Esther M. Friesner

Elf Defense

 

 

 

Aloud he said, "Come on, Cass, trade places and take a

turn at the wheel. You heard Amanda: she wants me."

 

"She doesn't know what she wants. I have to stay back

here with her! You don't know all that must be done if we're

going to be safe. You might get careless. ..."

 

"I might drive this stinking car into a ditch if the rain

gets any worse! I can be just as careful as you, if you tell me

what to watch, but I can't see to drive as well as you can in

this storm." Another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky-

bowl, thunder answered, and the rain gusted harder against the

windows, as if to back up his words. "Please, Cass. You can

get us there faster. And we've got a long way yet to go."

 

A loud snort of disgust came from the backseat. "All

right, all right, I'll take the wheel. You've made your point."

Two doors opened almost simultaneously, though only Cass

slammed his shut once he was outside. He and Jeff circled the

car, exchanging places, while the windshield wipers continued

their hopeless task and Amanda pressed her knuckles against

her teeth until Jeff was beside her. She welcomed him joyfully.

Cass heard, and winced a little, in spite of all his good inten-

tions to leam self-control.

 

Jeff shifted noisily, sitting down on the thick sheet of

clear plastic covering the entire backseat and furled over most

of the floor. It was a painter's dropcloth, the biggest and most

durable they cound find. Amanda grabbed his hand and

squeezed it tight. Her grasp stemmed a stream of mild profan-

ity as he struggled to get comfortable on the clinging stuff,

made him forget all about his own minor discomfort.

 

"How are you, babe?" he asked. Nothing mattered but

easing her pain.

 

Amanda smiled a little and bent her head to rest on his

shoulder. His arm around her was all the shelter her soul needed.

"A little hot—all this plastic—but what can we do? It's necessary.

I'll be fine. We'll all be fine." She kissed him, then met Cass's

extraordinary blue eyes fixed on her in the rearview mirror.

"Please start the car, Cass. I'll tell Jeff what he's got to do."

 

"He's done enough already," Cass mumbled under his

breath. They didn't hear him. He turned off the overhead light.

The engine rumbled to life and the car rolled back onto the

road. The storm continued unchecked. There was even more

force behind the lashing wind now. The raindrops sounded like

hail against the windshield, but the car roared on as fast and

surely guided as if it had been full daylight and fair driving.

 

When they reached the small town of Jeff's memories, it

 

ELF DEFENSE                  3

 

was bedded down and boarded up. It wasn't hurricane season

yet, but the Gulf of Mexico was capable of spawning some

mighty nasty surprises. Wise Ploridians knew it. Here and there,

Cass glimpsed slivers of light from the buildings, shining cracks

beneath incompletely closed metal shutters. Mostly, though, he

saw the street lamps' fuzzy balls of brightness, silly little fire-

puffs hanging against the fearsome brilliance of the lightning.

 

"Now where?" he asked.

 

"Three more blocks—no, four—and hang a left. The

clinic's the pink house at the end of the street."

 

"All the way at the end?"

 

"Pass it, and you're in the bay."

 

"Are you sure it's still there? How long has it been since

you were in this town?"

 

"Five years; maybe six. Listen, I sent them a nice check

every Christmas, and none of 'em came back. It'll still be

there. The only thing that's changed might be the paint. Just

drive, Cass."

 

"Please, dear," Amanda put in gently.

 

Cass followed directions. He took the left turn a little

harder than necessary, but Amanda was making those strange,

terrifying sounds again. This time there was a note of imminent

panic in her voice. They were running out of time. The sharp-

ness of the turn made everything in the car shift left. Amanda

cried out as Jeff pitched up against her, sliding helplessly on

the plastic seatcover. In the front, the small furry shape sharing

space with Cass tumbled into his thigh. He felt claws sink in

deeply, a reprimand.

 

"Ouch! Cesare ..."

