powerful, but perhaps it will protect them.”

  “Do you believe they will truly have to fight?”

  “I hope not,” Isbet said. “But I will fight either way.”

  Bram’s head snapped to the side. “You’re…going to fight?”

  “Yes.” Isbet didn’t elaborate.

  It didn’t take Bram long to come to a decision. “Then I will fight as well.”

  Now Isbet looked at him. “There is no need for you to do so. Likely Calla will send Aimeli and Briwyn back up to Overworld. You should go with them.”

  “I owe you and the queen a debt,” Bram said. “It must be satisfied.” Bram noticed a naga approaching, dressed in the breastplate that Bram recognized identified the wearer as one of the queen’s personal guard. He moved with that smooth grace and inclined his head when he came to them. “Lady Isbet, Your Highness, Her Majesty Queen Calla requests your presence in her personal study. Please feel free to stop at your rooms to refresh yourselves. If you would please follow me?”

  “Thank you.” Bram held out a hand to Isbet, careful to avoid looking at her body. Damn that silk outfit. “If I may?”

  Isbet took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. They followed the naga back to the palace and through the many hallways until they came to the royal apartments.

  “If you need any assistance, please ask of anyone.”

  “Again, my thanks,” Bram said, “Please inform Her Majesty we will be there with all speed.”

  Bram wasn’t certain if he wanted to be somewhere where he could possibly run into Serval again, but Isbet had said the queen was planning to deal with him, so Bram doubted she would let Serval near him.

  Bram was in a rather messy state, he noticed, when he was alone in the room. He’d been given some new clothes as well, nothing elaborate but serviceable, made from the same filmy material as Isbet’s clothes had been. There was water and a washbowl on the dressing table and Bram made use of it by washing his face, then reaching for a jeweled brush and running it through his hair a few times. He wasn’t perfect but, he thought, acceptable.

  The hall was empty when he stepped out of the room, but Bram had an idea of where he needed to go. He only needed to ask someone and they directed him. Although two naga stood guard, the double doors to the study were open. He greeted the naga and they returned the greeting as he stepped into the room.

  The circular room had a high-domed ceiling. The room was lit by dozens of wil-o-wisp floating unobtrusively above them and was decorated in blush tones, including the desk that sat at the top of the room. There were paintings of other Dokkalfar hung on the walls. The largest was of a handsome older couple. Bram guessed they were Calla’s parents. He could see the resemblance in their features.

  Aimeli and Briwyn were sitting on a couch to his left and Calla sat in a chair beside them. There were tea and cakes on a small table. They were chattering and laughing like old friends and it was a few moments before they noticed Bram.

  “Your Highness.” Calla smiled in greeting. “Do join us.”

  Bram greeted each woman and kissed their hands before sitting in a chair opposite Calla.

  “Isbet will be along shortly,” Calla said. “I understand you spent some time with her today?”

  Bram willed himself not to blush. “Yes, I did. I beg your pardon, Majesty, but she informed me that there will be a skirmish very soon.”

  Calla’s expression sobered. “Yes. I will have my most loyal servants escort Queen Aimeli to the surface.”

  “Majesty,” Briwyn spoke up. “I wish you would reconsider our offer. We could have an entire company down here at your service.”

  Calla shook her head. “They would not arrive in time, I assure you, and I cannot guarantee their safety, but I appreciate that you are staying.”

  Briwyn gave her a wry grin. “I will never shy away from a good fight.”

  “Majesties, Your Grace,” Bram addressed the three women, “I have decided to stay and fight as well.”

  “I already figured you would, Highness.” Calla smiled again. “In fact – ah, here we are.” She nodded at something behind Bram. He twisted slightly in his chair to see five nagi enter. One carried a tunic, the second a pair of trousers, the third boots, the fourth a headdress, and the fifth a sword. Not just any sword, but a Holy Sword. It wasn’t until Bram saw the sword that he realized what it was they had brought him.

  “Triune.” Bram pushed himself out of the chair and approached the three with an almost cautious reverence. “Are these…?”

  They were his vestments. The clothes of his station. Pure white cloth, and royal blue cinctures and neckband, the colors symbolizing the purity of the Triune. Bram reached out, stroking one of the embroidered sleeves. Incomprehension was stealing upon him again. Did Calla know what she had done? She had given him back a piece of himself he thought lost. “How did you…?”

