For a timeless interval, he drifted, aware no longer of her kiss, but somehow of her presence. Then, in the night, a glimmer appeared, a diffuse glowing cloud that fluxed and thickened into whorls that took on human shape and form. He was shocked to see a dozen men or more, and behind them others in a band that seemed to stretch out forever. They were knights, though beyond them he seemed to see fur-clad barbarian warriors with stone-edged spears. Those in the front rank, though, wore crowns and coronets around their helmets, and their shields were emblazoned with elaborate coats of arms. All were gaunt, hollow-eyed and hollow-cheeked, and pale, very pale, but their orbs burned as they marched toward him, and he seemed to hear a whole whispering chorus saying:
Poor mortal, thou art ensnared and lost! Thy soul too will be mired and ginned, even as ours have been for this elfchild is truly an ancient witch, who hath beguiled stronger and wiser men than thee, and will beguile many more. She doth drink heart's blood, as even now she doth drink thine; she will sap thy will to live, thy joy in life, and batten off it. And there is no hope of escape, no, none, for this beauteous lady doth know no pity, and is completely without mercy.
I shall escape! Magnus cried, inside his own mind, but their chorus bore down his voice:
Thou art lost already, for she hath cast her spell o'er thee, and thou has been glad of it. Thou hast gone willingly into bondage to her, and she hath thee in thrall, in company with us. Nay, soon, soon, thou shalt join us, for thou shalt wake to find thou hast no interest in life, no wish to feed, no lust, no love left within thee. Thou shalt waste away, as we have, pining for one more glimpse of this beauteous lady-but she will not vouchsafe even so much as that for thee; nay, she hath left thee already, for thou hast no more to give her. Thou art an empty husk, as are we all.
Their mouths opened, revealing an emptiness that rushed from a score of throats to shroud Magnus in darkness. He screamed and thrashed about, trying desperately to waken ...
And did. He sat bolt upright, chilled and alone, lying on gravel within a grotto of bare rock, wetted by spray borne on the wind. He looked about in desperation, but of the faerie lady there was no sign.
And the despair welled up and engulfed him. He fought against it, struggling to rise to his feet, that he might stagger away from the slate-gray lake with its border of withered sedge. But the despondency overwhelmed him, and he sank back, meaning to rise again, but realizing that he would not, for it was too great an effort. He hung his head to weep, but found he did not even care enough for that. It was as the phantom warriors had said-the faerie child had taken all his energy for life, and left him too empty to care whether he lived or died, too apathetic even to think of suicide. He did not doubt that they had spoken truth-within a week, he would join them. The prospect failed to move him.
And so he sat, alone and uncaring, listening for some sound other than the wind and the rippling of the water-but no animal barked or bayed, and no bird sang.
10
Rod was worried. It wasn't that he had lost Magnus's trail; he knew exactly where his son was. But he had seen him meet the wild-looking beauty, seen him swing her up onto his horse, and had discreetly turned away. Being accessible in case of emergency was one thing; spying was another. No, Rod had gone off and pitched camp and whiled away the time making amusing little carvings and writing in his journal. Not that there was anything to fear, of course, but some nagging concern kept him from just packing up and going home. Of course, if it hadn't been there, he never would have gone traipsing off after Magnus in the first place-but the young man was in very unstable condition right now, very vulnerable. Of course, he had only one real weakness under ordinary circumstances, but that weakness bore a thousand pretty faces and knew a million seductive movements, and was heightened by his current dissatisfaction with himself and his life.
So Rod camped nearby, and waited-and waited. When the gloaming gathered in to become night, he tried to sleep, but vague and dire dreams kept waking him. He rose in the false dawn, blew the coals to flame, heated water, brewed some herbal tea, and waited. And waited.
Finally, unable to take it any longer, he reached out, tentatively, very delicately and with total passivity, to try to eavesdrop on his son's mind-not closely enough for thoughts, mind you, just a general mood....
It slammed through him and nearly dragged him into the earth with the weight of its sadness and despair.
Not even waiting to think it through, not even stopping to look, he sent out a plea for help with an urgency that verged on panic-but a plea to a very specific person. Some things, only a mother can handle. More to the point, there are some crises for which a parent would much rather have reinforcements, if they're available.
Instantly, he felt her response, colored with alarm: What ails thee, husband?
Our son, he thought back. I don't know what it is, but something has him hip-deep in despair. No, amend that-I do know what it is, just not how or why.
Another woman who doth seek to twist my son? The thoughts were tinged with hints of mayhem now, and incipient murder.
Something like that. Come quickly, won't you, dear? Faster than the eagle flies, she assured him.
Rod relaxed a little. When Gwen said "fast," she meant it. He turned away to put out the fire and start a little skulking. It was time to spy.
Gwen landed on the bald spot atop the ridge, where lightning had blasted a pine and new growth had not yet sprung up. She hopped off her broomstick and ran to Rod-but she didn't get more than two steps before he swept her up in a crushing embrace. She yielded, letting herself melt into him for a minute or two, their thoughts mingling in mutual anxiety and reassurance; then she pushed him away and said, "What hath the shrew-witch done to my son?"
"I can't say for sure-I didn't spy on the deed, just its aftermath. All I know is that he met a wild maehad-type, and she went riding off with him, Apparently, she ran him through the wringer."
Gwen frowned, not quite understanding the simile, but certainly grasping its gist. "It may be that solitude is all he doth need, my lord. Thou hast hinted, more than once, that thou hadst been hurted by vengeful women of a time."
"Well, yes, but I was lucky enough to meet you, and you healed all those hurts."
Not completely, Gwen knew-in fact, she had later opened old wounds, quite unintentionally. She now realized just how deeply some of her careless remarks must have hurt him. "Gramercy, my lord," she breathed, and reached up for a long kiss. When at last they drew apart, she smiled and looked down, then looked up again. "And thou dost fear that Magnus will not meet a woman who will banish his memories of the others?"
"Or at least make them seem unimportant?" Rod shrugged. "Maybe. But he has to survive long enough to meet her, and right now, that's very much in doubt."
Gwen's eyes widened. "So bad as that?" Then her gaze lost focus as she turned her attention to the impressions coming directly into her mind rather than those of her other senses. Suddenly, she stared, shaken, and her gaze snapped back into focus.
Instantly, Rod was open to her mind and caught the impression of their son's emotions.
"Great Heaven!" Gwen cried. "He is sunk in a melancholy so deep that he is like to seek his death!"
"But how?" Rod groaned. "He just finished dealing with a couple of females so predatory that they made wolverines look sweet!"