Windmaster's Bane (8 page)

“Do you question my word?” the man snapped. “Would you have me unsoul both of you here and now?” His eyes burned like coals.

But then a shadow of thought flashed across the man’s face and his chiseled features softened abruptly. He smiled a little too eagerly. “Ah, but I forgot myself, mortal lad, for time passes and we have a great distance to travel tonight. Come with us, if you would know more—and bring your brother as well. Why not?

Long has it been since we have taken two sons of men into our number. We grow bored with our own company”—he cast a dark glance toward the head of the line—“some of us, anyway.” He extended a black-gloved hand which David saw was covered with tiny metal plates that tinkled slightly as he moved; minute jewels winked from its surface.

“Come back in a few years, then,” David said hesitantly. He tried to sound brave, but he felt a point of fear begin in the middle of his back and slowly spread throughout his body. His pulse raced.

The man’s face hardened at once. “Then you should know,
human,
that to see us is not a good thing. It is likely that we will curse you for your impertinence. It is even likely that you will die—and your brother as well.”

“Not Little Billy,” David cried. “He hasn’t done anything to you. I don’t think he can even see you.”

“See who, Davy?” came a trembling whisper from where Little Billy’s face was pressed against David’s shoulder. “Done what? Who’re you talkin’ to? I want to go
home
!”
The last word rose suddenly to a shriek. The little boy began pounding his brother’s face and shoulders with his fists, so that David had to shift his grip to retain his hold.

“Be
still
!”
he hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m not doing this for fun, believe me!”

The Sidhe-lord raised a thoughtful eyebrow, haughtily oblivious to the little boy’s fear. He stared absently at David. “The little one cannot see
us…
yet
you
can,” he mused. “But none of your kind can see us unless
we
will it—or unless…”

David caught the muttered words. “Unless?”

The dark man’s eyes narrowed again, but he did not answer. “We could take him with us anyway, you know, and leave a changeling,” he said after a moment. “Or we could take
you
instead, or both of you.”

“Don’t take Little Billy, he’s my mama’s favorite.”

“Take me
where
?”
the little boy shrieked. “You ain’t takin’ me nowhere.” And with that he sank his teeth in David’s ear, simultaneously striking out at him with renewed fury. His body twisted violently in David’s arms like an enraged cat.

David could not retain his hold. Little Billy thrust himself free and half jumped, half fell from his brother’s grasp. He hit the shimmering surface of the track with both feet at once—and crumpled simultaneously into a motionless pile.

David flung himself forward and knelt beside the still form, tried to feel for a pulse at his throat. He glared up at the Faery lord. “What’ve you done to him?” he shouted. “If you’ve hurt him, I’ll…
I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” the dark man asked silkily. “Nothing, I imagine—but he is only sleeping. I am tired of being interrupted at my bargaining. Now, we were discussing what you have to offer in exchange for the small one’s freedom. For you should know that no one meets the Sidhe without paying the price of that meeting.” He folded his arms across the high pommel of his saddle and glared intently down at David like a snake regarding an egg it intended to swallow. David could not return his stare.

“I don’t think I’ve got anything you’d want,” David said in a small voice. “Let me
see…”
He began searching his pockets and found them empty. Reluctantly he took his brother in his arms and stood up, despair a gray mask upon his face.

“Well, then, it must be yourself,” the man replied, smiling maliciously.

The woman with the crow spoke then, her voice colder even than the black-clad man’s. “Do not forget the Laws of Dana, Windmaster. They are mightier than any of us. You may not impose your will on the boy unless you give him some chance for escape.”

An angry scowl clouded the man’s features then, his mouth hardened to a thin line, but at last he spoke. “So be it, then. I will make you a bargain, boy. If you can answer three questions, I will let you go free, and your brother as well.”

David was suddenly wary. “Just as we are? Not changed or enchanted or anything?”

The man looked vaguely amused. “If that is your will, exactly as you came here.”

“And if I lose?”

“Then you will come with us.”

David took a deep breath and nodded grimly. “I’ve…I’ve got a request to make, for myself, too—if I win.”

The black-clad man laughed derisively. “So you would now crave favors of the Sidhe? Well, if nothing else, you are brave, mortal lad—brave or a fool.”

“It
is
his right,” the gray-clad woman observed pointedly.

“Ask then,” the man snapped. “We can but say yes or no.” David shot the woman an uncertain smile and cleared his throat. “If I lose, you’ll gain control over me, right? If I win, I’ll gain nothing but a memory which I may not trust as I get older. I’d like to have something, you know,
real
from you all, so that I’ll know I’m not having a dream or anything. And I’d like to ask
you all
some questions—three, I guess—in
return…
after all, I may not get another chance to see you folks.”

“Do you forget so soon that you will be gaining your freedom?” the man replied sharply. “That is enough for most men to ask, and those who win it think themselves fortunate. Yet it is ever the way with you mortals that you desire more than is your right. But since you
are
a mortal and thus not likely to win, I will agree.”

David swallowed hard. “Then I accept, I guess. Any time you’re ready.” He shifted his sleeping brother to a more comfortable position and squared his shoulders. He had to clamp his jaws together to keep his teeth from chattering.

The black-clad man thought for a moment, then spoke: “Name the stars in the sky.”

David felt as if cold lightning had pierced his heart. “That’s not a fair question!” he protested.

“Indeed, it is not,” the crow-woman interjected. “You
do
know the rules, do you not, Windmaster? For if you do not, you insult the honor of the contest. You must ask only questions to which the answers are known among those you ask, if they have the learning for it. And since you yourself cannot answer that one, I think you had better find another question, or I will find one for you.”

The dark Faery dipped his head mockingly. “As you will, Mistress of Battles. If I am to deal with fools, then I must ask foolish questions.” He looked back at David.