  Calla did not answer his unfinished question. “I am in your debt, Arch-bishop. Please accept this as a token of my gratitude.”

  Bram couldn’t stop touching the material. “No, thank you. You don’t – I mean to say—” Bram supposed it would be better to stop now before he started bawling like an infant.

  “Place take these things to His Highness’s chambers.”

  The five exited just as Isbet came in. She carried Gaemyr as usual and Bram was surprised to find her in a set of fine leather armor. He saw her gaze track to the items.

  “Such a magnificent sword.”

  Bram could only say, “It’s my sword. It’s my sword.”

  Isbet inclined her head, then to the three women she said, “They are coming.”

  “Then we must make haste.” Queen Calla rose. “Majesty, Your Grace, if you please?” Calla turned to him. “Arch-bishop, prepare yourself. I will send Azai to you.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The last thing Bram had expected was to be in a battle. He only hoped he would not fail, and the Triune would not punish him and these people for his doubts.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The nagi helped him dress. Bram tried to focus his mind on other things and not the fact that the last time servants had dressed him was before he’d gone to battle and become a prisoner. It wasn’t long after the death of his father. Jaryl came in to keep him company. He looked like a true leader – like their Patriarch.

  Bram had been uncertain what would happen or if the Triune would even answer him. He’d had his doubts when his time with Wilhelm began to stretch out and no rescue was forthcoming. He’d prayed to the Triune to deliver him from his enemies. He had tried not to think that his gods had abandoned him.

  The nagi presented his sword. Bram gripped the hilt, cool to his touch. It fit in his palm just as he recalled it. The blue gem in the pommel glowed of its own volition. He released a breath. Just let me be. For one moment, let me just be.

  “Your Highness?”

  Azai stood at the door. The nagi moved from the room, each bowing to Azai as they did so.

  “I will escort you to the field of battle.” To Bram’s surprise, Azai bowed to him. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Azai.” Bram clutched the naga’s hand. Then Azai stepped aside and Bram went out before him.

  * * *

  Azai led him to a section of Underneath on the far side of the lake where they’d watched the young people play. The clearing was like the one Bram had fallen into, yet instead of foliage, there was a space in front of them where there was – nothing.

  It was a great void, for no light escaped it or reflected in its depths, despite the light filling the clearing, glinting off armor and swords.

  “What is that?” Bram asked.

  “An entrance forced through the veils, linking our world to theirs. The Vine would never allow them to come from the depths, so they must find another means. Although how they did this….” Azai shook his head. “It is the rogue magic. That is all it can be.”

  An assortment of beings gathered were there that Bram had never encountered in his lifetime. Besides Dokkalfar and naga, there were kobolds, fauns, bogies, gnomes, brownies, and others beyond description. There were also dwarves, with one shaggy female in deep conversation with Calla and Briwyn. The Duchess of Chira appeared formidable in her borrowed Dokkalfar armor. Since he’d not seen any dwarves around before, Bram assumed Calla had asked for their aid. They could travel anywhere Underneath and were the ones who tended the Vine, its offshoots, and the tunnels.

  Bram was fascinated by all that was around him, but soon he wondered where Isbet was. After some searching, he found her atop a rock cleft, amid a group of Dokkalfar and naga. He wanted to ask Azai if he could be near her, but the naga placed him on a small hill at the very rear of the lines of soldiers.

  “Does this suit your needs?” Azai asked.

  “Yes, this is fine, thank you, Azai.” It gave him a clear view of the battleground below.

  Azai motioned to some naga nearby and they approached. “Stand with His Highness.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Then Azai joined Calla and Briwyn and the three of them walked down to the clearing. They faced the blackness. It came to Bram as he stood by the guards; Calla had pre-arranged for them. Bram walked a different path. He was the Father Protector. His station allowed him to take a life only if it was in defense of another.

  He drew his sword and plunged it into the soft earth with the gem facing towards him. When Bram was certain the blade was secure, he carefully knelt on the soft earth and waited.

