17: Road to Dublin
Eric had time for one coherent thought—He's alive!—before Kory lunged for him, his mailed hands closing tightly around Eric's throat.
He tried desperately to pry those metal-clad fingers off his neck without success. Kory lifted him right off the ground by the neck and held him dangling with his toes just brushing the dirt.
"Kory—" Eric wheezed, gasping for breath.
"You human bastard," the elven warrior hissed, his green eyes incandescent behind the golden sheen of his helm. "I wasn't hurting anymore, I was beyond that, everything was so peaceful, so painless, and you brought me back! I'm going to rip you apart, mortal!"
Eric was suddenly aware of Beth pulling ineffectually at Kory's arm, trying to get him loose—
And beyond her, a circle of elven observers watching in silence.
Just . . . watching. Just curious, mildly interested. Like it's vaguely entertaining, watching one of their kind strangle a human.
Then he heard the sound of clapping hands, and a few scattered comments.
"A little higher, perhaps . . ."
"His technique is a little sloppy, don't you think?"
"Could be—"
"Well, Korendil is out of practice, after all."
Oh God, Eric thought as everything began to blur and fade around him. I'm going to die to a chorus of remarks from an elven peanut gallery, murdered by my best friend. This really isn't fair.
Kory's not like them, he wouldn't do this, just stand by and watch somebody get killed—
—if he wasn't the guy trying to kill me!
With a last burst of energy, Eric kicked wildly at Kory, connecting with one graves-clad leg; hitting the elf s knee just above the metal plate. Kory's hands loosened from his throat for an instant, and Eric slammed his fist into the side of the elf's helm, connecting with Kory's lower jaw and lip. As Kory staggered back, Eric fell to the ground, choking and gasping for air.
He didn't stop to try and reason with Kory; he just rolled away in the soft dirt and grabbed his flute out of the dust where it had fallen. Somehow he ended up back on his feet, facing the furious elf.
Who still looked like he wanted to rip Eric apart limb from limb.
I could play something, use my Gift against him—but what in the hell would that accomplish? I'm trying to save his miserable life, not kill him myself!
Before either of them could move, Beth Kentraine stepped between them, her hands on her hips. "All right, guys," she said in a voice like ice. "Enough of this. Kory, what in the hell do you think you're doing?"
Kory wiped a trickle of blood away from his mouth. "Stand aside, Beth. I intend to destroy that traitor."
"Wait a second," Eric began to protest. "I was just trying to keep you from killing yourself, you stupid—"
"So you brought me back," Kory finished, glaring at him. "I never should have trusted you, Bard. The first chance you had, you ran away to our greatest enemy, willingly placing yourself in her power. Leaving us to die. Now, now that it's too late, you've brought all of us out of Dreaming. Why? So we can die in agony as the last magic of the nexus fades away to nothingness? Did she teach you to savor the pleasures of another's pain?"
"Kory—I didn't—I mean, there's got to be something we can do—" Eric stammered, backpedaling before the look of hatred in Kory's eyes. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. It isn't just that he was mad that I left. He's not gonna listen to any excuses. He wants to hurt me; really, seriously hurt me—
"There is something that I'm going to do," Kory said levelly. "I'm going to kill you, Bard."
Oh my God—
As Kory advanced towards Eric, Beth interposed herself between them again. "Kory, no. Whatever you do to him, you'll have to do to me first. I won't let you touch him." She glanced at the small circle of elves, also garbed in bright metal and peacock-colors. "Eric's not with Perenor. He wants to help you. And Eric's the only Bard here, the only one who can help you."
"If Korendil believes the human must die, then we will stand beside him," one of the elves said. "It is you who should not interfere, mortal woman."
"Oh, fuck off," Eric heard Beth mutter under her breath. From the edge of his vision, Eric saw two of the elves edging closer to her, trying to circle behind her.
I can see exactly where this is going now. Goddammit, Beth, why do you always have to fling yourself into these situations, trying to save my ass?
