Forging the Runes (25 page)

"If I may ask," Ardagh said with delicate care, "who is this?"

"This?" Tywthylodd gave the man a quick glance of casual affection. "Lord Cymyriod is this. My
cydwedd.
"

Husband? Mate? For all he knew, brother? Though that was hardly a brotherly resentment in the brooding eyes. "My lord," Ardagh said with a polite dip of his head.

The Lord Cymyriod nodded curtly but said nothing.

Just what I needed: more complications.

Ah well, he couldn't worry about that right now. Hunger was finally gone, but heavy weariness was creeping back into its place. "Princess Tywthylodd—"

She stood, and of course everyone stood with her. "Pleased are you to with me walk, Prince Ardagh? Alone? It is to my thought matters have we to speak."

It is to my thought that sleep is what I want.
But of course he couldn't be so impolitic as to refuse his host. "It is to my thinking, too."
I just didn't want to worry about anything just yet.
"Please, lead the way."

But then Ardagh stopped at the sight of Lord Cymyriod staring with outright hostility. "If I may ask, Princess Tywthylodd," the prince said, "what, exactly
is
a . . . a
cydwedd?
"

"
Cydwedd?
"
Tywthylodd shrugged casually. That has a meaning . . . mm . . . consort. It has the meaning, consort."

"Ah."
A jealous consort. How splendid.
"Should he not join us?"

"It has no need of being so."

Of course not. I'll merely have to keep watching my back while I'm here.

They walked on together, her hand resting, feather-light, on his arm, echoing so strongly the very civilized ways of the Sidhe nobility that Ardagh nearly pulled away, remembering his brother's court, his brother's treacherous wife, Karanila.

But Tywthylodd was the ruler here, not her consort. And even though the small of his back was prickling, expecting an attack, Ardagh let her bring them both down a quiet corridor and out without warning into what seemed almost like a moonlit grove beside a tranquil lake, there under a sky rich with stars—

No, by all the Powers, there was no "seeming" about it! This wasn't illusion but reality, yes, and the lake mirroring the stars was real as well. Stunned, Ardagh told himself that maybe the Tylwyth Teg weren't quite as weak in Power as he'd imagined. Or rather, that their Power wasn't quite in the same shaping as that wielded by the Sidhe.

This wasn't a Doorway spell, no, nothing I could truly use to go home. A transfer spell of some sort, then, and so smoothly worked that I never even sensed it.

"Princess Tywthylodd . . ."

"No. Not yet. Here sitting shall we be."

It was a pleasant little space by the water's edge. There beneath the overhanging arch of a willow's branches was a divan so cleverly worked as to seem part of the tree and piled comfortably with cushions. It was, Ardagh noted, easily wide enough to hold someone lying at his ease.

Or rather, he reconsidered,
two
someones.
Oh, and isn't this perfect. There's a lovely lady of a race near to my own, a jealous consort to consider, and Sorcha to remember—though I'd guess she'd be understanding of the circumstances (wouldn't she?)—and—and I'm just too cursed weary to . . . do anything about it all.
"First, Princess Tywthylodd, shall we not talk a bit?"

She smiled, but it was a very politic smile that failed to include her eyes; no matter what her motives in bringing him to this pretty seclusion, Tywthylodd, ruler that she was, plainly had no intention of letting down her guard quite yet.

"The Sidhe," she murmured, sinking to the divan and looking up at him with regal dignity, "common visitors to this land are not. Why is it you are here? And why," the princess added with the faintest frown of distaste, "is it that you be here with a human?"

He wasn't even about to attempt the different syntax of the Tylwyth Teg dialect. He also wasn't about to tell her the entire truth. "I am," Ardagh said slowly and carefully so that she could make no mistakes of comprehension, "with the human because the human and I have saved each other's lives so often that I've forgotten who's in debt to whom."

Ah, he was just too tired to stand any longer. Hoping he wasn't making some Tylwyth Teg declaration of more than he could deliver just now, Ardagh sat down beside her, then rather wished he hadn't; the cushions were so wondrously, tantalizingly, soft. . . .

No! He had to stay alert, at least for now. "As to why I am in this land at all: Ae, that is not quite so simple a story. Let us just say that Cadwal and I fell afoul of an enemy, a human foe—"

"Who?" she cut in.

