Jack, the giant-killer (25 page)

But adrenaline still rushed through her, firing her courage. She picked up the nearest thing at hand—a twist of gold that had once been a candlestick—and meant to give a try at knocking the Horn down.

“SMASH THEM!” Gyre the Younger roared, rising up from beside his brother’s corpse. “CRUSH THEM!

SPIKE THEM!”

A bogan rushed for Jacky, but Moddy Gill jumped in his way and tangled up his feet so that he fell down, taking the next few charging creatures down with him. Jacky drew back her arm to throw the twisted candlestick, but then she saw the box sitting at the foot of the dead giant’s throne. The rubble was thick there, broken bottles and trash, mixed with more precious things like real jewels and gold and silver goblets. And sitting in amongst it all was a delicate wooden box with a berried tree carved onto its lid.

Oh, you sly bastard, Jacky thought.

A gullywude jumped onto her shoulder. More

grabbed her legs, trying to pull her down, but she dragged them with her as she moved forward. She brought the candlestick down on top of the box with a jarring blow and the wood shattered. Oh, a horn hung there on the wall by the throne, in plain sight for all to see, complete with its speckle of red for berries, and who’d think to look further? And who could get it down but a giant? Anyone else trying would be caught so fast it would make their head spin.

Well, my head’s spinning now, Jacky thought, but it was from success. Out of the ruin of the box she pulled a strange twisting shape of a horn. The gullywudes were a swarm on her, trying to drag her down. Gyre the Younger was looming over her. The other four giants were wading through the Court, knocking their folk everywhichway in their hurry to get at her. But neither the gullywudes, nor the threat of the giants and their Court, nor the fear of what using that Horn might mean could stop her now. She dragged her arms up, gullywudes hanging from them, brought the

mouthpiece of the Horn to her lips, and she blew it. The sound of it was loud and fierce. At that first blast, the Court drew back from her—even the giants. She blew it again and again until its sound was all that filled the cavern—a wild, exulting sound that thrilled the blood in her veins, making it roar in her ears. She could feel its power fill her. The Hunt was coming. The Wild Hunt. And she was its mistress now. She stepped away from the throne and Gyre the Younger moved to take it, sitting down to glare at her. The Court had cleared a great space around her. Her friends stood or lay around her. Kate and Eilian. Finn and Arkan. Lorana lay sprawled where her bogan guards had dropped her. There was a pig-headed woman there too—the one that had stopped the bogans from taking her as she’d lunged for the Horn. Jacky brought the primitive instrument down from her lips and surveyed the Court. They could all hear it now—a distant sound like the rushing of wind, like the echoes of the Horn’s blasts, like answering horns, winding out from dark cold places beyond the stars. Of her friends, Eilian was the first to move. He tugged Kate and Moddy Gill, each by an arm, to stand behind Jacky. Finn and Arkan followed, Arkan carrying the frail limp shape of the Laird of Kinrowan’s daughter. There were tears in his eyes as he pulled loose the nettle tunic and freed her from the Unseelie spell that had held her.

But Gyre the Younger, sitting on his dead brother’s throne, he never moved. Nor did his Court. They knew enough to know that it was not who held the Horn but who blew it, and thereby summoned the riders, that ruled the Hunt. The blasting sound of that Horn had frozen them, sapping their strength, forbidding them to lift a hand against the Jack that the Seelie Court had sent against them.

And Jacky… the power of command boiled in her. What couldn’t she do now, with this Horn in her possession? Then there was no more time to think. The Hunt was come.

They didn’t ride their Harleys here. They came on great horned steeds, horses with flanks that glittered like metal, but were scaled like fishscales. Stags’

antlers lifted from the brows of the proud mounts. While the riders… They were cloaked in black, each one of them, all nine of them, come to the summoning. The leader stepped his mount closer, its hooves clipping sparks from the stone as it moved. The face that looked down at Jacky was grim, but not unhandsome. It was the eyes that made it alien—for there was no end to their depths. They studied her with disinterest, remotely. Obeying, but not caring who or what it was that summoned them.

“We have come,” the leader said.