I thought I was doing the right thing. Maybe I wasn't.
Forget the excuses, Banyon. There aren't any excuses for what you did by walking out on these people. Just because one of them happened to be sleeping with a lady you love—
I guess I'd better face the music.
Eric pushed Beth gently to the side, and moved forward to stand in front of Kory. "Okay, I'll admit it. Running off to Ria was a real stupid idea. And everything that's happened since, it's really my fault, because you were counting on me to be there to help you. Well, I'm here now. And either you can kill me, or we can try to figure out a way to keep you guys alive. It's your choice, Kory." He managed a weak grin. "Though I'm sure you can guess which of the two I'd prefer that you chose."
Kory only stared at him, his hands within the gauntlets clenching and unclenching slowly. Eric realized that his own hand, the one that had hit Kory in the face, was throbbing with pain. That doesn't matter. Nothing may ever matter again, depending on what this guy chooses to do. If he decides he'd rather kill me than let me try to save his skin—well, I'd rather be ripped apart by Perenor's pets. To go into the final darkness, like Phil, but knowing that Kory sent me there—wanted me dead. And didn't forgive me . . .
The despair in the back of Korendil's eyes hurt worse than his hand—hurt worse than anything ever had before.
He swallowed hard and tried to meet those bleak eyes, and the pure fire of hate in them. At least, if he kills me, I won't have to watch him die later, when the last of the magic fades away—
Eric winced inwardly, but did not look away. That's really a comforting thought, Eric. Sheer brilliance. No wonder Kory has no faith in you at all.
He tried to find courage in himself—somewhere. But he should have faith in me. I'm going to get them out of this mess, if—if it kills me. It's mostly my fault that this all has happened. They were counting on me. And I failed them.
He felt a despair to match Korendil's, chilling his heart. Right. I failed them. So I shouldn't be surprised if Kory decides to deep-six me after all—
Then, to Eric's immense relief, Kory nodded. "I do not think you did this out of evil intent, Eric." The elf warrior's voice was weary. "So I will not harm you. Leave us now. Let us fade away in peace." He turned and began to walk away.
"So that's it?" Beth said angrily. She ran after him, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him to look at her. "So long, and thanks for the memories? Like hell, Kory!" Eric could hear the pain in her voice as she continued. "I love you, you idiot elf! I won't leave you here to die!"
Eric bit his lip, feeling a different kind of pain tearing through him. She loves him. I knew that, really I did, but hearing her say it—
"And Eric may be an idiot, too, but he's a Bard, and I'm sure there's something he can do to help you, if you'll just let him. If you're willing to try something other than suicide or Bard-murder. God, why are all the men in my life such fools?"
Kory didn't answer; he only stared deeply into her eyes for far longer than Eric liked. And then he nodded again, slowly—and leaned forward and kissed her. As the kiss lengthened, Eric felt the seconds ticking by, each like a sharp stab into him with every heartbeat. Finally, Beth moved away from Kory, gasping a little.
The elves were watching with the same detached interest with which they had viewed the fight.
She loves him. That's obvious. Christ, why did I get myself involved in this? Saving his life just so Beth—
He stared down at the dirt at his feet, his throat so choked he could hardly breathe, and never realized that Kory was walking towards him until the elf stopped right beside him. He looked up, startled, and saw Kory was just standing there, looking at him soberly. Very close. He looks like he's going to say something—maybe an apology for nearly tearing my throat out? That would be kinda nice, actually. Even if I was a schmuck, it still hurts to swallow.
Or maybe something about Beth, how the best man—elf—won, but let's still be buddies, hey?
Oh hell, he's my friend. And if Bethie wants him—
Then Kory placed a gauntleted hand on each of Eric's shoulders—and kissed him.
Eric's startled exclamation was muffled, and his first reaction was to—
—to slide his arms around Kory's shoulders, to draw him even closer, to lean into the kiss, to hold him tightly and never, ever let him go—
—then Eric pulled free of Kory's embrace, trembling.
