“I’m glad somebody did. Well, you’ve got him safe, now—so, if you’ll forgive us, we’ll be on our way. Come on, kids.”

The Grand Duchess looked up, startled. “Thou wilt not take him to Lord Kern?”

Gwen caught Rod’s sleeve. “Assuredly, an thou wishest it…”

“Uh, Gwen…”

“…yet will the royal lad not be safer with his godmother?” Gwen finished.

The Grand Duchess smiled sadly. “Safer, aye; but he’ll not die ‘mongst mortal men—both sides need him. And duty doth summon him.”

Elidor clung to her, and buried his face in her bosom.

“Nay, sweet chick,” she crooned softly, “thou dost know that I speak aright. Nay, nay, I would liefer keep thee all thy life beside me—but therein would I wrong mine old friends, the King and Queen thy parents, who bade me see that thou wouldst grow into a King; and the folk of thy land, who need thee grown. And lastly would I wrong thee, for I’d abort thy destiny. Come now, sweet chuck, bear up; sit tall, and give thyself a kingly bearing.”

Slowly, the little boy sat up, sniffling. He looked at her forlornly, but she pinched his cheek gently, smiling sadly, and he smiled in spite of himself, sitting up more firmly. Then he turned to face the Gallowglasses, straightening and lifting his chin, once again a Prince.

“See thou, he is to be a King of men,” the Grand Duchess said, low, “and therefore must he learn what men are, and not from written words alone. He must live and grow among them, good and bad alike, that when he comes to be a king, he’ll recognize them both, and know their governance.”

Gwen nodded sadly. “And therefore canst thou not keep him here, to hide him from the troubles of these times. But might thee not, at least, conduct him to Lord Kern?”

The Grand Duchess sighed. “I would I could; but know this of us faery folk: we are bound to our earthly haunts. Some among us, like myself, can claim demesnes of miles’ width, and freely move within them; but few indeed are they who move wherever they please, and to none of those would I entrust this lad—or any folk, of whom I cared.”

“But you would trust us.” Rod could feel it coming.

The Grand Duchess nodded.

Gwen looked up at him, pleading.

“Oh, all right!” Rod clapped his hands. “Keeping track of children is mostly your job, anyway. Sure, Your Grace, we’ll take him along.”

The children cheered.

Elidor looked surprised; then he smiled, a slow, shy smile.

Magnus ran forward, caught Elidor’s arm, and yanked him off the Grand Duchess’s lap. “We’ll keep thee close, coz! Yet mark thou, stay within mine eye this time!”

“I will stay near,” Elidor promised.

“As near as one of mine own.” Gwen gathered him in.

“Of course,” Rod said, “it would help if we had someone to point us on our way.”

“Elidor will show you.” The Grand Duchess was clasping her hands tightly, and her smile seemed a little strained. “He hath conned his charts, and doth know the shape of every track and pathway in his land.”

“Well, that’ll help,” Rod said dubiously, “but real hills and lakes don’t match a map all that well. It’d be better to have someone who’s been there, too.”

The Grand Duchess shook her head firmly. “The sprites cannot leave their lands or waters, as I’ve told thee.”

“Tell us, then,” Gwen asked, “what we must do to see him safely to Lord Kern.”

The Grand Duchess nodded, her eyes lighting. “Thou must first rid the Tower of Gonkroma of its Redcap.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY

I don’t really see what chasing some sort of elf has to do with getting safely to Lord Kern,” Rod called.

Gwen said something back, but the roaring wind drowned out her answer.

“Come again, dear?” Rod called. “Louder, please; it’s hard to hear, when I’m behind you, and the wind’s whistling in my ears.”

He was riding pillion on a makeshift broomstick.

“I said,” Gwen called, “that I know no reason, but do trust her judgement.”

“That’s what it seems to come down to, here,” Rod sighed, “faith. Wasn’t that the medieval ethic, Father?” He looked back over his shoulder. Father Al was clinging to the broomstick for dear life, and was definitely looking a little green around the gills; but he swallowed, and nodded manfully. “Something like that, yes. It’s a little more complicated, though.”

“Well, I like to deal in over-simplifications. You sure you’re okay, now?”

“Oh, fine, just fine! But are you sure your wife can carry all three of us for so long?”

“If I can bear four children,” Gwen called back, “I can bear two men.”

“There’s some truth in that,” Rod acknowledged. “After all, she’s managed to bear with me for almost ten years now.” He turned to the children, floating beside him. “Geoff, you be sure and tell us if you start feeling sleepy, now!”

“Fear not,” Gwen called. “They napped well ere we left the Grand Duchess.”

“Yes, thanks to Magnus. But Geoff, make sure you tell me if you start feeling tired—after all, Cordelia can give you a lift for a few minutes.”

“For an hour,” Cordelia caroled, swooping her broomstick in a figure-eight, “and not even feel it!”

“Hey, now! Straighten out and fly right! We’ve got a long way to go; no time or energy for fancy stuff!”

“Killjoy!” Magnus snorted. “Night flying’s fun!”

“This, from the expert who thought I was wrong wanting to fly this time,” Rod snorted.

“Well, Papa, you said yourself it’d attract too much attention.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got a hundred miles to go before dawn; we don’t have much choice this time. Besides, we’re not too apt to be noticed at night; and if we are, by the time Duke Foidin can get troops after us, we’ll be out of reach. And we’re certainly going faster than any courier he can send!” He peered over Gwen’s shoulder. “How’s Elidor holding out, dear?”

Gwen glanced down at the small shape huddled against her, between her arms. “Almost beginning to enjoy it, I think.”

“He is the stuff of which kings are made,” Father Al gulped.

Rod decided the priest could use a distraction. “Figured out how magic works here, Father?”

“Oh, it seems to be fairly straightforward. I postulate three forces: Satanic, Divine, and impersonal. Most of what I’ve seen today, and tonight, falls in the ‘impersonal’ category.”

Rod frowned. “What’s ‘impersonal?’ ”

“Essentially, it’s the same force espers use. Everyone has it, to some degree. An esper has so much of it that he can work ‘magic’ by his own power; but everyone ‘leaks’ their little bit, and it goes into the rocks, the earth, the water, the air, absorbed into molecules. So it’s there, ready to draw on; and, in a universe such as this, a few gifted individuals have the ability to tap that huge reservoir, and channel its force to do whatever they want.”

Rod nodded. “Sounds right. Seen anything here that would disprove that?”

“No, but I think I’m going to have to come up with a corollary theory for the faery folk.”

“You do that. Any idea why the whole world is still medieval, even though it’s 3059 AD?”

“Well, at a guess, I’d say it’s because technology never advanced much.”

“Fine.” Rod smiled. “So how come technology didn’t advance?”

Father Al shrugged. “Why bother inventing gadgets, when you can do it by magic?”

That gave Rod pause. He was quiet for the rest of the flight.

Well, most of the time, anyway. “No, Cordelia—you may not race that owl!”

“You sure you’re not getting tired, Geoff?”

“Magnus, leave that bat alone!”

The land rose beneath them, rippling into ridges and hills, then buckling into mountains. Finally, as dawn tinged the sky ahead and to the right, Elidor’s finger stabbed down. “Yonder it lies!”