 

"Look!" Jeff thrust his arm over Cass's right shoulder,

pointing. "They've got their lights on! Someone's still in-

side!"

 

"We won't have to call. Oh, thank God!" Amanda

sighed.

 

They were there. Jeff leaped out onto the swamped gravel

drive and ran around to open Amanda's door. He offered her a

hand out, an arm to lean on.'

 

"Be careful, you idiot! What do you think you're do-

ing?" Cass was outside too, the rain plastering his long hair

to the sides of his face. The cheap dye left black smears on his

cheeks, stained the collar of his Hawaiian shin past hope. He

barred Amanda's way, refusing to let her out of the car. "Here,

I'll take care of her."

 

Standing side by side in the storm, the two worked to-

 

4                 Esther M. Friesner

 

gether. Next to Jeff's robust athlete's body, Cass looked thin-

ner than he was, almost sickly, all bones and promise. His

youthful fragility made Jeff seem much older by comparison,

certainly much stronger. But then he reached into the backseat,

swaddled Amanda tightly in the clear plastic sheeting, and

passed her into Jeff's waiting arms as easily as if she weighed

no more than a kitten. Jeff carried her up the walk, struggling

to keep the plastic in place, while Cass checked out the interior

of the car.

 

"No blood," said a sleepy voice from the front seat.

 

Cass looked up sharply. A gray brindled tomcat perched

on the back of the seat and regarded him with a superior smirk,

whiskers quivering.

 

"Why waste your time looking? Trust me, Cass. Trust

my nose, if you'd prefer. There is no blood, not a whit, not a

sniff. Not yet. You did a perfect job of keeping it under wraps,

but you're not through yet. Hurry up and go inside. You'll

have to be twice as cautious in there."

 

"I will be," Cass said grimly.

 

The cat yawned. "Good luck." His mouth did not move

at all when he spoke, yet the sound of his words filled the car.

"Midwives may let husbands in the delivery room, but I'll bet

they draw the line at snotty teens."

 

"They'll have to let me in!" Cass spoke fiercely as he

yanked a fresh plastic dropcloth from under the front seat, un-

folded it, and spread it to cover every possible inch of space in

the back. "I can help Amanda more than any of them ever—"

 

"How?" The cat looked amused. "By pulling rank, or

just a rabbit out of a hat? Oh, go ahead and try. You'll see I'm

right."

 

"Cats," Cass grumbled, backing out of the car. "Think

you know it all."

 

"That's because we do," Cesare replied smugly, but his

words were lost in the sound of the back door slamming shut.

He spread his six-toed paws and begain to rip hell out of the

unprotected front-seat upholstery.

 

The clinic door was locked. Cass pounded on it, then

leaned on the bell. A small roof overhanging the doorway af-

forded little shelter from the sideways-driving rain, but he was

already soaked. Impatience and powerlessness made him fran-

tic. He leaned on the bell again and didn't release it until the

lock clicked and the door opened.

 

"Now what is . . . ? Oh. You must be the son. Come

in." A plump young woman in nurse's whites, very harried,

 

ELF DEFENSE                  5

 

turned her back on Cass as soon as she summed him up and

asked him in.

 

He followed her into a square waiting room, the walls

painted pale salmon pink. "Have a seat," she said, waving

him to take his choice of two identical sofas, their waterlily

print upholstery genteelly faded. She kept going, heading for

the frosty glass-paneled door beyond.

 

"Wait!" He grabbed her arm. She glared, her expression

so full of burning outrage that it startled him. He saw the tom-

cat's mocking face overlay her scowl like a ghostly mask.

 

Ah! Yes, Cesare, you were right after all, he thought. A

snotty teen, that's how she sees me. How do I dare to detain

an adult like this? I forget myself. How do I even dare to touch

her? He dropped his hand, and the cat's face faded. The nurse

was just another human being who wondered what was wrong

with all these nervy kids.

