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FOURTEEN:
TOGETHER WE

After the grief and exertion of the night before, Eric slept as if someone had hit him over the head with a blunt instrument. He awoke, still exhausted and disoriented, in the late afternoon, barely able to remember what day it was.

Tuesday. I think. And that means I missed class today, but somehow, I can't find it in my heart to care. Jimmie's unjust death was still too fresh, and everything surrounding it too unbelievable and tangled. Hosea a Guardian. Aerune back to make more trouble. And, unless he'd slept a lot harder than he thought, sometime last night the lot of them had infested Hosea's banjo with the soul of a thirtysomething underground chemist.

I need a shower. I need tea.  

He staggered blearily out from behind the closed bedroom door, and was mildly surprised to see Hosea in the living room, his banjo across his knees. Hadn't Hosea . . . ? Oh. Memory smacked him on the brain once more, and Eric continued wordlessly on to the shower.

Ten minutes under a shower hot and cool by turns put what was left of Eric's brain into working order. He dressed and went into the kitchen to see about the tea.

As he was standing over the kettle waiting for it to boil—Eric was a firm believer in the adage that a watched pot needs the help—his mind registered the fact that Hosea was playing quietly. And more than that. There seemed to be a kind of whispering sound mixed in with the melody, like the sound of wind through leaves, but whenever he tried to hear it, it disappeared again. Curious enough to abandon his morning-transplanted-to-afternoon ritual, Eric went out into the living room. Hosea looked up as he entered.

"Afternoon, Eric. For a while there, I thought you were going to sleep the clock around."

"I still feel like I'm a few days short on sleep," Eric sighed, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at the banjo in curiosity.

"Oh, Jeanette and I was just getting caught up on a few things, and I was hearing all about that Dark Lord feller we run into last night. He sure is a piece of work."

"Yeah. Kind of 'Welcome to the Hollow Hills, now go home.' But you said you were talking to, um, Jeanette?"

"It's the darndest thing. When I'm playing, it's just like I was talking to her—only I'm thinking, and I guess she is, too."

"Can she hear me? I mean, right now?" Eric asked.

Once more Hosea ran his fingers over the strings, and again Eric caught the overlay of eldritch whispering. Hosea grinned.

"She says she's dead, not deaf. Seeing's not quite the same, but she can hear real fine."

"Um . . . great." Eric cudgeled his brains. "I guess we kind of need to know what Aerune's planning, and then figure out some way to stop him." And good luck to that. I don't think the Guardians would stand much of a chance against a Magus Major, and Aerune's a lot more than that. It's not so much that the Unseleighe Sidhe are more powerful than the Bright Elves as it is that the Dark Court doesn't care what it has to do to gain its power and the Seleighe Sidhe do. Still . . . 

"Ayup. Miss Hernandez called while you was still sleeping and said she wanted to get together tonight and study on that with you and the rest of . . . us." Hosea looked a little discomfited at the renewed realization that he, too, was one of the Guardians, and quickly changed the subject. "And Kayla's been here for awhile. She took a look at that studio down there and went out to buy a couple of gallons of black paint."

Eric grinned faintly, thinking of Ria's reaction to Kayla redoing her Park Avenue pastels in basic black. It was nice to think that one thing in this mess had worked out for the best.

"Any word about the funeral?" Eric forced himself to ask.

"Day after tomorrow. I guess I'll have to go out and get myself a dark suit."

"Yeah. I'd like to help you out there, but I don't think the two of us wear the same size."

That got a grin from Hosea. "No, sir. I reckon we don't. Well, I expect I've been loafing long enough. Time to get back to work. I'm packing up Jimmie's things." Hosea laid the banjo aside.

"I'll help," Eric said, though it was about the last thing he wanted to say. Still, it was a brutal job, and Hosea shouldn't have to do it all by himself. And it was a last service Eric could perform for a fallen comrade.

* * *

"So we can't fight this Aerune, and we can't get the elves to fight him? That doesn't leave much," Toni said in disgust.

The four Guardians, Eric, and Kayla were gathered in Eric's apartment once more. For the last several hours the six of them—with advice from Jeanette via Hosea's banjo—had been trying to figure out what—if anything—they could do about the threat of Aerune mac Audelaine.

"It's not that we can't get the Sidhe to come in on our side," Eric explained patiently. "It's just that we can't get them to do it fast. By the time they're convinced Aerune is a real threat, and organize to stop him, a lot of damage will have been done."

