The Chaos Gate, page 9
Yes, oh yes, it’s working!
As Gwenlyn continued her song, the man sat down where he’d stood, blinking at her like a bewildered, sleepy owl. The other bandits were yawning and blinking, too, and as Gwenlyn, hardly daring to believe what was happening, kept singing, repeating the charm over and over, they dropped off, one by reluctant one, into slumber. Even though by now she was thoroughly sick of the silly words, Gwenlyn sang the whole song through one more time just to be on the safe side, then fell silent, staring in astonishment at the crumpled heaps of snoring men.
It—it worked! I don’t believe it!
Yes, but she was no trained spellcaster, and whatever magic was in the song was slight at best. It wasn’t going to hold a whole group of grown men for very long. Gwenlyn fumbled with the ropes holding her till she’d squirmed free, and scrambled to her feet, glancing quickly about the forest. Gods, she hadn’t the vaguest idea of which way to go!
No time to worry about it Already one of the bandits stirred in his sleep as though he was about to wake up. Gwenlyn turned and ran. Oh gods, they really were waking up behind her! The tiny spell had run its course already.
“She bespelled us!” a frightened voice cried.
“Never mind that!” someone else snapped. “She’s getting away!”
“Let her!”
“No, you idiot! Want a witch loose in the forest to get revenge on us?”
With a roar of fear and fury, they started after her. Terrified, Gwenlyn raced on. She couldn’t find a safe place to hide, not with them so close behind her. All she could do was run with all her might, and pray she wouldn’t break an ankle or her neck!
How am I going to get out of this? she wondered. Dear gods, how am I ever, ever going to escape?
###
Rualath hissed in fury. But her rage was bluster; she was struggling to cover the cold terror seizing her heart.
The Gate Spell, the risky, experimental, not-tested-enough Gate Spell, had gone wrong, wrong! It had nearly caught its prey, but “nearly” was as useless—as dangerous!—as a clean miss. Somehow Naitachal had eluded the Gate, somehow he had escaped.
Rualath clenched the scrying crystal so fiercely the facets nearly cut into her hands. Who would have predicted a—a—human would interfere? When he had passed through the Gate instead, curse him to the Utter Dark, the fragile spell had shattered like a mirror. Shards of its magic were spiraling wildly out and out, fracturing into ever smaller, ever more chaotic Gates spilling throughout the forest! If the whole thing hadn’t been of such vital importance to her, Rualath knew she would have been watching the disintegration in pure scientific fascination. How incredible! Those ever-changing Chaos Gates were confusing distance and direction throughout the forest in such unpredictable fashion. Anyone or anything passing through one of them would be thrown into odd, random teleportation jumps.
What do I do now? How do I explain to Haralachan that my spell failed and—
“So…” purred a voice in her ear, and Rualath drew in her breath in sharp shock. Haralachan! “I never thought your spell would cause such widespread effects.”
Neither did I, curse you. “Intriguing, is it not?” Rualath said, thinking busily. “We have the chance to weaken an entire forest.”
“What a pity that isn’t what you meant to do.”
Rualath glanced sharply his way. “Do you question my sorceries, my lord?”
“Not the sorceries, my lady. Merely their result. Where is the traitor?”
“Ah, that.”
“Where is Naitachal, Rualath?”
Where, indeed? “It would have been far too simple to just bring him straight here,” Rualath bluffed.
“Oh?”
Yes, yes, she had it now: even though Naitachal might have escaped the original Gate, it had still been set specifically for him; he must still have been weakened by it. That meant there was still a chance one of the chaotic facets of the shattered spell would drag him in. “Indeed,” Rualath said smoothly. “I have snared him with the merest touch of my spell. And this way he knows he has been snared, yet has the merest illusion of freedom, the merest false hope he can escape. Soon, soon I will draw him in.”
Would Haralachan accept that? He was guarding his thoughts so thoroughly she couldn’t sense the faintest hint of emotion, and his face was its usual sculpted coldness. “Make it soon,” the Nithathil leader said shortly. Glancing past her at the scrying crystal, he added, “What of the human? The fool who passed through the Gate?”
