The Warlock Unlocked

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

They dodged through the silver woods, trusting to Gwen’s sense of direction, until they came out on the lake-shore. Rod sighed with relief. “Okay, into the water. If they’re tracking us with hounds, we want to break the trail.” He was about to jump in when he noticed his family all hanging back. “Hey, what’s the matter? Jump in!”

“My lord,” Gwen said delicately, “it doth occur to us to remember the Each Uisge…”

“What of it? It’s dead!”

“Aye; but it may not have been alone. We know so little of this land…”

Rod felt a sudden dislike of water, himself. “Uh… how about it, Elid… uh, Your Majesty? Are there other unfriendly beasties in the water?”

“Oh, aye!” Elidor said promptly. “There do be Fuathan of all sorts and shapes! Shelly coats, peallaidhs, fideal, urisks, melusines…”

“Uh, I think that’s enough,” Rod interrupted. “We’ll take our chances with the hounds.”

They moved along the lake-shore. It was quicker going; the trees didn’t come down right to the water’s edge; they generally had a path at least two feet wide.

“We do seem to have come into a country with a rather strange population,” Rod admitted to Gwen.

“We do indeed,” she agreed. “The Faery, and some of the spirits Elidor doth mention, I have heard of—yet some are total strangers. Can we be in Gramarye, Rod?”

Rod shrugged. “Sure. Given a population of latent telepaths, who can persuade witch-moss to adopt any shape they’re collectively thinking of, and a thousand years to work in, who can say what would show up?”

“Yet I cannot think the elves would disappear,” Gwen pointed out, “and some magics that the faery duke did speak of, no witch or warlock in all Gramarye possesseth.”

“True,” Rod admitted, “both points. The spriggans’ ropes are something new—and so is making them crumble to dust before they touched Lord Kern—if the faery duke wasn’t just making that up. Still, I could see a way telekinesis might do that. But, turning faeries to stone? No. That’s really new—if he meant it literally.”

“Yet if we be on Gramarye,” Gwen said softly, “where do we be?”

“Nice question.” Rod looked up at the starry sky above the lake. “Could be anywhere, dear. McAran’s time machine was a matter-transmitter as well as a time-shifter. I suppose we could be on any world, around any star in the universe.” He frowned, squinting up at the sky. “Though, come to think of it, there’s something familiar about those constellations…” He shook his head. “Can’t place it. But I know I’ve seen that stellar layout before!”

“Yet ‘tis not the sky of Gramarye,” Gwen said softly.

Rod was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No, dear. It’s not.”

They walked silently for a few minutes, looking away from the sky and down toward the ground, hand in hand. The children picked up Gwen’s thoughts, and crowded close for comfort. Elidor watched, not understanding, alone and to the side.

Gwen reached out and gathered him in. “Well, ‘tis not so great a blow as all that; I’ve had suspicions. There’re far too few folk here with any Power, for it to ha’ been our Isle of Gramarye.”

“Yes,” Rod said somberly. “We haven’t run into so much as a telepath. Not that I’m used to having people read my thoughts…” He looked up at Gwen, frowning. “Strange, isn’t it? When I first came to Gramarye, the Queen’s witches could read my mind—but by the time I met you, no one could.”

“Oh, really?” said a mellow baritone behind him. “That’s interesting!”

Rod whirled about.

A friar in a brown robe with a black rope belt picked his way through the trees toward them. Moonlight gleamed off his tonsure. “Can you think of anything that could cause that effect?”

“Not offhand,” Rod said slowly. “And you’ll pardon my noticing that you don’t quite speak like the rest of the local population.”

“Not surprising; I’m from out of this world.” The friar thrust out a hand. “Father Aloysius Uwell, at your service.”

“I hope so.” Rod searched the man’s face. He was definitely on the fat side, with brown hair and a library pallor, wide, frank eyes, and a firm mouth; and something immensely likeable about him. Rod warmed to him, albeit reluctantly. He took Father Uwell’s hand. “Good to meet you.” Then he noticed the tiny yellow screwdriver in the priest’s breast pocket. “You’re a Cathodean!”

“Is that so surprising?” Father Uwell smiled. “I told you I wasn’t of this world.”