"Not one who could ever threaten you or your folk."

"Yes, but naming him be."

Puzzled, Ardagh told her, "Morfren ap Dyfyr."

"Ah, that! Yes. A noisiness and nuisance he be, too late hunting, too early." Seeing the prince's blankness, Tywthylodd continued with a touch of clear impatience, "See it not?
Our
time he spoils!"

Ah, of course. He'd forgotten, immune to sunlight as he was (presumably thanks to some vague, far-back taint of human blood—or so the court rumors had claimed— that also gave him his dark hair), that other Folk were not. The Tylwyth Teg, being among those unable to endure mortal sunlight, would not have appreciated Morfren's hunt cutting too close to dawn or twilight, the edges of night. Their time of freedom on mortal soil.

Tywthylodd's smile thinned ever so slightly. "He shall, thinking am I, with interesting incidents be meeting whenever our chosen land invades he."

"Ah . . . thank you in Cadwal's name."

"No, no, thanking not me! Fun shall be this!"

"Fun," Ardagh agreed wryly, seeing Morfren's life made miserable by Tylwyth Teg pranks every time he left his home, at least till the Folk grew bored with the game.
Even so, it will certainly stop him from bothering Cadwal again. What human wants anything to do with someone with Powerful friends?

"But," the princess continued, "why be you in this land at all?"

Ardagh gave a weary ghost of a grin. "That," he told her, "is a question I've been asking myself often enough. Let us just say that I found myself enmeshed in human politics."

"So-o! Odd."

"Very." A dangerous subject; best to change it as quickly as possible. He did
not
want to let her know of his exile, and most certainly not of the fact that he was in the human Realm alone, with no Sidhe aid at his back. "Princess Tywthylodd, I understand your concern. But there is no peril to you or yours from that, or from either Cadwal or myself. This I freely swear to you."

She smiled again, and this time it was with genuine warmth. "So. Sidhe are no more of the lacking-of-truth than are my Tylwyth Teg."

Neither dialect had, of course, a word for "falsehood." "'Lacking-of-truth,'" Ardagh murmured, "I like that."

"I have a liking of other things as well," the princess purred, her glance running slowly over him, and now her smile was very definitely warm. "I have, truly, yes. And you? What think you, mm?"

To his horror, Ardagh realized he was about to yawn, and just barely managed to turn it into a sigh.
I don't believe this! A beautiful, willing woman of the Folk is here beside me—and I really am too weary to do much about it!
"Believe me, Tywthylodd," he said with rueful honesty, "it has been long and long again since I've been so near a—a kinswoman, and oh, I do like what I see, very much indeed. But it has been a long day, a very long day, most of it spent running, and little enough sleep before that."

"Ah. I see."

It was said without any inflection; her face was quite unreadable. "Forgive me," Ardagh said again, and meant it on every level, "but right now I'm just too cursedly tired to give either of us much joy."

To his great relief, she merely gave a small, regretful shrug, almost-amusement glinting in her eyes; if there was anything all the long-lived Folk possessed, it was patience. "Need for rush is there none," Tywthylodd purred. "Stronger is joy for the waiting. Tonight . . . the night is warm and clear, and no humans can come nearby. Sleep here if this place has the pleasing for you."

Oh Powers, how he longed to do just that, to just slide sideways onto the cushions and worry about everything tomorrow. But there had been something in that sly little smile of hers, something uneasily reminiscent of a cat that knows it will, eventually, snare its prey. Ardagh hesitated, wondering if maybe she'd guessed more about his status than he'd revealed.

A little security never hurt anyone,
he decided. Since none of the races of the Folk could lie, it was generally considered a great breach of manners to ask a question that could not be evaded.
So be it.

"Forgive me," Ardagh said carefully, "but I must ask for truth from you. I mean no insult by it."

"No insult is of the taking. Ask. Answer will I what I will."

"Am I safe here? Safe from harm of any sort?"

"You are."

There were many definitions of harm, and she had been just a touch too quick with that reply. Racking his exhausted brain for some more clearly defined reassurance, sure that he was missing some subtle detail, the prince asked, "May I sleep knowing I will wake without change to mind or will or body?"