“What animal did Queen Maeve of Connacht most love, and what animal did she most hate? Does
that
satisfy you, Morrigu?” A low murmur rose within the host behind him, and knowing smiles crossed those beautiful, remote faces, as if the question was a familiar opening move in some ancient game.

“That’s still not a fair question!” David cried. “That’s two questions!”

“A coin may have two faces and yet be one coin,” the dark man replied coldly. “I do not think even Morrigu will argue that point. Now answer—or come with us.”

David closed his eyes, his thoughts racing frantically. The question wasn’t as difficult as he had feared; the answer was in something he had read recently. He knew that Queen Maeve was a character in another book Lady Gregory had written, this One about the
Tain Bo Cuailnge,
The Cattle Raid of Cooley. He had read it last week, right before
Gods and Fighting Men,
but what was it called?
Cuchulain of Muirthme?
And he knew that Queen Maeve had gone to war over a cow, so that was probably the answer to the first part. But of the second, he was not so certain.

“The animal she most loved, I’m not sure about,” he said at last, his voice quivering. “But the one she most
wanted
was the Brown Bull of Cooley. As to which one she most hated, I can’t be sure about that either; I don’t think the book I read
said…
but wait a minute! Cuchulain means ‘the Hound of Culaign’ or something like that, doesn’t it? He was called that because he had to take the place of somebody’s watchdog he killed. Is that it? It must be! He
was
her worst enemy, in battle at least. You were trying to trick me! You must have been! The answer must be Cuchulain!”

Behind the dark man a woman in a silver coronet bent her head toward the red-robed lady who rode beside her and whispered, “The boy has some wit about him, a rare thing indeed on this shore.”

“You are correct so far,” said the Faery lord. “But I have a second question, and this one will not be so easy.”

“I’m ready any time,” David said, trying to keep his voice steady, his bold words belying the fear that threatened to take complete control. His only comfort was the warmth of Little Billy’s sleeping body against his own.

The Faery lord paused a moment. “What did the Tuatha de Danaan bring with them to Ireland?”

David’s face brightened in spite of his fear. This was one he knew right off. It was in Lady Gregory, too; he’d read the section to Alec only the night before.

He took a deep breath. “Let’s see,” he said, looking down at the pine needles on the ground. “There was a cauldron, as I recall; and a spear, a magic spear; and a sword—magic, too; and a stone that was supposed to cry out when the true king stepped on it. I’m glad you didn’t ask me their names, though, because I sure couldn’t have told you.”

“I will be more careful how I phrase my questions,” the Faery lord replied archly, “but you are correct.” A faint, ironic smile played about his lips, an eyebrow lifted slightly, but only for a moment before his forehead furrowed again, and his brows lowered over eyes that flashed like diamonds. “Let me see, this is my last chance for a changeling, so I must win with this one.”

A disturbance arose among the crowded hosts, then. The white-cloaked leader had turned his horse and now rode back down the milling ranks toward the black-clad man. His searching glance barely swept across the brothers as he came to face the other. It was as if the two bright stars in Orion strove for supremacy in the night sky. The very air seemed to withdraw from between them.

“What are you doing, Ailill?” asked the white-clad man. “I did not think you interested in mortals.”

“And I thought you so interested in them that you might want one or two to observe—perhaps to plant in your garden,” Ailill shot back haughtily. “Besides, this one is special: This one has the Sight. So I play the Question Game with him, the stakes being nothing less than freedom for himself and his brother.”

“I’ve seen my share of mortals,” the other observed coolly, “and these do not seem particularly remarkable. But you are correct about the older one”—he pointed toward David—“he does seem to have the Sight; it shows in his eyes. He also seems to have both wit and courage to his credit, maybe even a little of the stuff of heroes. But I wonder at your reasoning, Ailill. Do you really think I want a changeling, particularly one of
your
choosing? Or are you simply trying to stir up trouble between the Sidhe and mortal men—trouble we do not need? .Might you even be trying to contrive a confrontation with me? Since you know Lugh chose not to ride with us, do you test my authority as his second? What would Finvarra say, whose ambassador you are—or have you so soon forgotten?”

“I have only your best interests in mind,” Ailill answered smoothly, but his tone belied the words. “That, and our brief amusement on this tiresome journey through the Lands of Men.”

“Then you will not mind giving the last question to me?”

Ailill’s hands strayed toward his sword hilt, and he said nothing for a moment; but his white skin took on a flush of anger, and his eyes grew as dark as his hair. David saw him open his mouth, as if to speak some bitter retort, and then take a firmer set.

“You came perilously close to breaking the Rules on the first question,” the Morrigu noted. “I would be careful what I did now.”

“Nor, I think, would Finvarra be pleased;
he,
at least, is a man of honor,” the white-clad man added.

“I seem to have no choice, then,” Ailill replied angrily, the merest trace of uncertainty coloring his voice. “If it is the will of the mortal lad, I will relinquish my last question. It is, after all,
his
decision, in the end.”

David breathed a mental sigh of relief, though why he thought he was better off with this new turn of affairs, he didn’t know. “If that’s what you folks want to do, that’s how it’ll have to be, I guess. Go on and ask—and get it over with.”

“Standard Rules, I presume?” the white-clad man asked the crow-woman before turning toward David and Little Billy.

“The Rules as proclaimed by Dana,” the woman affirmed.

The man nodded imperceptibly, dropped the reins of his white horse, and folded his arms across his chest.

“So you think you know something about the Sidhe, mortal lad?” the Faery said. “So you think what you have read in books will suffice to save you? Well, then, let us see how good you really are. Since you were spared having to tell the names of the stars in the sky, I will ask you a simpler question: What is
my
name?”