And Less Than Kind Read online

  The mid-sized urso stood behind her family. She bowed slightly to Elizabeth. "They want to learn too," she said, nodding at the young ones. "Is that possible?"

  Elizabeth looked at the short thick legs of the urso young, at the solid, blocky bodies, at the heavy arms. "Why not?" she said, grinning. "The dance will look different, but that does not matter if the dancers are content." She looked down at the kitsune. "Will you dance with the ursos?"

  "Surely," the very smallest said, "it will be more fun to have four dancing." And she dashed off to pull at the second kitsune's hand.

  "All beings are good and the same for you," that kitsune said to Elizabeth in an approving tone when she came with her youngest.

  Elizabeth laughed without much mirth. "All the same, but not all good. I have met more than a few who did not deserve the name 'being' and were in no way good."

  The kitsune nodded. "My mate and yours are agreed to take the Sidhe you felled to Gateways where he can do no harm. Can you teach the young ones to dance first?"

  Both glanced at the four children; the ursos had given part of their striped whatever it was to the kitsune, who were munching delightedly and seemingly describing the dance since the ursos were stumping forward and back. Then all four looked toward Elizabeth, sort of shuffling their feet. It was apparent that the not too great store of patience children held would soon be exhausted. Elizabeth smiled.

  "Yes, I can. Denno can release the spell."

  "He has control of your spells?"

  The kitsune sounded utterly neutral, voice flat to conceal shock. Elizabeth laughed again.

  "I know that is not usual, but I am mortal and with an uncertain Talent. The elder Sidhe who taught me magic deemed it safer if any mistake I made could be unlocked. And usually my spells are cast in the mortal world, where no one has the ability to undo what I have done. Underhill I am always accompanied by those far more skilled and have no occasion to use magic." She shook her head. "Today was an exception, but I am no longer the child Mechain and Elidir taught. I think perhaps the safeguards on my spells should be removed."

  "Very wise." The kitsune's lips lifted.

  Elizabeth went to join the children and the kitsune moved to stand by the mid-sized urso.

  When Denoriel and the other kitsune realized the ursos would be peacefully included in the dancing lesson, they turned to the unconscious Sidhe. They had taken a single step in that direction but both stopped and stood staring. The plump Sidhe was gone. Some bits of the ursos' alfresco meal still lay on the ground, mute evidence that he had been there, but the being himself was gone.

  "Could the spell have worn off and he simply walked away?" the kitsune said in a voice that showed his disbelief of his own words.

  "Not worn off. Not in the time since it was cast," Denoriel said. "I looked at him when I arrived and it had him fast. But it is true that anyone who knows the spell could release it."

  "Who here would be likely to know what spell was cast?"

  Denoriel shook his head and they both advanced on the place where the Sidhe had lain.

  "Invisible?" the kitsune said, cautiously probing the area with a toe.

  But there was no resistance. The Sidhe had not by some mechanism of self-protection turned himself invisible. Denoriel stared at the ground marked by the bits of alfresco nuncheon. He felt something, a trace of effort, perhaps a trace of magic, a trace of magic that made him vaguely uneasy.

  "Dark Sidhe," he said to the kitsune. "I cannot be sure, but I think that one of the Unseleighe took that nuisance away. May the Great Mother lay curses on him."

  "Why?" the kitsune said, grinning. "I know the Bright Court does not love the Unseleighe, but this one did you a good turn. You are well rid of that levin-bolt casting stranger."

  Chapter 20

  Beyond the hardy moss, carefully maintained for those who wished to eat and play in what for Underhill was being outdoors under a sunny sky, were buildings. Some were shops where those who visited Fur Hold could buy the things they had forgotten—cloths to spread on the moss to lie on, on which the nuncheon dishes could be set; the dishes on which to place the food; the utensils with which to eat it; balls, hoops, various implements with which to strike balls (and each other). There were other shops, some of which sold clothing to those who had played too vigorously, and a few that displayed ornaments for those who wished to cement a new or old bond.