"A good thing to prevent, if we can," Paul said. "And from what Jeanette has told Hosea, our Sidhe friend has learned some lessons from the last time you went up against him. He's got allies in this world working to sow distrust between human and Sidhe—a neat trick, since humans are largely ignorant of the Sidhe's existence and the Sidhe, from what you've said, are largely indifferent to the common run of humanity."

"That's about the size of it," Eric admitted. "And as usual, humans can manage to do a lot more damage in this world than any number of Sidhe. Aerune's more immediately dangerous, but it's his allies that worry me. Cut off Aerune's involvement with them, and that threat might disappear, though."

Eric spoke from experience. Aerune was undoubtedly giving the mysterious Parker Wheatley Jeanette had told them about the ammunition to put on a pretty good show for whoever was backing him in government circles. Remove that aid, and the whole conspiracy might collapse under its own weight.

"Well, isn't there some way you guys can just stop Aerune from coming around here? Nail his door shut, or something?" Kayla suggested.

"We can't exactly put a lord of the Sidhe under house arrest . . . even if we could get to him," Toni said dubiously. "Or can we?" She looked at Eric.

"I'm not completely sure on this," Eric said, "but I kind of think he could break through any barrier we set in place . . . and to keep him from being able to enter the World Above, we'd have to be able to seal all the Nexus points connecting Underhill with the World Above. And even if we could get all the Elfhames to agree to that, it'd have severe repercussions for humanity. From what Beth and I could see back when Elfhame Sun-Descending was in danger, humans and Sidhe are pretty closely intertwined. We're the ones with the creativity, but something about them feeds that creativity in us. Split us off from each other completely, and we'd lose something pretty important."

"Still . . . house arrest," Paul mused. "There has to be some way to trap Aerune Underhill and sever his connection with our Mr. Wheatley."

"Pop quiz," Kayla said. "How do you trap something bigger and stronger than you that can bust through any walls you put up?"

They sat and stared at each other in glum silence. Suddenly there was a scraping at the window, and Greystone stepped through.

"Sure an' it's surprised at your lack of a classical education I am," he said in a broad stage brogue. "Hasn't a one of you ever heard of the Minotaur?" The gargoyle winked at Kayla, who grinned. She'd met him for the first time earlier today, and taken his arrival with a lot more sangfroid than Eric had exhibited.

"The Minotaur!" Paul exclaimed. "Of course! The solution has problems of its own, but—"

"Hey?" Kayla said, raising her hand. "For those of us playing along at home?"

Paul smiled at her. "There's an ancient Greek legend about a monster called the Minotaur, a beast with the body of a man and the head of a bull, enormously strong and powerful. It was said to be the son of King Minos of Crete, born to his queen, Pasiphae, as a punishment for disrespect to the gods. Unable to control it, Minos asked his court artificer, Daedalus, for a solution. Daedalus built the Labyrinth beneath Minos' palace, and installed the Minotaur at its center. The creature roamed the maze endlessly, unable to find a way out, and Crete was saved from its ravages."

"So we need to find this Daedalus and have him build us a maze?" Kayla said doubtfully. "And how do we get this Aerune guy into it?"

"But is this the best solution?" José asked. "Caged enemies can escape."

"It certainly seems like the most promising one we've come up with so far," Toni said. "And I don't like the idea of setting out to execute someone in cold blood. Assuming we could, which I wouldn't bet on, even if we got the drop on him. Eric?"

"It could work. And it would at least solve the Aerune part of the problem—better than killing him, which even if we could do it, might gain him some allies among the Sidhe, and end up starting that war after all. Decoying him into the cage would be easy—he's always looking for Talents to drain them, and we've got two Bards and a Healer to bait the trap with. But where do we find someone to build a maze that would keep him in?"

"You're the one who gets invited to parties Underhill," Hosea pointed out slowly. "Don't you know any wizards who owe you a favor?"

* * *

When all else fails, ask an expert. And hey, I can live without sleep.  

It wasn't really much of a plan, not yet—more of an idea that needed more research, and as Eric was the one with the Underhill contacts, that part of the matter fell to Eric. Could a labyrinth be built that would keep Aerune inside it, cut off from the World Above? And, if so, who could build it?

At least it was a good excuse to take Lady Day for a run. Going Underhill in person would actually be faster than sending e-mail, and if you were asking for favors, it was always best to do it personally.