“Or the next?” But Rod couldn’t help smiling. “What world are you from?”

“McCorley, originally—but I’ve been on Terra, at the Vatican, for the last twenty years. Except for jaunts to trouble-spots, of course—such as Gramarye.”

“Gramarye?” Rod’s eyebrows shot up. “So you came in the same way we did?”

“Yes, and it wasn’t very easy, I don’t mind telling you! Here I’ve been outbound from Terra for most of a month, just to meet you—and when I get to Gramarye, I find you’ve just left! Not very hospitable of you, sir.”

“Uh, yeah, well, I’m sorry, but your reservation got mislaid. Pardon my curiosity, but I wouldn’t think the Vatican would even have heard about me, let alone have been interested in me!”

“We hadn’t, until the Pope opened a letter that’s been waiting in the vaults for a thousand years or so.”

“A thousand years?” Rod did some quick subtraction.

“Who knew about me in 2000 AD?” Then it hit him. “Oh. No. Not McAran.”

“Ah, I see you’ve met! Yes, it was from a Dr. Angus McAran. He informed the Pope that Rod Gallowglass, of Gramarye—and he gave the coordinates—was potentially the most powerful wizard ever born.”

Gwen gasped.

The kids stared.

Rod squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a quick shake. “Oh, no, not again! That skinny old b…” He remembered the children and took a deep breath. “ ‘Fraid it’s a wild goose chase, Father. I’ve never shown the faintest trace of any magical ability.”

“He did say ‘potential,’ ” Father Uwell reminded, “and I find this sudden telepathic blockage of yours quite interesting—oh, yes, I do believe telepathy works, especially since I’ve visited Gramarye.”

Rod smiled. “Met some of our witches, huh?”

Father Al winced. “Just one—and an elf. I’d really rather call your ‘witches’ espers, if you don’t mind. ‘Witch’ is a supernatural term, and there’s nothing metaphysical about psionic powers. Oh, and by the way, I saw your youngest.”

“Gregory!” Gwen’s gaze riveted on the priest. “How doth he, good Father?”

“Quite well, I assure you madame,” Father Al said kindly. “Two old elf-wives are watching over him, and the witch-girl who brought me to your house is helping them now. And Puck himself is guarding the door.”

Rod smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Well, with him there, no enemy could even get close to the door.”

“Doth he fret?” Gwen said anxiously.

“Not visibly.” Father Al frowned. “In fact, he’s very quiet. But the witch-girl read his thoughts, and told me that his mind searches for you ceaselessly—even when he’s asleep. Well did you name him—‘Gregory,’ the watcher, the sentinel.”

But Gwen wasn’t listening any more; her eyes had lost focus as her mind probed. Suddenly she gasped. “I do feel his touch!”

“Across time?” Rod cried. Then he frowned. “Wait a minute—McAran had a technique like that, where the mind travelled through time to a host-body. But how could a baby learn it?”

“He’s too young to know about time,” Father Al suggested. “Perhaps, to him, all moments are the same.”

“There are words!” Gwen cried, eyes huge.

“Words?!!? But the kid doesn’t know how to talk!”

“Nay… ‘tis Fess.” Gwen’s brows knit. “Do not ask me the manner of it.”

Rod slammed a fist into his palm. “Transmitting on my thought-frequency—and Gregory’s my baby, so his frequency resonates with mine! He’s picking up Fess’s thoughts, and Gregory’s telepathic waves are acting as a carrier wave for Fess! What’s he saying, Gwen?”

She frowned. “ ‘Tis too faint to make much of… There is something said of a machine, and of Brom O’Berin and Dr. McAran… And something of the Abbot and the King, also. I think… ‘tis that the Abbot unaccountably turned back, returning to Their Majesties full wroth. He thought he had been duped… their bargain was broken… the Abbot doth storm away, back to his monastery… Tuan hath sent out the summons to his barons, to send him levies of knights and men, and doth gird himself for war…” Her voice broke. “Husband—they may come to battle, and our babe lies there defenseless!”

“Not defenseless, not with Puck guarding his door,” Rod reassured her quickly. “And you can be sure, if Puck’s there, Brom O’Berin’s getting hourly reports. If there’s any threat to the kid, he’ll whisk him away to Elfland so quickly that Gregory won’t even know he’s been moved!”

