Bedlams edge, p.16
Bedlam's Edge, page 16
part #8 of Bedlam's Bard Series
Screech!
It wasn’t really a sound, but that was the only way she knew to represent the feeling: as a dissonant clash of chords cutting across her music-making as if to wipe it away. Then she felt something inside her, something she’d hoped never to feel again, and a picture formed in her mind; Aelbrigr, helpless on the ground outside. He wasn’t moving; worse, he didn’t appear to be breathing. A dark-haired elf woman ran lightly away, carrying a silver-and-gold necklace … but Catriona couldn’t worry about that right now. Aelbrigr was hurt. She had to do something.
She ran outside to the edge of their Pocket Domain, to where everything turned to drifting, formless grayness.
She bent down; good, he was breathing, if shallowly. What did that elf bitch do to him? Who is she?
Alas, Catriona didn’t have to wonder what that elf was doing here—she already knew that. She came for the necklace, she thought. She has to know what Brisingamen is, and she needs it for something. Probably something unpleasant.
But that wasn’t important right now; that could wait. Aelbrigr couldn’t.
Catriona turned him over gently, and saw a long, jagged scar that had rent his clothing and split the back of his skull open. She had to get Aelbrigr to a Healer, then leave to go after the damned necklace; it was magical, that thing, and always caused trouble. That was why she and Aelbrigr had taken it and hidden it Underhill in the first place.
And who knows where that elf bitch has taken it? But Catriona would know; the necklace would pull her to where it was, because she was its Bearer, and it was her responsibility. Even if Aelbrigr couldn’t help her get it back this time … she shivered.
It had been many years since she was last in the World Above, although Aelbrigr had made sure she wasn’t ignorant of how much time had passed.
And our side won the war, she reminded herself. I’ll just have to get the necklace back on my own.
Time was wasting. She whistled for her elvensteed, Epona, who came to her, knelt down, and waited patiently while Catriona pushed and pulled the limp Aelbrigr into her saddle. Unbidden, Aelbrigr’s own Sleifnir came and allowed Catriona to mount; together, they went to find the nearest Healer.
* * *
I hate cities, Kevranil thought as he rode through the streets of Las Vegas on the back of his elvensteed, Hval. Hval had taken motorcycle form, and Kevranil wasn’t comfortable with it; he kept thinking he was going to slip off and fall ignominiously in the middle of the street. So he was concentrating on something else, something he already knew he didn’t like: cities. They’re too crowded, and there’s far too much of the deathmetal for my taste—
“Watch where you’re going!” someone on the sidewalk yelled, shying away as Hval, with Kevranil still aboard, barely got out of the way of a large Greyhound bus. “Stupid foreigners …”
Kevranil grinned to himself. As a Sidhe—an elf, the humans would say—he was probably more foreign to most of the humans up here than any of them would ever guess, despite the illusions and clothing that made him seem like one of them.
After what seemed like forever, his elvensteed found the parking ramp for the hotel Aelbrigr, his uncle, had told him about years ago, the TirNaOg. Hval went up the ramp and dropped him off near a low-hanging, garishly colored sign, then sped off. Kevranil snorted; just as well this was Sidhe run, or Hval might have just brought the humans down on top of his head.
But no; no one had noticed a motorcycle driving and parking itself, it seemed. Kevranil just shrugged and ducked under the sign, wishing for once that he was just a bit shorter. He stood six feet six inches in his bare feet, although his black hair and the brownish tint that turned his leaf-green eyes to hazel were unusual for one of his people—too drab an alteration for most, but he kept them that way as a mark of subtle distinction—he did have the cat-slit pupils and sharply pointed ears, along with long, slender fingers that made it easy for him to pick a tune and play it on the lyre, harp, or twelve-stringed gittern. But never to become a Bard, he thought mournfully. Not enough magic for that, they said—not enough magic, too flighty to ever be more than a minstrel, not worth the effort. And probably not even enough magic for this, whatever it is that has Uncle Aelbrigr so worried. I don’t believe he’d be so concerned just because his lover had chosen to take an ill-timed trip to the World Above; what is bothering him?