"You may. The humans are, as I have the saying made, not of this place, and no one of mine—not even," she added with a sly little smile, "my so-jealous Lord Cymyriod—will be a disturbance."

She moved smoothly to her feet. Before Ardagh could see how she'd done it, Princess Tywthylodd was simply gone. Leaving him . . . wherever this was, and with not the faintest clue how to get back.

I should have worked a guarantee of freedom somewhere into all that. Should have. Bah.

He sat blinking groggily for a while, knowing he should be feeling more alarmed than he did, trying to focus on this sudden problem.

Impossible.
Just as Cadwal said, this is as far as I go today. Tywthylodd told me I was safe, she can't lie, I'll take her at her word—and . . . enough.

Enough . . .

Almost gratefully, Ardagh surrendered to exhaustion, and dove into a wonderfully deep ocean of sleep.

Strange Alliances
Chapter 25

Sorcha ni Fothad, daughter of the High King of Eriu's Chief Poet and Minister, stood there in the royal fortress of Fremainn in the first faint grey light of morning, stood looking out over the dark mass of forest slowly growing into vibrant green—

Stood wishing with all her heart that she was far from here.
Ardagh . . .

The softest of warning coughs made her turn, then bow politely. "King Aedh."

"You couldn't sleep, either, I see."

"Och, no. I . . . no." She wasn't about to tell the king that her dreams had been so dark, so full of worryings about Ardagh, that she'd decided it was far better to be awake. But Aedh smiled slightly; he'd guessed the truth.

"Of course you're worried about him," he said softly. "You wouldn't be human else." As Ardagh was not. Aedh hurried over that point. "My Eithne told me once—and then denied she'd ever said it—just how lonely it is for a woman waiting for her man to return."

"Life," Sorcha said shortly, "goes on. As it would whether or not women spent all their time in waiting and wailing. Your pardon if I'm speaking out of turn here, King Aedh, but you don't understand. We women are stronger—we've had to be—than you men would like to believe."
Oh, clever,
she snapped at herself,
insult both the king and his gender in the one saying.

But Aedh only laughed. "Prince Ardagh is right. You're wasted as your fathers clerk. If the laws were other than they were, Sorcha, I'd make you one of my councilors, and you and the prince both could put the fear of the Lord—or whatever it is Prince Ardagh worships—into the others." He paused almost imperceptibly. "Where is he, Sorcha? Where is our wandering prince of the Sidhe?"

"I'm not sure. Where he was at last greeting, or—or at least so I hope."

"In Cymru," Aedh said in disgust. "I suppose I should be astonished that a mission to Wessex could ever end up so very twisted-about, but somehow I'm not. Not where the Sidhe are involved." He shook his head. "Who knows? The next time you hear from Prince Ardagh, he might even be aboard one of those elegant Lochlannach dragon-ships—yes, and terrorizing the whole shipload of those pirates into doing his bidding! Whatever," the king added darkly, "that might be."

"King Aedh! Ardagh is not a traitor!"

"Softly, lass. Of course he isn't. And I never meant to imply that he was. Principles of honor aside, our prince simply cannot lie, which means that he couldn't betray us even if he wished it."

"He doesn't."

"I know, I know. I only wish I knew what he was about!"

Sorcha shivered as a sudden damp breeze swept in over the forest.
Rain on its way. I hope you're dry, my love.
"Believe me, King Aedh, so do I. I haven't heard from him for—for far too long."
He wouldn't betray me, I know that. But what if Ardagh's hurt, or—or—or worse—no! I won't believe that!
"Right now," Sorcha said with fierce restraint, "I'd settle for just knowing where he is, and that he's whole and healthy and safe!"

"Och, well, I do, too." Aedh suddenly patted her hand in awkward comfort. "He'll be back. If the man's survived his brother's court and exiling, nothing in this silly little human world is going to be strong enough to stop him."

"He'll be back," Sorcha agreed. "He will be back."

God grant that it be so.

He was in Eriu, Ardagh's sleeping mind knew that at once. Yes, he was in Eriu, in Fremainn, though the distances seemed altered as only they could be in a dream, the spaces between houses stretching out impossibly far while he stalked his foe, the false Bishop Gervinus. Gervinus was in the midst of some dark sorcery . . . yes, the prince knew it now: the bishop was conjuring a demon, and only Ardagh could stop him.