You don’t realize the Gate shattered, do you? What of the human, indeed? Studying that far-off figure, straining every sorcerous sense to puzzle out who and what he was, Rualath felt a little shock of realization shoot through her, and smiled a thin, cold, pleased smile. “Don’t you recognize him, my lord? That is the human Bard, the one known, I believe, as Kevin.”
“The traitor’s friend?” Haralachan asked incredulously. “Why, yes, it is he! And I already have a game piece in place to snare him, and Naitachal through him. Clever, Rualath, most clever.”
She hadn’t the vaguest idea what he meant. But Rualath was hardly about to admit it. Well, now, isn’t this interesting? Maybe my spell hasn’t failed after all!
“Come, my lord,” Rualath purred, resting a long-nailed hand lightly on Haralachan’s arm. “Let us watch the game together.”
###
They’re still right behind me, Gwenlyn thought in despair. Aren’t they ever going to give up? Aren’t they—
“Aie!”
It was a startled cry, because all at once the forest had shifted around her, tossing her stumbling out into—
Into a very different part of the forest. Before, the underbrush had been dense, the trees mostly oak. Now, impossibly, there was almost no underbrush, and pine trees towered all about.
It can’t be, it can’t—
But the bandits were staggering out behind her, and if they’d been determined to catch her before, now, wild with terror, they were twice as determined to destroy the “witch” they were sure was to blame for all this weirdness. With a sob, Gwenlyn hurried on and on and on, gasping, heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst, snagging her hair and clothes on branches, stubbing her toes on roots or rocks.
And, so terrifyingly unpredictable, the forest kept changing about her again and again, tossing her into swamp or thick bushes or tall-grass meadow. The last change brought her startlingly out from dense forest into an open world of rocky outcroppings. Blinking in the sudden bright sunlight, glancing back over her shoulder, Gwenlyn saw the bandits still close behind, following her now with blind determination: By now, Gwenlyn realized with a sob, she was the only unchanging fact in their lives; they were never going to let her escape.
I—I can’t run any more, I just can’t.
But what else could she do? To fall into the hands of men gone completely mad from fear would be to die. Yet ahead was nothing but rock and—and—
A hive! Oh yes, please, yes, that cavelike opening was just too smooth and round to be natural. It had to be the entrance to an Arachnia hive—yes, yes, thank you gods, she could see two of the non-humans, guards as fierce as any predators, prowling back and forth. Maybe someone else might find them a terrifying sight, but Gwenlyn had grown up with the sight of Arachnia merchants visiting her father. She’d quickly learned that even though the beings might look frightening, they were quite polite, even kindly, to those who treated them with honor. As her father had always treated them.
They used to bring me honey candy. But—but that was a different hive from this. At least I think so. Will they know my father here?
It didn’t matter, Gwenlyn told herself. She’d much rather take her chances among unfamiliar Arachnia than human bandits! Forcing her weary body forward, she gasped to the soldiers, “I—I am Gwenlyn, d-daughter of—of Count Trahern, and—and oh, I ask for sanctuary!”
The guards, who had frozen in postures of startled menace, their powerful, segmented arms raised, hastily turned to chitter to each other, glancing her way with sharp, insectile jerks of their heads, segmented eyes studying her. Suddenly they shot back into their fierce defensive poses as the bandits broke out of cover.
“Oh, hurry, please,” Gwenlyn moaned.
“Yes,” one Arachnia soldier said crisply. “We know of your father.”
“Yes,” said the other. “Enter. We cannot promise you sanctuary; that is for our Queen to decide. But we give you leave to speak with her.”
With a sob of relief, Gwenlyn dove into the hive. The Queen might not like having a human in her hive, the Queen might not give her sanctuary—but at least for the moment she was safe!
Chapter XI
The Maid Of The Forest
Kevin groaned. Slowly he felt consciousness stealing back into him, which wasn’t a totally good thing, because it was letting him feel exactly how sore his body seemed to be, as though someone had very deliberately beaten every bit of him, then dropped him down on…
On what? Where was he? In a moment, he’d have to open his eyes and find out, but right now it seemed far easier to just lie still and try to puzzle things out.