He turned away from the puzzled and hurt look in Kory's eyes, towards where Beth was standing several feet away, her expression undecipherable.
"I'm—I'm sorry about abandoning you, Kory," Eric said, valiantly trying to gather his wits around him. "I—I was a schmuck. An idiot. I promise, I won't let you down again." He ventured a look at the elf out of the corner of his eye.
God, no one should look that good.
"I accept your apology," the elf said, faint, courtly formality accenting his tone. Then a ghost of a smile drifted across his face. "And I promise, Bard Eric, that I shall never try to throttle you again." He glanced at the other elves. "Well, if we are to live, I suppose we should start by trying to find a solution to this situation. Shall we?"
For the first time, Eric actually looked at the elves around him. And gaped in surprise.
Unimaginably bright colors, glittering armor and sheathed weaponry, thigh-height boots embroidered with fantastical designs, flowing capes over tunics, multicolored skirts and breeches. Like taking the best of the Faire costumes I've ever seen, then making them a thousand percent better.
Although some of them were dressed more like the types seen on Melrose Avenue, studded black leather and dyed mohawks forming an unlikely contrast to the ornate garb of the others.
And Kory—
Well, at least he isn't still wearing my clothes— Eric thought, gawking at his friends.
Kory—no, Korendil—was garbed like a character out of King Arthur's knights, clad head to toe in golden-hued armor, intricate with blue enamel inlay and gemstones. His blond hair cascaded down over a cloak the color of the sky at midday. There was no mistaking the regal look in his eyes, either: the look of a lord of the High Court of Faerie.
Eric felt terribly shabby. And grubby.
Next to him I look like one of the beggars out of Monty Python. Dirty and rumpled from walking all night, all slimy from fighting monsters, still damp from being dragged into a swimming pool—and he looks terrific.
No wonder Beth has the hots for him.
I could really hate these elves, given half a chance—
A lovely silver-haired elf woman, clad in flowing blue silk with a sheathed sword slung over one shoulder, stepped from the small circle of Faerie still gathered around them. She kissed Kory fondly. "Young Korendil," she said, "we, the mages and warriors of the High Court who remain here, pledge you now that we will follow your guidance and that of this human Bard, though death be the end of it."
"Val," Kory began, looking suddenly awkward and very young. "I don't know what to say—"
Another elf, a broad-shouldered figure in skin-tight black leather, his purple mohawk falling rakishly over one ear, clapped Kory on the shoulder. "Then say nothing, Kory. But you will lead us into battle."
"Eldenor, you're my teacher! You should—"
"We are all that is left of Elfhame Sun-Descending," the elf said in his low, resonant voice. "Our enemies have nearly succeeded in destroying us. You and the Prince were the only ones who saw our danger. And now we do not know if Prince Terenil is still alive. But you are here, with the Bard you brought to aid us." Eldenor grinned. "Even if you were ready to kill him a few minutes ago."
"Kory," Eric began hesitantly, "I don't know what I can do, but if you just tell me what, I'll do it."
He does look kinda overwhelmed. But I know he can lead this motley crew, if anyone can. And figure out what we can do to solve all of this. If we can.
He resolutely pushed his doubts away. No. We have to solve this. There's too much at stake here. Kory, he's my friend. Maybe—maybe he's even a little more than that, I don't know. But I do know that I won't let him die.
Kory was looking around at the devastated grove. "This is what must be remedied. Unless we do something soon, despite what you have done with your magic, Eric, we shall fall back into Dreaming, and then die. That is why we came here, to the last lingering wisps of magic."
"Wait a minute," Beth said suddenly. "Something just occurred to me . . . if the magic is all dried up, then where is our minstrel boy getting his juice from? Eric?"
Eric shrugged. "I've never thought about it before, but you're right, I must be drawing it from somewhere." He closed his eyes, replaying what had just happened in his mind, how he had reached out . . .