 

"I'm sony." He tried to put a quaver into his voice and

bowed his head, doing his best to look awkward. It was easier

to be submissive than to feign it. "I—I just want to be with

my mother."

 

"Now?" The woman's look softened from anger to sur-

prise to compassion. Cass had pushed the proper buttons. "Oh,

dear, I wish I could let you, but it's out of the question."

 

"I won't faint, if that's what you're afraid of. I've seen

tapes of births before, in—in my mother's La Maze classes.

I'm sure she wants me with her. Hasn't she asked for me?"

 

The woman patted his arm. "Yes, she has honey." For

some reason, she didn't imagine that he might resent unasked

contact as much as she did. Given his apparent age, what he

liked and disliked were trivial as far as she was concerned.

"But we told her we don't have that big a space to work with,

here. Just me and Dr. Pine can barely move ourselves around

that table, and what with your daddy being in there too ...

Well, he's got a right to be there, I suppose, so long as we

don't get any complications—"

 

She caught Cass's look and hastily added, "Not that we're

going to have anything but a plain, easy birth here. Don't you

fret, child. We're just a little-bitty town clinic, but all the same,

we've helped birth more than a couple of infants when they

couldn't wait for the county hospital. Your Mama's going to be

okay. Now go sit and read a nice magazine. I've got to scrub."

 

Cass thought better of insisting. He could read people

more easily than he could wade through the pile of old Time

magazines in the waiting room, and he'd seen a stubborn streak

 

Esther M. Friesner

 

running clear to the bone in the little woman. She'd made the

decision to keep him out, and she'd defend it till dawn if he

talked back. Amanda needed her helping in the delivery room,

not arguing out here. He would just have to trust Jeff to oversee

matters in there. Reluctantly he settled down.

 

He heard the rain slacken off, but it didn't stop. Time

drifted over his skin like the breath of the sea. Then the woman

was back, smiling. A plastic cap hid her short black hair, and

a surgical mask dangled from her neck.

 

"You've got a little brother, honey; a fine, healthy little

brother."

 

They let him see Amanda right away. She was lying in a

long room whose three hospital beds were separated from each

other by cheery aqua curtains. Jeff stood to one side of her at

the head of the bed, a redheaded woman to the other. They were

grinning at Cass like a pair of brain-scooped baboons.

 

"Come in, come in!" Cass wasn't coming as fast as the

redhead would have liked. She strode across the room to drag

him nearer. "You must be Cass. I'm Dr. Pine. Come on and

say hello to your new brother."

 

Amanda smiled up at him. The baby was in her arms,

wrapped in a blue-striped white blanket. She pulled back a

comer of it so he could see the tiny face and hands, colored

the deepest rose.

 

The sound of wonder in his own voice surprised him. "I

... I thought they all looked like little red monkeys."

 

"Some do," Dr. Pine said. "Maybe you did, with that

snow-white skin you've got. What about it, Mrs. Taylor? Did

your big fella here look like that when he was bom?"

 

Amanda made a noncommittal sound.

 

"We're naming him Paul Henry," Jeff said proudly.

"After my father." He threw his arm around Cass's thin shoul-

ders and hugged him close, beaming. "Truth be told, we'd

name him after this fine young man right here, if we could. If

not for him and his driving, little Paui'd be named Subaru."

 

"Well, you can't very well name one brother after the

other," the doctor agreed.

 

Cass sidled forward unobtrusively and slipped his hand

beneath Amanda's blankets. Something crinkled.

 

"Are you comfortable. Mother?"

 

Amanda knew what he was really asking. "Yes, love. I

don't mind these pads at all. They're specially made water-

proof to protect the real bed linens, and they can be thrown

away so—"

 

ELF DEFENSE                  7

 

"Where?"

 

The question was sharp, urgent. Jeff heard it, and sud-

denly he too heard more than the simple word.

 

"Oh my God! The delivery room!"

 

He ran from Amanda's bedside with Cass after him.

