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SEVENTEEN:
THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN

Eric stood in the corner of Aerune's Great Hall, playing a soft tune upon his flute. Into it, he put all he knew of Aerete from this journey through Aerune's memories. The cloaking spell he had set in motion before they passed through the ring of standing stones kept Aerune from sensing their presence, and in a few moments, if this worked, it would no longer matter whether it held or not.

Behind him, the four Guardians stood in a ring around Kayla and Ria, their arms crossed, holding each other's hands to form a tightly-woven ring of protection around the two women. They were taking a mad gamble—that the source of their power was compatible with Kayla's healing ability—but it was their only chance. Undermine Aerune's power here, the power that fed on his rage at Aerete's murder—or break free of the dream by force and face him in the Chaos Lands, with Aerune at the height of his powers.

If this worked, Kayla would be able to reach into Aerune's mind to erase the memories that caused him such pain. They would be free of Aerune's dream, back in the Chaos Lands, and—if they were lucky—Aerune would be off-balance for the precious moments they needed to set the dragon labyrinth around him.

If Kayla could heal him. To do it, Kayla would have to go deeper into the elf-lord's mind than any of them were now. Even with Ria to act as her anchor, there was a real possibility that Kayla might lose herself. And without Kayla to bridge the two worlds—the real and the dream—the rest of them would fall back into Aerune's nightmare once more, this time for good.

And they'd die.

Eric concentrated on his playing, on creating the imago of Aerete. To remove the memories without Aerune noticing and fighting back, there had to be something both to call them to the surface and to go in their place. That was where Eric came in—to craft a dream of Aerete, alive and loving and whole, to set in the place of the memories of sorrow and loss.

It could be Kory up there, Eric thought fleetingly. Kory, with Beth dead and no way to get her back. 

Then there was no time for such thoughts. He threw himself into the music and the spell.

* * *

Kayla clutched Ria's hands tightly, trying to think of nothing but the healing she was about to attempt. She and Elizabet had done this before—with Beth, with Ria, with others who came to Elizabet to heal wounds not of the body, but of the spirit. But what she was about to do now bore the same resemblance to that work as the Space Shuttle did to the Wright Brothers' first airplane. To do it, she would have to become both surgeon and scalpel, drawing upon the energy the Guardians sent her just as she normally drew on her own life-force. The attempt could kill them all.

But hey, who wants to live forever, especially on Aerune's terms?  

Slowly, she reached out to the Guardians, touching their power. It spilled into her like sunshine, and she took a steadying breath. Okay so far. She didn't need to touch Aerune to do this—she was already inside his mind, inside his defenses, inside his dreams. That was the only reason this could possibly work. She closed her eyes, concentrating on Eric's music.

Aerete. Think of Aerete.  

* * *

The Great Hall and her companions were gone—she was deep in Aerune's memories, seeing through his eyes. She could smell the blood, hear the moans of the dying. She—he—they held Aerete's body in their arms, felt her cooling blood upon their hands, and Aerune mac Audelaine knew that in this moment his world had ended. Men had done this, men had killed his love, and in his dead love's name, Aerune swore that their treachery would be repaid. He had shown them mercy for her sake, and now that they had slain her, they had slain all mercy and kindness as well. A cold fury welled up in him, destroying all other thoughts, all other purposes. For so long as Time itself endured, they would be his prey and his enemy, and he would not rest until he had slain them all—

Kayla felt his agony rip through her like a high wind. He had killed elves before, though Death was a rare visitor to the Sidhe. Among the mortalkind he had seen Death in all its guises, but no death had ever touched him until now. It was unendurable pain, and only hate could protect him from it. Never again would he love—he would hate, hate forever the worthless animals who had destroyed him and slain his love. In her name, he would hate forever, until the very sun grew cold. . . .

She reached out, taking his pain and letting it flow through her. Again and again she reached out, smoothing away the pain and loss until nothing of that terrible moment remained. Kayla gasped with effort, feeling her heart thunder in her distant body. The memory of Aerete's death was gone, but that wasn't enough. There was still too much pain. She had to take every memory of Aerete from his mind, leaving Aerune only the loving presence of the Aerete in Eric's music. She closed her eyes, and let the music lead her deeper into Aerune's mind.

The firelight flared, and Kayla opened her eyes. As she did, the world came real—the smell of fragrant wood smoke, the cold bite of the winter night, the sound of drums and piping. She was Aerune.