The ride to the Everforest Gate sped by with the quickness of familiarity, and once through, he left the route to Misthold up to the elvensteed. She shifted to horse form once she was Underhill—there weren't a lot of paved roads here, and four legs were better than two wheels for covering the ground safely—and Eric changed from his biking leathers to the silks and mail of a Bard. It wasn't long before they reached the golden gates of Elfhame Misthold. The guards recognized him, and let him through without difficulty.

He thought about going directly to Prince Arvindel, but realized that might play directly into Aerune's plans. Dharniel had warned him about Aerune before. It might be best to start there; scope out the territory before he put his foot in it. And Dharniel was Prince Arvindel's Master of War. Eric would be following protocol as well as using common sense to see Dharniel first.

You have learned wisdom, Grasshopper, Eric told himself with a wry smile. He went to Dharniel's suite of rooms, and asked his old master's chief man-at-arms for an audience. To his surprise and pleasure, his request was granted at once.

"So, young Eric, is your student proving too much for you already?" Dharniel asked, once they were seated in the Elven Bard's inner chamber.

The room was strewn with a working musician's litter—sheaves of music half-transcribed, bundles of strings looking like strange silvery pasta, a half-finished lute neck drying in a heavy padded clamp. A young girl—Dharniel's newest apprentice, Eric was willing to bet—had brought them spiced fruit juice and small sweet cakes, then withdrawn to leave them alone. Eric had waited as patiently as he could manage through these preliminaries, knowing that they were inevitable.

"I haven't really started working with him yet. Right now I've got another problem—you remember that Unseleighe Prince you talked to me about a few months back? The one with an interest in New York?"

To name someone in Underhill risked drawing that person's attention to you, even within the walls and wards of an Elfhame. As Dharniel had been cautious in giving his initial warning, so Eric was cautious now.

"Aye." Dharniel's face had gone still and watchful. "I remember."

"I've seen him recently. My friends and I think we need to take him out, but we haven't got a lot of good ideas."

"A moment, Sieur Eric," Dharniel said.

He got to his feet and went to a cabinet on the wall, from which he removed a surprisingly prosaic item. It looked like a fat white candle, set in a shallow dish of carved green stone. Dharniel cleared a space on his worktable and set it down, then called fire from the air to light it. And Eric got his first surprise.

The light was . . . thick. As the candle flame rose to its full height, the thick syrupy glow of its light seemed to roll outward slowly, like one of those enormously slowed down films of a big explosion. As the bubble of light reached him, Eric could feel it, like a fine warm mist breaking over his body.

"Whoa!" he said, startled. "What's that?"

Dharniel smiled, pleased with the reaction he had provoked. "You may call it 'hard magic,' young Eric, and think of it as a compression of the Power all around us into this tangible and highly-concentrated form. While it burns, we are as safe as we may be anywhere from prying ears and eyes. But I will not spend it without cause, so do not dawdle in this tale you have to tell me."

Accustomed to this sort of rebuke from his stint as Dharniel's pupil, Eric told his story as concisely as he could: Aerune's appearance last night, his taunting promise that he had discovered a way to destroy Eric and the Guardians, their discovery—through Jeanette—that Aerune had human allies, and intended to force the Sidhe into war with the World Above.

"And so we figured the best thing we could do was cut him off from his human allies and keep him from meddling any further in the World Above. Paul suggested a kind of maze-prison, but even if it would work, none of us has the faintest idea of how to build one."

"And so you came at once to me," Dharniel said sourly, for it was plain that Eric's news hadn't made very good hearing for the Sidhe Bard. He shook his head. " 'Tis a long time to mourn a lass, even one so fair as Aerete the Golden."

"You know her?" Eric asked, surprised. Hosea had told them what little Jeanette knew about Aerune's lost love, but Eric hadn't expected it to be common knowledge.

"She was a Lady of my Line—one still revered Underhill, for she gave her life to save her people from the scourge of war and slavery. That her sacrifice was all for naught when Aerune slew the folk she had taken under her protection does not make her deed any the less, and so we honor her, though her name is lost to Men."

Oh.

"Well, Aerune still seems to be in the slaying business, and if he's teamed up with a bunch of humans to broker a human/Sidhe war, you ought to be worried, too."

"If he can," Dharniel commented. "But mortalfolk are kittle cattle, as likely to betray him as aid him, even if he can forget his ancient feud with them for long enough not to strike out at them first."

"I think he can—and so do you, or else you wouldn't have warned me about him in the first place," Eric said boldly. "His allies won't get too far with their war without his help, though, so that brings us back to the original problem."

