Fireshaper's Doom (23 page)

Ahead of them, Nuada had almost caught the fleeing youth. A bare ten yards separated them.

But beyond, half a mile across the lake to the left, where the road from Enotah swung down the mountain and burst upon the bridge, lights showed a car fast approaching.

“Froech!” Nuada’s shout cut the night.

But Froech ignored him, and spurred his mount up the steep slope at the bridge’s nearer end.

He turned left onto the span, and the company followed close.

“Gotta catch that boy,” Uncle Dale gritted, as he urged Bessie up the bank, with the rest at his back in a tide of black and gray and silver.

Lights bounced across the railing an eighth of a mile away, as the company surged onto the bridge. Liz saw the Faery youth shudder as he passed near the iron railing.

But then he was riding again, spurs digging into the silver haunches, as fear rose red in his horse’s eyes.

Headlights glared onto the bridge.

Froech froze—in the exact center of the left-hand lane.

The lights burned closer, setting the boy’s handsome face into a one-dimensional cutout of shock and horror. Slanted Faery eyes slitted in the light of General Electric halogens. The youth raised a screening arm across his face.

High beams dipped, flashed, dipped again. A horn blew.

Froech grimaced. The heat of iron born of the World’s first making was rushing down upon him, even as it surrounded him to either side. He spurred the horse, and jerked it in an awkward sidestep onto the walkway beside the railing. Water sparkled below.

A longer blast on the horn.

Froech jerked the reins, dug his knees in.

Another set of lights swung onto the bridge. Heavy motors rumbled.

Froech’s horse revolted then, and flung itself across the wide roadway directly in front of the oncoming vehicle…and calmly arched itself across the low railing on the opposite side.

Suddenly the whole company was galloping after, the four remaining horses inspired by their fellow’s recklessness. And facing them was a gold Camaro, its brakes squealing a cacophonous counterpoint to its horn.

There followed a moment of frozen time when it seemed to Liz the world was lost in a chaos of movement in which the only anchor was Uncle Dale’s khakied back.

And then
their
mounts were leaping in pursuit of their fellow, as much from high-hearted joy as from fear or their riders’ urging.

Lights blazed to Liz’s left and the railing loomed ahead of her. Silver shoes rang loud on pavement, and then she felt the horse’s hip muscles tense beneath her.

“Hold on, girl!” Uncle Dale cried as she buried her face desperately between his shoulders.

There was sidewalk beneath her, and then a gray glimmer of railing, and then air and darkness.

“Shiiiiiit!” a voice cried, and Liz glanced sideways to see Gary’s mouth and eyes round to astonished circles as Cormac launched his mount into the air.

The horn dopplered into silence as the Camaro sped past behind them—

Above
them.

Raw, sick fear bloomed in Liz’s stomach as she realized that Uncle Dale had kicked free, and they were simply
falling…

Water, cold and hard, slapped her diaphragm against her lungs, hammered the air from her chest. A sour burning flooded into her nose, her eyes, her gaping mouth.

Arms flailing automatically, Liz sought the surface.

Other heads broke water around her, and she saw Nuada to her left, ponytail slicked thin across his shoulders, as he grasped Blackwind’s mane with his single hand and sent him paddling into the bridge’s shadow.

She began tallying those dark blots: herself, and Silverhand, and Gary, who was already swimming strongly, and there was Regan dragging Alec with one hand and clutching her horse’s tail with the other. A splash beside her as Uncle Dale’s head broke surface—minus his hat, which was floating somewhere out of reach. And further to the left there was a sullen Cormac swimming behind his former mount. Finally, already almost within arm’s distance of the nearest pylon, there was Froech. The Faery youth was still seated, though only his head and upper torso showed above the inky surface, even as his stallion’s head and arching neck alone were visible, riding low within the water. He was leaning far over the pommel, eyes closed, his body absolutely motionless except for his lips, which seemed to be chanting some unvoiced litany.