The last thing he remembered was staggering out into forest that hadn’t looked at all like the patch he’d just left. The Gate…yes. He’d fallen through some sort of sorcerous Gate. But surely he couldn’t possibly be lying cradled against something wonderfully soft, something wonderfully sweet-scented…
What was this? Kevin came fully awake and aware—and found himself lying in the arms of the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen. For a breathless moment he simply stared, upside down, at a fine-boned, narrow face, the skin pale and flawlessly smooth, framed by long, silken golden hair. Elegantly slanted eyes, the most extraordinary, glowing shade of green, looked tenderly down at him.
“I’ve died,” he murmured at last. “That’s it. I’ve died and gone to the Hereafter. Never thought I’d warrant my own angel.” Ugh. You sound like a melodramatic minstrel.
But the young woman didn’t seem to mind the overblown language. Her laugh was sweet as silver bells. “I am not an angel.”
No, Kevin realized with a shock, and she wasn’t human, either! “You’re an elf,” he gasped in sudden wonder, seeing the delicately pointed ears peeking out from the mass of golden hair. He twisted free (not without a pang of regret) to look at her rightside up: the view was even nicer this way around. “You’re a White Elf.”
“And you,” she answered with a tiny smile, “are a human.”
Oh, what a lovely voice this was, soft and shy and filled with the most wonderful music! (And, a more rational part of his mind added in wild relief, to find a White Elf here, a member of a race that was the very opposite of Darkness, meant that wherever the sorcerous Gate might have thrown him, now, surely, he was safe.) “Uh, I’m Kevin,” he remembered to say after a moment more of mindless staring, adding as a stunned sort of afterthought, “a Bard.”
“A Bard!” she cried in delight. “I’ve never met a human Bard before. Oh, but I’m forgetting courtesy: my name is Amaranthia.”
That was all? It was a charming name, Kevin thought, but as far as he knew (and he admitted he didn’t know all that many of her race), elves always included their clan name in introductions. But this charming young woman was plainly too shy to boast. Or maybe she came from a humble clan. Well, he could understand her modesty, being of common blood himself; he wasn’t going to push her about her clan or anything else, or—
Oh, stop that. You sound like a babbling idiot. But . . . she is so very fair. . . “You…ah…live around here?” Now there’s an inane thing to say! Why not ask her for her birth sign, too!
Amaranthia didn’t seem to mind. “No. And I—I don’t think you do, either.”
“Hardly. I got here by—well, I think what I did was pass through some sort of Gate.”
Her eyes widened. “So! That would explain it. I found you lying here unconscious, surrounded by the oddest residue of magic.” She shuddered most deliciously. “Dark magic.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that,” he assured her hastily.
“Oh, I know that. There isn’t anything of Darkness about you.”
For an instant her clear green eyes looked right into his own. Kevin froze, unable to look away, not really wanting to. Eliathanis, he thought without warning, my poor dead friend, what would you think of a human daring to—to do whatever it is I’m doing or. . . going to do…with one of your own people’s women?
The White Elf would probably frown on the whole thing. Or else give Kevin a polite little smile and lecture him all about chivalry.
The last thing Kevin wanted to be right now was chivalrous. But Amaranthia was so plainly a gently bred maiden—albeit of a magical, non-human race—that even though his body was screaming at him to seize her here and now, he found himself saying with a polite restraint that rather amazed him, “I’m glad you know I’m not of the Darkness. I could never be anything that might hurt you.”
Oh, gods, you sound like a lovesick poet!
She didn’t seem to mind that, either. Blushing ever so slightly, Amaranthia lowered her gaze. “I—I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”
Ah, well, go ahead. Be sappy. She seems not to mind your silly babblings. “Nor I, you,” Kevin murmured tenderly.
“I…no. It’s too foolish.”
“What is?”
“We’ve only just met, and in such strange surroundings, too. We don’t know each other at all. And yet…”
“And yet?” Kevin prodded.