At his words, the cavern seemed to shiver. Jacky’s friends and the Unseelie Court alike trembled, wishing they were anywhere but here. Only Jacky stood firm. With the Horn in her hand, nothing could stop her, no one could hurt her. That was what it promised her. But as she opened her mouth to speak, to command the Hunt, to send out the doom that would take down this Unseelie Court, once and forever, Kerevan’s words came back to her, as though from a great distance, warning her.

From one puck to another…

I’m not a puck, she told that whispering memory, but she knew the words to be a lie. The Jacks were always pucks. They were the fools and the tricksters of Faerie, and knowing that, she knew that Kerevan’s true name was Jack as well.

The Horn is too great a power…

But that’s just what we need to undo the evil of the Unseelie Court, she replied. Don’t you see?

It corrupts any being that wields it…

I’m not going to wield it. I’m only going to use it once— that’s all. Just once.

But she knew that to be a lie as well. Why should she give up the power that the Horn offered her? Why let it fall into another’s hands? It was better that she used it. Better that she chose who the Hunt chased, and who it didn’t.

What would you command
? the voice of memory forced her to ask herself.
That any who disagree with
you be slain
?

I won’t be like that. I’m fighting evil—I’m not evil myself.

It corrupts any being that wields it…

Then what should I do? she demanded of that memory, but to that question it remained strangely silent.

The steeds of the Hunt began to shift as though sensing her indecision. Gyre the Younger stirred on his brother’s throne, his hatred for her, for the death she’d brought his brother, for the pain and defeat she’d brought them all, was beginning to overpower his fear of the Hunt. Hadn’t his own brother commanded the Hunt before? Wouldn’t it sooner listen to him, who
knew
what he needed done, than to this trembling Jack who stood there, overawed by it all?

Jacky could feel the change in the room. The Horn whispered, telling her of the power that could be hers. The Wild Hunt demanded to know why it was

summoned. Kerevan’s voice., in her memory, told her she was doomed. Gyre the Younger made ready to take the Horn, as he’d already taken his brother’s throne, and crush this Jack under his foot with a pleasure that would never be equalled again. I don’t know what to do, Jacky admitted to herself.
Use us
, the eyes of the Wild Hunt demanded.
I am power
, the Horn told her.
Yours to wield
. She could use it and doom herself, or not use it and the power would go to Gyre the Younger and doom her anyway. There was no middle road, no road at all. But then she laughed. No road? Wrong! That was the lie! There was only one road she could take and she knew it now. She straightened, stooped shoulders losing their uncertainty. She met the gaze of the Wild Hunt’s leader without flinching from its alien depths.

“Dismount,” she said. “Come here to me.”

On the throne, Gyre the Younger froze, uncertain once more. From a small creature, weighted down with fear and ignorance, she had gained stature once more. Inside her, the Horn’s voice exulted.
You will not
regret the power I can give you
, it told her. But Jacky only smiled. She watched the Huntsman dismount stiffly and approach her. When he was only a couple of paces away, Jacky reached out with the Horn.

“Take it,” she said.

The alien depths changed. Confusion swam in the Huntsman’s eyes. “Take it?” he asked slowly, not lifting a hand.

Jacky nodded. “Take it. It’s used to command you, isn’t it? Well, take it and command yourself.”

Now the gaze measured her carefully. “And what is the bargain you offer?”

“No bargain. Please. Just take it.”

The Huntsman nodded slowly. “Do you understand what you are doing?”

Jacky wet her lips. “Yes.”

“Hill and Moon,” the Hunstman whispered. “To think such a day could come.” He took the Horn reverently from her.

“NO!” Gyre the Younger roared. “YOU

MUSTN’T!”

“Oh, Jacky!” Kate cried. “What’ve you done?”

Consternation lay across all their faces, except for Eilian’s. He smiled as understanding came to him.

“For years beyond count we have answered this Horn’s call,” the Huntsman said. “Men and faerie both have commanded us. They have had us slay and slay and slay again. They have had us spy for them. They have had us capture their foes, then made us watch them be tortured. But never was there one being that saw beyond the power the Horn offered to
our
need.”

The Huntsman bent his knee to Jacky. “Lady, I thank you for our freedom.” Then he rose and, dropping the Horn to the stone floor of the cavern, he ground it to pieces underfoot.

