A Strange and Ancient Name (7 page)

“But who else could you possibly—”

“No one.” Hauberin paused. “Except myself.”

“You! But—You—That’s too dangerous! Leaving the throne at a time when Ereledan—Charailis—By the Winds, think! As soon as they knew you were gone, they would declare you dead, and you would return to find your throne usurped and some quiet assassin waiting—”

“Hush, now. I’m not a complete fool, Li, truly I’m not.”

“But—”

“My father used to go off into other Realms whenever the whim took him, without needing to worry about throne or life. I’ve studied his scrolls. And now I know how he did it: Time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You know that time flows at different speeds in different Realms. My father found the magics to play all manner of tricks with those speeds. He could spend long moon-cycles of mortal time in mortal lands, and have them translate into only a day or even less of Faerie time.”

“But can you do that? Have you ever even tried?”

“No,” Hauberin admitted. “But I have a firm grip on how his magics work.”

“You hope.”

“I know. Li, Li, have I a choice? Can you think of a better idea?”

“What I think, my friend,” Alliar said bluntly, “is that you’ve gone giddy from lack of sleep.”

Hauberin stifled a yawn, wondering if he dared try that fatigue-banishing spell yet again. No, he decided reluctantly. Casting it again so soon would either have no effect at all, or hit his mind with enough psychic backlash to leave him in coma. “Probably,” he admitted belatedly. “But that doesn’t change the facts.”

“Yes, but I—you told me I didn’t know enough about being human to pass. Well and good, but do you? My prince, you’ve lived in Faerie all your life. Just because your mother happened to be human doesn’t make you an authority on the race!”

“Granted. But I do remember almost everything my mother told me about her people and their customs. Yes, I know, that hardly makes me adept. But I do know human ways better than anyone else at court, give me that much.” Seeing the being’s blatant skepticism, the prince added defensively, “And I do speak the human language well enough. You know that; I’ve practiced it on you often enough.”

“True,” Alliar conceded with a quick laugh. “You’ve made
me
fluent in it! Ae, but that doesn’t wipe away the danger. To go into a human Realm . . . You once told me that humans hold even their own witches in low regard.”

“Low regard! They think them spawns of Evil.”

“Oh, that truly puts my mind at ease! If you make a mistake, reveal your talents—”

“I won’t.”

“Mm. And for all your ‘exotic’ coloring, my prince, you just don’t look particularly human.”

“My own mother had slanted eyes, Li, and these high cheekbones.”

“And how do you plan to explain those? Or do human ears vary wildly in shape, too?”

Hauberin touched one elegantly pointed ear with a light fingertip. “They’re not all
that
different.”

“Huh!”

“Besides, my hair is long enough and thick enough to hide them. And no one would believe what he or she might chance to glimpse.” He grinned. “After all, what human would ever believe a creature of Faerie would be brash enough to walk among them? In broad daylight, to boot.”

“That’s another point. Sunlight doesn’t bother me. What about you?”

“I can bear it. Inherited protection from my mother. All I need worry about is avoiding iron.”

“Lightly said, considering your mother’s culture is based on it!” The being sighed. “At least iron can’t hurt me.”

“You! Li, I told you—”

“Not to go alone. I have no intention of letting you go alone, either. Come now, you hardly thought I’d let a friend go wandering off into who-knows-what all by himself!’

Hauberin forced a smile. “I don’t suppose there’s any way to stop you.”

“Short of outright imprisonment, no.”

“And that, I would never do.” This time the yawn escaped before Hauberin could stop it. All at once he realized that his legs wouldn’t support him. He sank to a bench just in time, Alliar at his side. Feeling as though his words were coming from a vast distance, the prince forced out, “Then . . . thank you, my friend. I . . . will be . . . glad of your . . . company . . .”

The last shred of the fatigue-banishing spell dissolved. As suddenly as a child, the exhausted Hauberin fell into a warm black ocean of sleep. And this time there was no room for dreams.

VI

ALARMS AND EXCURSIONS

Alliar leaned nervously over Hauberin’s shoulder, shifting softly from foot to foot as the prince tried to concentrate, breathing down his neck until Hauberin turned with an impatient hiss and seized the being by the shoulders, moving Alliar firmly to one side. Undeterred, the being asked, yet again, “Are you sure this is going to work, my prince?”

