A Strange and Ancient Name (20 page)

Hauberin and Alliar slipped from their horses and slid into the forest, Faerie eyes already adjusted to the night, intending with one accord to elude the inconvenient humans. They did escape most of the night-blind humans who, despite the moonlight, were blundering and crashing about, muttering curses and fumbling for the makings of torches. But, amazingly, baron and baroness kept pace, and when Hauberin glanced back over his shoulder, his gaze was met by Matilde’s intent stare. It was she who was following him, leading her stumbling husband; the woman must have astonishingly keen night vision for a human.

Hauberin turned away. Enough. He had warned them. He could do no more. Particularly not now, when the
feel
of alien Power was becoming so painful a throbbing in the air he could hardly think.

But behind that Power hid—what? A darkness that might be only an occult echo. And there was still something else . . . Heart racing, Hauberin fought to focus on that one elusive aura, praying,
No, it can’t be, it can’t . . .

Ach, the overwrought humans were making so much psychic noise he could barely think! The prince signaled sharply to them to wait and be silent, hoping they’d seen and would obey, then stole forward, Alliar a shadow at his side, to crouch hidden amid the bushes. Warily, Hauberin parted branches, Power surging before him . . .
 

For one confused instant he could only stare. Could
that
be its source? That crude circle of undeniably human-worked stones?

Ae, no. Whoever had placed the stones, however many ages past, had certainly been of arcane wisdom, and a circle was a potent Symbol in itself, but the true Power lay in the land beneath. In this magic-poor Realm, Hauberin realized, the Earth-force wasn’t evenly distributed. Instead, it surfaced only rarely, in dazzling, perilous upthrusts of Power like this one, calling and calling to him to draw its endless strength into his being . . .
 

Hauberin came back to himself with a gasp, shaking. No, oh no, he wasn’t going to try controlling something like that! This wasn’t the easy magic of Faerie, but raw, primal Power strong enough to blast him to the heart. Unstable Power that could all too easily erupt into—

The prince froze, thoughts trailing to silence. A tall, lean figure was stepping out from behind a stone, shrouded in night and the same dark echo of Power Hauberin had sensed earlier. But beneath the darkness was an all-too-familiar aura . . . Dimly, the prince heard the humans behind him gasping out, “Rogier!” But though the body facing him was human, the spirit animating it was unmistakably, undeniably: Serein!

Hauberin shot to his feet, quivering with horror. “Powers above, how many times must I kill you?”

“Ah, you
do
recognize me.” The voice was alien, the words pure Serein. “Never again, little cousin.” The man’s teeth flashed in a quick smile. “I set an elaborate trap, didn’t I, luring Raimond, luring you? Elaborate, but it worked.”

Hauberin blocked out the terrified inner voice screaming that all this was impossible, unnatural, Serein couldn’t possibly be here; it
was
possible, he
was
here, and the prince ignored his horror as best he could, thinking of Raimond’s irrational attack, the flash of sea-green eyes—“I wasn’t hallucinating. You really were possessing Raimond, weren’t you?”

Serein’s human body shrugged. “Briefly. Long enough.”

But Hauberin caught a hint of disquiet behind the words. He
felt
the trace of darkness lingering about Serein and fought down a sudden shudder, wondering aloud, “Now, what could be frightening you?”

“Nothing!” Serein snapped, a bit too quickly. “Look you, this is hardly the time for a leisurely chat.” His smile was cold. “I’m tired of this feeble human shell, cousin. Yours will suit me far, far better.”

Hauberin just barely managed to keep from starting. “Is
that
your plan? To go home in my place? The Dark you will!”

“How can you stop me? You can’t wield your pretty magicks here. And the body I wear is far more attuned to this Realm than yours, and—what do
you
want?”

A second figure—that little human sorcerer, by the Powers—had stolen out of shadow to tug at Serein’s sleeve, hissing, “My lord, wait. What about me? The moon and time are right; you promised me Power.”

Without taking his gaze from Hauberin, Serein shoved the sorcerer aside, so roughly the man nearly fell. “Yes, yes, do what you will. Just stay out of my way. And now, cousin, no more wasted time.”

What happened next happened in a blur of confusion.