“Dost thou truly think he will?” Tears filled Gwen’s eyes.

“Of course! After all, he’s the kid’s gr… godfather! Believe me, you can trust him. But cut the talking, dear—reassure the poor baby, while the contact lasts.”

“Aye…” Gwen’s gaze seemed to turn inward; she sat alone, hands in her lap, mind reaching out to enfold her baby’s.

Father Al coughed politely. “Ah, may I inquire—who is ‘Brom O’Berin?’ ”

“The King of the Elves,” Rod said absently, then quickly, “Uh, that’s semi-classified information! Do you still honor the Seal of the Confessional, Father?”

“We do, though we don’t use that term any more.” Father Al smiled, amused. “And what you’ve just let slip is protected by it. Would it reassure you if I called you, ‘my son?’ ”

“No, that’s not necessary.” Rod smiled, warming even more to the priest. “Brom’s also the Royal Privy Counselor, you see—so there is a need for secrecy.”

“Hm.” Father Al frowned. “Then should your children hear it?”

“The kids?” Rod glanced at the grassy bank; the children lay tumbled on it, asleep. “It has been a long day, hasn’t it? No, I don’t think they heard, Father.”

“So I see.” Father Al smiled fondly.

Rod cocked his head to one side, watching him. “Little sentimental, aren’t you? I mean, considering they’re supposed to be little warlocks and a little witch.”

Father Al stared at him, startled. “Come now, sir! These children’s souls are perfectly normal, from all that I can see! There’s nothing supernatural about psionic powers!”

“Sure about that?” Rod eyed him sideways. “Well, it’s your field, not mine. Uh—you are a specialist, aren’t you?”

Father Al nodded. “A cultural anthropologist, really, but I specialize in the study of magic.”

“Why?”

Father Al blinked. “How’s that again?”

“Why would the Church of Rome be interested in magic?”

The priest grinned broadly. “Why, to prove it doesn’t exist, for one thing—and that takes some meticulous work on occasion, believe me; there’ve been some extremely clever hoaxes. And, of course, the rare actual esper can very easily be mistaken for a sorcerer. Beyond that—well, the whole concept of magic has a strange domination over men’s souls, in many cultures; and the soul is our concern.”

“Meaning that if any real magic ever does show up, you want to know how to fight it.”

“If it’s demonic, yes. For example, exorcism has a long history. But the Church didn’t really begin to become interested in magic until the 25th Century, when provable espers began to become visible. They weren’t Satanists, nor possessed by evil spirits; that didn’t take long to establish. On the other hand, they weren’t saints either—that was even more obvious. Good people, most of them, but no better than the average, such as myself.”

“So,” Rod said, “you had to decide there was a ‘magic’ force that had nothing to do with the supernatural.”

Father Uwell nodded. “Then we were off the hook, for the time being. But some of the Cathodeans began to wonder how the Church should react if it ever ran into some sort of real magic that was neither witchcraft nor miracle.”

Rod frowned. “Just what’d you have in mind? I mean, if esper powers don’t fit that description, what does?”

“Oh, you know—fairy-tale magic. Waving your hands in the air, and chanting an incantation, and making something happen by a ritual process, not by the power of your mind.”

“Saying ‘Abracadabra’ and waving a magic wand, huh? All right, I’ll bite—how should the Church react?”

Father Uwell shrugged. “How should I know? We’ve only been discussing it for five hundred years.”

Rod eyed him sideways. “I should think that’d be time enough to arrive at a few tentative conclusions.”

“Oh yes, hundreds of them! That’s the problem, you see—we have a notion about how we should respond if we ever do encounter a case of real magic—but so far, we haven’t.”

“O-o-oh.” Rod nodded. “No one to test your theories on, huh?”

“Exactly so. Of course, we’ve looked for a real magician; we’ve investigated hundreds of cases. But most of them proved to be espers who didn’t know what they were; and there were a few cases of demonic possession, of course. The rest were hoaxes. So if we ever do find a real ‘wizard,’ we think we’ll know how to react, but…”

“How?”