As it was, Kevranil knew this errand was unusual; since he was still quite young as his people counted such things and didn’t have much magic, he would never have been asked to come here if his uncle hadn’t insisted. Aelbrigr had been adamant: Kevranil had to find his human lover, the Lady Catriona Armbrister, nicknamed “the Fair.” Kevranil had met Lady Catriona once—just once—but her beauty and poise were hard to forget. He had dreamed of her for days afterward, until he finally managed to shake her image from his mind—something that had never happened to him before or since—and he had taken steps soon afterward to get himself sent away from Elfhame Liefdraumar. He hadn’t really wanted to go, but it was necessary.
Kevranil loved his uncle; he would never try to take his consort from him (even now, the thought of her light blond hair and grass-green eyes made him more than a bit giddy), but if he’d stayed around Liefdraumar’s Court, he’d have been trying to do just that. Kevranil wasn’t sure why, but Lady Catriona had enchanted him, just as she had enchanted many of the younger Sidhe males in Liefdraumar. Normally, Kevranil wouldn’t have gone anywhere near Lady Catriona, just because he knew how much he wanted her, and because he knew he couldn’t—wouldn’t—do anything to shame his uncle, himself, or her.
This time, though, Kevranil had no choice. Aelbrigr was in no shape to go after Catriona. Worse, Aelbrigr hadn’t been able—or was that willing?—to tell him very much about why she had left.
The only hard facts Kevranil had were that Aelbrigr had been hit by a levin-bolt, had been hurriedly brought in to the Healers’ Hall by Catriona, and that she had left at some point after that—but nobody knew exactly when. When he had heard she’d left, Aelbrigr had refused to let the Healers help him until Kevranil had been brought and had promised to find Catriona.
“She’s in trouble,” Aelbrigr had rasped. “She needs help. I can’t go to her. Please … More than my life is at stake.”
As soon as he’d promised to go, his uncle had stopped resisting the healing trance, and Healer Ardvaen had hurried Kevranil out of the room. At his concerned look, Ardvaen said, “I’ll do all I can for him. But he needs healing and rest.” She fixed him with a cold, green glare. “Find his lover. Find her fast. Because I can’t guarantee that he’ll get better.”
All Kevranil had managed to learn was that Catriona wasn’t Underhill. And since Ardvaen refused to have any more to do with humans than she absolutely must, she had probably been very curt with Catriona while she was treating Aelbrigr.
No wonder Catriona had left. At least she had taken Epona, the elvensteed Aelbrigr had given her.
His own elvensteed, Hval, had managed to get some sort of hint of where Catriona and her elvensteed had gone from Aelbrigr’s Sleifnir; all Kevranil had done was to hang on.
When they had finally emerged aboveground, Kevranil had made two immediate discoveries.
They were on the outskirts of Las Vegas, Nevada.
And Kevranil himself was as uncomfortable as he had ever been anywhere. He reminded himself that, so long as he wasn’t in direct, physical contact with iron, he’d not be harmed.
But he still felt queasy.
He hummed under his breath, wishing he had the strength to conjure his gittern to help him, but knowing that he had to be near the limit of his magic already. He hated being so magically weak, even though Uncle Aelbrigr had always told him it wasn’t the strength of the magic, but what you did with it that counted. Still, thinking about his music helped; it calmed him down, and allowed him to enter the casino proper.
For whatever reason, he had a shadowy sense of foreboding as he crossed the threshold, and wished he could wear his armor openly. He knew that was stupid; Uncle Aelbrigr had told him years ago that the TirNaOg was a neutral place, one where neither the Seleighe nor the Unseleighe would war against each other. Nothing would happen to him here.
Providing you can resist the fair maiden, a part of his mind mocked. That’s the real temptation—stay away from her.
Once inside, he reveled in the feel of an Elfhame; he no longer felt absolutely bombarded by the amount of Cold Iron around. Kevranil could feel the protections drawn around the Elfhame: Nexus-powered wards—Sidhe wards. If that wasn’t enough to help him begin to relax, there was additional proof in the form of one of his own people coming through a door behind the registration desk to trade places with one of the humans there. Beglamoured to look like a human, of course, but no Low Court Sidhe could fool one of the High Court, no matter how minor, that way. That was the person to talk to.
