Enchanted Ever After (Mystic Circle) (9 page)

“Problems?” he snapped, striding to the monitor, not even
taking time to remove the loathsome gloves that soaked up and channeled his
magic in ways he didn’t care for.

“Not really,” Jindesfarne said. “I have the game set up to
notify me when Kiri reaches some important goals. She’s through the first
rath—first magical Hill.” The large screen in front of the Fire Princess lit up
and showed Kiri with a staff in one hand, a long dagger attached to her hip.

“Explain the pocket dimension to me,” Lathyr said.

Now Jindesfarne swung her chair to look at him. “We can form
and populate it as we please,” she said.

“I thought all dimensions were closed to us.” He knew the more
magical Lightfolk, the royals, yearned for a permanent gate to intensely magical
worlds...dimensions. “How can this be?”

She gave an exaggerated shrug. “The two guardians developed
it.”

“Do you mean those who are older than the royals? The dwarf and
the elf?”

“That’s right. I don’t know whether the pocket dimension is a
place between Earth and the other dimensions or a variant of the dryad’s
‘greenspace.’ Maybe it’s in another world and Pavan, the elf guardian, has
arranged that whoever logs into the game is transported there. The guardians
have their secrets from the Eight. I asked, but Pavan just smiled and refused an
answer. I
do
know that it is a real place.” Her eyes
fired, literally showed a tiny orange flame. “Fights can be real—people can be
hurt...they can bleed. Right now we don’t have that option on for Kiri, but I’m
hoping she will accept it.”

Lathyr’s gut tightened. “Because the more real the game, the
more she survives and prevails, the more likely she will be prepared for a true
transformation into Lightfolk, should she choose that.”

Jindesfarne’s smile was small, but sincere. “Exactly. Tough
love.”

His gaze went to the monitor. The colors seemed too vivid.
“This pocket dimension idea has been used before?”

“Yes, the original ‘game’ was a mock-up of Fairies and Dragons,
installed on Rafe Davail’s machine to help him find a special shield and
dagger.” Jindesfarne’s hands lifted from the keyboard and mouse to tap a rapid
tattoo on the desk. “I haven’t been able to figure out what Pavan did...does. I
do know that we set up the realms with constructs of the four elemental magics
the Lightfolk work with—and populated them with monsters, structured it like a
true computer game. That was my part, and I could’ve used some help, let me tell
you.” Jindesfarne linked her fingers together and stretched her arms out.

A horrible buzz came from the monitor. Jenni winced and
swiveled back to the screen where she’d been monitoring Kiri, tapped a key.
“Oops.”

Chapter 9

“OOPS?” LATHYR STOPPED
peeling off the delicate silk gloves. He didn’t like them, but had tried all the other textures and these were the best.

Jindesfarne grimaced. “Kiri’s in the healing cave. She was nearly defeated.”

“By whom?”

“A rockwyrm got her.”

Lathyr stilled as he saw a long, stone creature. “I have only heard stories of rockwyrms.”

“When the magic faded, they died,” Jindesfarne said with satisfaction. “At least from Earth. I’m sure they remain in more magically rich dimensions. And when the Meld begins to work—increasing magic—they aren’t beings that we will allow to revive. Kiri did a good job turning it to stone, though she was injured in the process.” Nevertheless, Jindesfarne shook her head and hissed through her teeth as they both watched Kiri’s character leave the healing cave.

“She didn’t manifest as a very strong dwarf,” Lathyr said. Kiri used her magical staff to trudge up a green hill. “A good magic user, but weak physically.”

Again Jindesfarne turned to him. “That concerns you?”

“I want her chances to survive transformation to be high.”

“At least she didn’t become a brownie.”

“I thought that wasn’t an option.”

“The design team—” Jindesfarne tapped her chest with her forefinger “—wanted to include only the major Lightfolk elemental races. We were overruled by the Eight royals, who wanted a ‘more realistic assessment of an individual human’s capabilities.’”

Lathyr dropped the gloves, glad his magic was his own again, sat, then wheeled up to Jindesfarne. His jaw flexed with anger a couple of times before he managed to say in a calm tone, “They don’t accept my assessment.”

Jindesfarne slanted him an equally ironic glance. “They told me that they preferred the game technology to determine
Kiri’s Lightfolk status rather than your talent, and the royals are not comfortable much with technology.”

“Or distrust the new talents that some of us are gaining,” he snapped. Then he caught Jindesfarne’s gaze with his own. “They wish the humans attempting to become Lightfolk to fail.”

The Fire Princess sighed, her breath drying his skin, he was so close. “Yeah, that was my conclusion, too.”

“But the game is relatively safe,” Lathyr pressed.

“Relatively, at least for now. Even when we lift the restrictions, it will be relatively safe. Then Kiri could get hurt—bruises and scrapes and whatnot—but no blood or, hopefully, fatal wounds.”

“Hopefully?”

“The cave really
is
a healing cave, and she is transported there when she is badly hurt or defeated. It can heal most injuries.”

That didn’t satisfy him. “You have human physicians on call?” Lathyr scanned the room—sent his senses beyond the walls and through the two floors the Eight commanded.

