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had been male!
She lowered the necklace again and turned to Gerald. "I think we're ready now," she began, just as her
other human helpers slumped to the ground.
* * *
Their steeds had followed Brisingamen's magical traces and come out near the top of a bluff overlooking
an enormous concrete dam. Below them, closer to the dam, was a rough-looking sort of camp: a couple
of old, dirty-looking tents, an ugly, clunky, much-beat-about vehicle of some sort, and looking very
much out of place a large, boxy camper that shone with both the gleam of careful cleaning and the
subtle glow of Sidhe magic.
After a single glance around, Catriona pulled on Kevranil's sleeve and pointed to a group of five people
standing just beyond the camp, maybe a hundred paces from their own spot on the bluff. He looked
down, then took a closer look. Four of them were human, all male, standing in a loose circle around the
fifth who was neither male nor human. She was Sidhe, and she was holding something in the air before
her. It bore the stamp of power as well: it could only be the necklace Brisingamen.
"I have to get that," she said softly, pointing to Brisingamen. "It's not keyed to her yet, but if she stumbles
into how to do it "
"By killing you, you mean," Kevranil said brusquely.
Catriona only nodded. "Let's just say that ifshe gets the power to actually use the necklace, we're all
doomed."
Kevranil conjured his sword and armor, wishing that he were more of a Magus. But he didn't have
enough magic to help Catriona; all he could do is hope that she could do enough, somehow, to avoid
disaster. His sword would have to be enough protection for her, somehow, even if he'd never beaten his
uncle Aelbrigr in a single bout or anyone else he could think of at the moment. How well would he do
now?
No matter. He'd just have to do the job; that was all there was to it. At least he knew he could put those
humans to sleep he didn't have to be a Bard for that and he concentrated on doing so as Catriona
scuttled away through the grass. He sang of sleep, of peace, of harmony, aiming his spell at those below
and carefully crafting it to exclude Catriona from its effects. Slowly, one by one, three of the four men
folded themselves down to sleep.
The fourth human, the one who had been on the other side of the woman, ran directly toward Kevranil.
Although he felt like cursing, he tried to touch the man's mind in the few moments he had before the man
reached him; he neatly evaded the first blow from the puny iron knife the man thrust toward him. But this
man was resistant; he, too, had shields, although in his case, they had been put onto him by the
Unseleighe woman, not naturally part of him at all. Kevranil danced away from the man's small knife
again and again as he worked to take those shields down, hardly using his sword. After all, it was
possible that this human was an innocent, beglamoured by the Unseleighe, and Kevranil did not hurt
innocents if he could avoid it.
The man ducked back, dug something out from under his leg, and came up with a bigger, longer knife;
this one was nearly as long as his arm. Kevranil continued to dance around, hoping he wouldn't have to
hurt the human, while he kept working to unravel the Sidhe-wrought shields. Finally, just after Kevranil
had disarmed the man completely, the shields came down, and Kevranil once again sang of sleep and
this time, the man tripped and fell flat, snoring loudly as he came to rest on a grassy verge near the
man-made lake.
Kevranil looked to see what else was happening; did Catriona need him?
After what seemed like an eternity, he spotted Catriona and the Unseleighe woman at the top of the
Hoover Dam. They were locked in a hand-to-hand battle that had all the finesse of a clowder of
kittens wetkittens. The necklace that was the focus of all this had fallen unheeded to the ground; neither
had it. But Catriona looked well, she looked likemore than she had before.
To his Othersight, her body had disappeared. In its place was the astral image of a woman of great
power . . . a red-haired, green-eyed vixen who'd spurn you as easily as she'd notice you, then take you
up again just as you thought your cause was lost. . . .
::Aelfling,:: the red-haired spirit image whispered into his mind. ::Do not interfere. This is for My Chosen
to do. She's run from her responsibilities long enough.::
::Who are you?::
::Whom do you think?:: she sniffed. ::Train her well, young Bard.::
::But. . .but I'm not a Bard :: he stammered mentally.
::Not yet,:: she or She said. ::But soon.::
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