Mercedes Lackey - Fairy Godmother

Elena and Sergei landed on the balcony without incident; had Sergei been the size of his brother Nightsong, they couldn't have done it, but the balcony was just large enough for something pony-sized. She slid off, and pushed open the balcony door.

Clang!

She staggered back, reeling, from the blow to her head. Which fortunately, had been mostly absorbed by her helm but still — her ears were ringing and for a moment she had seen stars! "Hey!" she shouted indignantly, fending off the angry, poker wielding young woman who advanced on her. "What do you think you're at, wench? Julian sent me! I'm here to rescue you!"

"What?" the poker dropped from the young woman's hands and clattered to the stone floor as she stared at Elena in shock. "You — "

Once again, Elena felt the weight of The Tradition collapsing around her and even as she seized on the opportunity to replenish her magical stores, she was pulling off her helm. The Tradition had its own path for those who rescued ladies in Durance Vile. And Princess — now Queen — Kylia had spread her arms wide to embrace her "rescuer," automatically, impelled by The Tradition. And in a moment, Kylia was going to find herself a different sort of prisoner, manipulated and pushed into falling in love — or at least, into something that felt just like love. And she might, possibly, recall that once she had felt exactly the same thing for her husband, but at that point, it would already be too late.

"Yes," Elena said, shaking her hair loose, firing the words out as quickly as she could to warp The Tradition back to the path she wanted. "I'm Godmother Elena. Your husband, Julian, sent me — he's leading a frontal assault on the gate as a distraction in order to set you free to join him."

Kylia stopped dead in her tracks, as stunned for the moment as Elena would have been if that poker had connected with her skull instead of her helm.

"Oh," she said, in a small, uncertain voice. "A woman?"

"Julian sent me," Elena said firmly. "I am a Fairy Godmother, come at his call for aid. He's single-handedly leading an heroic assault on the front gate to act as a distraction so you can escape."

This was, of course, a lie. That didn't matter. What mattered was to deflect The Tradition from the course it was on with certain key words. It wasn't quite a spell, as such, but it had all the force of a spell. Kylia — and through her, The Tradition — heard

"Julian — single-handedly, heroic — so you can escape." The force impelling Kylia into falling in love with her rescuer (which had been the source of no end of tragedy in the past) was deflected by the clear impropriety of Kylia falling in love with a woman, and by the apparent sacrifice that Julian was making of himself. Given those key words, she was impelled right back into the love of her husband.

This was the problem with Tradition-created "love." It was manufactured. In time it would solidify into the real thing, far more often than not, but in the first year or two of marriage, the bond was fragile, easily broken, and easily reformed onto another object of affection.

The Tradition created tragedy as well as happy endings; The Tradition did not care if a story ended happily or in sorrow, so long as the tale was powerful enough. For every Sleeping Princess, there was a Fair Rosalinda. For every Mark and Yseult, the Tradition was perfectly prepared to create a Trystan....

Not in my Kingdoms.

"Julian," Kylia breathed, "he's out there, you say?"

"He is, and waiting for you." Elena took the opportunity to shove her out the door of the balcony before she had a chance to object. And before she had a chance to react to the presence of a horse on the balcony, Elena had lifted her into Sergei's saddle. Just in case, she tied off the poor child's belt to the saddle. Kylia grabbed the pommel reflexively.

"Off!" she shouted, darting back inside. "Good luck!" Sergei shouted back, and leaped from the balcony with Kylia suddenly coming to her senses and shrieking in fear at finding herself several hundred feet above the ground and plummeting towards it like a stone.

But that was not Elena's problem; that was Sergei's.

With luck, if any of the winged things were attracted back to their guard-post by Kylia's shrieks, Sergei would already be on the ground. By that time, Kylia would be silent (or even fainted, poor thing), and they would find the balcony door open and the balcony vacant and assume that, rather than become the bride of their master, she had flung herself from the tower.

And, being no fools, if not very bright — and, as were the minions of most evil creatures, believing firmly in the principle of looking out for themselves first — if they were not magically bound, they would swiftly bugger off before their master found out what had happened, rather than go looking for a body.

She dashed for the door to the room; if winged guardians did come back she wanted to be sure that she herself was not here. The door to this level wasn't locked, and she darted into the staircase, closing and locking the door behind her, creating one more reason to believe that Kylia had plunged to her death.

It occurred to her, as she began working her way down through the levels of the tower, that Kylia might not be quite the milk-and-honey princess that Elena had thought her. She had, after all, armed herself with that poker, yes, and she had been perfectly ready to attack anything coming in the balcony door with it! Well, good; good for her. That boded well for Julian, too....

Get your mind back on what you're doing, she scolded herself. The most difficult task is yet to come. And she worked her way down through the empty tower levels until, at last, she found a door that was locked.

She paused, her ear pressed to the keyhole, listening with all of her attention. Was there a guard out there? Was there some other sort of creature? She couldn't hear anything, nor could she sense any sort of magic. All she could hear were the distant echoes of the fighting. Either Alexander had not yet challenged the Sorcerer, or he had, but the fighting at the gate was continuing anyway.

That might change at any moment. It was time to take yet another chance, and hope that luck was with them all.

Elena knelt beside the door, touched her wand to it, and teased another fragment of magic into the door-lock.

"Open locks, whoever knocks, " she whispered to it, and tapped, gently, on the wood of the door beside the lock.

With a click, the lock tripped, and she pushed the door open — gently.

She peered around the door, to see that she was in a hallway. There should have been lamps illuminating the whole area, but this hall showed signs of a struggle. Only about half of the lamps were lit; the rest lay on the floor, broken, and the little tables that had once held vases or statues were overturned, their burdens shattered.

Evidently Kylia had not gone to her imprisonment quietly. Once again, Elena found the Princess rising in her estimation. So, she fought, did she? Well done to her.

At least the hallway was clear. If I were the throne room, where would I be? she wondered. Or did she, in fact, actually want the throne room? Sergei had guessed that this was where the Sorcerer's heart would be, but he had not actually known. So who — or what — would?

Well, there was dark magic everywhere, the sort that only evil mages could use without being tainted, for it carried the overburden of death, or of being wrenched away from someone who was afraid and unwilling. That was the bad part; she couldn't use it. It hung in the air in clouds, dark and glowing with a sullen red, as if the place was on fire.