“We have a mer healer on call,” the princess said.

Lathyr relaxed. “They are the best.”

“You would think so,” Jindesfarne said.

Lathyr gave her the bow due to a princess, flourishing hands and all. “Of course, Princess Jindesfarne.”

The half-Lightfolk stared at him. After a pause, she said, “You aren’t mocking me.”

Appalled, Lathyr said, “Of course not, Princess Jindesfarne.”

Her head tilted. “And you aren’t teasing me.”

“No.” He bowed again, a small one and he kept his eyes on her, since she acted so strangely.

Breath puffed from her with the heat and the scent of a desert. Lathyr hopped a pace back—couldn’t always tell with Firefolk whether flame would follow breath.

“You’re being respectful,” the djinnfem said.

“Yes, Princess.”

She rubbed her temples. “Don’t. We’re partners in this endeavor.”

If they were, he knew he was a very junior partner.

“And don’t call me Princess or Jindesfarne. Call me Jenni.” Her brown eyes deepened. “And why are you being so respectful?”

“You are a princess of the folk.”

“I am a half-breed human and you are fully magical.”

“You are a princess, the daughter of the Fire King and Queen.”

“I am the adopted sister of the Fire King.”

Lathyr tensed. He’d simply forgotten that a change had been made at the highest levels of the opposite element than he, though, at the time, his own new powers had hit him like a sickness and he’d suffered for a week. Yet now he’d made an unforgivable lapse, especially since he recalled Jenni had been involved in the whole situation—the battle. “Please, accept my apologies, Princess...” She scowled. “Jenni.”

“Sure.” Though sadness crossed her face, then she tilted her head. “But most full-blooded Lightfolk wouldn’t treat a half-human like me well.”

“Then you didn’t know the right Lightfolk,” he said.

She looked skeptical. He’d have to watch his tongue. “And things have changed. You are close to the royals, not only the Fire couple. You are high in the ranks of Eight Corp. Your husband is also high in those ranks. You are the sole elemental-balancer in the world, and have great magic.”

“Hmm. I guess I really am special or something.”

“Yes.”

A quick knock came at the door and Jenni’s husband, Prince Aric Paramon Emberdrake, opened it and said, “Jenni, you’re wanted for the Meld Project.”

She frowned. “I’m needed here, more.
They
promised I wouldn’t be interrupted. Especially not today.”

Aric smiled slowly. “The Lightfolk programmers got stuck when trying to increase better magical battery storage. They need a human-tech algorithm work-around, and you’re just the person for that.”

“Oh, all right.” She stood and strode to the door and kissed him on the lips. Lathyr sent his glance elsewhere. Humans and djinns were less discreet in their liaisons than mers.

“Five minutes,” Jenni said as she stepped from Aric’s embrace.

He nodded and closed the door.

“Here, you observe.” Jenni handed Lathyr a headset and waved toward her place before the computer.

He put the headset on. It smelled of cloves and fire and wood smoke.

“How do I get her out?” he asked.

Jenni beamed. “Thinking of her welfare first...I like that.” She indicated a small cylindrical device that had a red button at the top. “Just push that.”

It hadn’t been anywhere near her hand. What if Kiri had needed to be pulled out?

Lathyr sat in Jenni’s chair.

“How do I speak to her?”

Jenni tapped the mic. “Here. Say ‘testing.’”

“Testing,” he said.

“I hear you, Lathyr,” Kiri said. She was climbing a hill.

“I have a meeting on another project, Kiri. Lathyr will be your control,” Jenni said.

“Okay,” Kiri replied.

Jenni held out the recall device and Lathyr took it. His palms were damper than usual, not a good sign. He pushed the platform holding the keyboard firmly under the counter.

At the top of the hill, Kiri rested, her breath soughing out. “Nice view. Hmm. Three paths.” Kiri muttered to herself, something about eenies, that Lathyr didn’t catch, then started down the left-hand dirt track between tall, flowering bushes.

“No offense, Lathyr,” Kiri said, head down and watching her feet as the path steepened. “But I didn’t get the impression that you’ve played a lot of games.”

“How did you guess?” Jenni said drily.

That stung. “No, but I’ve been in plenty of fights,” Lathyr said. He’d lived nearly two centuries, after all, in uncivilized places—and also in “civilized” human cities. He’d watched and felt the magic decline, moved from places near inland seas or large lakes to ports and shore villages, to a couple of stints as a servant in Water Palaces, then other, less-rich domiciles, to whomever offered to guest him.

“Oops,” said Jenni. “We’ll get you up to speed on Fairies and Dragons, now you’re here in Mystic Circle,” she ended.

“Oh. Sorry,” Kiri said. The track had turned from dirt to stone stairs down.

“See you later,” Jenni said. A polite smile flicked on and off her face. For the fact she had to leave rather than being in his company, Lathyr decided. She fairly vibrated with longing to stay.

“We’ll be fine,” Lathyr said. He’d do his utmost to protect Kiri.

Now Jenni frowned. “Don’t...” She shrugged and left.