There was a bonfire ringed by dancers. The lines of men and women wove in and out, and every few moments one of the dancers would rush toward the center of the ring and leap the fire, to the accompaniment of much laughing and shouting. The firelight gleamed on their oiled skin, and Kayla saw the shadowy marks of tribal paint and tattoos.

And Aerete danced with them, her bright hair shining, her jewels gleaming with elvish fire. She leaped into the circle and over the fire, and all her people shouted with joy. Kayla felt Aerune's anger, his uncomprehending pain and sullen hurt. How can she love them, who does not love me? 

She touched the memories with her power, soothing them away. Gone. It was easier this time. And Eric's music pulled her elsewhere.

The walls of Aerune's Great Hall gleamed golden in the light of torches. Banners of bright silk hung from the ceiling, waving softly in the updrafts of warm air from the fire in the firepit. The ivory dais was draped with rugs of jewel-bright weaving, and on it stood a gaming table, its surface covered with carven counters of gold and precious stones. Aerete leaned over the board, her pale hair a fall of shining silk, regarding its surface intently. Suddenly she saw a move and pounced, sweeping the enemy counters from the board. She clapped her hands and laughed, as happily as a child, and Aerune knew there was nothing in all the worlds as beautiful as her face, that without her there was no happiness anywhere—

Gone.

The air was filled with flowers and the scent of new green life. They rode through the early morning mist, he on his black stallion, she on her white mare, and all the time-bound Earthly world was their dominion. In her hair she wore a garland of his weaving—May flowers, as pale and perfect as her silken skin. Her arms were full of flowers, their petals showering down like warm soft snow. The air was filled with birdsong, and larks wheeled and darted about her head, teasing and calling. For her sake, he had forsworn the Hunt, and no longer took the Children of Earth as his rightful prey. She held out her hand, and the birds of the air came to her call. He prayed that this moment would last forever, that she would not turn again to the mortalfolk, those unworthy recipients of her precious love—

Gone.

He rode forth with the Hosts of Hell at his back—landless knights cast out by their hames, Low Court spirits bound to him by magic—to hunt and harry where he would, for this time-bound world had long been his playground. Once this land had been green and silent, but then Men had come to it, hunting the red deer and the gray wolf, cutting down the great trees. Now he rode toward one of their villages of sticks and mud, intent upon their destruction.

But as he rode toward them, a lone rider blocked his way. He thought to run her down, but then recognized that she was of his blood, as fair as the undying lilies of an Elfhame. A woman, little more than a child, who gazed at him fearless and unafraid.

"Yield the road to me, child. I ride to the village beyond," Aerune said harshly.

"Not this day, nor yet any other, while I live," she answered boldly.

"Child, do you know me? I could slay you with a thought."

"All in this realm know you, to their sorrow, Aerune mac Audelaine, Lord of the Hunt. Too long have you harried the folk who cry out to me for protection. I would have you cease."

He gazed upon her shining form, he who had never bent to another's will, and something in her fearless gaze reached a part of him that he thought could never yield to the touch of another. Aerune hesitated.

"Tell me who you are, that I may tell your kinfolk who to mourn."

"I am Aerete, child of Melusine, and I will not let you harm my people."

He gazed once more into her face, and saw that she would not yield. He had slain others as he would slay her now, and forget her death before the sun set in this mortal world. And so he raised his hand—

He could not do it, and did not know why. And the Hunt turned aside—

Gone.

Gone. All gone. The flash of her eyes, the scent of her skin, the touch of her hand. Joy and sorrow, love and hate, gone. All gone, smoothed away from his mind as if they'd never been, Eric's spell set in their place. All the memories, all the pain, gone, gone forever—  

:KAYLA!:  

Ria's mental cry jolted Kayla from the healing trance. She staggered and fell, crying out with despair at the beauty she had destroyed—gone forever, all gone—

She fell to her knees on the misty ground of the Chaos Lands. Time ran normally once more, but Kayla hardly cared. She was sick, she was cold . . . and tired, so very tired—

"Get back—get back!" Toni shouted, sweeping her sword up to meet Aerune's blow. There was a ring of metal on metal, a hiss as elvensilver met Cold Iron. Someone grabbed Kayla by the scruff of her mail shirt and flung her away like a bag of dirty laundry. She hit hard and rolled, fetching up at Lady Day's feet. She clung to the stirrup of the elvensteed's saddle, dragging herself to her feet.