  There were also places to supply food to those who had not intended to eat in the open. Those were largely blank doors behind which were various cook stations and food vendors congregated with their carts. Behind one of those doors, a typical Bright Court Sidhe raised the top of a food vendor's cart and lifted out a frozen Sidhe. The striped owner of the cart hissed disapprovingly.

  "Why did you put him in all dirty like that? Now I need to clean out my whole cart."

  The blond, green-eyed Sidhe gripped the body he had lifted in one arm and raised a hand in a way that boded no good for the speaker, who shrank back. The frightened gesture seemed to remind the Sidhe of something, and instead of striking, he smiled.

  "I was in a hurry," he said. "I was afraid those who had stricken down my friend would return and strike us both." He felt in a pouch at his belt and tossed a wooden token to the striped food vendor. "That for your trouble."

  And before the vendor could really examine the token, he clutched the frozen Sidhe to his side and carried him past the food-preparation stations to a rear door. The vendor did not watch him leave; all his attention was for the token he held. Bright Court Sidhe could often have strange and rich resources; he wondered for what the token could be exchanged.

  Meanwhile the seemingly Bright Court Sidhe had not gone out the back door. He had turned right into a short passage that held a stairway up which he carried the frozen Sidhe to the second story of the building where there were rooms for hire. Some of the cook-folk lived in the building and some of the vendors also found it convenient, but most of those who sold to the visitors to Fur Hold had more permanent dwellings and there were always empty rooms.

  Cretchar tried three doors before one opened. A swift glance showed that the room was untenanted. He laid the unmoving body on the narrow bed, the Sidhe's head at the foot so that when his eyes opened he would be looking at the wall, not out into the room. He closed the door and magicked the lock, then walked slowly to the one hard chair and sat down.

  So far so good. When Cretchar had first seen Elizabeth on the performing place, he had remembered Vidal's offer of a whole domain to anyone who could rid the world of the red-haired menace. Cretchar also remembered that Oberon had forbidden any attacks on the girl. A domain was a fine thing. Cretchar would like to have one, but not if it cost Oberon's enmity. That surely meant nonexistence or such an existence as would make nonbeing a great good.

  But after he had regretfully dismissed the thought of doing away with Elizabeth, Cretchar had noticed the great interest in her displayed by the plump, overdressed Sidhe on the other side of the audience. At first it was only a passing notice, but when Elizabeth left the stage and that Sidhe followed, an idea began to form in Cretchar's mind. That Sidhe was not from any elfhame under Oberon's dominion; what if he carried Elizabeth off to his domain? If Cretchar reported that to Vidal, he would be rewarded.

  So Cretchar watched and discovered that Elizabeth was not easy prey. She was small and frail but with formidable shields and a really nasty stasis spell that felled her attacker. Cretchar had no interest in trying to take her himself, but the rage bottled up in the felled Sidhe . . . that might be put to use.

  In moments Cretchar melted back into a wild game, slipped away, found a quiet nook, and changed his brown hair and hazel eyes to the normal appearance of a Bright Court Sidhe. Blond and green-eyed in tunic and trews of pale lavender and rose, he hurried back to where the ursos were still choosing treats.

  When the food vendor finished serving the ursos, Cretchar intercepted him and made the arrangement to borrow his cart. He was giv
en directions where to return the cart, watched as the striped creature went back to the food distribution center, and then moved slowly in a wide arc around where the unconscious Sidhe lay while Elizabeth's escort and the kitsune talked and where Elizabeth ludicrously taught kitsune kits to dance.

  Cretchar had only thought to follow and discover where the escort and the kitsune would dump the Sidhe Elizabeth had frozen. Then if he could he would pick it up and see if he could reverse the stasis spell. He was pleasantly surprised when the Sidhe and the kitsune left the body all alone and went to talk to the other kitsune. Food vendors were everywhere and of every species; they often hurried to answer a signal from a customer. No one paid attention when Cretchar rushed across the field with his cart.