Nuada paddled up beside him, just as the youth’s lids quivered open. “Present wisdom a trade for previous folly?” the fair-haired man asked. “Or was that not a glamour I felt you casting?”

Froech nodded groggily. “Aye. The minds of men are easy things to cloud when they do not wish to trust their senses. The chariot drivers will but think themselves too much enthralled by wine. That much at least I could do—that, and break the force of our fall somewhat.”

“Perhaps the first well-considered thing any of us have done lately,” Nuada replied, as Blackwind pulled him past.

Liz concentrated on swimming, which she did well in spite of the increasing drag of her soggy clothing, all the while keeping a close eye on Uncle Dale. That old man was a continuing source of surprises, she thought, having seen him in the last few minutes ride a strange horse bareback with complete authority, jump that same horse over a bridge railing, and now seeing him swimming beside her. Granted the style he was using was not Olympic standard, but it seemed to serve him well enough.

They were under the bridge now, and its pale ribs arched above them. She caught at one of the pylons and rested a moment, her hand wedged into a concrete joint. There were two more ahead, maybe a hundred feet apart, the farthest, she knew, in water that was not deep at all. She pushed onward, crossed the intervening distance, and then the next hundred feet, conscious more and more of the weight of her clothing.

A horse splashed beside her and she thought she recognized Bessie, though in the darkness it was hard to tell. Her feet brushed bottom then, and she wrapped a hand in the dripping mane and allowed the mare to tow her the rest of the way to the steeper northern shore.

Trees grew closer to the water’s edge there, and Liz released her hold on Bessie’s mane to fall gratefully against the rough bark of a pine. Around her, other shapes, some two-legged, some four, were emerging from the lake, and she found herself again taking mental inventory: Regan, Alec, and their horse; Froech and his own
mount…

They were all there. All conscious and none the worse for wear. The four Sidhe were seeing to the wild-eyed horses, breathing words of calm and comfort in their ears. One at a time Froech laid a hand between their eyes and with that touch they quieted.

Liz looked around for Uncle Dale, saw him quietly tending to their shared mount, then busied herself with trying to wring as much water from her clothes and hair as she could. Alec, Gary, and Cormac had stripped off their shirts, and were twisting them between their hands as thin sheets of brownish water squirted from between the spiraled bundles.

Nuada was also scanning the group, counting silently to himself. He frowned when he saw Froech, and Liz noticed that the Faery boy appeared to be quite dry.

Gary approached Froech, grinning, his sodden gray sweat pants slapping together noisily. “Way to go, man. You sure got things moving—but next time give me some warning, huh? I’ll bring my bathing suit.” He clapped a friendly arm on the Faery youth’s shoulder. “Hey—why ain’t you wet?”

Froech thrust him roughly back. “Keep away from me, human!” he snarled. “Don’t touch me!”

“Now, wait a minute, man, I—”

Froech’s hand shot to his left hip, and grasped the hilt of the sword that hung there. He had the blade halfway out before another hand closed over his and thrust it back into the scabbard with a click.

Nuada stepped from behind him. (How had he moved so fast? Liz wondered. He’d been behind her an instant ago.)

“This is an interesting sword, Froech,” Nuada said smoothly. “Is it yours?” His voice was silky calm, but Liz could sense a deadly anger just behind his eyes as he continued:

“It is perhaps not appropriate to sheathe this sword in any wrapper but its own, boy, at least not at a time like this. I doubt human blood would improve the temper of the blade, do you? In fact, might there not be enough iron in this boy’s blood to ruin this weapon entirely? Neither Lugh nor I would find that amusing.”

Froech’s face appeared to darken in the moonlight.

“I—I am sorry, Lord. I am unaccustomed to dealing with humans. And truly, in our haste I forgot the sword. Lugh gave it to me to relay to you, before he sealed the borders. I pass it into your keeping now.” He unhooked the scabbard from his link-belt and handed the whole thing to Nuada.

Nuada fixed him with a glare as he clipped the sword onto his belt one-handed. “Peace,” he said at last. “There is too much at stake here for contention.”

