Elvendude (13 page)

When he opened his eyes he was standing in his living room, with Lady Samantha on one side, Ethlinn on the other, and Marbann off to one side, kneeling, head down.

Adam wore a comfortable, knee-length velvet robe, embroidered with a complex pattern of silver thread. The garment hung loosely on him, the long tubular sleeves fringed with silver lace, with a thick ermine collar which extended down the front. Beneath the robe he wore a silk tunic and hose, and on his feet were leather boots with long, pointed toes.

Around his neck hung a heavy silver pendant, inscribed with the same runes the voice used: symbols of a foreign language, alien, but now familiar. He removed the crown that sat coldly on his head, saw that it, too, was made of silver, with rubies adorning thirteen silver points.

"Your scepter, my lord," Ethlinn said, handing him a long silver staff crowned with an enormous ruby the size of his fist.

He put the crown back on his head and took the scepter, a heavy, gaudy object. The moment he touched it, a surge of power passed through his hand, up his arm, and into his body; he sucked his breath in sharply as the power coursed through him. The ruby pulsed with a dull red glow, which sharpened to an intense, hot light.

The voice spoke again, and this time he knew where it came from, who it belonged to. The voice was his own; his elven voice, speaking to his human side.

You've been a human for a long, long time. . . .
the voice said.
Are you still elven, or have you forgotten what it's like to be immortal?

Adam recalled that last horrible day in Underhill, the scene branded into his memory.

I remember all of it,
he thought, cringing at the recollection.
It's like it just happened, and this is a mere moment later.

"Marbann," he said, turning to the large blond elf kneeling on the floor, "please stand up." Marbann stood to his full height, his head down. "What happened after Samantha and I Gated to this world?" he said calmly, still trying to grasp what had happened to him, then and now.

"Forgive me," Marbann said softly. "I have failed you. I have failed all of Avalon, to be sure, but you and your family in particular."

"That's nonsense," Samantha said. "You did everything you could, and then went further and accomplished the impossible. You held Zeldan's forces at bay. You gave the rest of us enough time to get away."

King Aedham looked with repulsion at his royal scepter, the robe, the reflection of his new crown on the Sony entertainment center screen, knowing now what this meant.

Father's dead.

Then, with a vague sense of dread, he realized,
I'm the King of Elfhame Avalon now.

"The Gate succeeded," Adam said. "Why didn't
everyone
escape?"

Marbann looked away. "We tried, Your Majesty. Once you were in the Gate, another levin bolt struck. I could not control the magic of this one. I lost the Gate." He hesitated before going on. "That last bolt killed the King. I tried to shield him, but I was already focusing my energies on the Gate, not our shield."

"He might have made it over, then," Adam said sadly.

"Perhaps," Marbann said. "I constructed a second Gate, though one not nearly as stable as the first, using energy from our last remaining node. Then we escaped."

The royal finery felt heavy on him, and he looked up at Samantha. "I don't want to wear Father's royal robes yet."

"Of course," Samantha said, and a bright ball of light formed in her outstretched palms. The robe, the clothes, the crown and the scepter began to glow a golden yellow, then turned to vapor, circling around him in a brief flurry before collecting in her hand. Adam looked on as the light concentrated in a single sharp point in her palm. Then the light blinked out, leaving behind a gold ring bearing the rune "T."

Adam found his human clothes, the jeans, the t-shirt, the sneakers, lying on the couch, and wordlessly began putting them on. His movements were slow and deliberate as he fought back the tears, and he contemplated finding a private place to grieve.

No,
he thought.
I've been away from my kind, in heart and soul, for too long. I must be with them now.

Samantha gave him the gold ring, she opened her arms, and he welcomed the offer. They sat on the couch, with Samantha holding him as a mother would, and Adam began to cry without shame.

Zeldan stood with his army at the crest of a hill, overlooking the remnants of the palace of Elfhame Avalon. The levin bolts had all but leveled the palace, but he sensed the Seleighe, at least some of them, still alive. They'd called off the levin bolt attacks and started sending troops in, mostly armored warriors with short swords, spears and shields. The mages would soon follow. It was nothing to Zeldan to sacrifice an entire battalion for the life of a single mage. Warriors were replaceable. Mages were
not.