It seemed that only seconds had passed since Aerune's arrival, and the discord between that fact and what she remembered made Kayla lightheaded. She heard music, buffeting her as if she swam in an ocean of harmony, being pulled this way and that by clashing currents, and heard the flat boom of a big-bore handgun, its bark louder than the roaring of the hellhounds. Toni and José were circling Aerune, trying to draw his attack while Paul and Eric—and Hosea—shielded them with magic. Ria stood in a shooter's brace, both hands together, firing at the creatures that followed Aerune, and every shot found its mark. The Unseleighe creatures burned where the steel-jacketed slugs had hit them, collapsing inward around the lumps of deathmetal like ice thrown onto hot coals.

Was it only hope, or did Aerune's attack seem the least bit uncertain, as if he were no longer quite sure why he fought?

* * *

A thousand thoughts clamored for attention in Eric's mind, but he forced them back. There was no time to think, only to be, responding to each of Aerune's attacks with the swiftness Master Dharniel had drummed into him through long and painful lessons. He knew that they could not win this way. They had to stop fighting a purely defensive battle, knock Aerune back long enough to plant the dragon seed.

Then Aerune swept through Toni's guard, hammering her to the ground with one blow from his black mailed fist and catching José off-guard with a backswept blow from his longsword. He raised his sword to deliver the deathblow to the fallen Guardian—

And suddenly there was another warrior here, between Aerune and Toni. Her plate armor was the deep blue of the midnight sky, and her sword burned like starlight.

"Jimmie . . . ?" Eric whispered, unable to believe it.

Knowing it was somehow true.

Jimmie fought Aerune back with a flurry of sword-blows, forcing the elf-lord to give ground, moving him away from the downed Guardians. Each time their swords met they gave off a shower of sparks. Jimmie moved with superhuman grace, as though Death had burned away all that was gross and mortal, leaving behind only the beautiful spirit of the warrior-mage.

"Eric!" she shouted over the clang of metal. "Do it!"

This is the only chance. Eric ran forward, the labyrinth-seed clutched in his fist. Aerune was totally focused on this new opponent. He paid no attention as Eric raised his hand and dashed the seed to the ground. As he did, Jimmie slowly faded away, her last work done.

What happened next was over in an instant, and at the same time seemed to uncoil so slowly that he could see every detail. As the maze-seed struck the ground it began to sprout, unfolding layer after layer of labyrinth, with Aerune at its heart. Walls and passageways, chambers and blind turnings, twisting and twining and leading back into themselves with a mad geometrical complexity. And then—instantly, eventually—there was nothing there but a silvery latticework sphere hovering a few feet off the ground, its shining tracery winding all the way to its heart.

Silence, and the impossible memories came flooding back, making the Chaos Lands reel around him.

Eric stared around at the others. They were all here, all alive. José was helping Toni to her feet. Ria stood head bowed, her gun held out stiffly in front of her. The elvensteeds huddled together, and Kayla, green-faced, was clinging to Lady Day's stirrup, as if that were the only thing holding her upright. As he watched, she let go and sank to her knees, retching. He took a step toward her, but his knees buckled under him and he fell.

Ria ran past him, cradling the fallen Healer in her arms and wiping her face with a handkerchief. After a couple of tries, Eric managed to stagger over to join her.

"Kayla! Are you all right?"

She winced at the loudness of his voice. "Backlash," she whispered, and groaned as Ria lifted her in her arms. "What happened?"

"We won," Eric said.

"Good," Kayla muttered, and closed her eyes.

"Is she . . . ?" Toni asked. Eric looked around. Toni looked battered and drained by the fight, and the mail across her chest was charred and blackened where one of Aerune's levin-bolts had struck. A bruise was rising on her cheekbone where Aerune had struck her, but her eyes were clear.

"Sleeping," Eric said. He rubbed his eyes, realizing he still held his flute clenched in his right hand. He looked at it. The silver was twisted and fused, distorted beyond repair, but he could not remember when or how it had happened. Too many contradictory memories fought for possession of his mind—had they fought Aerune here, or in the shadowy corridors of the elf-lord's mind? Which had been the real fight?

"I thought I saw . . . Jimmie," Toni said slowly.

"I saw her too," Eric said, unsure now of what had been real and what had been a dream. "She saved us. She saved all of us."

Ria laid Kayla down and got to her feet. She put an arm around his shoulder. He could feel her muscles trembling with exhaustion. "Try not to think about it," she advised kindly. "Maybe it was her. If it wasn't, it was something that wanted us to win. These are the Chaos Lands. No one can really say what's possible here."