Father Uwell shrugged. “The way we should’ve reacted to the introduction of science, and eventually did—that it’s something neither good nor evil, but does raise a deal of questions we have to try to answer.”

Rod tilted his head back, lips forming the syllable quite a while before he said it. “Oh. So if a real wizard should happen to come waltzing along, you want to be there from the very beginning, so you can figure out what questions he’s raising.”

“And bat them to the theologians, to find answers for.” Father Uwell nodded. “And there is the danger that a neophyte wizard might start meddling with the supernatural, without realizing what he’s doing. If that did happen, someone should be there to steer him back into safe territory.”

“And if he doesn’t steer?”

“Persuade him, of course.”

“And if he doesn’t stop?”

Father Uwell shrugged. “Batten down the hatches and get braced for the worst—and try to figure out how he does what he does, so that if he lets loose some really evil power, we can counter it.”

Rod stood very still.

Then he nodded, slowly. “So. It does behoove the Church to study magic.”

“And we have. We’ve worked out a great deal, theoretically—but who’s to say if any of it’s really valid?”

Rod shook his head. “Not me, Father. Sorry, but if you’re looking for a wizard, you haven’t found him… I’ve never worked a trick in my life, that didn’t have a gadget behind it. I did bump into McAran once, coming through a time machine—but I wasn’t a wizard then, either. And he knew it!”

The priest thrust his head forward. “A time machine. He could’ve used it to take a look at your personal future.”

Rod stood stock-still for a moment.

Then he shook his head vigorously. “No. Oh, no. No. There’s no way I could turn into a wizard—is there?”

“Well, there is the question of your suddenly becoming telepathically invisible—but that’s more a matter of psi phenomena than of magic. Still, it indicates you may have some powers you don’t know about. Has something improbable ever happened, when you wanted it to happen, for no visible reason?”

Rod frowned, shaking his head. “Never, Father. Can’t think of a single.”

“Mine husband,” Gwen reminded, “the bells…”

Rod looked up, startled. Then he turned back to the priest, slowly. “That’s right. Just a little while ago, I wanted church bells to ring, very badly—wished it with all my might, actually—I was trying to break through to Gwen, hoping she’d read my mind and start ringing them telekinetically.”

“And they rang,” Gwen said softly, eyes wide, “though I did not do it.”

“Nor the kids either,” Rod said grimly. “You don’t suppose…?”

“Oh, I do—but it’s only a supposition. One incident isn’t quite enough to construct a theory. Excuse me—you did say your wife is telekinetic?”

“Among other things.” Rod nodded. “And our little girl, too. The boys teleport. That’s the usual sex-linked breakdown on Gramarye, for espers. But Magnus is telekinetic, too, which breaks the rules—and he’s got some powers we’re not sure about at all.”

“It runs in the family, then.”

“Runs? It never even slows down to a trot!”

“Yes, I see.” Father Uwell frowned. “I’d heard about this all, of course, but… Doesn’t it strike you as strange that your children should breed true, in esper powers, when only one of their parents is an esper?”

Rod stared. Gwen’s eyes lit.

“I’d assumed it was a dominant trait,” Rod said slowly.

“Which it well might be, of course. But how do you explain your son’s additional powers?”

“I don’t.” Rod threw up his hands. “I’ve been trying for eight years and I still can’t. How’s ‘mutation’ sound to you?”

“About the same way ‘coincidence’ does—possible, but also improbable, and therefore suspect.”

“So.” Rod steadied his gaze on the chubby, gently-smiling face. “You think he might’ve inherited it from both sides.”

Father Uwell spread his hands. “What can I say? It’s possible—but three bytes of data are scarcely a full meal.”

“About what I expected.” Rod nodded. “So. Keep on observing, and hope for the best, eh?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, not at all! Me, mind? Just because we’re hiking through unknown territory, where there might be an enemy on every side? Just because we’ve got supernatural beasties with long, sharp teeth coming out of roadside pools? No, I don’t mind at all, Father—but you should. I mean, it’s not exactly going to be a church picnic, if you’ll pardon the phrase.”

“Certainly,” the priest said, smiling. “And as to the danger—well, we’ll have to take it as it comes, eh?”