"To slay him, or to trap and imprison him," Dharniel said. "You cannot kill him, Sieur Eric—once your kind believed him a god, and worshipped him in terror, and he is not easily slain by such guile and power as you and your allies might command. And the Wild Lands are littered with the bones of those who cried Challenge against him, and sought to fight him in accordance with our ancient laws, so you would be well advised not to attempt such a course. But to imprison him in a labyrinth . . . such a course might well succeed, if it is crafted with sufficient power. And yes, I think it would be for the best, for he has long been a trouble to us, and should he turn his attentions to his fellows once more, no good would come of it." Dharniel sighed, as if the words had cost him something to say.

"I would suggest that you ask Lord Chinthliss to aid you in crafting your prison; he has certain ties to the Elfhames, and is well disposed to Sidhe and mortalkind alike. And it would be just as well that my lord Arvindel and the rest of the Folk were not consulted in this matter."

So he'd been right about the way the winds of Elvish politics blew, Eric thought to himself.

"Chinthliss?" It was the second time in two days Eric had heard the name—Chinthliss was the dragon that Beth and Kory were consulting.

"Who better to build a labyrinth than one of the kings of the earth?" Dharniel said, as if it were incredibly obvious. "Such a prison as he might craft could baffle the power of a god, let alone one of the Folk of the Air."

"I . . . er . . . well, do you think he'd do it?" Eric asked.

"If you put the question to him with as much wit and style as you have just put it to me, how can he not?" Dharniel asked waspishly. Eric grimaced. He was a Bard, not a diplomat!

"But as I have said, he bears your race a certain love, and if you bargain well with him and meet his price, I do not think it impossible," Dharniel said, relenting. He regarded Eric, obviously waiting for his former pupil to say something intelligent. Eric took a deep breath.

"Okay. How do I find him?"

* * *

Distances in Underhill were difficult to measure, as so much depended more on how you went than where you went. Time was a slippery concept Underhill, and Eric tried to think about it as little as possible. Fortunately, no matter how long he spent here, Lady Day could make sure he got back to New York the same day he left, so there was little possibility he'd miss Jimmie's funeral. Before dousing the spell-candle, Dharniel cautioned him again not to speak of his mission to anyone else in Misthold, and said that if asked about Eric's visit, he would put it about that Eric had come to consult with him about Eric's new student—a plausible enough excuse for the visit. Eric had no trouble agreeing to keep the real reason for his visit a secret. Aerune scared him, and he had no desire to bring the Dark Lord's vengeance down on his friends.

Even if that would wake them all up to the threat he presents. But there are prices too high to pay for being proved right.  

* * *

Dharniel provided him with a guide to his destination—maps were as little use Underhill as clocks were—and a short time later, he and Lady Day stood before the gate to Chinthliss' domain. The glowing will-o'-the-wisp that Dharniel had given him in lieu of a map hovered in front of them, blinking impatiently.

"Okay," Eric said aloud, to quiet it. "I'm here, but how do I get in?"

The ornate bronze doors gave him no clue. He'd walked all the way around them once. They looked the same from the back as they did from the front, but if he could manage to pass through them, he knew he would be inside of Chinthliss' domain, a kingdom carved by the dragon's power and will out of the formless Unmanifest of the Chaos Lands.

The question was, how to get them to open? An ordinary Gate—one put up to allow travelers to shuttle from one domain to the next—would have keys for as many as six destinations, but this one didn't seem to have any key at all. Not even a door knocker. And him without his flute to play a tune and hope someone inside heard him.

Oh, crumbs. I must be short on brains along with sleep. That hardly needed to be a real problem right here, right now, did it? He always forgot how strong the magic was in Underhill. It didn't take any strength at all to summon up a flute out of thin air. The flute he summoned was a thing of solidified air, no more than a shimmer to the eyes, but real and solid beneath his fingers, smooth as glass. He didn't really need one to conjure the music, but Eric liked the feel of the instrument between his fingers, the interplay of body, breath, and power that shaped the Bardic magic.

He thought for a moment about the most suitable tune to play—he planned no more magic than a simple announcement of his presence—and then began a sprightly and very baroque version of "Break On Through," one that Jim Morrison would certainly never have recognized, though Ian Anderson might have enjoyed it.

The will-o'-the-wisp departed in a miff, its purpose completed, but something seemed to be listening. Emboldened by even that amount of success, Eric's playing grew more fanciful. He drew the melody to a close and waited expectantly.

Nothing seemed to happen, but now, when he looked at the ornate bronze door, he could see a door knocker, set just at human height. Had it been there before, and he'd just missed seeing it? Or had it appeared because of what he'd played?