  Cretchar was sure he would not be associated with the foreign Sidhe who abducted or killed Elizabeth. He did not think anyone had seen him pick up the body and the food vendor from whom he had borrowed the cart had only dealt with a nameless Bright Court Sidhe, one of which it probably could not tell from another. So far as the vendor knew the Sidhe who took the cart was the same Sidhe that paid for the food for the ursos.

  Moreover the ursos were aware that the foreign Sidhe had wanted the red-haired girl. The Sidhe had said—Cretchar had very good hearing—that he would skin her alive. Whatever that Sidhe did to Elizabeth could not be blamed on the Dark Sidhe under Oberon's dominion nor in any way be traced to Prince Vidal. Cretchar glowered at the body on the bed. That meant he could not go to Vidal for help or advice; if Titania's fury over Elizabeth's fate drove Oberon to Seek for the guilty, Vidal must know nothing.

  Sighing, Cretchar rose, leaned forward, and gently touched the forehead of the still figure. He knew magic, which was why he had conceived the idea of using the rage in this Sidhe to remove Elizabeth, but he hated to use it. Using magic drained him quickly and his power was slow to renew. It was why he left the Bright Court. Cretchar was not enamored of pain, but the absorption of life force was what best renewed him. In his own domain, he could catch and kill without restriction and always be full of power.

  As he traced the intricacies of the stasis spell, his spirits fell. The enchantment was a masterwork, with so many interwoven spells that he feared even his knowledge of magic would be insufficient to break its grip. And then he saw something he could hardly believe. One hook? One single binding that, if undone, would release the whole spell? That was ridiculous! A spellmaster who created this would intend that the separate parts of the spell would hold even if one part was negated. Was there a trick? Would using the release cause a backlash?

  Cretchar examined and reexamined but could find no sinister binding. Then he had to consider how to release the prisoner without being blasted or having the room blasted. Careful consideration convinced him that the only answer was shielding. That would protect him from any backlash from the spell and from the destructive magic that his almost-certainly ungrateful subject would release. To protect the room and control the furious Sidhe until he could explain the situation, he would have to place a shield on him, too.

  Cursing softly, Cretchar pulled up shields and felt his power diminish; he was not yet empty and cold but he knew he would be after he released the spell. Cursing again, he prepared to undo the single binding. He had made the shield around the frozen Sidhe thin but somewhat reflective, enough to disperse a moderate magic blast and send it stinging back on the creator.

  Pausing, he reconsidered the reflective innermost shield. If the offensive blast was strong enough, the reflective coating might incinerate the sender. Take it off? A moment later, Cretchar smiled. No, of course not. If the frozen Sidhe incinerated himself Cretchar would be right there to drink in the escaping life force.

  Drawing a deep breath, Cretchar made a ritual gesture and spoke the words of dismissal, drawing back a little as he spoke. And . . . nothing happened. There was no trap on the unbinding, no backlash. No magic result, except that the once-frozen Sidhe roared with rage, blue light glinting on his hands.

  "Stop, you fool," Cretchar snarled, hoping the intensity of his tone would get through; he could not shout lest he be heard. "You will blast yourself. Do you not see that you are shielded?"

  The last words were spoken because he had already planned them, but they were not necessary. Already the blue light was dying from the hands of the Sidhe on the bed. Presumably he had felt the tingle of the reflected power before he launched any magic blow. A remarkable stasis spell indeed; it did not even momentarily cloud the mind of its victim.

  Another shield sprang up within the one Cretchar had set. An interesting act of self-preservation. It seemed that the once-frozen Sidhe had reason to protect himself.

  "Where are you? Who are you? Where am I?" The Sidhe on the bed pushed up to a sitting position, looking wildly around until his gaze fell on Cretchar.

  "Who are you?" he repeated.

