Forging the Runes (26 page)

"Ah well, it's not that bad. You see, we've been given sanctuary by distant kinfolk: the Tylwyth Teg."

"That—that's the Cymraic Fair Folk? They're
real?
"

He chuckled. "Real as the Sidhe." Ardagh glanced quickly about. Maybe they weren't actually watching him, but sooner or later—doubtlessly sooner—someone was going to be checking on the "guest's" well-being. "Sorcha, I fear I must be brief. Cadwal and I are both safe and unharmed."
If trapped.
"I will contact you again as quickly as I may. Please, love, I know this sounds impossibly glib, but try not to worry."

"Hah!"

"Sorcha—"

"I know, I know. You have no choice in the matter."

Ardagh thought of Osmod and bit his lip. "That, love, is more true than ever. I'm sorry, I can't say more right now."

He heard her angry hiss of a sigh. "I'm getting truly weary of saying this, Ardagh, but: Come home. Finish up whatever weirdness it is you're doing and come home to me."

"As soon as I can, of honor. On that, my dearest one, you have my vow."

"I'd rather have
you,
"
she snapped, "and never mind the talk of honor. But things are as they are, you are as you are, and I'll try to take what comfort from that fact I can."

She broke off contact sharply, and Ardagh stood staring blindly at the amulet, aching for Sorcha with a ferocity that astonished him. Powers, ae Powers, just how strong was the force that was love?

How strong was
human
love? For the first time, Ardagh imagined this journey as it might seem to Sorcha: an endlessness of waiting, of worrying, of never knowing whether he'd return, or even if he was still alive. What if she grew too weary from the burden? What if she could no longer bear the strain of loving him?

I cannot lose her, not her, not this as well as all else. I cannot.

Ae, ridiculous. He'd might as well
be
a human for all the logic in this—this maundering chain of thought. He was not going to so suddenly fall out of love, and neither, from everything he'd ever seen and known and adored about her, was Sorcha.

Heh, Eithne doesn't fall out of love with Aedh every time he goes off to battle.

And while this separation was an unhappy thing for both of them, he wasn't going to end it by standing here and pining. Ardagh put the amulet safely away, and turned the current problem over and over in his mind, hunting weaknesses.

First: What disadvantages did he have? No physical weapons. Given. No way of using Sidhe Power against a Tylwyth Teg spell. Given.

Now: What advantages did he have? Rested, yes. Power restored, yes. What else? What else? There must be something less obvious. . . .

Ha, yes, less obvious, indeed! Princess Tywthylodd might have decided to keep this lone Sidhe here as her pet, but pets eventually had to be fed, and—

Pet? Not exactly. He was a prince of the Sidhe, which made him a rare, valuable being to the Tylwyth Teg, and Ardagh doubted that Tywthylodd was shallow enough to want him only as a plaything. What else, then? Not as a political bargaining counter; the two races had little to do with each other.

"Darkness take it," Ardagh said in sudden comprehension.

Of course. What else could it be? Tywthylodd intended him, and not her consort, to be the sire of her heir. No choice about it on his part, of course; no matter how he might feel about it, there were drugs, spells, to ensure his constant fidelity. Granted, neither race was very fertile, but given the situation, he and she just might engender a child.

One who would combine the Powers of both the Sidhe and the Tylwyth Teg—now
there's
an intriguing idea. And if we were both in my Realm . . . well, who can say what might have happened? Here and now, though—no. Like the wyvern, I do
not
breed in captivity. And I am most certainly not going to risk creating an heir of mine who would never even see the Sidhe Realm.

Yes, but pet or surrogate consort, he still needed to be fed. And that meant . . . yes, indeed, here was his main advantage. The princess and her people knew very little about him, other than that he was of the Sidhe. And what did the Tylwyth Teg know of the Sidhe? That they were an arrogant race? Aloof and oh-so refined? Yes, that was the usual image of his race held by the other Folk; he'd heard it often enough at his brother's court. And he, of course, was no less than a prince of the Sidhe. How else could these people see him but as someone so regal and elegant he would never even consider soiling his hands with anything as unpleasant as physical violence?

My, but they are in for a surprise!