No sense in breaking my brain about things that don't matter, Eric told himself, and stepped up to the door. The knocker was in the shape of the head of an Oriental dragon, and the scaled ring of the door knocker was cool in his hand. He brought it down against the door—once, twice, thrice—and heard unreal booming echoes, as if he knocked at the door of an abandoned church.

The doors swung inward. Eric walked inside, Lady Day following closely. The hall he was in was as big as an aircraft hangar, decorated in hues of red, yellow, and black. The place had the same vaguely Oriental look as the doors of the Gate he'd just walked through—Chinese dragons were supposed to be very wise, and concerned with the welfare of mankind. Eric hoped this was a good omen. Lady Day snorted and nosed him nervously.

"Welcome, Bard."

Eric blinked, though after all his time with the Sidhe, he ought to be used to surprises like this. The speaker didn't look much like a dragon—more like a really high-priced lawyer.

Appearances could be deceiving. Eric produced his best courtly bow.

"Thank you for allowing me into your home. I am Eric Banyon. I've come seeking the great Lord Chinthliss." A little sugar never hurt, especially when you were coming to ask a favor you weren't sure you were going to get.

The man in the bronze Armani suit bowed his head. "You have found him, Bard Eric. And he is entirely at your service."

Not bloody likely. Eric knew better than to take such courtesies at face value, but they were certainly nice to hear. He bowed again.

"Lord Chinthliss. My master, Lord Dharniel of Elfhame Misthold, sent me to you. I need help."

Chinthliss inclined his head graciously. "Surely you will receive it here. But come. We will go someplace more comfortable, and take tea. And you will tell me of your need."

* * *

A few moments later the two of them were sitting in an ornate and very English drawing room that wouldn't have been out of place on Masterpiece Theater, being served tea by a genuine English butler. Eric had attended weirder parties. He kept his face smooth and put on his best company manners. He'd never met a dragon before, but Bards were traditionally used as go-betweens in Underhill, and Dharniel had included a few lessons on diplomacy in his training. He'd never thought he'd need to use them, though.

"I'd hoped for a chance to meet you," Eric said, shading the truth only slightly. "My friend, Beth Kentraine, spoke very highly of you."

Chinthliss smiled. "Ah. The Lady Beth and her fair knight Korendil. Did you come seeking them? I regret to say they are not here at the moment. They are discharging a small commission for me in the World of Men. But if you would care to wait, I am certain they will return soon."

"No. That isn't really why I came. I need a maze. I think."

Chinthliss looked pleased. "A maze. It has been long since one of the Children of Men came to me to ask for a labyrinth." He regarded Eric with open curiosity. "But perhaps a maze would not serve your purposes best. Pray tell me everything. Leave out no detail, no matter how seemingly insignificant." He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingertips, waiting.

"I, um . . . no disrespect, sir, but is it safe to talk openly? The person I'm concerned with . . . I don't think it would be completely healthy to draw his attention by saying his name."

"Be of good heart, Bard Eric. I am not quite no one, and all who sojourn within my realm are under my protection."

Once again, Eric found himself explaining about Aerune. It turned out that Chinthliss did indeed want to know everything. Under the dragon's probing questions, Eric found himself backtracking, clarifying, explaining everything he knew about the entire situation, from the trouble with Threshold that had drawn Aerune to New York in the first place, to as much as he knew about why the elf-lord had chosen to make it his home, and the death of his love, Aerete the Golden, which had driven him to his bitter hatred of mankind in the first place.

"And it's not like I approve of the Unseleighe Court, because they can be a real pain in the—well, they're evil, but it's not like they have the power to wipe out the human race, just to add a little more misery here and there. But if Aerune gets this government connection of his up and rolling, it could make real serious trouble for everybody. I'm not sure what to do about that, but if we can just separate Aerune from these guys, his conspiracy might curl up and die. So I guess that's where we want to start—putting Aerune somewhere that he can't meddle any more."

"It is always best to use as little force as possible, and allow your enemy to defeat himself. And such a prison as you describe would indeed be sufficient. He would be trapped within it forever, unable to extricate himself." Chinthliss sat forward and reached for his fragile Sevrés porcelain teacup, staring meditatively into its depths before replacing it on the table before him. "I can build such a structure as you require. But my help comes at a price."

"Fine." Eric set down his cup as well. "I'll pay it."

The dragon raised his eyebrows. "Without knowing what it is?" he asked.