“And yet I think I would like the chance to—to know you a little better.”
“Oh, so would I!” It was a heartfelt cry. Kevin edged towards her, as cautious as if she was a bird that would fly if he moved too quickly. Amaranthia never moved, save to shyly veil her green eyes with long golden lashes.
“I’ve never been so close to a human before,” she murmured, the faintest of blushes coloring her fair cheeks a delicate pink once more. “Is it true what the elves say about your kind?”
If he moved just a fraction more, he would be able to put his arm around her, and then…“What do they say?’
She glanced innocently up at him. “That you all are very hot-blooded. Quick to mate. Like the animals.”
Kevin straightened indignantly, “We are not!” he began, then stopped short because Amaranthia was giggling. “You were teasing me!”
“Forgive me. I—” But suddenly Amaranthia stiffened. “Oh, Kevin,” she whispered, “I sense more hints of the Darkness. I don’t like this forest.”
It looked perfectly normal to Kevin. There were even the ordinary little cheeps and chirps that meant the bird life wasn’t being disturbed by intruders. “What is it? What do you sense? Specifically, I mean.”
She shook her head. “It’s gone now. I’m probably being silly. I admit it, I’m not used to being out on my own. In fact, if my clan knew where I was, and with whom…” Amaranthia’s voice trailed off as she studied Kevin, and her green gaze brightened. “Why don’t you come back with me?”
“To your clan? Uh, is that such a good idea?”
“They—they don’t really dislike humans, they just don’t know your kind very well. I’m sure you could charm them over in a moment. And—and we’d have a chance to spend some better time together.”
Oh, he wanted to say yes, he wanted that so very much! To Kevin’s horror, he heard himself saying instead, “I’m sorry.” Oh, you idiot, what are you doing? “I’m a count as well as a Bard.” No, no, no, don’t be so stupidly honorable, not now! “And, well, I just can’t up and abandon my duties at home. I am sorry,” oh, I am, I am, “but before I can even think of anything else I must find my friend, and then—”
Amaranthia straightened. “Your friend? Who is he? A human like you?”
“Uh, no,” Kevin said warily, a little puzzled at her sudden sharp interest. “He’s a Bard like me, but…ah…he’s an elf.”
“A White Elf? What clan?”
Oh. Now what? “He isn’t exactly a White Elf,” Kevin hedged.
“What else could he be? Kevin, what are you trying to say?”
“I…well…”
“You’re not going to tell me he’s a—a Dark Elf?”
“Well…”
“Oh no,” she laughed, “he can’t possibly be that! It would be too ridiculous, a Nithathili Bard.”
“Ridiculous or not,” Kevin admitted, “a Dark Elf is exactly what he is. But Naitachal’s not evil!” he added hastily as Amaranthia scrambled to her feet in horror. “Please, don’t be afraid! Neither one of us are allied with Darkness. He’s no longer a Necromancer, honestly! I know it sounds weird, but Naitachal really is a Bard.”
“That’s impossible,” Amaranthia said flatly.
Ah. He should have expected this. She had all the standard White Elf prejudices against Naitachal’s kind, just as Eliathanis had originally had. “But he—”
“No!” Amaranthia said sharply. “I won’t listen. No Nithathil has any music, everybody knows that. And they’re all followers of the Darkness, every one of them. I’ve never heard of one who would even think about turning to the Light.”
She was shrinking slowly away, as though she meant to run if he made one wrong move. “Oh, please,” Kevin cried, “don’t go!”
He tried to get to his feet—but as suddenly as that, such a wild wave of dizziness swept over him Kevin couldn’t even see straight. As he fell back to one knee, struggling not to be sick or faint outright, Amaranthia gave a soft cry of dismay and knelt at his side, her arm going gently about his shoulders. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “Merely aftereffects of that strange, strange Gate Spell. Nothing to worry about.”
“I…I can’t…”
“Don’t be afraid. Just lie back down. Put your head in my lap. That’s right. All you need to do is rest…just rest a little more…just rest a little more…”
