Then he began to believe himself. He could very well be just such a fool, and a coward to boot. He rode on through the woods, his self-doubt deepening and darkening.
Magnus rode out of the woods into a river meadow. A doe saw him coming, looked up in alarm, and whisked away toward the trees, her fawns behind her. Magnus watched them go, mouth twisting in self-disgust. He knew they were only fleeing at the approach of possible danger-but it made him feel as though even the wild animals didn't want to have anything to do with him.
He dismounted, tied his horse and took the bit out of its mouth so that it might graze, and turned away to the river, following its course with his gaze, off toward the western glow where the sun had set. He thought of pitching a proper camp, then dismissed the notion as being too involved. He sat down on the bank beneath a huge old willow, to watch the water flow by, likening it to the stream of his life, wondering how so much of it could have gone by so quickly, and how his personal river had taken a wrong turning at some point. Instead of being his father's strong right hand, he had become an emcumbrance; instead of achieving rank and reputation of his own, he had become only an embarrassment to the Crown; and love seemed to elude him as thoroughly as though it had never known he existed. The only women he attracted were those who wanted to use him in one way or another, to debase him or feed off of him. He knew there were good women in the world, but they seemed to find him unappealing.
At least, he thought they were good. He hadn't come to know any of them well enough to be sure.
He threw himself back on the bank, heaving a sigh. Could he have done better? Or was this just the hand of genetic cards Fate had dealt him? All the titanic power inherited from his parents, all Fess's education and training-all of it came to nothing, less than useless, if he could not harness it to a good purpose.
There must have been a way he could have used those gifts in a more profitable fashion-more profitable for himself, and for all those about him. A huge longing welled up in him, to know, to see if he could have done better with what he had....
And he remembered Albertus, his analogue in the world of Tir Chlis, far and remote in another universe. The two of them were almost exactly alike, so much so that Magnus had been able to borrow Albertus's power when he was himself incapacitated; it was almost as though they were two different poles of the same globe.
Turn the globe. See what the other side was like.
He did. Trying to relax, he closed his eyes and concentrated on his memories of Tir Chlis, a land of silver woods and magic, of monsters out of legend and a faerie race out of folklore-not diminutive, gauzy-winged manikins, but tall, impossibly slender people of amazing powers, whose morality was only barely recognizable, if it existed at all, and who were as likely to be malevolent as beneficent.
Within that world of haunted nights strode Lord Kern, a magician and aristocrat almost identical to Rod Gallowglass, with a wife very much like Magnus's mother, Gwendolynand two sons, Albertus and Vidor, who were virtual duplicates of Magnus and his little brother Gregory. He visualized Albertus's face as he had last seen him, then imagined how it would change as he had grown-into a long, lantern-jawed visage with a prominent nose and deep-set eyes, crowned by a thatch of black hair--
The very image of Magnus himself.
The image began to gain substance; the world about it began to seem real. Magnus reached out in longing, a pulse of pure thought winging to his analogue: How fares it with thee, my co-walker?
There was a feeling of surprise, not unmixed with wariness, but both subsided into delight. There was a quick panorama of battles fought--evil wizards countered by Albertus and his family, maidens alluring but demanding, other maidens devastating in their loveliness but only civil in their greetings and shattering in their disinterest-of massive frustration and feelings of failure.
Magnus felt commiseration surging up in answer-in truth, the fellow was so much like him that they might be one and the same! For a brief instant, their miseries mingled....
Then a sudden, jarring jangle broke the trance, and Albertus was gone. Magnus sat bolt-upright, staring about him at a night suddenly gone silent, hearing the jangling diminish into a silver chiming. His pulse pounded in his ears; he looked about him wildly, and saw that one of the moons rode high over the clearing, its beams streaming down toward him....
And down that beam of silvery light floated a gauzy shape, gaining substance as it touched the ground-a tall, impossibly slender lady on a milk-white steed, which, like herself, was so fine-boned as to be almost attenuated. Her face was as pale as the moonlight, with huge eyes and high cheekbones, and red, red lips. She wore a grass-green gown of silk, framed by a velvet mantle, and she chimed as she rode toward Magnus. It took him a moment to realize that the sound was coming from little golden bells that were tied to the horse's mane.
He realized he was staring. He shook his head, scrambled to his feet, and doffed his hat, bowing. "Greetings, fair lady! To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"To thine own efforts, Warlock's Child," she answered, smiling.
The term rankled. Magnus forced a smile. "Surely I am worthy of the title in mine own right, lady."
"Indeed." She tilted her head to the side, amused. "Thou must needs be so, if thou canst open a pathway betwixt this world and Tir Chlis."
"Open a pathway?" Magnus stared. "Lady, I but sought to commune with my ... friend. . . ."
"Co-walker," she supplied. "Doppelganger. He who is like to thee in all respects, even to his miseries."
Magnus took a long, slow look at the lady, reassessing her-and feeling a chill at the thought of her powers. "Who art thou, lady, who knowest this of me?"
"I am a Queen among the Faerie Folk of Tir Chlis, young warlock," she said, "and I have come to visit thee."
She was easily the most beautiful woman Magnus had ever seen, with a face that would have made the greatest sculptors of the ages ache to carve her likeness; but no marble could be colder or more flawless than that moon-pale complexion, nor could any star glow brighter than her eyes. Her gown was low-cut, revealing an impossibly voluptuous figure with an incredibly small waist. In every way she was dainty, delicate-and hard, so hard. "Lady," Magnus murmured, "I am not worthy of thy regard."
"I believe thou mayest prove so." She reached down to touch his face, and his skin seemed to burn where her fingertips lingered. Suddenly, she was the only thing that mattered in all the universe; home, parents, siblings, king and queen, even God himself, seemed remote and unimportant. In a strange, detached way, he knew he was enchanted, but did not care. "All I wish," he breathed, "is to prove my virtues in thine eyes."
"Not too many virtues, I trust." She gave him a sidelong look through lowered lashes.
Magnus reddened. "All virtues that become a man-such shall I prove."
"Thou must needs come with me, then." Her tone became peremptory. "Thou must now run beside mine horse, for thy poor nag of mortal flesh ne'er can go where we shall wander. Thou must needs come with me now, and serve me seven years."
"Only that?" Magnus protested. "Must I leave thee then?"
"That, we shall speak of anon," the lady said. "For now, follow." She turned her horse about and set off.
"As thou wilt," Magnus murmured. He followed, running lightly by her side, unable to take his eyes off her face-and amazed to find that he could keep pace with her horse.
Dimly, he realized that he was running up a moonbeam, that what he was doing was totally impossible-but the moonlight dimmed, and darkness closed all about him, unrelieved even by starlight; he ran only by the glow emanating from the Queen of Elfland herself, through a darkness that made the night seem bright-but he found that he did not mind, did not care at all, so long as he was by her side.