Ha, someone was coming. He could
feel
the shimmering in the air . . . there. Ardagh hastily threw himself down on the divan, forcing himself into a stillness so complete that it was almost trance. Just in case anyone was overly curious, he meant to seem genuinely asleep. But one part of his mind stayed alert and aware. Here came the mysterious someone . . . not Tywthylodd, no. A servant, almost certainly from the slightly subservient
feel
to him. Good enough. Ardagh waited, hearing the hesitant footsteps grow nearer . . . nearer—

He sprang from the divan with a roar, catching the servant by the shoulders, flinging him roughly down, pinning him against the ground. The scrawny little mouse of a man stared up at him, wide-eyed, not so much in fright as in sheer, stunned disbelief.
This could not be,
his expression all but screamed,
a Sidhe prince could not be acting like this, he just could not!
"Wh-what—"

"Shut up! I'll do the talking."
Bah, I sound like a villain from a children's tale.
Effective enough, though, judging from the way his captive winced. "I want you to get me out of here,
now.
"

"I—I can't."

Ardagh brought up a fist in fierce imitation of humans he'd once seen brawling. "I said,
I'll
do the talking! You got in here, didn't you? Get me out!"

"P-please, not possible, n-not me, enough of Power I—I—I have not!"

So much for that plan.
"Then who does?"

"I—I can't—"

"You can, and will!" Grabbing the servant by the collar, the prince scrambled to his feet, pulling the man up roughly with him.
Good thing the fellow's small and light!
"You'll tell me right now, won't you?" He shook the servant slightly. "
Won't you?
Who has the Power to come and go from here?"

"Having that Power, the—the princess, of course, and Lord Cymyriod—"

"Lord Cymyriod! But Tywthylodd told me he couldn't. . . ."

No. Ardagh recalled suddenly that Tywthylodd had never actually said that the consort couldn't find his way in here, only that Cymyriod wouldn't disturb him.
I really
was
weary if I hadn't caught that.
Then, barring distractions, presumably from his princess, Cymyriod and his jealousy could have walked right in here while Ardagh was helpless in his sleep.
Thank you, Tywthylodd!

"Fine!" the prince snapped. "Get me the . . ." Curse it, what was the word? "The
cydwedd.
That's who I want. Bring Lord Cymyriod to me."

"T-try, yes, I—"

"Don't try,
do!
Swear it to me: You will bring Lord Cymyriod to me, here, now. Swear it!"

"I—I—swear it I do."

"Good! Then obey me!"

He shoved the servant roughly away and watched the man scurry off in frantic terror into nothingness. Only then did Ardagh relax, sitting back down with a hiss of disgust, brushing his hands together as though barbarism could be rubbed off like so much dirt. Ae, but he was glad no one else had seen that!

How in the name of all the Powers can humans stand to act with such—such boorishness?

No. Time enough to be finicky when he was free. Now, if only he hadn't overacted too badly . . . yes, and if only he did get Cymyriod and not Tywthylodd as well! Ardagh rather doubted that she'd be sympathetic to his cause, or care what happened to human lands. Neither would Cymyriod, of course—but what Cymyriod thought hardly mattered so long as he came here.

He would. He must. Remembering the bitterness in those dark green eyes, the painful jealousy, the prince nodded grimly. Surely the consort hated his "rival" enough to want to know what that rival wanted. Surely Cymyriod would be too curious to resist?

Ah, yes. Ardagh sat back, smiling to himself. Here came Lord Cymyriod now, stepping lightly out of empty air, wary as a cat but pretending for all he was worth that it was a mere whim that had brought him this way.

A whim. With his hand resting ever so casually on the hilt of his sword, and Power shimmering about him.
"
My
Lord Cymyriod. How nice of you to visit."

The dark green eyes glittered coldly. "I do no playing of games."

"Neither," Ardagh said, sitting up, "do I. Lord Cymyriod, we share something in common. Ae, don't glare at me like that! We do. We both want me gone from here."

He saw the faintest of starts; Cymyriod hadn't expected that.
And why not, I wonder?
"Not for my doing is that," the lord said. "Princess Tywthylodd—"

"Is not here. You are."

"No! Not for my doing is that."

"Afraid of her, are you?" Ardagh purred. "Afraid of your princess?"

"No! The finest of women is she, Princess Tywthylodd. Nothing is there of fear for her from me!"

Well, now. It was hardly fear in Cymyriod's eyes—or rather, Ardagh mused, it was, but hardly of Tywthylodd or even of losing his rank. No, no, this was a very real fear Cymyriod held of losing
her.

"So-o," the prince murmured in sudden understanding, "no wonder you hate me! And here I thought it was something as shallow as jealousy. You love her, don't you?"

The lord stared, looked away, stared again, his fair skin redddening. "How . . . would you have the knowing of such?"

"How? Because I'm in love with my own sweet lady. I certainly recognize the signs by now." Ardagh hesitated, studying Cymyriod, considering.
You're still young aren't you?
Age, of course, was difficult to tell with the long-lived Folk.
Young and just a touch naive.
"My lord, I admit I was planning to trick you and force you to let me out of here. Now, I don't think that's necessary."