Cass's keen ear just caught the doctor's confused questions,

Amanda's soothing double-talk: Well, you know how funny men

get at a time like this, doctor. . . .

 

The delivery room was clean. No one was there, though

the lights still burned. There was no sign of the recent birth.

Once more it was just another examination room where little

kids came for shots and grown-ups came for bigger, more mys-

terious reasons.

 

Jeff jammed his foot down on the wastecan pedal. It was

empty, smelling strongly of disinfectant. The plastic dropcloth

that had wrapped Amanda was nowhere around.

 

He looked miserable. "I—got so excited when my son

was bom . . . Cass, where do you think they put . . . ?"

 

"How should I know?" Cass snapped. "Find the one

who did this while you were supposed to be taking care of

Amanda. Fine care!" He laughed, his face frozen.

 

They found the nurse in the office, toweling her hair with

one hand while she typed hunt-and-peck with the other. She

smiled when she saw the two of them. "Still putting it down

out there, but not so bad as before."

 

Jeff grabbed her by the shoulders. Cass noted that she

didn't glower at him for taking such liberties. All she could do

was gape.

 

"Where is it?" Jeff demanded. He shook her once, just

a little, but it was enough to freeze her tongue. "Where is it?"

 

"The plastic tarp," Cass said quietly, laying his hand

atop Jeff's, making him let the nurse go.

 

"Well, I—well, what in . . . ? Well, I—I threw it out

with the rest of the things when I tidied up the room. I—look,

mister, are you fresh out of your mind? What the hell you want

to keep that old plastic sheet for? A goddamn souvenirT'

 

"Where is it?" Cass repeated calmly. He wasn't angry

anymore. Anger was useless now.

 

The nurse got some of her backbone back. She shook

herself completely free of Jeff, pushed her wheeled desk chair

away from them both, and retrieved the towel she'd dropped.

"The dumpster." She attacked her damp hair briskly. "What

do you think we do with trash? Can't leave a mess like that

hanging 'round a clinic room. We've got patients coming in

 

Esther M. Friesner

 

the morning, you know. Damn thing belled out like a sail, too,

in that wind. Have to get Lonnie to police the back parking lot

tomorrow, get all the bits and pieces blew free. Ugh." She

tossed the towel onto her desk. "Is that enough information

for you? Or do you want to call in the police, have me arrested

for stealing a mucked-up plastic sheet?"

 

Cass drew Jeff away. The budier man looked stunned. He

could only shake his head while Cass led'him out of the clinic by

the back way. The intermittent flashes of lightning from the de-

parting storm showed the dumpster's massive outline against the

rippling waters of the bay. White flutters of loose paper whirled in

the wind, pitched up against the roots of azaleas.

 

"The sea," Jeff said. His voice was flat.

 

"Yes. Some may have blown into the sea. Some touch

the earth, and earth and sea both house his messengers. He

knows. He'll come." Cass sounded resigned. He tugged at

Jeff's elbow. "Come on. We have to get Amanda and the baby

into the car and get out of here. He'll lose the trail if we're

quick."

 

Jeff's eyes remained fixed on the wavelets, the slowly

growing motion of the sea. He would not budge.

 

"And what will he do if we're gone when he gets here?

Go home?"

 

"You know better than that."

 

Jeff nodded. "He doesn't take defeat kindly." He jerked

his arm out of Cass's grip. His voice lost all fear, became pure

business. "Go get Amanda. The doctor'll try to stop you, but

do it anyway. Use anything you've got to do it."

 

"Amanda said I wasn't to—"

 

"Forget your vow. This is one time you can be a prince

again. No orders but your own,"

 

"What are you going to do?" Jeff's abrupt transforma-

tion was disconcerting. Pear of the unknown enfolded Cass's

heart in the petals of an icy rose. / will never understand your

kind, never!

 

"What do you care what I do?" Suddenly, Jeff was grin-

ning. "You'll have her all to yourself again; her and the boy."

