“I am sure you know my mother and father; they are well known in the reenactor movement. As are you, Dionys,” she said with a simpering smile. No reason to incur his wrath herself and a lie for a lie. “Whatever brings you here? I would think such a… simple affair would not be to your tastes.”
“Oh, Marguerite’s mother and I have some dealings, you know,” he said. “And when I was invited I was delighted to find that Herzer and Marguerite were friends. Now we’re all friends together,” he added, making an expansive gesture.
It was only then that Rachel noticed the group with him. She couldn’t determine what it was about the group of five that hovered at his back but she couldn’t find a thing to recommend them. One of them looked at her and positively leered. Just like McCanoc to somehow round up a group of total losers. But what in the hell were he and Herzer doing hanging out? She felt a flash of irritation and distress and put it down to having big-sisterly feelings for the boy. Until recently he’d had almost no social life at all.
“So how do you know Herzer?” she asked, looking around at the gathering and ignoring his crowding. She snorted as a faint blue luminance appeared in the air between them as he leaned forward. “And you seem to be encroaching on my space, Dionys. That is most inconsiderate.” She took a surreptitious breath, feeling security in the shield. He was trying to intimidate her, but she had been intimidated by the best of them and even his size was not going to throw her off.
“So sorry,” he said in his deep, lilting voice again. “Surely we don’t need shields between us?”
“But, lah, sir, we have hardly met,” she simpered again, fluttering the elaborate fan that had come with the outfit. She now wished she’d worn something more suitable for running. Or fighting.
“Herzer is a recent acquaintance,” Dionys said, giving the boy a clout on the shoulder. It looked like a friendly hit, but it still staggered Herzer. And there was very little friendliness in McCanoc’s eye.
“I met him at a reenactor meeting,” Herzer said with a grin. “Do you know that he was nearly the King of Avalonia!”
“And I would have been, were it not for the judges,” Dionys said darkly.
“Yes, I’m familiar with your… rise in the ranks,” Rachel said, trying not to let any humor enter into her voice. She had heard enough about McCanoc to know how viciously vindictive he could be. She had no interest in starting a war; it just wasn’t worth the effort it would take.
He regarded her for a moment trying to discern if there was anything to that simple statement. “Are you part of the reenactor movement?” the giant finally said.
“Oh, you know,” Rachel dissembled. “Dad was forever dragging me off to those things. It wasn’t really my sort of thing and once I could put my foot down I quit going. Some people love it and more power to them. But all that dressing up in tabards and bell-bottoms… not me.”
“But that’s a reenactor outfit,” Herzer said. “Manchu Dynasty, right? And you used to love to study history.”
“Well, study,” Rachel said with an honest chuckle. “Not live. And the period Nazis are the worst. I mean, the ones who go around with their clothes washed in urine, or not washed at all. Trying to replicate the ‘authentic life of the period.’ I mean, why?”
She almost started as she drew what was apparently a real chuckle out of McCanoc. “Good point. But they were good times, times for the strong.” He grinned tightly and shook his head. “Not like these fallen times.”
“For the strong?” Rachel said with a grimace and a chuckle. “I suppose. But if being ‘strong’ means fighting a battle while dealing with dysentery, I’ll take these ‘fallen’ times.”
“Well…” Herzer said just as a languid hand brushed him to the side.
“What in the Seven Hells are you doing here, McCanoc?” the elf said.
“Why, Gothoriel, why ever shouldn’t I be?” McCanoc replied with a thin smile. “Friends and acquaintances, don’t you know. Yourself, of course, included.”
“Because you were instructed to remain at least one hundred meters from any of the Eldar,” the elf said, ignoring the jibe. “I note, also, that you have made further adjustments towards the Eldar. They shall not be permitted.”
“I can change myself as I choose,” McCanoc suddenly shouted, his voice echoing across the square, caught in one of those odd moments of silence. “Stay out of my genes.”
“Not using Eldar Changes,” Gothoriel said mildly. “You know the law. You of all people should remember the law.”
McCanoc breathed deeply through his nose for a moment and then spat on the ground in front of the elf. The spittle flicked off of the shield just short of the elf’s feet. “Fisk you.”
“I tire of this. The Council will be informed of your further transgressions. For now, you have two choices. You can be leave or be banished.”
“I have as much right,” McCanoc started to say as Gothoriel raised his hand.
“Begone,” the elf snapped, then snorted in satisfaction as the air in front of him was suddenly vacant. “Like the demon you so wish to be…” he added so softly that Rachel was sure that only she had heard.
He turned to the five who had arrived with McCanoc and shook his head. “Begone as well. You have no purpose here.”
He turned to Herzer and frowned, the first expression that had crossed his face.
“You arrived with him?” the elf asked then shook his head. “No, separate. Are you with him?”
“He’s with me,” Rachel interjected hurriedly, not sure why she did.
“Rachel Talbot,” the elf said to her, bowing deeply. “It is good to see the Talbots are growing and thriving. A fine family, one that I have watched, and sometimes watched after for these many generations. What were you doing talking to that… filth?”
“Trying to figure out how to break away, frankly,” she said with a sigh. “Thank you for interjecting.”
“What is wrong —?” Herzer started to say.
“Later, Herzer dear,” Rachel said, pinching him. “I didn’t quite catch your name Lord Eldar. And I forgot to welcome you, ethulia Eldar, cathane,” she said, crossing her hands on her chest and bowing slightly.
“Ethul, milady,” the elf replied, bowing again in return. “I am Gothoriel, Rider of the Eastern Reach. I have known your father for much of his life. Your lady mother less. She is, however, a fine woman. And a splendid healer.”
“Thank you, milord,” Rachel said, curtseying deeply. She was glad she’d decided to bring robes. “May you spend as many years in Dream as the most ancient trees and pass to the West in peace. And skip the purple protein strips.”
“Too late,” the elf said with a small smile. “Do you know what…?”
“Yes, I wasn’t sure at first but after the second try it was distinctive. I wonder whose idea it was?”
“Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Rachel?” Marguerite said from behind her. Rachel could tell from the tart tone that she was pissed.
“Marguerite,” Rachel said, turning with a smile and getting her first good look at her friend since her Change. Marguerite had taken her normal form except for the slight translucence that was mandated of fully nannite entities. She could, of course, change form at will, but she seemed to prefer her baseline look for the time being.
“This is Gothoriel, Rider of the Eastern Reach. That means he’s something like an ambassador to the people who live in eastern Norau.”
“Hi Gotho… Goth…”
“Gothoriel,” the elf said, bending to take her insubstantial hand and kiss it. He lifted it to his lips as if it were flesh and blood.