Out of the comer of his eye, Hauberin glimpsed the sorcerer dragging a bound but savagely struggling Raimond into the circle, saw a knife flash in the little man’s hand even as—

—Baron Gilbert cried out, “Raimond!” and rushed forward, sword drawn, to slash at the sorcerer who was about to stab his sacrifice even as—

—Serein, eyes wild, drew Power up from the land in great waves of white hot flame surrounding him that—

—engulfed Hauberin’s own magic, drowning caution. His world all at once full of nothing but that Power, there was nothing he could do but pull it to him, ecstasy blazing along every nerve as the Earth-force responded to his magic and his human, native blood, surrounding him with more and yet more wild, glorious strength—

Too wild! That part of his mind clinging frantically to sanity knew neither he nor Serein could ever control so much force. Panicked, Hauberin struggled to draw free. But there was no longer any way to quiet what they’d called up, and the unstable Power was cresting—

In the instant of reason left to him, Hauberin seized the only escape he could find. Holding the wildfire at bay with all his strength of will, gasping with the strain, he caught Alliar by the arm (feeling Li catch his hair in a powerful grip at the same time), then abruptly dropped all resistance. As earth and sky erupted into one blaze of force, he let the unleashed Power recoil, hurling them out and away from peril—

Into darkness.

XVI

NOWHERE

Pain woke Hauberin. For a moment he lay sprawled where he’d fallen, eyes shut, feeling every nerve in his body protesting, and couldn’t remember what he might have been doing to make him hurt like this. Power . . . it had something to do with wild torrents of Power . . .
 

Oh, indeed! As memory returned in a rush, the prince swallowed drily, shaken by What Might Have Been. How lucky, how incredibly lucky, to have escaped that eruption of Earth-force with nothing worse than an aching mind and body!

Gradually, Hauberin regained enough self-control to will pain down to a muted throbbing. The last thing he could remember clearly was snatching Alliar’s arm and feeling the two of them being hurled aside like chips of wood on the crest of a wave. Obviously they’d survived, and landed here—

Here? Where? The prince opened his eyes a cautious crack, and looked up at a canopy of perfectly ordinary-seeming leaves far overhead, and beyond that, glimpses of luminous sky that might have been sunless or simply overcast. The air was warm and soft, smelling of sweet vegetation. The light was the clear, pale blue of mortal twilight, but there was a . . .
feel . . .
to it all that reminded him almost of Faerie. For the first time in however many days, the sense of
heaviness
weighing down his spirit was nearly gone. This was never the human Realm; there was magic here.

“Alliar?”
the prince asked in wary mind-speech.
“Are you all right?”

“Mm,”
came the groggy response, and then a more coherent,
“Yes. I think so.”
After an instant, the being added laconically,
“That was
not
the way I would have chosen to travel.”

“Better than staying to be crushed.”

“Oh, agreed! But where are we?”

“I haven’t the slightest . . .”
Hauberin broke off as he felt a hand still clamped tightly on his hair.
“Ah, Li, you can let go now.”

The prince opened his eyes fully to see the being looking at him—from the other side of a small glade. With a startled yelp, Hauberin twisted aside, jerking his hair painfully free of the unknown, and sprang to his feet, staring down at: “Baroness Matilde!”

The young woman, hair and riding dress disheveled, moaned faintly in protest. Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked up at him, gaze soft and unfocused. But that gaze quickly sharpened in alarm, and Matilde struggled to sit up (Hauberin winced as strands of black hair fell from her hands). “My lord! Where is everyone?” Her voice rose, sharp with panic. “Where are
we?
It was full night a moment ago, yet now—what is this place?”

“Gently, now,” the prince soothed, “gently. You’re in no danger.” He waited till she seemed to have regained most of her composure, then continued carefully, “Where, I don’t know yet. As to what . . .” He hesitated, remembering her rear of things arcane. “That’s not going to be easy to explain.”

Matilde impatiently tossed a tangled red braid back over her shoulder, fixing him with a rigid stare. “I’m not a frightened child. Be honest.”

“How much of what you saw back in the stone circle did you understand?”

“You and Rogier—but . . . that . . . wasn’t really Rogier, was it?”

“No.”

Her fierce gaze faltered. “Possession . . . ? A . . . demon?”

“A kinsman,” Hauberin said drily.

“What—”

“Look you, I’ll be blunt and try not to alarm you too much: That circle marked a site of Power, magical Power. Between us, my cousin and I loosed more of that Power than we could control. The eruption threw me, Alliar and—since you were clinging to me—you here.”

Her eyes were very wide. “Magic . . .”

But Hauberin abruptly waved her to silence. Both he and Alliar stiffened, listening.
“We’re not alone,”
the being said.

“I know.”
Strolling casually to the thick, glossy green foliage surrounding the glade, Hauberin toyed idly with a leaf, then pounced with Faerie speed. There was a squeal, a thrashing, and then the prince was straightening with his squirming catch. Small and thin, nearly light as a bird in his hands, the creature was wizened and brown as bark, clad in bright scraps of cloth, sharply slanted of wild green eyes, sharply pointed of face and ears. It—he—could only be some manner of forest sprite—Ah, of course. Hauberin identified him from his mother’s tales: a
lutin,
a mischievous, chaotic little being. The
lutin
writhed feverishly in Hauberin’s grip, blurring, shifting hastily from sprite to snake to giant spider and back again, trying to pull free, trying to bite, and the prince gave him a shake and a stern: “Stop that!”

