THE EXILE
CHAPTER 4
How long had he been huddling here, too dazed to move? Ardagh Lithanial, exiled prince of Faerie, straightened slowly, aching in mind and body, trying to remember all that had happened. There’d been the passage through the Portal, the bewildering sense of being not here, not there… then a rough hardness all around him that he now realized must have been the stony walls of a cave. Somehow he must have staggered out of it, only to collapse… where?
Wait now, the cave… what if the Portal was still open within it? Ardagh whirled and saw—
“Ae, no…”
The cave was small, dank—and most definitely finite.
But I know the Portal spell, I can reopen it and… all I have to do is… is…
No, this couldn’t be! He couldn’t have forgotten, not so totally! A coldness settling in his heart, Ardagh fought and fought with his memory. He must remember, he had to remember!
He couldn’t. The shape of the Realm-crossing spell was gone from his mind as though it had been cut away.
For the first time the full weight of what had been done to him fell upon Ardagh. His legs gave way beneath the burden and he crumpled, shrouded in a fog of mindless grief and terror, so overwhelmed by the size of his loss he had to catch a fold of his sleeve between his teeth to keep from screaming. He had nothing, no rank, no home, no name—
No, curse it, he had not lost his name; no matter what else they’d taken from him, he was still Ardagh Lithanial!
Gradually the prince became aware of an odd warmth stealing through the chill, gentle on head and arm. Blinking in confusion, he looked down at himself, seeing a strange golden light…
Sunlight! Mortal sunlight, and he was—
Obviously not about to be charred to ash. Maybe the rumors were true and his dark hair did mean a taint of human blood. A protective taint.
Ah well, if the sun wasn’t going to kill him, he was going to have to do something about staying alive. Ardagh got slowly to his feet, looking warily about. He was standing in a small glade, surrounded by dense forest, though he couldn’t have put a name to any of the not-quite-of-Faerie trees. The light that filtered down through the leaves seemed so strange that at first he couldn’t puzzle out the difference.
Ah, of course! If a sun—a single, central fire rather than the glowing, overall Faerie radiance—was to be of any use, it would have to be strong enough to actually cast shadows!
How bizarre! Like a candle flame, but so much more powerful!
The strangeness of the concept sent a new shiver racing through him. And yet, as Ardagh raised a hand to the sunlight, turning his arm this way and that in Sidhe curiosity to see the effect, then twisting his whole body about to watch the alien, fascinating way his shadow stretched and shrank, he had to admit that the dappling, golden effects of sunlight weren’t totally unattractive.
But this experimentation wasn’t getting him anywhere. Ardagh took a deep, testing breath of air that was clean and cool, rich with the inimitable sweet-spicy scent of new vegetation. One small stroke of luck, he thought. I might have been transported into the heart of winter.
So, now. The sunlight wouldn’t hurt him and the season was Earthly spring. But as he warily opened his senses to the world about him, Ardagh suddenly shivered. For all the pretty freshness about him, the air, the whole land, had a certain flat feel to it that sounded a warning chime in his mind. Where was the land’s Power? He could hardly have expected this Realm to be as Powerful as Faerie, where the raw stuff of magic was literally everywhere, easily drawn from the very air and soil. But surely this couldn’t be a world without any magic at all… ? Powers, Powers, surely he hadn’t been abandoned in a Realm where he was totally defenseless?
Heart racing in renewed panic, Ardagh tried spell after spell. Nothing! Nothing worked, nothing roused, nothing—
No. Stop that. There was Power in this Realm; he could sense it, even if the shape of it was strange and weak. And some of his magic, the inner magic that was fueled only by his own mind and will and didn’t depend on outside Power, still remained; Ardagh felt it shimmering within him. But oh, it was such a pale, pathetic thing compared to the splendors he had known!
The splendors from which the traitors had sundered him.
At that thought, the first hot stirrings of fury shot through him, cutting through shock. Ardagh, smiling without humor, welcomed that fury, carefully nursing it into full flame. Yes, yes, the traitors thought him safely out of their path, trapped here in this alien place. They thought he could never return.