“Sure will.” Rod couldn’t help smiling; there was something very likeable about this brown-robe. Not to mention reassuring; it never hurt to have another adult male in the party, even if he wasn’t exactly a warrior. “But there might be a way to limit that. You just came in from Gramarye, you say.”

Father Uwell nodded.

“Is the door still open?”

The priest blinked. “Why, as far as I know, it was never shut.”

“What!!?!”

Father Uwell nodded. “I understand there’s been quite a loss of game in the area, and several peasants are complaining about missing livestock. No other people have ‘fallen in,’ though. There’s a great black horse on patrol there, and he won’t let anyone near.”

“Fess!” Rod slapped his thigh. “He’s still standing there, waiting for us to come out!”

“Trying to figure out how to get you out, I think. At least, that’s the only reason he let me past.”

Rod frowned. “You don’t mean he talked to you.”

“No, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had. I came to your house, and, not finding you home, I set out to the woods nearby, with Puck for a guide. As I went toward the pond, your horse galloped up to block me. I dodged to the side, but he dodged with me. I ducked under his belly, but he sat on me. I tried to vault over him, and he swivelled around so that I jumped off exactly where I’d jumped on. I finally decided I was dealing with an unusual specimen.”

Rod nodded. “You should only know how unusual.”

“I have some idea; when I struck him, he clanged. So I tried to reason with him.

“He eventually escorted me to the point at which you’d disappeared. I walked ahead—and found myself surrounded by silver leaves! I whirled about, and found myself facing a great white-trunked tree with a big ‘X’ carved on it. I tried to step back into it, but I thumped roundly against the bark and sat back on my cassock. I fancy I must have looked rather ridiculous.”

“So did I,” Rod said grimly. “Don’t worry about it, Father. So. The gate’s still open, but it only works one-way, eh?”

The priest nodded. “It would require a transmitter on this end, I fancy.”

Rod’s head snapped up, staring.

Then he hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Of course! What’s the matter with me? They just set up a transmitter, and didn’t worry about who was going to stumble in here, as long as all of us did!” He shook his head, feeling the anger boil. “Can you believe how callous those futurians are? What do they care if a hundred peasants get torn away from their families, just so long as they get the ones they’re after!”

“I take it you have enemies,” Father Uwell said carefully.

“You might say that, yes.” Rod smiled sardonically. “Enemies with time machines—so I was thinking of Doc Angus’s time machine, which can pass any amount of material, and which can pull you back out of whenever it lands you. I forgot that the man at the controls has to want to pull you back.”

“Which your enemies obviously don’t,” Father Uwell agreed. “So they gave you a one-way ticket here, you might say.”

“You might, yes. So getting home will be something of a problem, won’t it? Well, you’re welcome to poke around in my subconscious all you want, Father, if that’ll help get us out of here—but frankly, I can’t offer much hope.”

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes,” the priest said, with a faint smile. “But how were you planning to get home?”

Rod looked at Gwen. “Well, at the moment, our best bet looks to be one Lord Kern, who’s got the title of High Warlock.”

“Your title.” Father Uwell frowned. “Interesting.”

“Is it? But it seems that magic works, here; I’m sure you’ll find Lord Kern oodles of fun, if we ever get to him. There are definitely faery folk here, I’ll tell you that—we just escaped from a bunch of them. They had some interesting tricks, too.”

“Really?” Father Uwell’s eyes fairly glowed. “You must tell me about them—when you have time. But as to Lord Kern—how do you plan to persuade him to help you?”

Rod shrugged. “I expect Gwen and I’ll have to fight on his side in a little war, first, to earn it—unless he’s, grateful enough just for our helping his child-King ward escape to him. Father Uwell, meet His Majesty, King Elidor…” He turned toward the boy—and frowned. “Elidor? Gwen, where did he go?”

“Elidor…?” Gwen’s eyes slowly came back into focus.

“Oh! I’m sorry, dear!” Rod’s mouth tightened in self-anger. “I didn’t mean to break you off from Gregory. I didn’t know you were still in contact.”

“I was not.” Gwen bowed her head, forlorn. “I but sat in reverie, some while after the touch of him faded…” She straightened up, forcing a smile. “I must bear it; surely his touch will come again. What didst thou wish, mine husband?”

