Mark Del Franco - Uncertain Allies

Figures ran in the fog, distorted human shapes that leaped and screamed. They swept by us in eddies of blue, essence I recognized. The Wild Hunt had come calling, and it was attacking Vize’s allies.

A deep indigo light flickered in the midst of the Hunt. As it rolled closer, people fled in confusion. The shape resolved into a huge figure on a dream mare, its eyes burning with fierce red light. The rider reined the beast and turned it toward us. The horse stamped its feet, bloodred sparks flying up from the pavement. The rider stared down, eyes glowing with flames from a helmet mounted with enormous antlers.

Follow. The sending had a rich, deeper baritone that made me shiver. With a jab of sharp-heeled leather boots, the rider wheeled the dream mare about and cantered down the street.

The blue light of the Dead flickered as the Hunt continued the fight on the next block. Murdock stared after the rider. “Was that a friend?”

“If I’m not mistaken, we’ve been invited to follow the King of the Dead.”

“What, like the devil?” Murdock asked.

I twisted my lips in amusement. “The King’s more of an administrator and occasional hunter, but I don’t think that means he’s the nicest guy around, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And we want to go meet him because . . . ?” Murdock asked.

I looked back up the street. Uno guarded the sidewalk, his massive bulk obscuring the scene in the intersection. “Given the options at the moment, I say the King of the Dead is the least of our problems. Don’t drop your body shield, though.”

“Great,” he muttered.

Meryl slipped her hand in mine. “You know, usually when we go out, all hell breaks loose, but I don’t think it’s ever been this literal.”

The sounds of the fighting diminished as we walked deeper into the Tangle. Faint blue light hazed the air, the residual trail of the dream mare and the rider. The surrounding walls glowed pale white. The street turned into a dead end.

“Did we miss a turn, or is it an illusion?” Murdock asked.

I stepped up to the end wall. “The rider’s essence ends here. It’s a glamour.” I placed my left hand against the wall and pushed. The concrete bent under the pressure, and my hand slipped through.

“Do I hold my breath or what?” Murdock asked.

“Geez, we were invited, remember?” Meryl said. Without hesitation, she walked through the wall.

“I didn’t get the invitation,” Murdock said.

“Door glamours aren’t that thick. Hang on to my arm and step through without stopping. You’ll be fine,” I said.

He gripped my arm by the triceps, leaving his gun hand free. “I’m sure Gerda Alfheim was told the exact same thing right before the wall ate her,” he said.

The glamour tingled cool over my body as we slid through the illusion to join Meryl. On the other side, light and sound startled me. Murdock was even more surprised than I was. We hadn’t heard anything from the street.

A makeshift market sprawled through a cavernous space. Essence-powered lanterns hanging from scaffolding and fire escapes illuminated a winding path through canvased stalls and tents. Herbs and essence spiced the air, and unseen musicians weaved spelled tunes meant to encourage relaxation and camaraderie. The crowd spanned the various fey folk races, with a notable number of dwarves and minor clan elves. A dwarf paused in front of us and bowed with formal courtesy. “My apologies the Hunt gave you trouble. We did not know you were favored. I have been asked to escort you.”

Without waiting for a reply, he led us through the tents. The main aisle followed an abandoned trolley track bed. Vendors eyed us, but no one made an attempt to solicit. “People seem intent on the door we came in,” Murdock said.

“I think they’re worried about who’s coming through next,” I said.

“Or isn’t,” he said.

His comment made me remember the screams up the street. “We don’t know what happened back there.”

“Something tells me we won’t either,” he said.

At the end of the vendor stalls, stone constructions jutted from the walls and rose into shadow. From glimpses through open doors, some had the look of barracks about them, compact bedding in rows and bunks. Other build-outs were more private, even elaborate. True to the abilities of dwarves, not a speck of mortar was visible in the joinings of the structures. At the back end, the outcroppings were decorated with carvings of wildlife and trees.

Another glamour blocked the way, radiating a green essence of complex alarm spells and resistance shielding. The dwarf walked through it, his presence triggering another spell that opened the wall as if someone had pulled aside a curtain. Beyond was an enclosed room, a long, narrow space like an audience chamber, lit with torches. A single chair faced us from the far end. The dwarf knocked on a door behind the chair, then stepped aside and waited.

The rider emerged, wearing the long maroon cape I had seen earlier. Back in the street, I assumed I couldn’t see his face because of the poor lighting, but now it was obvious that a glamour masked the front of the helm. In any other context, stag antlers and burning red eyes would have generated giggles, but in the shadowed room, they looked damned eerie. A formidable body shield guarded that side of the room.

Drop your shields, the rider sent.

“Well, well, well,” Meryl said. Amused, she dropped her shield.

“No,” said Murdock.

His answer surprised the dwarf, but the rider made no move. We regarded each other until the rider’s shield wavered and collapsed. Since you do not have your weapon pointed at me this time, I suppose I shall take that as courtesy, Detective.

The rider reached up and removed the helm. Two long, thick braids of red hair tumbled from within as the glamour deactivated. The rider threw back one side of the cape, revealing a formfitting red leathered armor. Ceridwen sat in the chair and propped the helm on the arm. “My apologies for what happened to you a few days ago, Grey. The Hunt should have recognized my ring.”

In life, Ceridwen had been a powerful member of the Seelie Court. As an underQueen, she helped decide on who would be High Queen or could campaign for it herself. Maeve sent her to investigate me and Meryl about our role in a different catastrophe. That was the cover story. It turned out she was tracking rumors that Bergin Vize was about to launch an attack on Maeve. The rumors were true, and Ceridwen ended up Dead.

After she died, she surprised me by showing up at my door. She gave me a ring, in token of a promise we made to each other to take Maeve down. “I wasn’t wearing it. I didn’t want to invite questions.”

Annoyed, she shifted in her seat. “That ring represents a great promise, Grey. I trust it has not been tossed in some forgotten drawer.”

“In this neighborhood? Are you kidding? I don’t even leave lottery tickets at my place.” I unsnapped the boot sheath that held my old dagger and slipped the ring off the leather strap. I held it up. “It’s safe.”

Meryl leaned in. “She gave you a ring? You didn’t tell me she gave you a ring.”

I nudged her with my elbow. “Behave.”

Ceridwen rose with her hand out. I dropped the ring onto her palm. Melancholy flitted across her features as she touched it. It was a fine band of gold set with a large carnelian. She reached for my left hand and slipped the ring on my pinkie finger. “This will keep you safe from the Hunt. They will sense it and know you for a friend. You can use it to seek my audience at any time. It cannot be removed without my blessing.”

I tugged at the ring. It wouldn’t budge. “I can’t wear this, Ceridwen. Maeve is already threatening to arrest me for your murder. I don’t need her adding robbing the Dead to the charges.”