 

Cass tried not to looked too shocked. Can they read minds

as well as we? He tried to sound cool as he replied, "If you

stay here, he'll kill you."

 

"He'll try. He's tried before. I have a few tricks left-

nothing like yours, of course, but maybe they'll do. And if we

all leave, he'll kill whatever scapegoat's handiest—the nurse,

 

ELF DEFENSE                  9

 

Dr. Pine ... I call that a might poor way to weasel out of my

medical bills." He chuckled. "The Simpson house is down a

couple from here, and they always keep a little motorboat tied

to the dock. They won't mind if I ... borrow it for a spin.

Think he'll come from the sea?"

 

Cass shrugged. This little mayfly man spoke so easily,

so casually about playing decoy in a hunt that would kill him,

barring a miracle. And for what? To save the lives of those

two women who'd just helped his son come into the world.

Servants; he would save the lives of servants. Who ever heard

of such a thing where Cass came from? By rights, he should

laugh at the futility of Jeff's ploy—fools were made for laugh-

ter—but he had never felt less like laughing.

 

It was hard to know that you had come to love the one

you once called enemy.

 

Jeff was speaking again. "You take care of my son." He

turned into the night.

 

Cass let him go ten paces before running after him and

hugging him so tightly that it nearly drove all breath from the

man's body. Jeff stiff-armed himself loose and stared at the

silver tears streaking Cass's face.

 

"Don't go, Jeff! She needs you more than she needs me.

You get her out of here. I'll"—his voice failed him for an

instant—"I'll be the one to face my father."

 

Jeff laughed in his face. "Man, sometimes I think your

whole race is nothing but the craziest sumbitches that ever were

spawned. You know you wouldn't last a minute if you had to

face off that old—ahhhhh, forget it. He's still your daddy."

He gave Cass a friendly cuff. "Go on, move it. Maybe if you

snatch Amanda and Paul, you'll get the doctor and nurse to

chase you. That way, when he comes, there won't be anyone

in the building." Cass stayed where he was. "I said move!"

 

Cass moved. Jeff's barked command snapped him into

action. He raced into the clinic, back to Amanda's bedside.

Dr. Pine tried to question him, but he shoved her aside. In one

scoop of his arms he snatched up mother, baby, blankets, sheets

and all, then turned to run again. Amanda screamed, more

from reflex than fear. The baby burst into a fresh-waked wail.

 

Dr. Pine said a lot of medically inaccurate words. She

tried to block the doorway and found herself flipping through

the air, slicker than a hotcake, to bounce down on the nearest

bed.

 

Anns full, Cass hadn't touched her. "How the hell... ?"

Dr. Pine asked the ceiling. She hollered for the nurse.

 

iO

 

Esther M. Friesner

 

Cass had to set Amanda down while he opened the car

doors. Her sheets and blankets fell into a puddle. She stood

shivering in the wind that gusted ever stronger and stronger

from the west, from the sea. Holding the baby to her breast,

she slipped into the seat, trying to control her trembling. She

was barefoot and wore nothing but the yellow cotton hospital

gown they'd given her at the clinic.

 

"Wrap yourself in the seatcover if you're cold," Cass

directed, gunning the motor. He took off so fast that Cesare,

still balanced on the top of the front seat, plopped over into

the back.

 

"Cass, wait! Where's Jeff?" Amanda's hand was on his

shoulder, a burning touch through his sodden shin. "We can't

leave without—"

 

"He made me leave without him!" The tears burst from

Cass's eyes again, shaming him. "He said we had to get

away."

 

"But what about him, Cass? What about him?"

 

"I'm telling you, he's the one who insisted. He's the

one who told me to take you and go!"

 

"Oh God, oh my God, turn back, go get him, don't

listen to him! For pity's sake, Cass, you can't let him stay

behind! You can't have hated him that much!"