He’d said it without thinking in the Faerie tongue. The
lutin
froze, feral eyes widening, and twisted about to stare up at his captor. “One o’ tha High Ones!” The dialect was strange, but unmistakably of Faerie. “Forgive me, lord. I didna know you.”

Stunned, Hauberin said, “This isn’t a Faerie Realm. How can you know the language?”

“Sa, sa, tha High One sports wi’ me. Surely he knows where he is.” The creature smiled ingratiatingly up at Hauberin. “Let me go, High One. I sha’ na run, na till you gi’ me leave.”

Seeing the mischief darting in those bright eyes, Hauberin had his doubts, but he let the
lutin
slip to the ground. The little being stared boldly up at him, hands on hips, head to one side, then glanced at Alliar and the wide-eyed Matilde and grinned impudently. “Faerie lord, wind-thing, human, all t’gether—what a fine confusion!”

“Indeed. Now tell me how it is you speak a Faerie tongue.”

“Why, surely tha High One knows this is Nulle Part.”

“Nowhere.” Hauberin repeated the human word flatly. “Small one, if this is a jest . . .”

The creature shook his head impatiently. “We stand in Nulle Part: na mortal land, na Faerie, but so close to both. Clever folk”—the
lutin’s
grin left no doubt he was including himself in that category—” “travel there and here again whenever we find tha paths.”

Matilde got slowly to her feet, never taking her gaze from the
lutin.
“Nowhere?” She’d caught that one human word. “Is he saying this isn’t a real land at all?”

“So it would seem.” Hauberin glanced at the
lutin,
who was beaming at Matilde with honest, earthy enjoyment. “You speak the human tongue, small one, don’t you? Then answer the lady.”

The
lutin
shrugged and easily switched languages. “We had tha mortal lands once,” he told her, his alien accent thick. “Then came ye, tha human-ones, and brought tha bitter metal wi’ ye.” He spat.

Matilde glanced helplessly at Hauberin.
“ ‘Bitter metal’ . . . ?”

“Iron.” The prince couldn’t quite keep the distaste from his voice. “And so the magical beings retreated, eh, sprite?” As the creature nodded, Hauberin mused, “They evidently couldn’t find their way into true Faerie; maybe they were too closely tied to mortal lands for that. But they could reach this little not-land.” He smiled, savoring the
feel
of the air. “This little pocket of magic.”

The baroness has gone very pale. “You knew, didn’t you, my lord?” she murmured. “You knew about the magic from the start.”

Hauberin sighed. “Lady, I think we’re past the point of pretense. If you know what I am—”

“A High One,” the
lutin
cut in, eyes alive with mischief, and dodged Alliar’s swat. “One a’ tha Faerie-kin,” he called out, suddenly scampering away.

“Wait,” Hauberin commanded, “I haven’t given you leave—Stop!” But the little thing only laughed. The prince swore under his breath:
Trust a lutin . . .
“He’s headed your way, Li! Stop him!”

Hampered by pseudo-human form, Alliar was still almost as quick as the sprite—almost. For a time it looked very much like a tall, two-legged cat trying to trap a particularly elusive mouse. But then Alliar made one desperate, full-length lunge. The giggling
lutin
wiggled out from under the being’s outstretched arms, and vanished into the forest. Alliar disappeared with a crash into a mass of bushes, only to emerge again after a stunned moment, scratched and empty-handed, brushing off leaves and twigs. “I missed. He’s gone.”

“Damn.” The Realm-travelling little creature could have shown them a path back to mortal lands. But as he glanced at his panting, rumpled friend, the prince forgot his frustration, cherishing the thought of that leafy dive: one of the few times he’d caught Alliar being flesh-and-blood clumsy. “You gave it a gallant try,” Hauberin said, struggling not to laugh.

Alliar’s bow dripped sarcasm.

“My lords?” asked the bewildered Matilde, and Hauberin turned to her with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She didn’t look at all comforted. “What was that . . . being?”

“A
lutin.
A small, sentient fragment of the forest’s life-force. Nothing to frighten you, for all his strangeness. Those little ones are mischief incarnate, but there’s no real harm to any of them.”

“Wh-what he said about you wasn’t a lie, was it? The old tales say magic creatures can’t lie.”

“They can’t,” Hauberin admitted, then paused, considering her. “But you didn’t need the
lutin’s
help, did you? You already knew the truth about me.”