“Yes, Alliar. I am.”

“But if the spell isn’t precise, we could wind up lost, or—or in a place not even tangible enough to be lost
in
—”

“The spell is precise.”

“Yes, but what about you? Can you control it? I mean, you didn’t get all that much sleep out there on the terrace—”

“More than I’m likely to get indoors, things being the way they are. And conditions aren’t likely to get much better
if
we simply stay here. Alliar, please.” The last thing Hauberin would have expected from a wind spirit was nerves.
As if I wasn’t nervous enough for the two of us.
But he dare not give in to nerves, or to any other strong emotion, not if he meant to control the magic he was about to release. “If you would rather not come with me . . .”

“I never said that.”

“Then, hush. Let me concentrate.”

The spell-words were remarkably simple. As Hauberin spoke them, he felt a shiver of amazement at how swiftly Power was building about him, surging almost before he was ready for it. He couldn’t hold it in place much longer; something . . . must . . . happen . . .

Yes! All at once the air before his eyes had turned translucent, shimmering eerily. A doorway between Realms had opened, and so easily the prince knew a moment’s sheer wonder at his father’s skill in spell design.

But then the doorway was drawing him in, whether he willed it or not, and Alliar with him, submerging them in a whirlpool of not-color, not-sound, not-shape. For a brief, terrified moment, Hauberin wanted to pull back, to cancel the Power, to cry out, childishly,
No, I’m not going, I changed my mind.

But of course it was already too late for that, and . . .

###

. . . in the next moment, they were stepping out upon solid ground once more, ground carpeted with moss and a litter of dead leaves.

Hauberin’s first clear thought was a bemused,
Well, what do you know? It worked.
There was air for his lungs to breathe, a forest all about him, as the arcane doorway closed behind him.

“Ah . . . my prince?” Alliar, sleek and sexless, stood uneasy at his side, clinging to both their packs. “Where are we?”

“I’m . . . not quite sure yet,” Hauberin admitted honestly. “Somewhere in my mother’s Realm.”
I . . . hope.
“I was merely following my father’s spell-coordinates.”

Alliar glanced thoughtfully up at one stout tree. “That looks tall enough. Shall I see if I can find out where we are?” At Hauberin’s nod, the being swarmed up the tree as swiftly as any squirrel, disappearing from sight amid the thick roof of leaves. The prince waited below, thanking the Powers they had landed anywhere tangible at all. It had been a damnably foolish thing to do, risking a new spell like that—and one so Powerful and potentially dangerous—without any prior experimentation; he really
must
have been mind-fogged to try it.

But it had worked, no doubt about it. More important, he could feel the knowledge of how to get home again staying, safe, there at the back of his mind, ready to be retrieved whenever he needed it. At least, mused Hauberin, he had been awake enough back in his palace to teach the spell to Alliar as well, just in case.

He wasn’t sleepy now. Someone really should have listed Realm-changing as a means of banishing fatigue. As he stood breathing in mortal air for the first time in his life, the prince felt as rested and whole as though he’d slept the day around.

Whole in body, at any rate. Now that his mind had recovered from the transfer of Realms, he was growing increasingly aware that there was a peculiar sense of
lack
hanging heavily about him, weighing on his spirit. It was almost, he thought in a surge of panic, as though he’d lost one of his senses, not anything as simple as sight or hearing . . .

Then Hauberin realized the lack wasn’t in himself, but in the Realm. In Faerie, magic shimmered in the very air. He didn’t doubt this Realm held magic, too; every living world must, to some degree. But here, whatever Power there might be was far more subtle than any he knew, more difficult to touch.

Hopefully he wouldn’t need to touch it.

Not that there seemed to be anything menacing about this forest. Hauberin guessed he and Alliar had arrived in mid-afternoon, though he couldn’t be sure; the light here was strange, somehow flat and lifeless. The colors about him, brown of tree, green of leaf and mossy ground, were . . . darker, less alive, though not without a beauty of their own, like the colors of an ancient painting gone deep-hued and mysterious with age.

