Darkthunder's Way (41 page)

A check down the hill showed the riders close behind.

Alec flung his door open and leapt out. David followed the same way, his own door blocked by splintered timber.

As they pounded up the rough gray steps, Uncle Dale dashed out from the gloom inside. “What in blue-blazes is a-goin’ on?” he hollered. He was as angry as David had ever seen him.

“It’s the Sidhe,” David panted. “Quick, inside!” He shoved Alec through the door, dragged his uncle in afterwards.

“’Bout
time
you got here, David Sullivan!” a female voice drawled from the sofa.

“Liz! What’re you—?” David began, his heart beating double from conflicting emotions that flip-flopped once more as a familiar black-haired figure dashed in from the kitchen with a paring knife in his hand.

“And
Calvin
!
I—”

Hooves sounded in the yard. Metal rustled. Someone coughed, a horse snuffled, and then there was silence but for the sudden whistle of wind.

Alec tugged the curtains aside and gazed out—and froze. “It’s too late, folks,” he managed, and buried his face in his hands.

David eased him aside and took his place. And felt the hair rise up along his arms and legs.

For the whole yard was fenced by a line of mounted Faery warriors in jet-black mail. Tall they were, and black-helmed so that David could not see their faces. But the livery—golden suns-in-splendor emblazoned on the black velvet surcotes revealed by their billowing cloaks—marked them as Lugh’s personal guard. Their ranks continued out of sight to either side, probably encircling the house. As one they reached to their hips, and as one laid naked black swords crossways across the pommels of their saddles.

“What do we do now?” Alec whispered.

“We wait,” David replied, as Liz came up behind him and made her own recognizance. “That’s all we
can
do.”

But he could not help another glance; and so he saw a man detach himself from the ranks and urge his black stallion two paces nearer. He did not look familiar, though it was hard to tell for the ornate nasal and cheek guards that hid most of his face, but he alone wore a sun disk centered on the front of his conical helm. Evidently he was the captain.

“Alexander McLean,” the man called clearly in burred and accented English. “In the name of Lugh Samildinach, High King of the Daoine Sidhe in Tir-Nan-Og, I demand that you surrender!”

Chapter XXIV: Words on the Winds

(Sullivan Cove
, Georgia—Friday, August 24—late afternoon)

“So what do we do?” Alec said at last. “We can’t wait here forever.”

David dropped the curtain and swung around to face him. “No,” he said grimly, “but
they
can.”

“Why don’t they do something, then? There’s a zillion of them and only five of us!”

David shrugged and surveyed the worried group ranged around his uncle’s living room: Alec by the fireplace, fidgeting with the poker; Dale himself on the sofa; Calvin now peering out the front door—apparently he’d come by for supper and pitched in to help; and Liz beside him, having arrived early and walked over with a batch of fudge, leaving her car at his folks’ place. What shitty luck that was, too; here she’d come home expecting to carry him off to a movie and found herself up to her neck in disaster instead.

As if reading his mind, she took his hand. Her eyes were fearful, but the set of her jaw was firm. “Looks like I’ve walked into a frying pan that’s just been turned on high,” she said philosophically. “I guess my timing’s not real good, is it?”

“No,” David said dully. “I’m sorry.” Her grip tightened, and he kissed her forehead.

“You wanta tell us what’s goin’ on?” Calvin inquired with a touch of sarcasm, having finished his surveillance.

“I better do it,” Alec sighed, “since it’s my fault we’re in this.” As quickly as he could he briefed them. Fortunately David had told his uncle the gist of their story that afternoon, and Calvin had apparently just told Liz a fair bit as well, so there was no need to back up that far.

“Whew,” Calvin said when Alec had finished, “but you’ve got a point. What
are
they waiting for? I mean we’re obviously not goin’ anywhere.”

“Your guess, man,” David replied. “No, wait!” he added suddenly, his voice rising with excitement. “I’ve got it! The Sidhe can’t enter a dwelling without permission; there’s some kind of taboo against it. As long as there’re walls and a roof, we’re safe.” He tried to make his words sound more hopeful than he felt.

“But that’s
stupid
!”
Alec cried. “Half the windows are open anyway.”

“So’s the chimney,” David replied quickly. “So was the one at my house when the Sidhe were after Little Billy last year, though I never thought about it. I thought it was the steel in the screens, but that small amount wouldn’t bother ’em if they were really out to get you.”

Liz’s brow wrinkled uncertainly. “So you think that’s all that’s holding them off? A simple no-no?”

“What else could it be?”

“Taboos can be pretty strong stuff,” Calvin noted.

“Maybe you’re right,” Alec said slowly. “When you remove the impossible, whatever’s left, no matter how unlikely, is true.”

“Or something to that effect.”

“Which leads me back to my first question:
what’re we gonna do
?”

“Well,” David said, gazing thoughtfully at his friend, “I reckon the first thing is to talk to ’em. Find out exactly what it is they think you’ve done.”

“I
know
what I’ve done.”

“But do the Sidhe know—precisely?”

Alec shook his head helplessly and slumped down on the hearth.

“No, David!” Liz cried, as David eased out of her grasp and started toward the door. “Don’t go out there!”

Calvin stepped forward to intercept him, but David fixed him with a glare and he froze.

“Wait,” Dale said, rising abruptly to block the opening with a wiry arm while Calvin looked on, scowling. “You
sure
’bout this, boy? Maybe I oughta be the one to do the talkin’.”

“The hell you are!” David flared, reaching past him for the knob. “It’s gotta be me. I’ve got more experience in bargaining with the Sidhe than anybody here.”

Anger sparked briefly in the old man’s eyes, but then his face softened. “Well that’s a fact,” he said at last, still unmoving. “Ain’t too smart to try to bargain mad, though.”