“Elidor. Where’d he go?”

“Elidor?” Gwen glanced about quickly. “My heaven, I had forgot! Elidor! Where…”

“Mama!”

It was small, bald, and wizened, with great luminous eyes and pointed ears. Its mouth was wide, with loose, rubbery lips, and its nose was long and pointed. It wore a rusty-brown tunic and bias-hosen, with cross-gartered sandals.

Gwen screamed, clasping her hand over her mouth.

Rod’s eyes bulged; all he could manage was a hoarse, strangled caw.

The noise woke the children. They sat bolt-upright, eyes wide and staring, darting glances about for the danger.

Then they saw the kobold.

Cordelia screamed, and flew into her mother’s arms, burying her head in Gwen’s breast and sobbing. Geoffrey darted to her, too, bawling his head off.

But Big Brother Magnus clamped his jaws shut around a neigh of terror, plastered his back against a tree, then drew his sword and advanced slowly, pale and trembling.

Rod snapped out of his horrified daze and leaped to Magnus’s side, catching his sword-hand. “No, son! Touch him with cold iron, and we’ll never see him again!”

“Good,” Magnus grated. “I have small liking, to gaze upon such an horror. I beg thee, free my hand, Papa.”

“I said no!” Rod barked. “That’s not just an average haunt who happened by, son—it’s a changeling!”

Magnus’s gaze shot up to Rod’s, appalled. “A what?”

“A changeling. Theofrin’s faeries must’ve been following us, waiting for their chance—and while you three were asleep, and Gwen was preoccupied with Gregory’s thoughts, and I was talking with Father Al…” His lips tightened, again in self-anger. “…no one was watching Elidor; so they kidnapped him, and left this thing in its place.” He took a quick glance at his own three, to reassure himself they were all there. They were, thank Heaven.

“We must not afright it,” Gwen said grimly.

“Your wife is right,” Father Al murmured, stepping behind a tree. “We must not scare it away, and the sight of me might do just that. I see you know what a changeling is. Do you know that it holds a correspondence to the child who was kidnapped?”

Rod scowled. “You mean you can use it to work a spell that’ll recover Elidor?”

Father Uwell nodded. “And it’s our only link to him. If it leaves, we’ll have no way of regaining him.”

“All right.” Rod nodded. “I’ll bite. How do we use the changeling to get Elidor back?”

“Well, first you take an egg…” He broke off, frowning. “What’s that chiming?”

“Just the breeze in the trees; the leaves rustle strangely here.”

The priest shook his head. “No, beyond that—the tinkling. Do you hear it?”

Rod frowned, turning his head. Now that the priest mentioned it, there was a sound of chiming bells. “Yeah, come to think of it. Strange. What do you suppose it is?”

“Given the terrain and what you’ve told me about the inhabitants, it could be any of several things, none of which would exactly welcome the sight of a priest. I’d recommend you trace the sound to its source. I’ll follow, but I’ll stay back out of sight.”

“Well, it’s your field, not mine,” Rod said dubiously. “Come on, kids! And stay close to your mother and me.” He glanced back at Magnus. “Uh, bring… Elidor?”

“Aye, Papa.”

Gwen caught Geoff’s and Cordelia’s hands, and looked back at the changeling. “Come, then!” She shuddered as she turned away from it. Cordelia clung to her, trembling.

They wound though the silver forest, hands clasped, following the tinkling sound. It began to fall into a tune; and, as it became louder, Rod began to hear a thin piping of reeds, like very high-pitched oboes, underneath it, and, lower in pitch, a flute. Then the trees opened out into a little clearing, and Gwen gasped.

Faery lights wavered over the grove, mostly gold, but with occasional flickers of blue and red. Looking more closely, Rod saw that the air was filled with fireflies, so many that their winking lights lent a constant, flickering glow that supplemented the moonlight, showing a ring of delicate, dark-haired women, supple and sinuous, in diaphanous shifts, dancing to the tune played by a three-foot-tall elf with a bagpipe, and another who sat atop a giant mushroom with a set of panpipes. The ladies, too, couldn’t have been more than three feet high—but behind them, beaming down fondly, sat a woman of normal size.