“All the Powers hear me,” he vowed savagely, “I shall go back. No matter how long it takes, I will find a way home. Powers hear me, I shall prove my innocence. And, oh Powers, I swear this: those who betrayed me shall pay!”
What wonderful melodramatics, a corner of his mind observed. And proclamations might be well and good in the right surroundings, but it was nothing short of stupid to make so much noise in a strange place.
Besides, Ardagh admitted with a touch of humor, vow-making or no, he could hardly stand here for the rest of his life.
And to think I once wished for adventure. Ay me, never make an idle wish: it just may be granted. I only hope someone is kind to poor Ninet.
But what was he going to do? Where was he to go? Ardagh looked helplessly around at forest, and forest, and forest. A prince wasn’t exactly well trained in wilderness life; he doubted he could have lived off the land even in Faerie. He hadn’t the slightest chance of success here, where even the trees were unfamiliar. The weather had grown comfortably warm and soft, but surely it wouldn’t stay that way forever. What was he going to do for food or shelter or—
Ardagh took a deep breath, willing his thoughts to calmness. If he wished to survive in this realm, he needed to find himself some humans as soon as possible, and make some manner of life with them.
With whom? Peasants? The prince tried to picture himself cutting wood or digging up roots or doing whatever other lowly things peasants did, and shuddered delicately. He might be an exile, but he was certainly not going to lose whatever shreds of honor might be left to him! No, somewhere out there must be what passed for a human aristocracy, no matter how pale a shadow it might be of Sidhe nobility. All he had to do was find it, then make himself a place as… as advisor, perhaps. Granted, he didn’t even know the name of this land, let alone anything of its politics, but one could always learn what needed to be learned. Yes… humans being the short-lived creatures they were, any of them would surely be glad of Sidhe wisdom, even if Ardagh never risked revealing himself as Other. Work his way into a high enough position, and he would live as an honored guest.
At least till I can find the way back home.
Ardagh glanced down at himself. Good, serviceable hunting leathers and boots… strong, soft spidersilk tunic underneath the leather… Fortunate that Eirithan hadn’t thought to relieve him of sword and dagger. And, the prince mused wryly, he did have his wits. Many a hero of many a tale had started with less!
A scramble up a tree showed him a darker shadow among the forest that must mean a road. Full of determination, Ardagh Lithanial, lost prince of Faerie, set forth on his journey
###
Two days later, Ardagh wasn’t feeling so sure of himself or his fortunes. Yes, the weather remained mild, but it seemed to rain every day, a soft, endless drizzle that worked its way down through the ceiling of leaves in a gentle, relentless mist. He was perpetually damp and tired and disgustingly dusty, aching from having slept on beds of gathered leaves, and hungrier than he could ever have imagined. There was a wealth of greenness all about, but of course, Ardagh admitted dourly, he had no way of knowing what was edible; the three small fish he had snatched out of a stream and the one scrawny rabbit he’d caught, Sidhe reactions swift as any predator, had hardly been enough to fill his stomach for long.
I’m a prince, curse it, not a—a vagrant!
But it was the smallest flare of insulted pride, half-smothered by the ever-present weight of fear that was worse than any physical discomfort: the fear that was composed mostly of terrible, endless loneliness and the knowledge that search this Realm though he might, he would never, never find another of his kind. Even at his most solitary, back on his estate, there’d never been a time when he couldn’t seek out someone else.
Ardagh gave a shaky sigh. By now the sight of anyone, even the lowliest of humans, would have been more welcome than he ever would have cared to admit, but he hadn’t seen the slightest sign of life—
Till now! The prince darted aside in sudden startled alarm, vanishing into the underbrush like a deer, staring at the newcomers. Rougher of skin than any Sidhe, stockier of build, broader of face… His eyes widened at the sight of their facial hair; save for eyebrows his people had none.