Eric sighed, exhausted from answering the dragon's questions. "I'm no good at bargaining," he said bluntly. "Dharniel says you're good people, and Beth and Kory wouldn't have anything to do with you if you weren't. I trust you to set a fair price. Whatever it is, I'll find a way to pay it. This is too important to haggle over. Aerune's about as cold-hearted a murderer as I've ever heard of. He's killed a personal friend of mine already. He'll kill everyone I know, and a lot of people I don't, if he isn't stopped."

"The trust of a Bard is no small gift," Chinthliss said gravely. "Wait here."

He got to his feet and left the room, leaving Eric to wait. Eric was too keyed up to stay seated. He got to his feet and began to pace the room, not seeing any of its contents. Even if Chinthliss could give him what they needed to trap Aerune, even if this turned out to be a good idea, they still had to get the Sidhe lord into it.

And what if they failed?

Well, then, at least I won't be around to see what happens next. Cold comfort, but all he had. And if he kills me, at least that will get Misthold up off its duff. Not that I'm sure that's a good thing. I just know that things can't go on the way they're going now. 

Just when Eric didn't think he could wait any longer, Chinthliss returned carrying a small box. He held it out to Eric.

"This is what you seek."

Eric took the box. It looked awfully small for a labyrinth, but appearances could be deceiving. The box was about four inches square, made of a highly-polished close-grained golden wood. He opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of blue velvet, was a small, wrinkled, silvery object about the size and shape of a walnut. He glanced at Chinthliss for permission before lifting it from its case. It was remarkably heavy, as if it were made of some substance denser than lead, and tingled coldly between his fingers as if a faint electric current were running through it.

"It is a seed," Chinthliss said. "Plant it anywhere in the Chaos Lands, and such a maze as you desire will instantly appear. It will work in the World Above as well, of course, but the maze that will grow there will be of a different sort—and I do not think it would serve your purposes as well."

"Thank you," Eric said, a little stunned. It almost seemed too easy, but having the maze to trap Aerune in was actually the least part of the problem he and the Guardians faced. "How can I repay you, Lord Chinthliss?"

The dragon smiled. "As I have said, the trust of a Bard is no small gift, and I would be sad to see the place from which comes so many beautiful things destroyed. Only think of me kindly, Bard Eric, and perhaps some day you can do me some trifling favor in return."

"Count on it," Eric said feelingly. "I . . . thank you again."

The dragon bowed. "No small thing, to render a Bard speechless," Chinthliss observed. "Fare you well, Bard—and good luck to you in the coming battle."

"We'll need it," Eric said bleakly.

* * *

It seemed unfair that the day on which they laid Jimmie Youngblood to rest should be so bright and sunny. It was one of those clear sparkling late August days—hot, but without the heat haze that cloaked New York through most of the weeks of summer.

The NYPD had turned out in force to salute their fallen comrade. Jimmie's coffin was draped with a flag, and the chapel where the funeral service was held was filled with officers in dress uniforms and detectives in plain dark suits and dresses. A number of Guardian House's tenants had come as well, and tonight there would be a wake in her honor at the apartment. Jimmie had been well-loved, though no one had known her very well.

Did I know her? If I'd known her better, could I have stopped all this from happening? Eric wondered desolately. He stood beside Hosea at the front of the chapel, both men dressed in dark navy suits with mourning bands on their left arms. Ria was there as well, looking severe and correct in a black Chanel suit. Even Kayla had been persuaded into something less flamboyant than her usual Goth garb. In a plain black dress, her face bare of all but the most minimal makeup, she looked very young. Far too young to expose to Aerune's danger.

If there's any way around it . . . Eric promised himself.

Toni stood close beside Paul, wearing dark glasses to conceal eyes red and swollen from grieving tears. She held a rosary in her gloved hands, her fingers moving over the smooth beads. Paul's face was cast in harsh and impassive lines, the mask of a man who felt deeply and knew the emotion must not be allowed to sway him.

The minister spoke of a life dedicated to duty and service—soothing words, meant to comfort those Jimmie had left behind. But there was no comfort for the Guardians, knowing she had been slain almost randomly by her own estranged brother in a bizarre side effect of Aerune's plotting.

The service and its aftermath passed in a blur, and Eric barely registered the names and faces of those who came up to him to offer their condolences and share their grief. Her co-workers were the men and women who knew Jimmie best, who knew that her death could have come for any of them.