Zeldan Dhu closed his eyes, again feeling Avalon's magical energies at work, tangible through the very ground he stood on.

"They have Gated again," said Mage Japhet Dhu, Zeldan's son. Zeldan was pleased he had chosen to stand at his father's side in their moment of victory. Japhet wore a robe of black silk, with a long, pointed hood that reached to the ground, as did the sleeves. It was an awkward garment to wear under most conditions of battle, but this was no ordinary day, and no typical battle.

"So be it," Zeldan said, his disappointment evident. "If the family escapes, I will follow them.
Wherever
that happens to be."

His son nodded, apparently keeping his thoughts hidden. Zeldan would have preferred knowing what his minions were thinking, but had never pushed the subject with Japhet. His hood concealed whatever facial expression might have revealed his thinking. That mage abilities had skipped a generation was unfortunate, but Zeldan had confidence in his son's loyalty. He was, after all, the mage who had seized the first Avalon node, and with that first success had nurtured the complete takeover of the magical matrix.

With hardly any physical effort at all, Zeldan's army had crushed Elfhame Avalon, due in no small part to his son's efforts and the complete surprise the attack had been. The royal family had taken flight below ground, like the rodents they were.

At least some of the Seleighe had Gated to places unknown, like cowards. Now Zeldan sought to seize the last node of magical energy and trap whoever remained in the bowels of the palace ruins.

And my guess is the King did not survive long enough to escape.

Zeldan studied the palace, or what was left of it, and smiled a grim smile. A subtle shifting in power, governed by other mages on a nearby hill, announced their success.

"And now the final node is ours," said Japhet. "They can Gate no more."

Zeldan Dhu waved his comment away. The Unseleighe ruler towered a good seven hands above his son, and today had chosen black leather armor trimmed with silver and rubies. As easily as the war had gone, Zeldan doubted he would see any combat himself, so he wore his finest, without fear of its becoming damaged.

"Come," Zeldan said smugly to his son. "Let us see who is left
alive.
"

Adam cried until he had no more tears to shed. Curled up on the couch with Samantha, he grieved until his chest ached, and his face stung. Samantha held him gently, rocking him like his mother would have; anyway, it felt the same, and he found it easy to imagine his mother holding him like this. The grief drained him, but once it was out he felt better, if weaker.

Now his sorrow had mutated to
anger.

The Unseleighe must die,
he seethed. The anger was a hot, bubbling mass, boiling over the rim and hissing violently over red hot coils.
Slowly, painfully. My family is dead. They've taken everything! They deserve a long death.

He wanted to smash everything in sight, to scream and shout, pull his hair out, but he held back, knowing this wouldn't look very royal. Also, he would feel obligated to clean up the mess, whether or not Samantha told him to do so. This would waste precious time, something they had little of right now.

I'm in charge of these elves now, and everything I do from now on will be scrutinized. Behaving like the human teenager I once was will not win me favor in this new Court. And I will not shame my father by behaving irresponsibly on my first day of rule.

"Marbann," Adam said, "who else came through the Gate when you did?"

Marbann nodded, then went to another part of the house, to what sounded like Samantha's bedroom.

"Come with me," Adam heard him say.

He returned, holding the hands of two small elven children, a boy and a girl. The boy, Petrus, was small and frail, and dressed in a vaguely effeminate way. He wore his hair long and curly, and had unusually long ears for someone so young. Wenlann, the girl, looked like a frightened mouse. She seemed to be afraid of her new surroundings, Adam in particular.

"Prince
Aedham?
" Petrus said, clearly surprised, as he came over to Adam. "How long have you been here? You've grown so much since the last time I saw you. Which, by my reckoning, was only a moment ago."

"He is King now," Marbann said gently. "You must address him as such."

"Five human years," Adam said. "And yes, I have grown. But I'm still the same Adam you knew."
Am I?
He regarded the group, and felt a terrible weight fall on his shoulders.

Am I up to leading these people?
he wondered.
Not only must I deal with my own fate, I am in charge of theirs.