  An unexpected silence fell. Calla stepped forward and drew her sword. She spoke and Bram realized it was in the language of the Dokkalfar, but he understood every word. He guessed another spell.

  “Come out, filth! Crawl from the darkest fen and show yourself to me!”

  Bram kept his gaze fixed on the darkness. It moved, bubbling like hot tar as a black tendril of it stretched out and ejected a blob of something whose rank smell carried across the clearing, making Bram want to gag.

  The thing moved, rearing upward, taking a shape not mortal, but there were the features of some little beast, with knobby arms too long for its stunted body. Its face was almost bat-like. Its large, rounded ears twitched. Bram did not understand what it was, so he quietly asked one of the naga.

  “It is nothing,” the naga replied. “It is a messenger. A vespere.”

  The vespere approached Calla and spoke, and the sound of its voice sent a chill down Bram’s spine. He didn’t understand the creature’s guttural language, but the meaning behind its words became clear. Whatever was in that darkness wanted blood and death.

  Calla finished with the thing, brought her sword down and cleaved it in two. She raised her sword again, pointing the blade at the void. “Did you not hear me, filth? Come out!”

  The darkness was a seething cauldron, rippling and boiling across its surface. Bram bowed his head, closed his eyes, pushing that little piece of doubt away. The words of the prayer, so practiced in his youth, fell from his lips.

  “I beseech thee, Triune, Father, Mother, and Child,

  Fill this unworthy vessel with your will, your power.

  As Father Protector, I ask a boon, to protect the lives of the innocent.

  Be my strength, my eyes, and my soul. Come to me, oh Blessed Triune.

  Please, do not forsake me. This is not for me, this is for them.”

  There came a presence. It was slight at first, like a gentle breeze, carrying a sweet perfume. It washed away the last of the stench the vespere had left. Through his closed eyes, Bram sensed the gem glowing and with it a sense of being embraced by loving arms.

  It was She, the Mother. Her face and form had been captured in paintings in their cathedrals, but Bram experienced her true being. Warmth, sacrifice, caring, and a fierce protectiveness of her children, as any mother would feel.

  Bram drew the power to him. It was his to make use of. Not a magical power, for it was not his. The Mother would fight; Bram was a conduit for her, not at his command, for Bram would have to continue to pray and pay attention to the battlefield.

  More tendrils emerged from the blackness, and the things that came from them were the beasts of nightmares, some so hideous Bram had to fight not to be sick at the sight of them. They would kill without mercy, or suck out a man’s soul without remorse, leaving him an empty shell to wander for eternity, never knowing peace again.

  They came, it seemed, in an endless wave and Calla called for their troops to go forward to meet them in battle. Meanwhile, those gathered on the clefts, including Isbet, cast spells that caused some of the enemy to wither and die, while others burst into flame. Isbet held Gaemyr aloft and seemed focused on the void, and Bram saw the edges of the Vine growing over the space, entwining with agonizing slowness, but Isbet worked to seal the void. Bram focused his concentration on the battlefield. The stone allowed him to differentiate friend from foe by showing their auras, and he focused the Mother’s Holy Fire on them. His friends received the benefit of her blessing, while their enemies received her wrath. Calla and Briwyn fought in the middle of the fray and Bram had to admit they impressed him.

  As for the enemy? With a mere touch of the Light, they tore apart, and whatever made up their dark souls, the Mother crushed with her mighty hand.

  Bram continued to pray, the words coming fast, his breathing, for now, steady and deep, his nerves alive with the Holy Fire. If the battle went on too long, he would have to replenish himself. The dark ones didn’t seem to pay Bram much attention at first, until they realized what he was, and as the Mother walked among them, they retreated, but evil can’t escape the light, the pure. The Mother found them every time.

  Bram noticed ghouls sneaking up on two of the youths he’d seen at the pond. The ghouls wielded bows and arrows and used them with deadly precision. Bram reached out with the Mother’s hand and touched each one. They disintegrated, their wails of agony lingering then fading to nothing.

  Still there were more, goblins, revenants, incubi and succubae, duppies and Duine Shee and, to Bram’s surprise, witches. They focused their attention on the group of magic workers on the cleft. Bram raised a wall of protection between the witches and his allies, but it used most of his power. He was leaving the rest unprotected, but—

 

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