After the service itself, the coffin was taken to a cemetery on Long Island for interment, at a second ceremony attended only by the departmental honor guard and Jimmie's closest friends. As the coffin was being lowered into the ground, the terrible finality of it all struck Eric like an unanticipated blow. This was real. This was forever. He stood, gazing down at the ground, until Kayla came and pulled him away toward the waiting Rolls.

Ria had volunteered her car to drive the Guardians and Eric to the cemetery, as New Yorkers rarely kept cars, Lady Day couldn't manage anything larger than her Lotus Elan shape, and Toni's venerable Toyota couldn't accommodate them all.

Why do we grow up thinking life should be fair? Who told us that it should be? Because it never is, and finding that out . . . hurts worse than a lie.  

As the car passed through the gates on its way back to New York, its occupants were unusually quiet, constrained by the depressing occasion. Even Kayla had nothing to say.

Ria leaned forward in her seat and caught Eric's eye. "Whatever you're planning, I want to be a part of it."

Eric blinked, taken by surprise. Ria took the hesitation for disapproval.

"Oh, come on! Do you think I think you're going to just let this slide? You're planning something, and I can help."

"I, um . . ." He hadn't really thought about involving Ria. He'd gotten used to thinking of this as his fight, and the Guardians'. But Ria was a trained sorceress. And someone with her high-level Real World contacts could be a lot of help in unraveling the human end of Aerune's plot. "Are you sure? This isn't really your battle."

"As much mine as yours," Ria pointed out, with a certain justice. "Leaving aside the altruistic—that he's coming after everyone pretty much equally—let's descend to the selfish: if Aerune does what Banjo Girl says he wants to, I'm going to be persona non grata on either side of the Veil."

That much was true: Ria's mixed blood would make her as unwelcome with Aerune as it would make her a target for Aerune's human allies.

"I know," was all he said.

"And for that matter, I'm already involved. You know I've been chasing down the people Lintel was selling Threshold's black-ops drugs to. What do you want to bet that some of them are the same people Aerune's dealing with?"

"It's kind of you to wish to help . . ." Paul began.

Ria snorted. "I'm not kind. Ask Eric. But I'm not stupid, either. You have a better chance of success with my help than without it."

"We don't generally involve outsiders in what we do," Toni said, her voice neutral.

"I'm not an outsider, any more than Kayla and Eric are," Ria shot back. "You Guardians think you're special because you have abilities most people don't, and know more about the way the world really works than most people do. Well, surprise, so do I."

This had all the earmarks of degenerating into a nasty fight. Eric spoke up quickly.

"If this were just a problem like you've faced before, Toni, I'd be glad to stay out of it, and Ria too. But Aerune's my problem too, and Ria's. This involves both Underhill and the World Above, and you're understrength at the moment. Hosea's untrained, either as Guardian or Bard, and from what I've found out, Aerune eats guys like you for breakfast, no offense."

"None taken," José said gravely, glancing toward Toni and Paul.

"So let's wait till we get back to my place and hash things out. I've got the maze-seed. It might take Aerune out, but it's going to take teamwork to use it."

* * *

"That?" Toni Hernandez said in disbelief an hour later. "That's our weapon? What next, a sack of magic beans?"

There had been no chance for Eric to talk with the others before the funeral, so this was the first opportunity they had to hear the tale of his visit to Chinthliss. He'd produced the box containing the maze-seed and passed it around for the others to examine.

"All the old fairy tales have their roots in truth, maybe more so than we imagine," Paul said musingly. "So . . . yes. Magic beans are not impossible." His eyes sparkled with the excitement of a scholar on the trail of hot new information. Toni passed the box to him, but Kayla grabbed it next.

"Hey," she said, holding the silvery seed in her closed fist. "It tickles. Weird."

Ria frowned at her firmly, and she passed the seed to Paul. José took possession of the box, examining its craftsmanship with pleasure.

"If this will not be needed afterward, may I have it to keep? It is a beautiful thing."

"Sure," Eric said. "I only hope we're going to be in a position to want souvenirs after this is over."

"Hear, hear," Ria drawled. "Okay, you've got your prison, and it shouldn't be hard to get the six of us into the Wild Lands to plant it. But how are you going to get the genie into the bottle?"

"Hey," Kayla said. "Can't you count? Seven—Hosea, the other three Guardians, you, me, and Eric." The others looked at her. Kayla glared back stubbornly. "Oh, no. You're not cutting me out of this deal, pat me on the head and leave the poor little girl on the sidelines to see if you come back. You need me! Who's going to put you back together when you come to pieces? Who's going to sucker this Aerune into coming after you in the first place?"