Animals, shaggy, hairy animals…
Not quite. Warriors, these, from the tough look of them, armed with sword and spear—
Iron swords! Iron spears! Powers, why hadn’t he remembered humans used iron, that metal most dangerous to Faerie folk, sickening iron, a wound from which would almost surely lead to Sidhe death!
Eh, well, the prince thought with desperate humor, struggling with his new surge of panic, he would just have to take care not to get wounded.
But what were warriors doing here, so far from any habitation? Sidhe curiosity awakened anew, stronger than any alarm. Not quite ready to reveal himself, Ardagh stalked the men at a silent, wary distance. They were trying their best not to be seen or heard—though to his keen ears they were making enough noise for an army. But there didn’t seem to be anything to hunt that was worth so much caution!
Ha, they were stopping for a rest, over the protests of the one who seemed to be their leader. The prince smiled thinly and settled himself comfortably on a rock. Now, let him try something… The spell should work, since it was cast by him on him and required no external fueling. Silently, he mouthed the words, willing the magic into being…
And suddenly he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t hear or see or—
It was over. The world cleared about him, and Ardagh, gasping for breath, trembling, head swimming, realized that he would have to be wary even with the sadly diminished powers left to him. The Language Spell certainly shouldn’t have had such dramatic effects.
This world, the prince thought bitterly, just does not care for Sidhe magics. Here, like it or not, he was the alien.
Still the spell had worked. His mind was beginning to clear, and as it did, Ardagh realized with a little shock of relief that now he could actually understand what the humans were saying. Some of the panic of being lost in a totally foreign world diminished now that he had their language.
The humans certainly weren’t in the mood to appreciate the fine, clear day around them. Ardagh heard complaints of, “Not used to fighting on foot,” and, “Shouldn’t have to crawl our way to battle!”
“Can’t risk horses,” someone muttered. “They make too much noise.”
One warrior cursed under his breath. “I don’t like it. Don’t like it at all. This isn’t some petty little under-king we’re going after, it’s the Ard Ri, the High King himself!”
High King! Ardagh echoed silently. A High King must surely be one who ruled over all others, kings and commoners alike: a human of considerable might. He could surely enjoy a comfortable life at such a king’s court, at least as comfortable a life as might be had among humanity—
Except that these men seemed determined to prevent it.
“You arguing with King Donnchadh?” their leader snapped. “He’s the one you swore fealty to, not some high and mighty Ard Ri. And he’s the one who gave us our orders.”
“Huh. Don’t see Donnchadh here.”
“You want a king to take part in an ambush?”
“How come it’s not honorable for him, but all right for us? We’re free men, not slaves! I tell you, I don’t like it!”
“Maybe you’d rather take on Aedh in his fortress? No? This is his hunting day, our only clear chance at him, so let’s shut up and get ready!”
Why, the traitors! Ardagh thought indignantly. Traitors against their liege lord as surely as Iliach and the others!
Cursed if he was going to let them wreck his safety before he’d even won it! Ardagh stole silently ahead, hunting for this mysterious Aedh, this High King. Ah yes, now he heard hoofbeats on the road ahead of him, rapidly headed his way, and the idle yapping of hounds who hadn’t yet found a trail.
And what happens when the hounds catch my scent? Ardagh thought in sudden alarm. I most certainly won’t smell like a human to them. For all I know, they’ll try to attack!
Warily, he swung up into a tree and perched on a thick branch, screened by leaves, and stared in open curiosity at this new group of humans. They were better clad than the first lot, wrapped round in what seemed to be long plaid woolen cloaks over tunics that looked almost as sleekly smooth as his own. Their saddles had no stirrups, but they sat their small, sturdy horses with an ease that spoke of years of training.
One rider caught and held the prince’s glance: a strongly built man, red of hair and beard, a warrior by his build, a ruler by his bearing. At his side rode a second human, a well-worn, grizzle-bearded warrior—Cadwal, his name seemed to be—who deferred to the red-haired man as though to a king—
Ha, yes! Ardagh came so sharply alert he nearly slipped from his perch. This red-haired man was High King Aedh himself—the man the traitors meant to kill!
