At least, she hoped no one had a concussion; in the sickly yellow glow from Valadrakul’s hand and Taillefer’s staff, none of the faces looked particularly healthy.
“And look what the wind’s blown us,” Raven called cheerfully, using his good hand to help Taillefer up. “Come you, one and all, and greet him who is come to aid us in our hour of need!”
Amy stayed in her place by the wall; she didn’t want to bother greeting the new arrival. With any luck, he’d be creating a portal back to Earth in a few minutes, and she could go home and make an appointment with her doctor and never see Taillefer or any of these other people again.
She couldn’t help looking at them, though.
Taillefer was short for a man, no more than her own height, and fat-not really obese, but thick and rounded everywhere, the sort of fat that Amy associated with the word “stout.” He was dressed in black, a long fur-trimmed coat over a black tunic and black tights, with gold rings on his fingers, and more gold rings on the carved five-foot staff of dark wood he held in one hand. The rings on his fingers looked ordinary enough, but the gold bands on the staff were glowing dully.
Wizardry at work, Amy supposed. She didn’t much care any more; she just wanted it all to be over. At this point she found it more amazing that he hadn’t whacked anyone with the staff when he came plunging down out of the sky than that the gold fittings glowed.
And why had he done that plunge, anyway? Why hadn’t he just landed by himself? This was the wizard they were trusting to send them home, she thought sourly, a magician who couldn’t land on his own two feet?
Singer helped Taillefer brush off the dust, then slapped at the dark smudges on his own uniform; the purple fabric looked dark and ominous in the yellow light.
Amy shuddered. She was starting to get the creeps. Pel had been complaining about how Shadow’s country didn’t look evil enough; what about this place, then, this ruined castle, with its dark stone walls and black shadows and nasty thorns and vines growing everywhere? In the entire place she hadn’t seen a single flower, or an honest blade of ordinary grass. What about right here, where even the silly Imperial uniforms could look threatening?
But that was the peculiar light, and that came from the two wizards, who were supposed to be on the good guys’ side.
“The blessings of the Goddess to you all,” Taillefer said, in a surprisingly high-pitched tenor and with an accent distinctly different from the peculiar Australian-New York intonation of the other Faerie folk Amy had met. “My brother Valadrakul, I greet you; for the rest, come, let us know one another! Pray, someone among you, make us a light, that my fellow wizard can cool his hand, and I my staff.”
“I’ll fetch something,” Stoddard said; he turned away and began looking for dead brush.
While he and the Imperials set about building a fire, Raven stepped up to Taillefer and announced, “I am called Raven of Stormcrack Keep, and I welcome you to this place, whatever it might be.” He held out a hand.
Taillefer clasped the hand and smiled. “Ah, Lord Raven, as you would surely have it,” he said, “I’ve heard much of you. But know you not what this place is, then? Did not my brother in the arcane arts tell you that much?” He turned to look at Valadrakul.
“I saw no need,” Valadrakul said, “and we’d more urgent concerns.”
“Indeed, I dare say you did, yet ’tis worthy of note where we meet, is’t not?” Taillefer grinned in a way Amy did not find comforting.
“Where are we, then?” Raven asked, a trifle annoyed. Stoddard looked up from the armful of brush he and the Imperials had collected.
“Why, this is Castle Regisvert, none other!” Taillefer’s grin broadened, then slipped somewhat as most of his audience failed to react.
Stoddard and Raven reacted, however; Stoddard’s face went blank, as if he had just decided not to believe what he was being told, and he continued stacking the firewood.
Raven started, then looked about at the ruins with new interest. “Truly, say you?” he asked.
“Aye, truly,” Taillefer said.
Prossie and the four Earthpeople still didn’t respond, since none of them had ever heard of any Castle Regisvert. Two of the Imperials paused in their efforts.
“So what?” Wilkins asked.
“Why, know you not the tale?” Taillefer asked, astonished.
“We’re not from around here,” Wilkins answered dryly.
“Then gladly I’ll tell it,” Taillefer said, his grin returned. “’Twas in the days of old, when Shadow’s reach was yet limited, when darkness had not yet fallen upon all the lands, yet strife was widespread, for those who opposed the encroaching evil were not united; aye, in truth, that’s the damning disgrace of all our people, and all that was needed for the triumph of Shadow that so oppresses and shames us now…”
“Excuse me,” Amy called from her place by the wall, “but I don’t think this is the time for stories.”
Affronted, Taillefer turned to glare at her. “’Tis no mere story, wench, but the true history of this place.”
“All the same,” Pel said, “maybe it can wait. Amy isn’t well, and we’d like to get her home. And I want to get home, too, and probably the Imperials do. And we should get Ted there to a doctor.”
Ted giggled.
Susan said nothing, Amy noticed; she just stood by and watched.
“Ah, and is this why I was summoned hither?” Taillefer asked. “Has Valadrakul told you that I might bear you to your homes?”
Valadrakul cleared his throat. His still-raised hand was still glowing, but the glow dimmed perceptibly.
“Indeed, I’ve a fine gift for wind-riding,” Taillefer said, “and I might well bring another, though I doubt me I can carry any but one at the time.”
“’Tis not wind-riding we ask,” Valadrakul said, lowering his hand. Only the faint remaining glimmer of Taillefer’s staff and the dim light of the stars overhead remained to illuminate the scene.
“And what then is it?” Taillefer asked. “That sign sent me told me that I was called, and by whom, and to what part of the world, but naught else. What would you have of me, Valadrakul of Warricken?”
A thin tongue of flame flared up in the stack of brush, as Valadrakul worked his magic with a gesture. “Before we talk of that,” the wizard said, “let us exchange names, as you said we should. You know me well of old, and Raven has spoken his name; know then that he who stands yonder is Stoddard, of Raven’s household, most faithful of all.” He pointed to where Stoddard stood, faintly visible in the still-weak firelight. “And of all you see here, good Taillefer, only we three, Raven, Stoddard, and myself, are from this realm.”
Taillefer cocked his head slightly. “How mean you, Valadrakul?”
Valadrakul sighed. “I mean that this good man, Pellinore Brown, and likewise Ted Deranian, and these ladies known to me as Amy and Susan, came to us from a land they call Earth; and that these others, Messires Wilkins and Sawyer and Singer and Marks, and Mistress Thorpe, are from the Galactic Empire.”
Amy couldn’t see just where the wizard pointed as he named all the names, and wished that they had some proper light-even just a flashlight. The fire was growing, and that would help.
The glow of his staff lit Taillefer’s face, though, and Amy could see that he was considering them all for a moment, looking about in the darkness.
For a moment, firelight flared, as a particularly dry bit of kindling caught; then it flickered and died down.
“And that would account for their garb, I would suppose,” Taillefer said at last, “but that yourself, Valadrakul, and him you name Stoddard, wear the same. And lo, Vala, your hair is much transformed; had you fleas, perhaps, that would not yield without this butchery?”
“We have sojourned in the Galactic Empire,” Valadrakul explained, “and there were forced to make do with what attire came to hand.” He put a hand to his head. “As for this, ’twas but the result of misfortunes that bear no retelling here and now.”