A great wind stirred in the cavern. When they saw the Horn destroyed, the stasis that had bound the Unseelie Court finally fell away. But there was no place for them to flee now. At each entranceway stood one of the horned steeds of the Hunt, and on its back, a grim-faced Huntsman.

“Go from here,” the leader of the Hunt said to Jacky. “Take your friends and go. There is a reckoning to be made between my brothers and those who rule this Keep—a reckoning that you should not be witness to.”

Jacky nodded. “But… but you’re really free now, aren’t you?”

The Huntsman smiled. In his eyes, the alien depths wavered and for one moment Jacky saw a being of kindness look out from those eyes. Then the moment was past.

“We are truly free,” the Huntsman said, “once this final task is done. And this task we do for ourselves. Go now, Jacky Rowan. You have our undying thanks. We will never forget this gift you have given us.”

He touched her shoulder gently and steered her towards the entranceway. One by one her companions fell in step beside her. Kate took her hand.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, for she understood now what Jacky had done.

Arkan carried the frail body of the Laird’s daughter. Eilian and Finn walked with Moddy Gill between them. When they reached the cavernous doors of the Keep’s main entrance, the doors swung open to let them out. They went through, and the huge doors thundered closed behind them.

It was night outside, dark and mysterious, and air had never tasted so clean and fresh before.

“Now what do we do?” Kate said, thinking of the long way home and how they had only their legs to take them.

“Now,” said a voice from the shadows, “I’ll take you all home.”

Jacky turned to see Kerevan leaning against a tree.

“Did you know what was going to happen in there?”

she demanded.

He shook his head. “Not a bit of it. You did what none of us had even considered, Jacky Rowan. Now I found this car in a ditch, and with a wally-stane—well, two or three really— I’ve got it working again. The ride will be more cramped than comfortable, but better than walking, I think.”

“Judith!” Kate cried. “You rescued Judith!”

“The very vehicle,” Kerevan replied.

“I thought you said your magics were all tricks and illusions,” Jacky said as they all made their way down the mountainslope to where the car was waiting for them.

Kerevan glanced at her, then winked. “I lied,” he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

« ^

They gathered in the room of the Gruagagh’s Tower that overlooked Windsor Park—what faerie called Learg Green. The room had settled from its shifting shadows and ghostly furnishings into a warm kitchen with chairs for all. Bhruic had removed the last of the spell from Moddy Gill who proved to be a plainfeatured, friendly woman who now sat in a corner of the room with Arkan, telling him how she thought he was rather brave. Arkan appeared entranced. Finn perched on a stool, while Jacky and Eilian sat with Kate in the window-seat. Kerevan leaned with studied ease against the door near the hall.

The Gruagagh looked different. He was no longer dressed in his black robes, but wore trousers and tunic of various shades of brown and green. And he was smiling. The only one missing of those who had escaped the Giants’ Keep was the Laird’s daughter and she was safe at her father’s Court once more, with her father’s faerie healers to look after her.

“I have something for you, Jacky,” Bhruic said. He handed her some official looking papers which proved to be the deed to a house. This house—the Gruagagh’s Tower. There in black and white was her name, Jacqueline Elizabeth Rowan. The owner of a new home.

“I told you I didn’t want anything,” Jacky said.

“Someone must live in the Gruagagh’s Tower and who better than the Court’s own Jack?”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I have a bargain with Kerevan to fulfill,” he replied.

Kerevan grinned at Jacky when she turned to him and gave her a mocking, but friendly tug of the forelock. “And yes,” he said, “I’m a Jack, too, though my Jack days are gone now. Jack Gooseberry was the name then, and wasn’t I the wild one?”

“Too wild,” Bhruic said wryly.

“I’d rather know why,” Jacky said.

Bhruic sighed. “Why what?”

“Why couldn’t you just have told us everything?

Why were you so unfriendly? Why didn’t you help more?”

Bhruic looked uncomfortable. He glanced at

Kerevan, but there was no help there. The others in that room, except for Moddy Gill, were all giving him their full attention, for they too wanted the answer to those questions. Bhruic sighed again and pulled a chair closer to the windowseat.

“I didn’t trust you,” he said. “It was too

convenient—a Jack out of nowhere, willing to help, Kate Crackernuts at her side. I thought you were one more attempt by the Host to pry me from my Tower. They knew my weakness better than my own Laird’s folk ever did.”