Eric shot Ria a guilty look. Involving Kayla would be an enormous help in bringing off the plan he didn't quite have yet. But it wasn't fair to involve a teenager in this. The danger was too great.

"No," Ria said flatly. "Elizabet would skin me with a dull knife."

"It might not be necessary," Eric began reluctantly. Kayla made a rude noise.

"Perhaps it would be simplest if you began by telling us what you had in mind," Paul said, handing the maze-seed to José. The other man placed it back into the box and handed the closed box back to Eric.

"The plan is to keep Aerune from being able to meddle in the World Above ever again," Eric said. "The method is to trap him inside a magical labyrinth—he won't be able to get out, and no one else will be able to get in. So we decoy him into the Wild Lands, and distract him while we plant the seed. When it grows up, he'll be inside, we'll be outside. Simple." I hope. 

"Nothing in life is ever that simple," Ria commented.

José frowned. "I see two weak points in this plan. How do we get him to come to us in these Wild Lands—and how do we distract him until the labyrinth is complete?"

Hosea fingered the strings of the enchanted banjo, listening intently. "Jeanette says that Aerune's fief is carved out of the Wild Lands—would that be about right, Eric?"

Eric nodded. The borders of some Underhill domains actually touched, but more of them didn't.

"So if we raise up a great big magical fuss just outside his front door, he's bound to come and see who's out there," Hosea said.

"Then all we have to do is fight him to a standstill for long enough for your magic beans to grow." Ria looked at Eric. "Do you think it's possible?"

"If anybody has a better idea, I'm open to suggestions," Eric said grimly. "What we've got going for us is that the Guardians' powers are going to be as unfamiliar to Aerune as they were to me. And we don't have to defeat him. Just hold him for however long the maze takes to sprout."

"Then you definitely need me," Kayla said. "You've said that Aerune likes to eat Talent. Well, I've got Talent. He'll come after me."

Eric expected an immediate objection from Ria, but she actually appeared to be considering Kayla's suggestion. "You're right that we need bait to draw him out, someone chock-full of tasty Talent. We can't use Eric—Aerune's met him before, and Aerune might not want to antagonize the Elfhames by openly attacking a Bard. But he offered me an alliance, once. I could say I've changed my mind."

"But wouldn't he be suspicious? You turned him down once, and he's seen you with us now," Paul said.

"It doesn't matter if he's suspicious, so long as he comes," Ria said simply.

The talk went on—arguments, objections, attempts to plan for a situation that none of them could really predict. Ria pointed out that they would need armor and weapons of Cold Iron. The Guardians had swords, and Ria promised to provide them with chain mail shirts similar to her own, which would at least deflect any levin-bolts Aerune chose to throw. Kayla continued to argue for her inclusion in the mission, and Ria was just as firmly opposed.

"I think we're all forgetting something," Toni said at last. "The other night, when Aerune attacked Guardian House, Kayla was the only one who noticed. I think she needs to come."

Ria opened her mouth to protest. Toni raised a hand.

"I don't think she should be the bait. But I think she should be there. We've planned for the fight, but we need to plan for losing it, too. If we lose, what happens to Kayla?"

"Aerune will naturally return to Guardian House," José said, "seeking to complete his revenge. If Kayla is here alone—forgive me, querida—she will be easy prey."

"Whereas if she's with us, and things go bad, we can put her on a fast horse out of Dodge—Eric, is there somewhere you can send her that would be safe?" Toni finished.

"Lady Day could take her to Beth and Kory at Elfhame Misthold," Eric said. "Quit glaring, Kayla. Somebody's going to need to tell them that things went wrong, and how, and who was responsible, and an elvensteed won't be able to."

"And, meanwhile, she might be able to keep Aerune from pulling the wool over our eyes," Paul said. "I'm afraid I'm in favor of including her. She's not so much younger than Toni was when Toni became a Guardian."

"And I've already been an elvish blue-plate special once," Kayla pointed out. "And if something happens to you, Ria, Elizabet will kill me. So it's settled. I'm going."

Ria sighed, recognizing defeat. "Maybe we'll be lucky and all be killed," she said sardonically.

"I guess it's settled, then," Hosea said. "We all go. And the Good Lord willing, we all come back. The only question left is . . . when?"

"Soon," Eric said. Aerune had boasted that he was in no hurry to implement his plans, but that didn't mean he would leave them alone. If they were going to attack at full strength, it had better be a preemptive strike. "How soon can everyone get things ready?"

 

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