"What say you?"

"Lord Cymyriod, your princess is a fine, lovely woman, and if things were different, well now, who knows what might have happened? Ae, don't bristle! Hear me out. I see that you love her—but as for me, my lord, I love my freedom and my own dear lady more."

No answer. Cymyriod was so blatantly concentrating on keeping his face impassive that Ardagh thought,
Young, indeed.
"Lord Cymyriod, do you
want
me here? Do you
want
to share Tywthylodd's affections? Maybe even lose them altogether?"

Ha, that struck home. "Not possible is that!"

"Then let me go."

"I . . . no," the lord muttered. "Let you go, I would have the liking of such a thing with a fullness of heart. Good it would be to never be seeing you again. But," he added reluctantly, "letting you go is not for my doing."

"Of course not. Everyone—" the prince meant Tywthylodd— "would blame you. But they won't blame you for this."

He lunged at Cymyriod, spinning him about, one arm going about the young lord's throat, the other twisting Cymyriod's swordarm behind his back. He felt his captive stiffen in outrage and stunned shock, and grinned.
Score another mark for brute force!
"There, now, my lord. I trust I'm not hurting you?"
Save for denting your youthful dignity a bit.

Cymyriod, rigid with shock, said nothing, and Ardagh shook his head. "Inflexible, aren't you?"
Young.
"Just as well. This should look properly dramatic—and leave you quite guilt-free."

When the lord still didn't move, Ardagh prodded him, ever so gently. "Come now, you want your princess back with you and you alone, don't you? Yes? Then
move.
"

Compromises
Chapter 26

And here they were, transferred between one step and the next. Ardagh nearly staggered, just barely managing to cling to his hostage. It was no small shock to come so suddenly from the misty grey tranquility of the lake to the noisy crowd and brilliant golden light of the Tylwyth Teg's great illusion-hall. If Cymyriod had thought to struggle just then, he would have been free.

But no, something as crass as struggling would damage his dignity. Idiot.

Holding fast to the rigidly indignant Cymyriod, the prince glared as ferociously as he could at the astonished gathering of Tylwyth Teg, trying his best to project the aura of a truly desperate, dangerous man. It seemed, judging from their horrified faces, to be working.

Ah, look. No need to call for Tywthylodd. Here the princess came in a rush, silken blue-green robes swirling about her like the billows of the sea, the worried crowd hastily parting to let her through. Her face was regally impassive, but there was a look of not-quite-finished to her, as though, Ardagh noted with a touch of satisfaction, she'd come straight from a sharply interrupted sleep.

You caught me when I was too weary to think clearly; I catch you in almost the same condition. What a charming balance of ironies.

There was no appreciation of irony or anything else in Tywthylodd's eyes, blazing as they were with outrage.

"How dare you be coming here?" Her voice was sharp enough to cut stone. "How dare you my
cydwedd
be clutching?"

"How?" Ardagh retorted coolly. "The same way, Princess Tywthylodd, that you dared offer me sanctuary that quickly turned into a trap."

For a moment he was sure she was going to try some properly convoluted web of words denying it. But Tywthylodd must truly have still been dazed by sleep, because after that brief, tense silence, she merely shook her head and gave Ardagh so charmingly resigned and appreciative a smile that he could almost accept it as genuine.

"Done has been done," she said simply. "Release him."

"Not yet. First release my human friend."

So much for attempts at charm: her smile vanished, her eyes flashing with renewed rage. "No prisoner is he!"

"I'm delighted to hear it. And will be more delighted yet when you bring him here. Oh yes, and bring my sword and dagger, too, if you please. We," he added, giving Cymyriod the slightest of shakes, "can wait."

Tywthylodd paused only the briefest of moments, then snapped out commands, speaking so swiftly that Ardagh could hardly decipher her dialect. He waited with carefully feigned patience, hiding behind a mask of Sidhe calm, doing nothing but occasionally tightening his grip whenever Cymyriod tried to break free.

I wonder. Is Tywthylodd going to be vindictive enough to drag things out interminably? No. She wouldn't risk Cymyriod's life. Would she?

No. Apparently she really was worried about her consort—or, Ardagh thought cynically, about her own prestige should she let Cymyriod come to harm. Here came Cadwal now, dressed in an interesting hybrid of his own and Tylwyth Teg fashion and looking remarkably rested and . . . sleek.

He'd be purring if he could.

But the man's smugness vanished at the sight of Ardagh and his hostage. "
Dewi Sant, now
what?"