“I’d guessed.” Matilde’s voice was very soft. “I just didn’t believe. Not really. Till now.”

“But you never said a word to your husband.”

“Oh, God! Do you really think he would have believed me? ‘My lord husband, our guest isn’t human, but a—a being out of—’ ” She gave a strangled little laugh. “I didn’t want to be locked away as a madwoman, or b-burned as a witch.” Matilde’s eyes were wild, but she continued resolutely, “Don’t worry, my lord, I’m not about to collapse into hysterics. If I started screaming now, I d-don’t think I’d be able to stop. But that wouldn’t get me back to husband and home. You’re the only one who can return me, and you . . . you . . .” She shivered suddenly, hugging her arms about herself. “You truly are of Faerie. You aren’t human.”

“Yes to the first, not exactly to the second. Lady,” Hauberin said gently, “even as truthfulness binds the sprite, so it binds me. I never lied to you or your husband. I mean no harm to you or any of your kin. My name really is Hauberin. And my rank is . . . high enough.”

“High enough,” Alliar muttered. “He’s a prince, lady, the ruler of his land.”

Matilde’s eyes widened even more. “But what in the name of all that’s holy were you doing in our castle?”

Hauberin glanced a warning to Alliar. “I thought I was merely . . . tracing my ancestry. It would seem I was hunting my cousin as well.” He paused, listening to the forest about them, suddenly uneasy. The dim blue twilight hadn’t darkened and the air remained mild, but there was the scent of approaching night to it. The things that might walk Nulle Part after dark wouldn’t be as harmless as a forest sprite, and he wasn’t quite sure how much of this non-land’s Power he could wield. “Much as I’d love to answer the rest of your questions, I think we’d better find a secure spot to make camp first, and start gathering firewood.”

Matilde bit her lip. “Is that necessary? Can’t you just use your . . . art to take us home?”

Hauberin hesitated. His travel-spell would surely work well enough even from . . . Nowhere to transport them safely to Faerie. But what was he to do with Matilde? He supposed a true Faerie lord—pitiless and practical—would simply keep her there, whether she willed it or not. That was certainly the simplest solution, because if he didn’t return her from Faerie to her precise time, if he made the slightest error, she would die of sudden old age.

And yet, the thought of keeping this brave, bright lady a virtual prisoner . . . Nulle Part, for all its magic, was a direct offshoot of the mortal Realm; it existed in very nearly the same time-frame. If they traveled back to Matilde’s land from here, there wouldn’t be any temporal problems.

Oh yes, if.

The prince sighed. “I could take you home,” he said honestly, “if only I knew exactly where we are. Ah lady, don’t worry! Either Alliar or I will puzzle it out soon enough.”

“Optimist.”

“Hush.”
Hauberin looked about him. “I think this is as safe a site for a camp as we’re likely to find; with empty space on all sides, nothing can steal up on us. Let’s gather our firewood before night falls.” He paused. “I don’t think I have to warn anyone about taking only dead branches?”

The trees, like the rest of Nulle Part, were an intriguing mixture of Earthly and Other. As they foraged in the underbrush, Hauberin keeping a protective eye on the human woman, the prince’s attention was caught by a bush of bright red berries that looked very much like
ailaitha,
native to his own lands. Hauberin knelt by the bush, murmuring the words of an identification spell, then sat back on his heels with a pleased smile. Not only had the spell worked—almost as easily as it would have in Faerie—but this was indeed an
ailaitha
bush, the seeds presumably scattered by one of the Realm-wandering sprites. Alliar probably didn’t need food yet, but he and Matilde did. At least they wouldn’t have to fast this night.

Now, what could he use to hold the berries? A basket magicked out of leaves? If Matilde had a scarf or kerchief, that would be much simpler.

“Ah, lady,” Hauberin began, then froze. “Lady!”

“Oh come, look.” The woman’s voice was soft and crooning. “I’ve found a puppy, and I think the poor thing’s hurt.”

A puppy? Here? Warily, Hauberin moved to where Matilde crouched in the underbrush. Something whimpered and wriggled at his approach, staring up at him with big, frightened eyes. The prince raised a surprised brow. This funny, snub-nosed little creature really
was
a pup, looking very much like those baby hounds-to-be he’d seen tumbling about the baron’s castle, all awkward paws and scraggly fur.

But . . . what was a blatantly mortal pup doing here? Hauberin glanced up at Matilde, and saw her normal keen eyes clouded over with softness—or enchantment. And all at once the prince remembered that human inn, and the innkeeper mentioning, too lightly, tales of magical creatures:
“. . . like the
galipote,
who can make himself look like your favorite hound, just waitin for you to turn your back.”