Kiri was humming as she hopped down the stairs, built to the proportions of dwarves, of course. They’d be a little too high for brownies.

On the monitor, Lathyr could see her...and the track leading straight to the dragon’s den. He checked a tutorial quick list Jenni had placed on the desk. She’d called it a “cheat sheet.” The color of Kiri’s aura was yellow signifying a magical being under the fifth level. He looked at the big red dragon, jaws open, forked tongue out and tasting the air as if it scented dwarfem. Its color was an oily black. Highest level.

Doom for one small sorceress.

“Ah. Kiri?” Lathyr said.

“Yeah?” She was shortening and lengthening her staff, making it wand and doing magical passes, then baton and twirling, then quarterstaff and lunging.

“I suggest you return to the hilltop.”

She stopped. “What?”

“I strongly suggest you return to the hilltop.”

“No. Reeaally?” She pouted.

Lathyr had never considered a pouting dwarfem cute before.

“Really,” he said, nodding, though she couldn’t see.

Calculation came to her eyes. Her shoulders squared. “You can see more than I can.”

“Yes.”

“What—hmm, no, that’s unfair. How bad does it look?”

“Do you want to end up in the healing cave again?”

“Awww. You know I’m not sure of these almost-physical sensations of hurt. Not to mention weariness.” She turned and looked back at the hill, drooped. “I’m only three and I don’t have any travel powers yet.” But she started back up the stone steps.

The dragon curled up and settled into sleep. Lathyr gauged whether Kiri could ever make it by the dragon. He glanced at the cheat sheet. “Do you have invisibility to all senses?”

“No. And when can I get a travel power, and what power will it be?”

“Ah.” He studied the sheet. “You should be able to see the list of potential powers on a card in your pouch.”

“Oh, all right.” She shrank the staff to the length and thickness of a pencil and put it behind her ear. Interesting. Reading her own sheet, she said, “Oooh. It’s teleportation as far as I can see. Wow. And at level eight. Bummer. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me which trail I should take at the top of the hill.”

He looked at the one to the Earth Palace, easy and with jewels and weapons and rest at the end, then the other to a door that opened on a series of tunnels, with increasing levels of tough opponents, considered who he was talking to. “Take the one straight down the hill to the Twisty Caverns.”

“Fine.”

* * *

Jenni and Lathyr dragged Kiri out of the game for lunch before she was ready. They had gourmet sandwiches in a large conference room looking east over the plains. Still plenty of green in the city, though there was a touch of autumn color on some trees and the ever-present dried yellow and brown shrubs and grass.

Between bites, Kiri first enthused over the game, watching from the corners of her eyes to see any indication that she was doing good...or bad. She’d only been defeated a couple of times, which, for her and a new game, was a record. But Lathyr was sober, as usual, and Jenni smiling, which also seemed standard behavior. So Kiri had no clue how she was progressing, and it would sound too needy to ask after only a couple of hours.

And though she’d planned on bringing up the opening later, she’d already had an idea about minigames in each realm, none of them lasting more than about ten minutes, max.

Jenni listened and recorded her own shorthand notes about the concept on her handheld, then sketched a couple of outlines of the minigames with Kiri. She could only comment on the Earth Realm, but she thought she had a good feel for it already.

At least she had until she was back in the game, sliding down a grassy hill...and being attacked.

She was attacked no more than a few yards from the top of the hill by a group of small creatures.

“Dust!” she yelled, casting the spell the way she’d scatter such dust. The small group of creatures froze...some in odd postures. They continued to glare at her with split-pupiled eyes, the tips of their small and furry triangular ears quivering.

Licking her lips, anxious about how long they’d stay that way before they’d renew their furious attack, she encased herself in her protection bubble, and fumbled at her belt. Just as she touched the jewel, the hologram appeared at the left edge of her vision with a pic of one of the creatures, along with notes. She’d reached the level for that spell.

“Feral prototype brownies,” a tinny, mechanical voice stated in her ear. That voice needed fixing, too.

“Very minor threats to a dwarf, though when ired, can be deadly to humans and Dark minions.” What were Dark minions?

“Particularly dangerous when in a group of ten or more.” Kiri counted, eight. Her breath sifted out.

“Minor Earthfolk can be commanded by the major Earthfolk, dwarves. Excellent servants to all elemental folk—Lightfolk—and the occasional human.”

“Brownies,”
Kiri breathed. Of course. She pressed her lips together as she studied the group. How to command them? Could she?

Now their ears were flicking back and forth, probably a bad sign. Enough time had passed for her “Dust” spell to relax, and she folded her fingers in as if she was ready to cast the spell again. More than one flinched.

“I could use—” she didn’t want a servant “—help on my journey. Of a brownie or two.”

A couple sneered. Two more shook their heads. It appeared as if the dust spell wore off from the top down.

She held her staff braced, and the whole group trembled, gazes glued to the golden stick. “Not going to hurt you.” They weren’t worth many points anyway, much better if she got a helper. From all the legends about brownies, they could be very useful.

Then their little shoulders twitched and she took a step back. They were thin, and not as tall as she was, but there were still eight to her one. She bet she could swat a couple if they came near.