. . . and called the power, called it, drawn it from— "From Ria's house," he said at last, opening his eyes. "It's coming straight from her place in Bel Air. I guess I can tap into it, just because"—he felt his face warming, and tried to quell his embarrassment before it became too obvious— "because, uh, I was so, so close to her, for so long. They must have moved the nexus there somehow."
"That makes sense," Beth said thoughtfully. "That's a terrific way to keep everything under lock and key: kill the old nexus and plant a new one in your backyard."
"She is an accomplished sorceress," Kory acknowledged. "With her father aiding her, I do not doubt that she could redirect the nexus, once its focal point had been destroyed, since of course she would not be able to create a new nexus from nothingness. This must have been Perenor's intent all along, to have all the magic of this region at his disposal."
"But there's one thing I don't understand," Eric said hesitantly. "How can you pick up a nexus and move it around L.A. like this? I mean, what is a nexus, anyhow?"
"The nexus is only a tiny gap in the veil between this world and the world of our kind, Bard," a flame-haired elf woman explained. "It must be small, or it would weaken the veil. To create such a thing is beyond the skill of all, except—"
Except—
Terenil, sitting around the dojo after that workout, drinking and talking. ". . . and the Queen's Bard, a human like yourself, created an anchoring point for the nexus . . ."
A human Bard. Like me.
This is what I can do. This is how I can save Kory and his people.
His mouth suddenly felt very dry. Except that Perenor and Ria have already taken control of the nexus. Which means I'll have to fight them for it—fight Ria—
"Kory," he said, slowly, looking at his feet, "I can create a nexus. Creative magic—that's what Bards do. That's what the Queen's Bard did when you first came here—"
Only I'll have to fight Ria to do it.
He looked up to see Beth watching him. " 'Bout time you figured it out, Banyon," she said quietly. "Think you can handle it?"
Eric took a deep breath, then another. Kory and the elves were watching him as he spoke. "I—I don't know. I'm really not very good at this magic stuff, at least not yet. I mean, I don't even know what I was doing, I just sort of did it off the cuff. By accident. Improvising. But this is something that, if I screw it up, we probably won't get a second chance—"
"I think you can do it, Eric," Beth said. "But we've got another problem. Even if you can do this whole schtick no sweat, do we want you to put the nexus back here? This place is going to be turned into condos in another couple months. Doesn't seem like the best place for a magic nexus, next to the hot tub and laundry rooms, y'know?"
"She is very right," Val said thoughtfully. "We need another place for the nexus, one which is not close to the humans' dwellings, so rife with Cold Iron. And one that is nearer to those of the Lesser Court, trapped in their groves. A place that will be safe for many years to come."
Good luck, finding a place like that in L.A. This place is so overpopulated, even the mosquitoes are having a hard time finding a place to breed. Everything that's not Federal or State land is going to be developed into housing, sooner or later—
—Federal or State land—
That wide, empty valley, with the oak trees growing among the tall grass. Federal land, that no one can touch. An elven grove in the Hollywood Hills. And a dragon, starving to death because no one came near enough to eat—
—that area wouldn't be so great, it's still too close to the city. But maybe if we go a little further east—
"How 'bout Griffith Park, in the Hollywood Hills? There's a lot of land up there where nobody goes except maybe the real compulsive hikers. That might be a safe place for the nexus."
Kory glanced at Beth, who nodded. "That's a real solid idea, Eric. Griffith Park will never be turned into houses or shopping malls, not so long as the city stands. I can't think of any place that would be nearly as good." She gave Eric a wry grin. "Now you just have to do your magic stuff, bucko, and we're back in business."
Eric hesitated as that dark thought reoccurred to him. "What about Ria and Perenor? We know that the opposition isn't going to let us do this without a fight. I don't think I can do all of that, restore the nexus and hold off two sorcerers." Ria and Perenor, they need the nexus, or they wouldn't have gone to all of this trouble. They need it bad enough to kill for it, that's for certain. To kill Phil, and all those other potential Bards—
Ria. She used me, manipulated me—but there's still part of me that cares about her, that needs her.