If the air wasn’t the crystal-bright wine of Faerie, at least it was clean and green-scented, cool beneath the rippling ceiling of leaves. Hauberin spent a moment bemused at the novelty of shadow by daylight; there were no shadows in sunless Faerie, with its directionless light, save for those cast at night by the moon or those cast by flames. Then he pushed back the folds of his cloak (good, thick stuff, as close to mortal weave as he could find, as were his plain brown tunic, leggings, and boots) to rest a hand on the trunk of the tree up which Alliar had scrambled, staring up and up its height to the point where bark greenish-gray in shadow became most intriguingly dappled with a gold that must surely be mortal sunlight.

“Alliar?”

“Here, my prince.” The being came speeding lightly down, barely touching foot to branch, landing soundlessly at Hauberin’s side. “Ah, but it’s beautiful up there; forest and forest in a carpet of a hundred greens, and the sky lovely blue for all the garish sunlight.”

“Nothing but forest?”
Ae, that couldn’t be right!

“Far to the—north? This sun goes from east to west? To the north, then, there’s a great hill, and someone’s fortress brooding on the crest.”

“Ah! Describe it.”

“The fortress or the hill?”

“Both.” In sudden impatience, Hauberin glanced up the tree, wondering if he could make the climb and see for himself.

“Ae, no, my prince! The upper branches are too thin to hold even your weight. Come, here’s the fortress.”

They touched minds, sharing the image, saw the hill, its grim spurs of weathered rock thrusting up from grassy roundness.
Yes,
thought Hauberin,
a rounded hill; yes, it could be
. . .
And the fortress?

But even with Alliar’s sharp wind spirit sight, it had seemed only a confused jumble of gray stone walls and crenellated towers. “There was some sort of banner on the tallest tower,” the being added.

“Couldn’t you make out the insignia?”

“Without a breeze to unfold the crumpled thing?” Alliar’s tone was reproachful. “There
are
limits.”

“Of course.” Hauberin sighed. “It
might
be the castle my father described. I don’t remember him mentioning it being quite so elaborate, but the humans would have had . . . who knows how many years of their time to rebuild.”

Alliar glanced at him in alarm. “I trust we’re not too far into their future?”

“No, no, my mother’s kin should still be very much alive. I didn’t dare focus the mortal-time aspects of the spell much more tightly; I don’t
think
we would have run into any time paradoxes, but . . .”

“Paradoxes like meeting your mother before she’d met your father?”

Hauberin nodded. “And just possibly negating myself in the process. If only he’d been more specific about
where
he met her!”

“He could hardly have expected you to make a—a pilgrimage to the spot.”

“Granted. Were there any other signs of human life?”

“A few traces of smoke along the way, from chimneys, I suppose. And there was a regular break in the trees that hints at a road.” Alliar grinned. “A most conveniently northbound road.”

Hauberin grinned back. “Sorry, I can’t take credit for it; it’s just a fortunate coincidence. Come, my friend, north we go.” The prince lightly shouldered his pack, more carefully shouldered his elegant little harp; no one of Faerie travelled without music. “Ah—aren’t you forgetting something, Li?”

“Eh?” The being glanced down at smooth, patently sexless flesh, then up again, with a rueful grin. “Oh. Of course. They’d think me a demon like this, wouldn’t they?”

The sleek golden form lengthened, broadened, blurred. Hauberin blinked, dazzled, then nodded, calling out corrections: “A little taller . . . Yes. Less muscling to those arms . . . Ah. Good.”

He smiled at the final result: a very likely imitation of a human male, convincingly strong of build and half a head taller than the prince, dusky gold of hair, beard, and apparently well-tanned skin. Face and form were pleasant but unmemorable; Alliar had no intention of attracting too much attention. “Nicely done, Li.”

“Of course,” Alliar agreed smugly. The being settled into a blank-eyed trance for a moment, then came out of it with a shiver like a dog shaking water from its fur. “There. I’ve set the shape in my memory. No chance of absentmindedly losing it now.”

The being quickly settled into the unfamiliar human-styled clothing Hauberin handed over from Alliar’s pack, then took the pack itself, adjusting easily to its weight in this strong new shape. The prince, with mock solemnity, proffered sword and swordbelt over his arm. “Your weapon, milord.”