 

He ignored her words and drove. In the rearview mirror

he saw the dwindling figures of Dr. Pine and the nurse. They

were getting into another car. Jeff had called that one well.

Would they give chase themselves, or realize how foolish it

was after a block or two and drive on to notify the sheriff? He

lost sight of them when he took the first turn.

 

Then he saw Amanda's face in the mirror: anguished,

accusing. He could tell her the bare truth of it from now until

the Unbraiding of Worlds, and she might never believe him.

There was no hate in her eyes; only pity, and the eternal Why?

Why have you done this soulless thing?

 

He drove on. They left the town, got back onto the su-

perhighway not too far north. He pulled over once, before

dawn, so that she might change her hospital gown for some-

thing more suitable. Cesare helped him dispose of it, and the

few pads Amanda had accumulated. The firespell clamped over

the plastic-swadled pile and devoured all, even its own smoke.

 

He was drained after that. The firespell's destructive

power always took so much out of him that he wasn't able to

use it frequently. He needed a rest, and a respite.

 

They stopped at a motel in Bushnell. Amanda went right

 

ELF DEFENSE                 11

 

to sleep on one of the room's double beds, only waiting for

him to cover it properly. The baby too seemed exhausted. He

propped it on its side in the crib with a rolled-up blanket. He

ached to stretch out too, but it was getting late, near closing

time for most stores. They needed things, and if he wanted an

early start next day, he had to do some shopping now. He went

out, leaving Cesare on guard.

 

He bought more dropcloths at a local hardware shop, and

some oilcloth table covers. In a big chainstore pharmacy, while

getting things for the baby, he found packs of the same plastic-

bottomed paper mattress pads the clinic used; he stocked up

ten boxes' worth, and an equal number of trashbags.

 

Some game covers its trail. His mouth curved in self-

mockery. We seal ours in plastic. It won't be so easy to catch

us again, my lord.

 

He was on his way back to the room with the supplies

when a quirky inner demon made him stop to buy a newspaper.

While Amanda slept on one bed, he propped himself up against

the headboard of the other, Cesare snoring at his feet. He

opened the paper and scanned it until he found the story he

dreaded finding, just a few column inches of filler: the puzzling

tale from farther south of the freak wave that had reared itself

out of the Gulf to crush a smalltown free clinic to fragments

of stucco and tile. No one was hurt—not in the wreckage of

the building—but the body of an unidentified man was found

floating in the bay.

 

That part of the hunt was done.

 

Cass closed his eyes. The paper in his hands began to

glow. The inky letters ran into a black whirlpool that spread

itself into a vision of the night.

 

Jeff, alone in the little motorboat, cutting across the bay.

He was smiling, so sure of his eventual escape, so proud of

the wits he 'd used to guarantee it. What was all the magic in

the world against man's ingenuity. Pride . . . pride . . .

 

The wave came up beneath the boat's keel, the silvery

curve of a horse's neck. It came out of nowhere, without warn-

ing, and pitched the craft over. Jeff tumbled into the water, his

smile gone.

 

But the water turned to glass under him. He crouched

on the surface and watched the wave ride on, ride in, mount

to a hammer of foaming green to destroy one house alone out

of all of those that lined the waterfront. Foam turned to drip-

ping fingers, water formed a blue-green hand, tightened to a

 

12                Esther M. Friesner

 

fist, sprouted into afire-spiked mace that smashed the clinic to

its foundations.

 

The vision trembled with the impact. Cass's fingers

clenched, tautening the paper, willing back a clear seeing.

 

In helmless armor, with the gem of sea and star on his

breast, a man-shaped figure grew out of the frozen sea, loom-

ing above the kneeling mortal. Sorcery robed his limbs in icy

golden fire. Jeff lifted his head and looked into a blazing face

that Cass remembered much too well. He had cringed before

its scorn, shuddered away from its anger, but this powerless

creature of flesh and blood met its gaze . . . and laughed.

 

A hand fell to grasp the hilt of a sword.