If Ria comes at me again, throwing everything she has at me—one of us is going to die. We can't fight like that again, and not kill each other. But could I really bring myself to kill her?
Could she kill me?
Eldenor clasped Eric's arm strongly, breaking into his thoughts. "We will guard you, Bard. We will keep any from harming you as you work the Magic. Trust me—as you will fight to save us, we will battle to protect you." The muscular elf glanced down as Eric winced in sudden pain. "Korendil, it seems that your stubborn skull is as thick as ever. Come see what the Bard did to himself, trying to knock some sense into you."
"I think it was the helmet, actually," Eric muttered, as Kory carefully took Eric's hand in his own. Beth moved in closer to look. Eric saw her eyes widen at the sight of his hand, bruised and bloody, two of the fingers already purpling and swollen. Kory tried to bend the fingers, and Eric bit back a yelp.
Damn, but that hurts!
"This is because of my foolishness, Eric," Kory said at last. "The place of magic is nearly drained, but let me see if I can mend what my stubbornness has wrought."
The elf closed his eyes, cradling Eric's broken hand in both of his; and this time, when Eric heard the first stirrings of melody, he knew what was happening. The gentle interweaving of melody, somehow touching him; invisible fingertips tracing over his hand, through his hand, knitting together the broken bones, the torn flesh. He was not surprised to hear Beth singing distantly, silently, part of the magic as well.
As the melody faded, Eric looked down at his hand and flexed the fingers lightly, the fingering pattern for "Sheebeg Sheemore."
That's what this is—the two rival groups of elves, just like in the O'Carolan song. Except this time, we're playing for keeps. It's not a song, or a Bard's vision. It's life and death, and not just for them—for me, and for Beth, too.
God. It's so scary that it's almost beautiful.
But I still wish I could wake up, and all of this would just be a dream—
Terenil floated in the vast nothingness of Dreaming. No pain, no hunger—just oblivion.
Soon enough he would trade this oblivion for another—when the last of the magic ran out, when his whole being thinned and faded away. He had been in Dreaming longer than any of the others of the High Court; would he be the first to die? He hoped so, when he found the will to hope.
And what would it be like, this ending? A last fading into nothingness? He had only had enough will left to come here, to the place where Elfhame Sun-Descending had been born, and then he had lost himself in his Dreams. No time to wonder, no chance to fear. The humans claimed elvenkind had no souls—if that were so, then there would be no knowing that the end had come. It would simply come, and Terenil would be no more.
No more pain, no more sorrow.
And Perenor would have won at last.
Something in him stirred in rebellion at that thought. Stirred, and struggled to wake, struggled to prod him into action. Spurred him to listen when the first thin strand of melody sought him in the darkness.
He listened—and it found him, fastened on him; a melody deep with meaning and rich with magic. Bardic magic, as he had never hoped to hear again.
To turn, turn, will be our delight, till by turning, we come 'round right—
It turned about him, twined about him, fed and nurtured his heart in ways he had never known were possible.
'Tis a gift to be simple, 'tis a gift to be free, 'tis a gift to come 'round where we ought to be—
Without knowing how the magic had reached within him, he found himself recalling his first days in this brave new land, when Maddoc had led them all out to Gwynnedd. How he had stood upon the shore of this western sea and breathed in the salt air, feeling that there was nothing he could not do in this new Elfhame.
The memory was vivid, more clear than it had been for years, decades, centuries.
And when we find ourselves in the place just right, 'twill be in the valley of love and delight—
This had been the valley of love and delight, rich with peace and promise. And he had been lord of it all—
And you can be again, the music whispered. Turn, turn, turn again. Return to what you were—what goes around, comes around, good as well as evil.