  "My name is Cretchar. And as to where you are. You are in a safe place."

  "Safe place? Why do I need a safe place? How did I get here? I was standing in the meadow, about to teach that little red-haired bitch a lesson—"

  Cretchar laughed. "More powerful Sidhe than you have tried to lesson Lady Elizabeth of Logres. Most are dead. The rest wish they were dead."

  "Nonsense! She is nothing but a mortal. How could she contest against a Sidhe?"

  "First because she has the favor of very powerful Sidhe. The queen of our whole realm, Titania, has made her an especial pet, has threatened dire consequences to any who harm her. Prince Denoriel and his sister Princess Aleneil are her heart-friends and her guardians. Even the king, Oberon—" Cretchar shuddered slightly "—has forbidden any direct attack on her."

  "Your king and queen are nothing to me—"

  Cretchar laughed again. "Until they catch you. Our Lady Titania thinks nothing of turning such as you into a pillar of flame and when you have felt King Oberon's Thought harrow your mind . . ." Cretchar's teeth snapped together and he shuddered. "Enough. Do not be more of a fool than you must. You must realize by now that you were overmastered in magic, either by Elizabeth herself or by her escort Prince Denoriel, and placed in stasis. I stole you from them and carried you to safety. You are a stranger here and do not know the perils of these realms. Now, who are you? And why did you come here?"

  There was a moment of silence while the stranger Sidhe considered what Cretchar had said. Then he nodded. "My name is Paschenka and I come from Elfhame Novosk. I have come to your realm to collect mortals. Elizabeth—that is the red-haired girl?—seems eminently suitable for my purpose.

  "You wish to take her back to Novosk?" Cretchar said slowly. "Hmmm. Let me think. It is possible that I will be able to aid you."

  "Why should you?"

  "That is no business of yours. Be satisfied that it would be of benefit to me that Elizabeth should be removed from this realm. I am not too particular what becomes of her afterward, so long as she is gone and my part in her departure remains secret."

  "Then let us go look for her. I have her aura. I should be able to pick up her whereabouts."

  Cretchar groaned. "Likely she will still be teaching the kits and the young ursos to dance. Why should she fear you, who were so easily vanquished? And do you think she will be less protected now that a threat to her has been made clear?"

  "But now there are two of us," Paschenka pointed out.

  "Not for attacking Lady Elizabeth," Cretchar snapped. "I told you that my assistance must be secret. And I am not a fool. I do not wish to be marked as her enemy. Be careful that when she sees you again she does not Push you so hard that she caves in your chest and hurls you into the Void. That is what she did to a well-practiced mage when she was no more than thirteen or fourteen years old."

  "A mortal?" Paschenka said, shaking his head, but there was some doubt in his expression. And after a pause, his lips tight around slightly gritted teeth he said, "I will have her. I will teach her not to attack her betters."

  "Yes. I hope so, but not now," Cretchar
replied. "For now you will avoid her. I will help you to snatch a mortal here and there. I know a place where mortals are plentiful, or—" he hesitated because his inability to gather power was intensified in the mortal world "—I could take you to the mortal world. I have a place to keep your captives and to teach them to obey you. In a few mortal weeks or months, we will lay a trap for Elizabeth. Then you can take all your spoils back to Novosk. She being one of several or many with you, her aura will be obscured from those searching for her."

  Paschenka stared expressionlessly at Cretchar for a little while, then he dismissed the shield he had raised inside the one Cretchar had made. Removing his protection wordlessly affirmed that Paschenka had accepted Cretchar's offer. It did not surprise Cretchar that Paschenka did not look happy. He was having to take a lot on faith.

  To give him some assurance, Cretchar relaxed the shield he had created to control Paschenka's initial anger. As the power drained away into the general ambience Underhill, Cretchar gritted his teeth. A waste that it would take him a day and a night to replace. He could only hope that Paschenka could spirit away Elizabeth and that his reward would compensate for his weakness.