"Now," Ardagh said in Eriu's Gaeilge, "we have come to the end of our hosts' hospitality. You can, I think, take your hand from your sword's hilt. I doubt we'll be facing that type of combat." Of course the human was wearing his own sword and dagger; none of the Tylwyth Teg could have handled iron blades.

"All we need," the prince continued lightly, "is—ah, yes, here are my sword and dagger. Cadwal, if you'd hold them for me? My hands are . . . ah . . . rather occupied for the moment."

"Your requests have had their meeting," Tywthylodd cut in sharply in her people's tongue. "Release."

"I'm afraid not," Ardagh countered. "Not quite yet. We haven't yet settled one issue. You promised me safety, Princess Tywthylodd, yet gave me treachery."

"I? No!"

"Please. No word-tricks. We both know exactly what you wanted of me. It would have been an interesting experiment, princess, but I don't wish to participate."

"The human friend that is yours has already done so."

Was that the slightest hint of a sneer? "My human friend is his own free man. As I wish to be."

"Then go!"

"Oh no, Tywthylodd. That hallway to which you're so graciously pointing leads right back to Morfren's lands." Ardagh smiled urbanely. "My people's sense of direction is every bit as sharp as yours."

Her eyes said clearly where she wished his sense of direction to send him. "What, then, want you of me?"

"I want your folk to guide me and my friend
not
back the way we came—but to the Cymric coast."

"No. Too far a distance is that."

"Not for you, Tywthylodd. I've seen how easily you walk from cave to distant lake. A few small steps, one small transfer spell, and there you are. So, now. Walk us both from this cavern to the sea, and call this awkward situation closed. You can do that, can't you? The Tylwyth Teg have that much Power, don't they?"

"Arrogant are the Sidhe!"

"Arrogant is this Sidhe, perhaps—but he
does not break his word!
"

There was a horrified gasp from the Tylwyth Teg at that worst of Faerie crimes—and at his implying the guilt of their princess. "Oathbreaker am I not!" Tywthylodd said, words choked in rage. "Accuse me of such, shall you not!"

"What else could I call one whose idea of 'no harm' included my captivity?"

"It was not—"

"Tsk. I can play with words as prettily as you. We both know full well what you meant for me. We both know that freedom had no part in it. We both know that willfully depriving one of freedom
is
harm in any tongue! If you would cleanse your honor, Princess Tywthylodd, you will guide me and my friend to the Cymric coast,
now!
"

For one tense, endless moment, he was sure she was going to refuse. Ardagh was even going over a hasty new verbal attack in his mind when Tywthylodd said without warning, "Yes." Her hand stabbed out, pointing at two of her people. "You and you, guiding be."

"Guiding," Ardagh clarified, "to the Cymric coast and nowhere else, in the same time frame as now. You will guide us to dry land, safe land." Otherwise, they might end up on the wrong side of the coast, in—or under— the sea itself. "You will guide both of us, Cadwal and I, and we shall be unharmed
in any way.
" He paused. "Do you so swear?"

Tywthylodd's sigh was almost a hiss. "Yes. Yes! These two guides, I swear it, too, for them as ruler. Now, go. And be sure," she added darkly, "remembering shall I be."

"Remembering shall I be, too," Ardagh said sweetly. He released Cymyriod, who stalked away with rigid, patently artificial dignity, then bowed to Tywthylodd, equal to equal.

"Remembering, Princess Tywthylodd, shall I definitely be."

They had not gone down the tunnel for very long before Ardagh saw the difference and heard Cadwal draw in his breath in surprise. "That's daylight up ahead," the human said, "I'd swear it."

"It is," Ardagh agreed. "And I think I hear the sea." He sniffed. "Yes, and smell the ocean air. That's definitely the coast ahead."

The two Tylwyth Teg guides stopped short, shielding their eyes. "Truly, yes," said one, blinking like a dazed owl, "daylight is it out there."

"Sunlight," said the other, definitely uneasy.

"So it is." And they, unlike he, could not endure it. Ardagh dipped his head to them curtly. "You have fulfilled your vow. Be free to leave."

The two Tylwyth Teg bowed as one, and as one, scurried gladly back down the tunnel to their sunless realm. Ardagh moved warily to the lip of the tunnel, looking out. "Ah, yes," he said in satisfaction. "This is, indeed, the human Realm again."

The sun was almost directly overhead. Spread out below him lay a stretch of sandy beach framed by a crescent of sheer rock. Beyond, the sea rushed and rushed onto the shore, sparkling in the sunlight, and overhead the inevitable gulls shrieked and soared beneath a blue sky dotted with blazingly white clouds.