But I can't— he protested weakly.
But you can, it replied. Turn, turn, return again—
I'm dying. This is a death-dream. There was no magic left; Korendil's Bard had deserted them, and there was no hope. This was death's final illusion before dissolution—
—but it was a sweet illusion. So be it. I die in dreams and Dreaming.
He gave himself over to the music; stopped fighting it. And it turned him, turned him—
Returned him.
Till by turning, turning, we come 'round right.
There was no transition between Dreaming and waking. One moment he was lost in the Dream and the music, the next—
Terenil blinked in the harsh sunlight. He was standing, tree-sheltered, in the shade of a gnarled old native oak on the edge of what had once been the nexus-grove.
I'm not dead. That was his first thought. His second—I'm—well. Whole. I have not felt like this in—
—in far too many years.
Then he chanced to look down at himself. And stared.
My armor—
His gold and scarlet armor glistened as if new-burnished, new-made. He had not been able to conjure it so since the last time he had defeated Perenor. And since that humiliating episode in the alley, in the rain, it had been dull, stained—as if the stains upon his honor had translated themselves into his armoring.
But that was by no means all. For there was none of that hunger that had devoured him of late, that craving for the dark poison of the humans' creation. He felt young—strong—
Movement beyond the trees and the glint of sun on burnished gold and azure warned him to hide himself behind the tree-trunk. Shame kept him there, as he overheard young Korendil's converse with the Bard. Not once was there mention of him—
Because they have learned they cannot depend upon me. I failed them once—I, who should have led them. I lost myself in drugged Dreaming; failed their trust, and the vows I made to them.
Bright Danann, what have I made of myself?
Shame kept him trapped, huddled behind the tree-trunk, as the last of the High Court consulted with the humans and planned their next move. He waited, numb and paralyzed, as they separated into two parties—the humans and Korendil going for the girl's vehicle, the rest going to seek out any one of the Lesser Court of Faerie who might yet be awakened.
He watched as they vanished on their two missions.
And a slow tear etched its way down his cheek.
The distant thread of music tugged lightly at her thoughts, barely audible, but slowly gathering in strength and power—
Ria Llewellyn leafed through the thick report and idly jotted down several notes in the margins. She was seated at her desk, relaxed, a cup of fresh-ground coffee at her right hand next to the sheaf of papers. Jonathan did a good job with this. He always does. If anybody could keep this company running other than myself, it would be him. But I think his estimate on the interest rates is a little too optimistic. He'd better check on that before we meet with the investors on Friday.
Music, weaving a subtle pattern of words and melody, speaking deeply without disturbing the surface of her thoughts: "—turning, turning, we come 'round right—"
She quickly scrawled a reminder in her desktop calendar about the meeting with the stockholders next week.
I'd better make sure Linette has arranged something with the caterers for this. Lox and bagels, maybe?
Suddenly, Ria was aware of the faint melody, building into a profound harmony, drawing inexorably towards some unknown conclusion—
She stopped writing abruptly, listening intently to the distant music that only she could hear.
Flute, and a woman singing—
Realization hit her like a physical blow.
That's Eric! What in the hell is he doing?
Ria reached out, trying to touch something happening far away, a world away from the glass-windowed office building overlooking the city.
And drew back quickly, sensing more than just Eric and the human witch; the presences of other elves, slowly awakening from their Dreaming stupor.
No! It can't be!
But it was true.
He's doing it. He's awakening the High Court!
She remembered the look on his face as he had left her last night, vanishing from her house into the hills like a modern-day Thomas Rhymer. After nearly killing me. I can't forget that, either. How he summoned that soul-devourer, unleashed it upon me—
I've never been so frightened in all my life.
Ria shivered in spite of herself. Father told me about those creatures, but I never thought I'd see one. I still can't believe that he was able to control it. I was certain that . . . thing was going to kill both of us.
But he banished it, somehow. And then he left me.
Left me, and didn't come back.