Of more than normal size—in fact, of epic proportions. She would’ve tipped the scales at three hundred pounds, and kept on tipping them. She wore a mile or so of rose-colored gown, the skirts spread out in a great fan in front of her. A high, square-topped headdress of the same cloth exaggerated her height, with folds of veil framing her face. It was a quiet face, and calm, layered in fat but surprisingly little, compared to her body. Her eyes were large and kind, her nose straight, and her mouth a tuck of kindness.

Rod glanced out of the corner of his eye; the changeling was hanging back in the shadows. Then he turned back to the ample beldame, and bowed. “Good evening, Milady. I am Rod Gallowglass; whom have I the pleasure of addressing?”

“I am called the Lady Milethra, Grand Duchess of Faery,” the dame answered with a smile. “Thou art well come among us, Lord Gallowglass.”

Rod hiked his eyebrows; she knew his title. He decided not to remark on the subject. “Uh, in my company are my wife, the Lady Gwendylon, and our children—Magnus, Cordelia, and Geoffrey.”

Gwen dropped a curtsey, and Cordelia mimicked her. Magnus bowed, and Geoff needed prompting.

The Grand Duchess nodded graciously. “Well come, all. A fine crop of young witch-folk, Lord Gallowglass—and please inform your clerical acquaintance that his tact in remaining unseen is appreciated.”

“ ‘Clerical acquaintance…?’ Oh… Father Uwell. I will, Your Grace. If you’ll pardon my saying so, you’re remarkably well-informed.”

“Prettily said,” she answered, with a pleased smile. “Yet ‘tis not so remarkable as all that; little escapes mine elves’ notice.”

The piper grinned up mischievously at Rod, then went on with his piping.

“Ah—do I take it Your Grace, then, knows of our recent loss?”

“Thou speakest of my godson, Elidor.” The Lady folded her hands, nodding. “Indeed, I do know of it.”

A fairy godmother, yet! And was Rod in for a roasting, or a basting? “Your pardon for our lapse of vigilance, Your Grace.”

She waved away the apology with a lacey handkerchief. “There is nought to pardon; with Eorl Theofrin’s spriggans out to seize the lad, there was little thou couldst do to protect him. Indeed, I am grateful to thee for saving him from the Each Uisge; mine elves would have been sore tried to vanquish that monster.”

Which meant they might’ve had to sweat. “Uh—I take it Eorl Theofrin is the faery lord who had us in his power not too long ago?”

“The same. Now, as bad fortune hath it, Elidor is within his power again, where I may not run to save him. Since thou hast aided him in this wise once already, may I ask thee to aid him so again?”

“With all heart!” Gwen said quickly.

“Well, yeah, sure,” Rod said, more slowly. “But I confess to some puzzlement as to why you should wish to employ us in this, Your Grace. Doesn’t a Grand Duchess kind of outrank an Eorl?”

“I do, indeed—yet there is the practical matter of force. Eorl Theofrin’s forces far outweigh mine—and my rank, of itself, suffices only if there is one of paramount rank to whom to appeal.”

“And Oberon’s out of the country, at the moment?”

The Grand Duchess’s eyebrows rose. “Thou dost know the name of the Faery King? Good, good! Aye, he is afield, in the land of the English, for some time. Some trifling quarrel with Titania it is, over some tedious Hindu lad…Ever did I mistrust that shrewish and haughty demoiselle… Enough!” She turned back to Rod with determination. “There is some hope of welding an alliance ‘twixt some other of the Faery Lords; yet few would wish to move against Theofrin, and all dread the illnesses that a war ‘twixt the Faery demesnes would work upon the land, ourselves, and the mortals.”

“And it would take a while to get them all working together.”

“Even so; and the longer Elidor remains under Theofrin’s hand, the harder ‘twill be to pry him loose. Yet mortals stand removed from our quarrel.”

Rod nodded. “We’re a third force that can upset the balance, right?”

“Even so. Most mortals’ power would be too little to counter a faery’s; yet there are are some spells which, if wielded by a warlock or witch, can own to far more power than any slung by one faery ‘gainst another.”

Rod frowned. “I don’t quite understand that. If mortals are magically so much weaker, how could our spells be so strong?”