Eric glanced back at the dragon labyrinth. "But what did we do?" he demanded in frustration, looking around at the others.

"Healed him. Imprisoned him. Either way it's over," Paul said heavily. He wiped his blade with a silk scarf, and slid it back into the cane-sheath, then leaned upon it as if he needed its support.

"But if we did the one, we didn't have to do the other. Right?" Toni asked, sounding as bewildered as Eric felt. She reached out to touch José's shoulder, as if trying to convince herself he was there.

"But the village . . . Aerete . . . it all seemed so real," José said, sounding lost. "The beautiful lady, like the Virgin come to Earth—"

"It was. And it wasn't," Eric said. But it was real enough that he mourned its loss—the sense of security, of home. If they had won, it had been at a cost. Even if they had erased Aerune's memories and his pain, they would all now carry the scar of Aerete's death with them until the end of their days.

"I think we did heal him, or maybe gave him a chance to heal himself," Hosea said slowly, answering Toni. "And if we did, that labyrinth is the best place for him, now. Think about it." He ran his fingers across the face of the banjo, but the instrument was silent, its strings broken and twisted.

"Aerune made a lot of enemies in his life," Eric said, reasoning it out. He was so tired—every fiber of his being screamed for sleep, for rest—but the Chaos Lands weren't safe to linger in. "But—if it worked—he won't remember any of them. Us."

"He'd be helpless against them," Ria said. "But locked up in there, he'll be safe. And the cream of the jest is, he probably won't even notice he is locked up. He'll have Aerete—the Aerete you made for him with your music, Eric—and she'll never die. I suppose you'd call that a happy ending." She gave Eric's shoulder a last squeeze. "We'd better go."

Toni cried out, pointing. A dark shape banked through the mist heading toward them.

"Something's coming," Paul said grimly, as the shape moved toward them through the mist. It landed, folding its great wings. Hosea turned, picking Kayla up.

Eric tried to summon the strength to face this new foe, and knew with a sinking sense of despair that the battle had taken everything he had. Then he saw what they faced clearly, for the first time.

"Pretty," Chinthliss said, craning his long bronze-scaled neck to inspect the shining silvery ball. "One of my more elegant creations."

"Is that . . . a dragon?" Toni asked in a tiny voice.

"A friend," Eric said, his voice shaking with relief. I hope. 

The dragon turned its enormous head to inspect all of them, amber eyes glowing. "And an exquisite battle, may I say, Bard? My compliments to you and your friends."

"Thank you," Eric said. He tried for a courtly bow and staggered. He would have fallen if Ria hadn't been there to catch him.

"I would welcome the opportunity to hear the story of your success in detail," Chinthliss said. "Perhaps I might extend the hospitality of my humble domain to you all until you have rested? I fear such prodigious magics as you have done here today will inevitably attract such persons as you will not wish to meet at this time."

Or ever. "Thank you, Lord Chinthliss. We would be—"

The dragon spread its great wings.

"—honored?" Eric finished weakly, boggling at the sudden smooth transition from there to here. 

The Chaos Lands were gone. The seven of them—and the two elvensteeds—stood suddenly in the inner courtyard that Eric remembered from his last visit to the dragon's domain, and in place of the enormous bronze dragon stood an elegant Oriental man in a bronze silk suit.

"Madre de Dios," José said, crossing himself fervently.

Blessed Lady, hear our call, we who are Your folk . . . Eric shook his head, wrenching himself out of the automatic prayer, too exhausted to think straight. There was no point in praying to the Bright Lady Aerete for her aid as his instincts and memories demanded. Aerete was gone, gone with the paradise she had created, leaving only them to mourn her.

"But come," Chinthliss said, clapping his hands to summon his servants, and drawing Eric's mind back to the here-and-now. "Rest, and awaken refreshed."

Eric didn't even remember making it to a bed. But he dreamed.

* * *

Aerune mac Audelaine, child of the Sidhe, walked the halls of his silver castle beyond the stars. He did not know how he had come to be here, and did not care. He walked in music, his heart filled with the gentle melody of his beloved, a shining presence that accompanied him always. Around him bloomed the undying gardens of Underhill, and the rooms of his dwelling were filled with beauty, harmony and light. He had no reason to venture forth, no interest in the world beyond his domain.  

Aerune knew he was loved. He was content.  

 

 

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