Froech inclined his head slightly, though his eyes still blazed.

Gary offered him his hand. Under Nuada’s frozen stare the Faery youth took it briefly, but obviously with little relish.

“I will do what I can,” Froech muttered.

“Right. No hard feelings, huh?”

“There is strength to that boy he is not aware of himself,” Regan said softly from the silent shadows nearby.

Liz turned toward the woman’s voice, saw her already remounted on her horse and giving Alec a hand up behind her. “How do you know?” Liz whispered.

Regan smiled enigmatically. “Perhaps I am a seeress. Or perhaps I am simply a weaver, and can follow threads from one end of a pattern to another.”

“But one never knows when someone else will cut the cloth,” Cormac added as he too swung up on his steed. He had not put his shirt back on and in the moonlight his bare white torso looked to Liz like some idealized Greek sculpture, so perfect were the Faery lord’s proportions, so clean the long, strong lines of his muscles. Except for Fionchadd at the Trial of Heroes, it was the first time she had seen the bare bodies of any of the Sidhe, and she was frankly curious. But then she remembered the last time she had seen David, seen
his
bare torso shimmering slick and pale in the moonlight, and she felt tears welling in her eyes. Suddenly she was a mass of nerves.

“Can we get going now?”
she heard herself cry, more desperately than she’d intended.

“We can indeed,” replied Nuada. “And let us do so now.” The Faery lord glanced at Uncle Dale. “How far is this place you suggest we seek?”

“’Bout six miles, but it’s mostly easy travelin’. We can follow the beach some, and most of the rest is pine woods, so they won’t be hard to get through. Once we get there, we can pick up whatever supplies we might need and head out. I ’spect we all could do with a bite.”

“We could use some weapons too,” Alec suggested. “Knives and stuff, if you’ve got any.”

“But what about the cops?” Gary insisted.

“Do not forget on what you ride,” Nuada answered, as he exchanged an enigmatic glance with Froech. “Perhaps that journey will not take as long as you expect.”

“Long enough in wet clothes,” Alec muttered.

Nuada raised an eyebrow. “Aye. Froech, do you suppose you could dispose of some of
this…
dampness?”

Froech frowned. “Of course I could. But do you forget that I am cut off from Faerie now, the same as you? I must rely solely on the Power that remains within me, and that is not great. Do you think it well to spend it so frivolously when we may be in greater need of it later?”

Nuada’s eyes narrowed. “I think it best that you do what I ask you.”

The younger Faery’s nose twitched irritably, but he closed his eyes. A warm wind seemed to thread its way among the trees, brushing against Liz’s face like a breath of high noon in the desert. She discovered that she was almost dry.

“And now,” said Nuada Airgetlam, “let us ride. And”—he eyed Froech again—“let us hope our riding passes quickly.”

*

For most of the company, the ensuing journey through the bright, moon-shrouded silence of the Enotah National Forest seemed, indeed, to take almost no time at all. They maintained a brisk, steady pace through open forest, briefly uphill at first, but eventually turning right onto a narrow, rutted trail—probably an abandoned logging road—that traced a clear path along a gently rolling ridgeline. A range of small mountains stretched away before them in an almost straight line from north to south.

But for Liz, that journey seemed to take forever.
Her
world had narrowed to the closeness of Uncle Dale’s back, and the physical effort involved in retaining both her seat and her hold.

And, of course, to worrying about David.

Her head was clearer, and one part of her knew that there
was
nothing to worry about—in the sense that she knew David was alive, albeit in Faery captivity. But she had no certainty she’d ever see him again, and
that
she couldn’t bring herself to face, especially in the light of what had so recently passed between them. It had taken a lot out of her: getting up the nerve to take the initiative in their relationship, then going along with David’s sudden burst of amorousness (though she had to admit she’d enjoyed it as well). But she hadn’t expected things to go so far so quickly, from total restraint to almost no restraint all in a matter of minutes.