“Why,” said the Grand Duchess, with a disarming smile, “ ‘tis because ye have souls, which we lack.”

“Oh.” Now that Rod thought of it, there was that old tradition about fairies having no souls. He swallowed hard, wondering what shape his own was in.

“Not so bad as all that,” the Grand Duchess assured him.

“Well, that’s a relief to hear… Hey! I didn’t say that aloud! How’d you know what I was thinking?”

“How not?” The Grand Duchess frowned. “Ah, I see—no other mortals can hear thy thoughts! Rest assured, ‘tis nothing inborn; ‘tis only that, deep within thee, thou dost not wish them too.”

Gwen was staring at him with joy that was rapidly giving place to suspicion.

Rod swallowed. “But why wouldn’t I? Never mind, let’s not go into that just now! Uh—I take it the Faery folk have more thought-reading power?”

“Nay; but we have spells we may use, when we wish it—quite powerful ones. Since that thou art somewhat new to this world, I did wish it.”

“Oh.” Rod felt as though he ought to feel outraged that she hadn’t given him official notice at the beginning of the interview; but he was scarcely in a position to bargain. He wanted Elidor back!

“As do I,” the Grand Duchess agreed. “Yet I confess I am mystified as to why it should matter to thee; he is no kin of thine.”

Good question. Rod spoke the first answer that came to mind. “I seek to return to my own place and time, Your Grace. I think I’m going to need magical help to do it; and getting Elidor to Lord Kern ought to win me a return favor. From you, too, come to that.”

The Grand Duchess leaned forward, peering closely at him. Gwen was staring at him, thinking about getting angry.

“Aye, there is some of that in thy mind,” the Grand Duchess said slowly, “yet there is more of a… guilt.”

Rod winced.

The Grand Duchess nodded. “Aye, ‘tis that—that thou didst take him under thy protection, then failed him. Yet beneath that lies sympathy, sorrow for a poor orphaned child among folk who love him not—and under that lies fear for thine own bairns.” She sat back, satisfied.

Gwen, however, was another matter. She was watching Rod narrowly. Then, slowly, she nodded, too.

Rod felt something snap around his knee. He looked down, and saw it was Geoffrey, hugging his daddy’s leg and peering out wide-eyed at the great big lady.

Rod turned back to the Grand Duchess. “Okay—so I’m trustworthy.” He reached down and patted Geoff’s head. “What do we do?”

“Eorl Theofrin and all his court do ride nightly from Dun Chlavish to Dun Lofmir,” she answered. “If the child’s mother were alive, it would be she, closest to him, who would have to do the worst of it; in her absence, ‘tis thy wife’s place.”

Gwen nodded. “I am ready.”

Suddenly, Rod wasn’t so sure he was; but the Grand Duchess was plowing on. “Do thou hide in the furze by the side of the track, where it tops a rise, for there will they be going slowest. When Elidor’s horse comes nigh, thou must seize him, drag him down, take off his cloak and doublet, turn them inside out, and set them on him again. Then mayest thou lead him hence, with none to hinder thee.”

Gwen frowned. “This will take some time, Your Grace; I have dressed little ones aforetime.”

“I know thou hast; and buying thee the time must be thy husband’s place.”

“Oh?” Rod raised an eyebrow. “And how am I to do that, Your Grace?”

“Why, that is thy concern; thou art the man of war, not I.” The Grand Duchess sat back placidly, hands folded in her lap. “Yet what e ‘er thou dost, be minded—bear wood of ash, and rowan berries in thy cap, and keep cold steel about thee.”

Rod started to ask why, then decided against it. “Well enough—if I can’t think up a diversion by now, I should be drummed out of the Heroes’ Union. But tell me, Your Grace—do you have any idea why Eorl Theofrin stole Elidor back?”

“Why, ‘twould be a triumph for him, to number a king amongst his mortal captives,” the Grand Duchess answered, “and besides—he hath a score to settle with thee, hath he not?”

Rod remembered the Faery Lord’s last threat. Slowly, he nodded.

So did the Grand Duchess. “Belike he guessed thou wouldst seek to rescue Elidor, and thereby put thyself again within his grasp.”