They shall not! Ardagh leaped down from hiding with a warning cry, “A trap! Beware the ambush!”
Swords shrieked out of scabbards, spears flashed up—For a moment Ardagh was sure he was going to be spitted, and hastily added, “Not me, them,” even as the traitors came rushing out of their failed ambush.
The prince whipped out his own sword as a warrior closed with him, a pang of worry stabbing through him that Faerie metal might not hold up against iron. But the blades clashed together again and again without damage.
So be it! Ardagh thought. With a savage laugh, the prince dove into battle, his pent-up fury, loss and rage tearing free in one wild, deadly dance of combat. He was quicker than the humans, more graceful, swifter to react; he lunged, parried and slashed with feral joy, hardly aware of the burning sickness of iron all around him.
Caught in his battle-frenzy, Ardagh saw one of the warriors guarding the High King fall, and vaulted into the empty saddle with inhuman speed, blocking the downward swing of an enemy blade that would have cut into Aedh’s neck, barely keeping his balance on impact with no stirrups against which to brace himself. He heard the king’s hasty gasp of thanks, caught grizzled Cadwal’s approving glance, then the three of them were fighting together, Ardagh and the human warrior guarding Aedh between them as though they’d been rehearsing it for days.
At last his mad strength began to ebb. Ardagh came back to himself with a jolt, drained and panting, glancing wildly around for more foes but finding none. Sudden shame overwhelmed him. Powers, how could he have done this? He had lost self-control as badly as any human!
But how good it had felt to know the joy of battle; not some sly treachery against which one was helpless, but an honest battle that could be fought and won.
Won, yes. The last of the would-be assassins was on the ground, gasping out his life, and the prince heard Aedh snarl, “Hurry! Find out who sent him!”
But the warrior who’d hurriedly bent over the man straightened with a sigh. “Too late.”
“Damn!” That was Cadwal, sword still in hand. “Dunod, Iwan, Garwyn, scout out the woods. Make sure there aren’t any more of the vermin lurking.”
“There aren’t,” Ardagh said. “I was following them for some time.”
The warrior gave him a wolf-fierce stare. “Why?”
“Better to have that lot before me than after me!”
“Easy answer, but—”
Aedh impatiently waved them to silence. “Then do you know who sent them?”
“I think,” the prince began warily, “it was a king named Dun… ae, Dun something.”
“Donnchadh?” Aedh snapped. “Is that the name?”
“I’m not sure,” the prince admitted. “All your names sound foreign to me. Ah—is something wrong?”
The High King was staring at him as if seeing him clearly for the first time. “Good God,” Aedh said with genuine reverence. “You’re real.”
“I… beg your pardon?”
“That dream—och, never mind. Let’s just say my wife is going to be insufferably smug for a time.” Aedh’s voice sharpened. “Are you hurt, man?”
Ardagh, following the king’s alarmed glance, looked down at himself and gasped to see a long, deep slash crossing the front of his leather armor. Powers! If it had cut just a bit deeper, he would have been sliced, and by poisonous iron! “No,” he said after a moment.
“Now that’s a fortunate thing, ah…”
“Ardagh Lithanial.” Ae, why not be honest about it? “Prince Ardagh Lithanial.”
“So-o!” Aedh’s lift of a brow was skeptical. “And where might Prince Ardagh Lithanial be from? Nowhere near here, that’s for certain!”
“Ah, no. My lands lie far away, indeed.”
“Cathay?” one of the warriors asked tentatively. When Ardagh hesitated, not quite sure how to reply, the man continued as eagerly as a child reciting a favorite story, “I’ve heard traders’ tales about men from that land who have such dark hair and such slanted eyes. Yes, and the tales say they wear silk even into battle, too!” At Cadwal’s warning glance, the man added hastily, “Not that I mean to pry, Prince Ardagh!”