David regarded the insubstantial barrier of his uncle’s flesh. “But what else can I do?”

“Whatever you think’s best, I reckon—but keep a close watch on your tongue—and be careful.”

“You got it.”

The old man grunted and lowered his arm.

David gave him a quick hug, squared his shoulders, turned the knob, and eased onto the porch.

Wind bit at him, unexpectedly cold and cruel. What he first thought was thunder was the crack and rip of the riders’ satin cloaks billowing unrestrained before the hissing gusts; lightning was frightened rays of sunlight glancing off gold-toned gems on helms and reins and weapons. Behind the horsemen, the ancient cedars that bordered the yard twisted like corkscrews in fey whirlwinds that seemed determined to suck away the very air. The sky above the mountains was a tumble of clouds dark as the riders’ clothing and as ominously shiny. It was, he thought, exactly like the first tentative forays of a monstrous storm, and he had seen what the Sidhe could do with the weather. In spite of himself, he shivered as he strode to the top of the steps.

The captain raised his head a fraction and urged his horse forward a step. His eyes blazed beneath his visor. “You are not the one we requested,” he said coldly.

“No,” David replied, his eyes flashing warning as the man brought his mount another pace closer. They were no more than ten feet apart, now; and nearly at eye level. “Alec McLean is his own man,” David continued, trying to choose his words with utmost care. “He can come and go as he pleases—and we won’t give him up unless we know what crime he’s committed.”

“That crime you know yourself,” the captain told him. “Had you
not
known, you would not have feared; had you not feared, you would not have fled. Guilt is an easy thing to read in a Mortal’s face—or actions.”

David swallowed thickly. “I…I’d still like to know the charge.”

The Faery glared at him contemptuously, and David suddenly realized that a cold dread was creeping into him, the return of a long-banished nightmare. Barely a year ago it had been, when he had stood in the woods no more than a mile from here and bargained with Ailill for possession of Little Billy. He’d stumbled into their World then; the Sidhe were in his now, and he had learned a great deal in that year. But suddenly he was once more a teenage boy finding himself completely outgunned. Well, he’d begun it; now he had to brazen it out.

“The charge,” David repeated as clearly as he could. He clenched his jaw to keep it from shaking, and not alone from the cold.

“Very well,” the captain said. “The charge is treason against Tir-Nan-Og.” As if to reinforce his accusation, the wind picked up another notch. Somewhere something wooden slammed into metal. A brick dislodged from the chimney and smashed onto the tin below.

“What
kind
of treason?” David found himself shouting
over a particularly strong gust that made the whole porch rattle.

“He has delivered Fionchadd mac Ailill to the enemy.”

“
Alec
did?” David laughed, much to his surprise. “And how, may I ask, did he do that? He’s certainly no sorcerer. Shoot, he doesn’t even
like
you folks—or magic. Science is his thing, for God’s sake; he’d forget all about you guys if he could. You don’t fit his worldview.”

“Would that we could forget him as well,” the captain replied. “But he it was betrayed Fionchadd; the seeing-disk showed the act. Would you behold our proof?”

Without waiting for an answer the Faery reached into his surcote and produced a familiar-looking gold-and-crystal object, mouthed a Word, and held it out in his palm. The wind did not disturb the image as it expanded and showed David what he had hoped not to see.

It was their sleeping chamber in Uki’s cave. The walls and ceiling showed vaguely; the dimness of the strange, furtive lighting marking it as night. Familiar shapes lay about, snuggled in piles of furs. David recognized himself, and Alec next to him—an Alex who was suddenly rising, who had a strange glint in his eyes as he crept forward, reached under Fionchadd’s tunic, removed the daggers and exchanged their shapes by the use of Power he should not have had, then crept away once more.

“Oh my God!” David whispered hopelessly, aware by a gasp of dismay that Alec was now standing in the halfopen doorway behind him. “The bad thing.”

“A bad thing indeed,” the captain acknowledged as he banished the image and secreted the disk. “And a worse thing if you do not surrender him. He alone can name the traitor amongst us.”

“You still haven’t told us what happened to Fionchadd,” David noted, though he had a pretty good idea.

“Is it not obvious?” the captain hissed. “That dagger took him not to the land of the Powersmiths but back to the seas of Faerie by a route we did not suspect. Finvarra caught him there. He holds him hostage in exchange for the lady Morwyn whom he has already claimed. He threatens the Death of Iron for Fionchadd if she does not accede. No one returns from that twice.”

David could feel the hair start to crawl on the back of his neck. He swallowed again and cleared his throat. “So what you really need,” he managed, “is to know who betrayed Alec. Well, that’s easy enough: it was—”

“Davy,
no
!” Alec screamed, hurling himself across the porch to clamp a hand across David’s mouth. The Sidhe raised their swords warily, but Alec had already dragged David inside. Never had he felt so much strength in Alec’s grip or heard so much raw fury in his voice.

“What the hell are you
doing
?” David yelled furiously as the wind sucked the door closed behind them and they tumbled together onto the rug. Dale and Calvin were on Alec in an instant, dragging him back, prying at the hands that still clamped unnaturally tight around David. Liz hauled at David himself, and with her aid he managed to wrench away from his friend, whose suddenly murderous grip had only barely lessened in spite of two men’s efforts. Alec’s eyes, when David saw them, were blazing with anger—and, he feared, something worse.

“God
damn,
McLean,” he shouted. “There’s no sense in this! They don’t want
you
,
they want
Eva
!
That’s all, just you to tell them who used you!”

“But I can’t let you tell them,” Alec gasped. “I
can’t
! She’s got back in control somehow. Oh, God, my head hurts!” He slumped against the sofa and buried his face in his hands. Liz bit her lip and scooted over beside him, laid an arm around his heaving shoulders. Calvin simply stood where he was and frowned.