The Sidhe counterwoman pointed Kevranil toward a small bar-restaurant set off to one side of the lobby, cautioning him only to, “Enjoy your time, but be careful.” Kevranil knew this was the only warning, cryptic though it was, that he would get to not break the truce Uncle Aelbrigr had told him existed between Seleighe and Unseleighe in this place.
He sat down at the first empty table, hoping he’d get served quickly, because it was the only thing he could think of to do.
A server came by and took his order, returning promptly with the house special—scrambled eggs with a large beefsteak on the side—and a pitcher of mineral water. As he set the plate down, the man said, “Compliments of the management,” whatever that meant.
Kevranil chewed slowly at his food, not really tasting it. He still wasn’t sure why he’d allowed himself to be sent in search of Catriona, the way he felt about her.
And setting that aside, what was she doing here? If she was even here at all?
As quick as that, the lady in question sat down across the table and called for the server. She was heavily warded and shielded, and didn’t say anything to him other than a brief “Hello,” before she ordered some coffee.
“Lady Catriona. Glad to make your acquaintance again.” He bowed as well as he could while sitting at the table, hoping he wasn’t making too big a fool of himself. “Uncle Aelbrigr sent me. What’s wrong?”
Then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Their sparkle was as bright as any diamond he’d ever seen Underhill. Those eyes—those incredible eyes—seemed to see everything, be everywhere, and know all there was to be knowing.
He wrenched his eyes away from hers with an effort; what had she just done? This time, it wasn’t just longing he felt, it was more. It felt like a glamourie, but humans weren’t supposed to be able to do that! Not even to a Magus Minor like himself.
He reached out with his mind again, but met with a blank wall. She had shields, and strong ones. Uncle Aelbrigr had said something about that once; what was it again? Oh, yes. “My lady can block out most Elves,” Aelbrigr had said. “But not me.” Kevranil wrenched his mind back to the present; even if he couldn’t read Catriona’s mind, he still might be able to steer the conversation to find out what he wanted to know.
As he opened his mouth, she cut him off. “I know who you are,” she said in a low tone. “You’re Aelbrigr’s favorite nephew, aren’t you? Kelvin—? Keevan—?”
“Kevranil,” he muttered quickly. “Uncle Aelbrigr sent me; he said you’re in trouble. I want to help.”
“How is my love?” she asked quietly. “He didn’t look too well when I left.”
“He’s stable,” Kevranil said. “In a healing trance. Ardvaen wasn’t sure how much time he’d have, though.”
“That figures,” Catriona grumbled. She’d obviously dealt with Ardvaen before. “But sad to say, he’s not the most important thing right now. Nothing matters, except getting—” She broke off suddenly and looked around furtively.
“There really shouldn’t be anything to worry about here; there’s a truce,” Kevranil said quietly.
“Not for this, there isn’t,” Catriona snapped. She passed him a picture. “This is the last picture my brother ever took, before we found out what this thing really was—and is—”
It was an old, tattered, black-and-white photograph in which she, Aelbrigr, and a human man were standing in the middle of a field of flowers.
“This man? Who is he?” Kevranil asked.
“That was my brother, Percy. He’s dead now,” she said flatly. “But that’s not why I showed you this. Look again. Look at the whole picture.”
He looked again. She was wearing a two-piece, well-tailored woman’s suit; his uncle was wearing a human three-piece suit more than fifty years out of the current fashion.
“Other than what Uncle Aelbrigr is wearing, I don’t get it. What am I supposed to get out of this?”
“Look at what I’m wearing, you dolt!”
Compelled by something in her voice, he looked. She wore a necklace, a very old, very rich-looking necklace that didn’t go with her clothing. He used his magic to enhance the photo, make it look exactly as it had right after it had been taken. There was a pattern to the necklace: golden flames almost leaping out of a silver filigree cage—even in a black-and-white picture, the colors came through to his Othersight—heavy, massive metalwork, probably Nordic in origin. He must have said that aloud; she nodded.
“This necklace—what is it?” Nothing human-made would shine like that, even in an old photograph.
”It’s very old, and only a woman can wear it.”