Ardagh waved a gracious hand, denying nothing. He’d never heard of Cathay, but if these men wanted to believe him from there, well and good; the land was apparently so far away none of them knew anything about it, either!
“Enough questioning,” Aedh cut in. “Prince Ardagh, I owe you my life, my gratitude, and my hospitality.” He must surety still be wary of this bedraggled stranger—Cadwal most blatantly was—even if said stranger had saved his life, but the king added without more than the slightest hesitation, “Will it please you to return with me to my fortress?”
Powers, yes! Ardagh gave the man an exceptionally graceful, elegant bow to hide his sudden surge of relief. Food and shelter and clean clothes—no, more than that, a home of suitably high status, even if it was among humans!
###
For a man who had narrowly escaped assassination, King Aedh seemed remarkably calm, mildly pointing out this landmark or that to the prince as they rode. Either the human had survived so many attempts on his life that he could almost take them for granted, or he had a truly regal amount of self-control. Almost as much self-control as a Sidhe, Ardagh thought with a touch of surprised approval.
“Travel is a fine and fascinating thing,” Aedh said without warning.
“It can be,” Ardagh agreed warily.
“I admit, being who and what I am, I’ve hardly had the chance to do much wandering.”
Ardagh acknowledged that with a dip of his head. “A king has little free time.”
“Ah, but you, surely, Prince Ardagh, would be able to speak about such matters as travel with authority.”
Ardagh fought down a grin, beginning to enjoy this odd little duel of words. “Would I?”
“Why, are you not most remarkably far-travelled?”
“Farther than you could dream,” the prince said with heartfelt honesty.
From the glint in Aedh’s grey eyes, he was enjoying this game as well. Instead of coming right out and asking direct questions, he commented vaguely, “You must have seen many wonders.”
“Indeed.” Smiling to himself, Ardagh skirted falsehood in delicate Sidhe style; he certainly had seen things a human would find wondrous, even if travelling hadn’t been involved. “I must tell you of some of them. At a later time,” he added casually, watching for Aedh’s reaction. When the king showed not the slightest sign of surprise at that, Ardagh smiled to himself; the man had as good as welcomed him to stay.
“You must admit,” Aedh remarked in a sudden, offhand manner, “that it’s a bit unusual to see a prince travelling alone.”
“Sometimes one has no choice.” Feeling the king’s sudden sharp gaze on him, Ardagh added flatly, “Particularly when one is the younger brother of a most suspicious ruler.”
“Ah. That would be an awkward thing.”
Ardagh glanced his way. “Especially when one has no intention of breaking one’s oath of fealty.”
It was Aedh’s turn to say, “Indeed,” managing to put a world of meaning—skepticism, sympathy, approval—in the one word. “And how is it such a one is alone and afoot?”
My, how nicely this human king played the game, never quite overriding the bounds of courtesy. This was promising, Ardagh thought; the man had a sharp intellect to him. He would almost certainly welcome a clever advisor.
“Any man may fall afoul of bad fortune,” Ardagh said, leaving Aedh to make of that what he would. “But now,” the prince added smoothly, “my luck seems to have turned.”
Aedh grinned. “So it has. See now, we’ve returned to Fremainn.”
That? Oh, surely that couldn’t be a royal home! Yes, it was clearly a fortress of sorts, a series of earthen embankments, rings within rings, over which the upper half of a round, broad tower could be seen, but it was all so—primitive! No, there must be some mistake, or a jest, an odd human jest, and they’d be riding on and—
No. Guards stood atop the earthen ramparts, saluting their king, welcoming him back. A wooden gate was cast open and the hunting party made its way through a narrow maze of corridors that smelled strongly of earth and damp and, Ardagh thought with distaste, garbage. They came at last into a vast grassy space covered here and there by round houses of wood and thatch; only the round central tower Ardagh had seen from outside was of stone. The air was cleaner here, but as the prince glanced about, misery settled over his spirit.
This was indeed the royal home, the High King’s fortress. This was the finest, fairest palace to be found in human lands.
This barbaric place of earth and wood and stone was to be his home.