"Like an artist's imagining," the prince mused. "Almost too perfect."

"Good enough for me," Cadwal said shortly. "Good to be back."

Ardagh glanced back over his shoulder with a sudden frown,
feeling
. . . ah, yes. "This tunnel isn't stable. In fact, I think it's going to disappear the moment one or both of us steps out of it."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that unless you wish to stay with your Gwenalarch forever, move outside when I do."

Cadwal gave a sharp bark of a laugh. "She's a lovely thing and we had a good time together, but she's hardly 'my' Gwenalarch. Disappeared right after we—well, you know. And after seeing the princess glare at you like that, I sure don't want to stay there."

"So. Shall we?"

They stepped together out onto a narrow, rocky ledge. Behind them, as Ardagh had expected, the tunnel shimmered out of the human reality, staggering them with a gust of wind that was air adjusting to what was no longer there.

"Well," Cadwal said after a moment. "Well. Here we are. Wherever." He shook his head. "Weird way to travel. But it's damned good to be back in . . . ah . . . we
are
still in Cymru? Same time and all that?"

"Yes. You won't turn to ash or anything so dramatic."

Wild relief flashed in the human's eyes, but all he said was a laconic, "Good. Then maybe you can tell me what the hell's going on?"

Ardagh let out his breath in a gusty sigh. "It's not an easy thing to summarize. You gathered that we had been given sanctuary? And promised that no harm would come to us? Yes? Let us just say that Princess Tywthylodd has a very vague idea of what 'sanctuary' means, and her concept of doing someone no harm is complex, indeed."

Cadwal frowned. "I thought that none of the—the Faerie Folk could lie."

"They can't. They can, however, be very devious about the truth."

"Like courtiers. Here now," the mercenary added in sudden alarm, "you didn't mean—you aren't hurt, are you? She didn't—"

"No, of course not. It wasn't that type of harm. Tywthylodd merely tried to hold me captive. It's not important, not—"

"Tried to hold you captive? But why?"

"I said it wasn't important."

"And I say you're hiding something. What? Did the princess want a ransom for you? Sure, from what you've told me about him, your royal brother probably wouldn't help out—"

"He would not."

"—but King Aedh certainly would, and if the princess sent word that—" Cadwal broke off abruptly, staring at Ardagh. "But that's not it, is it? No . . . you're embarrassed, aren't you?" The man grinned, and went right on grinning. "Och, and is
that
the way of it?
That
type of captive, eh?"

"Of course I'm embarrassed!" Ardagh snapped. "To get out of there, to get us both out of there, I had to act like a—a human lout, use brute force—and why are you laughing?"

"I'm sorry. Honest, I am. It's just . . . just the picture of you, a prince and all, having to . . . well . . . defend your honor against a pretty woman like that. 'Use brute force,' indeed!"

"The pretty woman, as you call her so lightly, is a ruler of her race. And she wasn't out to do anything as humanly bizarre as merely 'stealing my honor,' as you so quaintly call it. She meant to use me as the sire of her heir!"

That didn't help. Ardagh paused, fuming, watching Cadwal, red-faced, struggling helplessly for self-control. "I fail to see," the prince said coldly, "why something so serious as creating an heir should be so funny to you. Particularly when you've done the same thing."

Ah. That stopped Cadwal as suddenly as though he'd been slapped. "What?" the man gasped. "Wh-what are you saying? Gwenalarch—you saying what she wanted was a baby?"

"And very probably started one with you, yes. Tywthylodd hinted at that rather clearly."

"
Iesu.
They can know something like that so soon?"

"Apparently they could." Ardagh hesitated, then shrugged. "Women's magic."

"Gwenalarch. A baby. Oh, I didn't think she wanted me for my looks or youthful charm or any nonsense like that, I thought she just wanted some good old-fashioned fun, but—you sure? Really?"

Ardagh nodded. "The odds are good, with a human male and Tylwyth Teg female, that it will be a boy."

"
Iesu.
A boy. A son." To the prince's surprise, he saw Cadwal suddenly burst into a smile of almost dazed delight. "You know," the mercenary murmured, "I always wondered. I mean, for all I knew, not being a saint and all that, I might have sired a few youngsters along the way. Never could find out for sure. Now . . . a son."

"You probably will never see him," Ardagh warned him, very gently.

"Figured that. Just as well, I guess. What could I do for him, anyhow? A landless, aging mercenary—what could I possibly do for him?"

"Don't belittle yourself. I wouldn't be alive now if it hadn't been for your aid several times over. And remember that you did help give your son his life."