Catriona glanced around again, still trying to make it seem as if she wasn’t looking at all; sensing that there had to be some reason she was acting so suspicious, Kevranil quietly made sure no one was watching them, then searched for listening devices, magical or mundane, just in case her paranoia was justified. After he had assured her that he could detect no interest in what they were saying from anyone—or anything—else, she went on: “A woman wearing that could lead an unbeatable army, and raise its fallen warriors from the dead, too—or so the legends say. Aelbrigr and I weren’t too keen on finding out, and neither was Percy.”
She shook her head irritably. “It has powers, that thing. Leading armies is only the start. Taking men’s free will away; showing them only the beautiful, the perfect, the desirable. Lying to them.” Her lips twisted bitterly. “It’ll start a war up here, one that might even spread Underhill. I have to get it back. It’s my right, and my responsibility as its Bearer.”
He whistled thinly through his teeth as it finally clicked. Brisingamen. The magical necklace—the elf-forged necklace—that the Unseleighe and the humans allied with them had wanted over sixty years ago.
More important, it was the necklace his uncle had found and told him a few things about—piecemeal, in fits and starts—but had not explained how recent the find had been.
“And you’re the Bearer?” he asked quietly, unsure he’d heard correctly.
“Yes,” she spit out. “Not that I want the bloody thing, but …” She threw up her hands. “We didn’t have a lot of choice, back then. It was the Second World War—do you know anything about our wars?”
“Not very much,” he admitted.
“Suffice it to say that it was a very big war. Few could be trusted. And after my brother and Aelbrigr found this—when they knew the Nazis were hunting it—”
“I understand,” Kevranil said.
“Good, because I don’t,” she said bluntly. “The necklace needed a Bearer, quickly. I was elected. We took it, and hid it, but the Nazis kept sniffing it out. Finally, Aelbrigr and I went Underhill, while my brother laid a false trail.” She swallowed hard. “The Nazis killed him before he reached Abbéville.”
“I’m sorry,” Kevranil said. He wished he could do something to comfort Catriona, as waves and waves of utter despair washed over him. He felt like laying his head down and crying.
She shouldn’t be able to do this to me, he realized dimly. Even if I do like her too much for my own good, she barely knows that I exist.
He thought about what he knew about Lady Catriona. Not much, other than that she was beautiful. Oh, and she was a musician; she played several of the human instruments, Uncle Aelbrigr had told him proudly more than once. As it stood, she was the most unusual consort to any of the Sidhe he knew personally; one of the very few adult humans brought Underhill in the last two hundred years. He’d never known why; not even his uncle’s cryptic hints over the past few years had been enough to clue him in.
Now he understood.
The Bearer of Brisingamen couldn’t be left in the World Above, because Catriona was right—that necklace had started more than one war Kevranil could think of. And the Bearer of Brisingamen was powerful, even if she did nothing; people and events would converge around her, almost as if the necklace itself refused to lie fallow.
Kevranil drew a deep breath between clenched teeth. Was it because of the necklace that he’d been so drawn to Catriona? And if that was the case, how had Aelbrigr seen through the compulsions rumored to be on Brisingamen?
He wrenched his mind back to the task. It wasn’t just to get Catriona back, he could see now; it was to make absolutely sure that Brisingamen, her charge, would not fall into the wrong hands.
“Who stole it? And how?”
“As for who?” Catriona just shrugged. “Some strange elf; I didn’t recognize her. She didn’t feel like any of the Bright Court Elves I know.”
Kevranil stared at her. “Why not?”
“I saw her with my Talents, not my eyes,” Catriona snapped. “All I can tell you is that she just didn’t feel right.” She frowned. “It felt like chords clashing when she attacked Aelbrigr.” She thought a bit more. “And she felt dissonant, not consonant the way you Bright Elves do; I wish I could explain it better than that.”
“That’s all right,” Kevranil stammered. She has more power than I do; more than that, she might have Bardic power. She is a musician, and she can tell friend from foe by how they sound magically. And she sees the power as chords; my last teacher, Adonvael, said that was how he saw and manipulated energy. So she’s not just the Bearer of a powerful necklace, and she’s not just someone with an odd wild talent; she might be one of the most powerful magicians alive. Why has she hidden herself?