She bit her lip, truly unhappy for the first time in years. Even worse, there was no remedy.
I should never have let him go. I could've stopped him, by force if need be. Letting him leave was a mistake. We could have worked it out—I know he was happy, living with me.
She twisted her pen in her hands, the cool, matte silver no comfort. I haven't been able to stop thinking about him. From the moment I saw him, back in that sleazy bar, I knew he was meant to be with me. We were . . . so good together. It's my fault he ran away; I was so angry that I frightened him into summoning that creature.
Now I don't think he'll ever come back to me; at least not of his own free will.
She closed her eyes in pain. And saw, in her mind's eye, the bulldozed valley, oak trees lying like felled warriors. And Eric, his brow furrowed in concentration, playing the silver flute.
Awakening the Faerie.
Why is he doing this? He must know that Father won't let him save the elves. He's signing his own death warrant, there in the ruined Grove.
Unbidden, another image rose in her mind: Eric, sprawled in an alley, blood staining his white shirt and jeans, his dark eyes empty and lifeless.
And Perenor, walking away and wiping the traces of blood from his blade, walking away without even a backward glance—
She choked. No! No—I don't want that to happen. Even if he walked out on me, I don't want to see him dead.
Oh, Eric, how can you be doing something this foolish? I know what you must be planning—once the Faerie are awakened from Dreaming, you'll try to reestablish a nexus. But Father won't let you do that. If you were to succeed, we would lose control of the magic. Father has planned this for too many years, plotting to avenge himself upon the elves and win control of the magic of this area.
And—I can't let you do this either. Because if you succeed, I'll grow old, and die—
A secret thought whispered in the recesses of her mind:
That wouldn't be so terrible, if you have someone like Eric to grow old with, to share everything. Even dying. That's a very . . . human way to live.
But I'm not human.
She clenched her fist, crumpling the papers under her hand.
I can't let him do this. I can't let him take control of the nexus.
But if we fight again, like we did last night, one of us is going to die . . .
The silent music continued to resonate within her mind, the power flowing into Eric, then out, answering his unspoken, unconscious will. And calling an answering echo from herself.
We are still touching, Power calling to Power, even though he walked out on me. I wonder if he realizes that? Like it or not, we are bound together by more than just emotions. Killing him would be like killing part of myself.
How could I live with myself, knowing that I've murdered the only man I may ever love?
What am I going to do?
The clock on her desk ticked away the seconds as Ria buried her face in her hands.
I don't want to kill him. There has to be an alternative.
Something occurred to her suddenly, a possible solution. I can offer to send the elves across the veil, to the Faerie Lands. With the nexus at my disposal, I could do that easily. Then there would be no deaths, no need for Eric to attempt to create a new nexus, no reason why he couldn't stay with me, live with me forever—
Another voice spoke silently into her thoughts, a voice she recognized instantly. :Ria?:
She could see him in her mind, an angel of shadow, infernally handsome—and darkly angry. :I know, Father. I can hear the Bard's magic. He's probably going to make an attempt on the nexus after he brings them out of Dreaming.:
There was a brief pause before Perenor spoke, and his words were as cold as the darkness between the stars. :You know what we have to do, Ria.:
:Yes. And I'll help you, but on one condition, Father.: She took a deep breath. :You'll let me try to deal with them in my way. Without any killing. I'll make sure that we keep control of the nexus. And—you won't harm the Bard. I want him back.:
Ria felt her father hesitate, if only for a fraction of a second, before he answered. :Agreed, daughter. The nexus is what's important; much more than anything else. I'll contact you again as soon as I know where they're going.:
The light touch of his mind faded. Ria opened her eyes slowly, looking out the window at the hills.
Does he mean that? Or was he only saying that so I would help him?
It doesn't matter. We've been building to this for a long time, Father and I. A final, decisive confrontation. If he tries to harm Eric—
I'll kill him.
I love Eric. And I won't risk losing him again.