"Ignore me, will you!" an elf said from the hallway. Adam remembered him. Niamh. He had teeth like a gopher and a nose like a potato, and looked far younger than he was. He was really much older than Marbann, though Adam didn't know by how much. Niamh looked dazed and muddled, but then he usually did.

" 'Twas only a slight tap on the head," Niamh said quickly, rubbing the back of his head. "Where are the Unseleighe? I will rip their throats out, I will!"

"It's okay, Niamh," Moira soothed. "We're safe now." She felt the back of his head, and Niamh flinched. When she pulled her hand away, it glistened with fresh blood.

"You are more hurt than you thought," Adam said. "To the sickbed with you. Mo—Samantha, do we have bandages? Gauze, and the like?"
I almost called her Mother,
he thought, pained.

"The weapon," Niamh groaned, holding his head. "We left it behind."

Samantha and Adam turned, and the King said, "What weapon?"

"The . . . rifle, the thing we stole from the humans years ago. I almost had it working, I did," Niamh, clearly pained at the loss of whatever it was.

"Oh.
That,
" Samantha said. "It was a science project the Elfhame appropriated from a school in California, years ago. We never spent much time with it because we never got it to work, and besides, there was no threat." She paused. "Until now."

"What we need is a
healer,
" Moira said, feeling the rest of Niamh's scalp for more wounds. "None survived the attack. Bandages will have to do for now."

Adam and Marbann gently guided Niamh to his bed, and urged him to lie on it facedown. He looked ready to object, then complied.

"The bleeding has stopped, but we need to close that wound somehow," Samantha said. "Adam, would you—" She stopped herself, paused, rephrased. "No, I will get it myself. You are not my son now. It may take a while for me to get used to that."

"Don't worry, Samantha," Adam said. "Even though you raised me as a son, a human son, we hardly know each other as elven siblings." He grinned, a little embarrassed that his mother was his sister all along. "I promise to be a King you cannot offend easily."

"Well said, young King," Marbann said, arranging a blanket carefully over Niamh.

But Adam was paying little attention; at the mention of bandages he felt the palms of both his hands turn warm. At first the warmth became uncomfortably hot, then receded. Thin tendrils of yellow light crackled and sparked over his fingers. The tendrils increased in brightness and number, bathing his hands in yellow light.

Marbann gasped, as did Moira, who stood in the bedroom doorway.

"Your Majesty," Marbann said, stepping back. "You have the
gift.
"

Adam stared at his hands as if some foul substance had coated them. "What gift? What's going on?"

"Don't you feel it, Adam?" Samantha said, her surprise turning to evident pleasure. "The
gift.
The healing gift. Your father was right."

"I don't understand. . . ." he started to say, then suddenly understood clearly. Without taking any conscious actions, his hands went to Niamh's temples. His fingers flared with yellow light, so bright he had to squint to look at them. It looked like he was on fire, but somewhere inside Adam knew all was well, this was as it should be. His hands moved around Niamh's head, over the wound; through the glare he saw the wound closing, changing color. They watched the flesh heal until only a patch of pink remained. The blood surrounding it had dried to a fine pink dust. When Adam blew, the blood dust vanished, cast to the winds.

"The King is a
healer
!" Adam heard Petrus shout in the living room. The entire Elfhame had gathered at the door, looking on in awe, their faces filling the doorway; it looked like the whole stack would fall if the bottom row shifted.

"
I am a healer,
" he thought, but the thoughts didn't feel like his own. A wave of exhaustion fell over him, and he fell to his knees. The yellow power that bathed his hands dimmed, then became a faint trickle. As the last of the power left him, he felt dizzy, and weak, and just a bit nauseous.

"Good gods," Samantha said. "He hasn't been trained. The healing was too much. . . ."

He lay on the floor of his bedroom, his stomach churning, feeling horrible, until he saw Niamh's face join the others who were looking down on him; when he smiled, the dizziness subsided. Adam sat up.

"To the sickbed with you!" Niamh said, mimicking Adam's words and voice perfectly. Marbann hissed at him, with a full elven ear quiver: a remarkably hostile expression. Adam found Niamh's comment amusing, managing a grin as they helped him to his bed.