Alliar made him an elegantly formal bow, then spoiled the effect by adding plaintively, “If you wanted to go castle-viewing, did we really have to land so far away?”

“I cut it as closely as I dared.” Hauberin raised a wry eyebrow. “Would you rather we’d materialized inside a wall?”

“Ugh. No. But if we’re to wander in the wilderness, we should at least have brought horses.”

“And expose Faerie beasts to sunlight? Come, watch, lazy one. I’ll provide for us.”

The prince gathered a double handful of twigs from the forest floor, grinning at Alliar’s confusion. Now I bind them together, so . . . These reeds should do the trick.”

“What
are
you doing? That looks like the framework for two little house-models: four rafters, two ridgepoles . . .”

“Hush, Li.” Hauberin was busy adding new twigs to his constructions. “They’re not
house
models, they’re
horse
models, and this is a spell my far-distant kin the wood elves are supposed to use whenever they need transport. Now, then . . .”

It wasn’t a very Powerful spell, and shouldn’t be affected by the lack of magic in this Realm. The words of it didn’t mean too much to him; he wasn’t well-acquainted with the odd, antique dialect. But that didn’t matter; the words were just a focus for the will, and the Power was gathering nicely. When it reached its peak, he cast it forth into the shaping—

And where two twig models had stood were now two full-sized horses, shadowy and vague at first, then tangible as any born of mare. If their eyes were dull, if their manes and tails looked more like tufts of wilted grass than hair, what matter? They were illusion made solid, and with a little laugh of triumph, Hauberin vaulted up onto the back of one—

And fell ignominiously right through the suddenly dissolving thing, landing on the ground with a thud. The astonished prince scrambled to his feet, too proud to rub his sore rump, staring at two crumpled bundles of twigs as Alliar burst into laughter.

“That’s right. Laugh at your prince.”

“Of—of course!” the being gurgled. “You sh-should have seen yourself! Lying there with—with a bunch of twigs clutched in your hand, staring like an—an owl in daylight—”

“Daylight! Of course!” Hauberin wasn’t about to give Alliar the satisfaction of hearing him admit how foolish he felt. “None of the elf-folk can stand the touch of daylight, and neither can their enchantments. Eh well, I suppose we’ll be able to purchase earthly horses when we reach a human settlement.”

The being raised both eyebrows. “Purchase?”

“Purchase. With silver. Not magicked leaves. Until I learn what I’m here to learn, I don’t want to cause any alarm.”

“Ay me, so be it.”

“And till we get those horses, it won’t hurt either of us to hike a bit.

Humor glinted in Alliar’s eyes. “No more harm than throwing ourselves on the ground, eh?”

Hauberin couldn’t hold back a grin. “Enough, enough. Let’s find that northbound road.”

They were both skilled enough in forest ways to move smoothly and swiftly through underbrush that would have checked mere human woodmen, and were soon stepping out onto the bare earthen road with no more sound than two deer would have made.

Hauberin froze. The interlaced ceiling of leaves was broken here and there over the road, and he felt a surge of intense Faerie curiosity. “Sunlight, Li! Sunlight, with nothing between earth and sky.”

“Yes, but don’t look—”

Hauberin had already glanced skyward, and stumbled back with a stifled yell of pain. Alliar’s hand shot out to steady him as the being finished lamely, “—directly at the sun. Are you all right?”

It was a moment before the prince could gasp out, “Yes.” He had flung both arms up instinctively for protection, and had to force himself to lower them again, blinking, seeing nothing but garish afterimages, eyes watering and aching. “So bright—how do they manage to live with something like
that
blazing down on them?”

“Not by trying to stare it in the eye,” Alliar said reproachfully. “Particularly not when your vision’s adjusted to dim forest light. I thought you’d done enough experiments to know better than that.”

“Obviously not.” Hauberin’s head still felt as though two darts had pierced it front to back, but he managed a rueful little laugh. “At least I wasn’t struck to dust like some night-thing. Ah no, Li, don’t worry. Just give me a bit for my sight to clear.” It . . . would clear, wouldn’t it?

The prince tensed, even as Alliar went suddenly alert at his side. “Now, have I damaged my hearing as well,” he murmured, “or do I hear hoofbeats?”