Only Ardagh could stop him.

Only—

The prince awoke all at once, eyes snapping open. For a moment he was wildly disoriented, expecting Fremainn, finding only a misty haze and the soft lapping of water against land. The boughs of a willow arched gracefully over him, and with a sudden shock of recognition, Ardagh knew exacdy where he was: the Realm of the Tylwyth Teg. This was the lakeside that brushed up against the human Realm.

All around him was the peacefulness of early morning, the first faint chirps of birds and rustling of leaves in the soft breeze, though the mist kept out any trace of sun. The air was cool and damp, heavy with the scent of wet vegetation. Sometime during his sleep, he had slid from the divan to the ground, taking some of the cushions with him, and both they and the ground itself were wet with dew. The prince sat up with a shudder of purely physical chill, realizing that otherwise he felt perfectly restored. Once again his sleeping mind had managed to draw Power from his involuntary direct contact with the earth.

But his mind had also conjured up Gervinus. Of all the people of whom he could have dreamed, why him?

The answer wasn't difficult. His sleeping mind had plainly been sending him a warning, not of the late, unmourned Gervinus, but of his closest living parallel— the very much alive Osmod. Ae-yi, yes, like it or not, the matter between him and the ealdorman had gone far beyond being merely a personal feud.

A matter of dangerous ambition, that's what it is.

Gervinus, as his dream had so carefully reminded him, had plotted to control Eriu. King Egbert's ambitions clearly reached out for all of Britain. No peril to Eriu there, not really.

But Osmod's dreams were another case. Osmod's dreams barely stopped at Britain's shores. Ardagh frowned, wondering uneasily why he hadn't seen the threat right from the start. Was he still so much Eirithan's brother that his mind ignored a peril to mere humans?

The prince hissed in disgust. Hardly that!

What, then? Was it that I didn't
want
to see the threat? Was I in such haste to be done so I might return to Sorcha? Have I, then, grown so very . . .

But the only way to finish that thought was with the impossible: "human." And only humans worried over what had already happened.

So, now. Consider Osmod. Consider him and Egbert both: strong, determined, ambitious—with the sorcerer able to give his king a strength far beyond human military might. Without magic, it would surely take Egbert most of his merely human life to conquer all of his neighbors, yes, and to hold fast to his conquests. With magic, the combination of royal and sorcerous powers would tear right through any merely mundane defenses in a frighteningly short span.

Yes, and what then? Once Osmod and Egbert had finished with Britain, would they be content? Hardly. They would soon enough be reaching out across the narrow water from Britain to the nearest obvious challenge. Not to the Frankish lands, not when it meant facing the Emperor Charlemagne and his ties to Rome. But Eriu stood alone.

And I was the one who reminded Osmod and Egbert both that Eriu was there for the attacking. How very good of me.

This double menace to Eriu, military and sorcerous force united, would be far stronger than anything the lone Gervinus could ever have posed, even with the worst spells from his grimoire.

Darkness rend them both.

But again, only humans wasted time in futile curses. Ardagh got to his feet, restlessly pacing by the lakeside. He was not going to let his sanctuary or his human allies—most certainly not his human love—be imperiled, but he certainly couldn't fight the entire might of Wessex single-handedly.

Which meant that he'd been right all along: He couldn't just up and return to Eriu. Ae, no, he had to stop the sorcerer now, before there were any military complications.

He must destroy Osmod.

But how? I can hardly go back to Wessex and challenge the man to a—a mundane duel! Even if I did, I couldn't fight Osmod's foreign style of magic.

Then he'd just have to learn how Osmod's magic worked, wouldn't he?

As easily as that. Hah.

And then Ardagh stopped short, struck by so strong a sense of
yes, this is what to do, this is where to go from here: the Cymric coast.
There, he knew it as surely as though someone had shouted it, he would find an ally. What or who that ally might be—ae, no, that was as far as the flash of foresight went.

So be it. I never was much of a seer even in the Sidhe Realm.

Well now, all this was promising a fascinating time ahead. But before he could do anything else, Ardagh reminded himself sharply, he first had to figure out how to get out of this pretty snare. Foolish to have gotten into the situation at all! But the prince accepted with Sidhe honesty that he'd just been too weary, mind and body both, to have avoided even so obvious a trap.

They took away my sword and dagger, I see. Not surprising.
I
wouldn't have left me armed, either.

The lack of weapons didn't matter, not just yet. Ardagh froze, concentrating, then shook his head in surprise. Odd! No one was watching him, magically or mundanely, he was almost certain of that.

Tywthylodd must be very sure that I can't escape. Or that I am hopelessly ensnared for . . . ah . . . lust of her. Either way, it's a definite mistake on her part. Though how I can make use of it . . .

The prince stood with eyes closed and senses alert, hunting this time for any trace of disturbance, any shimmering of reality.

He opened his eyes again in disgust. Nothing! Or else the Tylwyth Teg transfer spell was simply too
ordinary,
too much a part of this place after much usage, to stand out.

Of course. Everything else in this cursed journey's been complicated. Why should this be any different?

Ardagh got to his feet and prowled along the edge of the lake, listening, scenting the air, hunting anything that didn't belong in such a peaceful scene.

Still no trace of any Doorway. But there was a
feeling
of Power set and holding . . . yes. The mist grew thicker as he went, finally turning almost solid.

Ardagh stopped, considering. A barrier. Not so much to keep anyone in, he'd hazard, as to keep the outside world out. No doubt any human wandering along the lakeside would see nothing unusual, possibly not even more than a hint of the mist itself, yet feel a definite sense of
nothing here, turn back, go away.

"Clever," the prince said aloud.

He tested. Sure enough, a short stroll away from the lake into the vegetation brought him up against the wall of mist once more. He walked back along the lake the other way, following the curve of the shore. Ha, yes, here was the ever-thickening magical mist again, at the other end of this half-circle of lake. One firmly set loop of mist encircled greenery and water. Ardagh knelt at the water's edge, watching carefully.

Yes. There were swarms of small fish, fingerlings he thought they were called, swimming towards the mist, then turning aside like a flock of birds hitting an invisible barrier. The ring of force extended below the surface, then, as well; no simple escape, then, by swimming under it.

No doubt there are more fingerlings on the other side of this thing, equally cut off from these their fellows. Clever Tylwyth Teg indeed. They've made themselves a private garden out of this bit of mortal wilderness.

And in the process, trapped him in it. Why? Ardagh thought of Princess Tywthylodd's sly, subtle smile and gave a sharp little laugh. The "why" of it was obvious enough: she'd decided she liked this exotic Sidhe, this all-by-him-self Sidhe, and planned to keep him here awhile. By not calling this an imprisonment, but merely a . . . what word would she use? Dalliance, perhaps? Yes, there was a fine euphemism. By calling this a pleasant dalliance with not the slightest hint of danger to it for her "guest," she could easily evade her vow not to offer him harm.

No harm—except from sheer frustration. I wonder if it's even morning out there in the human Realm. If, for that matter, it's even the same day.

Time sometimes ran strangely between the Faerie and mortal Realms. Fighting the sudden panicky thought that it might not even be the same
decade
it had been in Eriu, Ardagh whipped out the magicked amulet-half. "Sorcha? Can you hear me, love? Sorcha?"

Powers, maybe she couldn't hear him. Maybe it really wasn't the same time or—

"Ardagh!" It was an impassioned whisper, and Ardagh's heart skipped a beat with relief. "There are folks about! Wait . . ." After a time, he heard her continue, "I'm alone near your guest house. But it's morning! You've never contacted me in the morning! What's wrong? And
where are you?
"

Ardagh glanced wryly about the misty garden. "That, my love, is not going to be too easy to explain. But it
is
morning there?"

"Yes, of course. Ardagh, what—"

Ah, thank you, whatever Powers are listening thank you!

Clearly no outlandish amount of time had passed. In fact, the odds were probably good that it really was the same day both here and there. "Thank you, love. I'm truly glad to hear that. As to where we are . . . Cadwal and I are still in Cymru. More or less."

"More or less?" she echoed incredulously. "Now what am I not going to want to hear?"