 

The seeing tore apart in a jagged chasm. Cass stared

stupidly at Cesare over the two halves of the ripped paper.

Shreds of newsprint still clung to the tomcat's paw. "No more,

Cass," he said.

 

No more. That was true. There would be no further sum-

mons of that seeing. There could be none, for each portion of

the past came only once to each summoner. Even a cat knew

that basic law of conjury. Unless some other seer made Cass a

gift of that segment of lost time, he would never know exactly

how Jeff had died.

 

"You don't want to see it," Cesare said. His smoky

yellow eyes held certainty. "You hate him enough as it is."

 

"Don't I have reason to hate him?"

 

The cat could not shrug, but he could give a good im-

pression of it. "My kind don't bother with such things. We

tolerate, or we kill, or we run away. I counsel the latter."

 

Cass crumpled the tattered halves of the newspaper to-

gether and rested his head on his updrawn knees. "We always

run away."

 

"You could try killing him, for a change." The cat

sounded hopeful.

 

"I can't."

 

"You can't, or you'd rather not?"

 

"Both."

 

Cesare's chuckle was disconcerting. Only the tips of his

whiskers quivered while the human sounds issued from his

tightly closed mouth. "Parricide can be hard to explain to the

neighbors. You wouldn't have these inconvenient nips of con-

science if you'd go back home. Contact with mortals has con-

taminated you atrociously, my Lord. Your people are so much

more civilized when it comes to assassination."

 

ELF DEFENSE                 13

 

Cass didn't answer, but his eyes strayed to the sleeping

woman and child.

 

"Ah," the cat said, nodding. "Capisco. Well, if that's

still your choice, shall we blow this pop stand?"

 

"Now who's been contaminated?" Cass skritched the

tomcat's ears. "I wanted to spend the night, but maybe we

need distance more than rest. I'll wake Amanda soon and we'll

 

go-"

 

"Where?"

 

"North, I suppose. Amanda told me she was from the

north, originally; Connecticut. Some little town no one ever

heard of called Godwin's Comers, all old Yankee farmers,

horse country. ..."

 

Cesare glanced at the baby. "Horse country. Good. Chil-

dren like horses. Better the brat should yank their tails than

mine. Shall we leave?"

 

"There's something I must do first."

 

Cass rose from his chair and went to the crib. He reached

into his jeans pocket and pulled out a tatty chain of dimestore

silverplate. A twisted strand of metal hung from it, the tangled

design the twin of the silver symbol Cass wore around his neck,

the iron one Amanda wore around hers. Carefully, lovingly he

slipped the chain over the infant's head.

 

"His name is Jeffrey," he said. White fire seeped from

his body, formed a halo of tender light that trickled down over

his hands to lave the sleeping baby. The black dye in Cass's

hair melted to ash, and the small vestiges of other disguise-

spells changing ears and hands and mouth and more fell away

from him. His borrowed mortal clothes also vanished in that

burning. Tall and supple, white and blue and golden, sharp-

featured and beautiful to the point of pain, he wore the mantle

of his power and needed no other garment as he called his

birthright magic home to bear witness at the naming of the

child.

 

"I name you Jeffrey Paul Henry Taylor. I call you

brother, friend, heir, knight-inheritor of your father's valiant

heart, and captain in the ranks of my most trusted servitors.

No harm in all the realms of air, fire, or water will touch you

while you wear this sign of favor, no spell of harm or evil

haunt you. To this I pledge my spirit and my name: Cassio-

doron, prince and lord of Elfhame Ultramar."

 

The brightness died away. The baby still slept. Cass

stepped away from the crib staring at his hands, the fingers too

 

Esther M. Friesner

 

long to be human. "It has been so long. ..." He shook his

head, as if to clear away a lingering dream.

 

Cesare's nose twitched. "Very pretty." Only a corpse

could have sounded more bored. "Nice gesture. Now if you're

quite finished, I suggest you change the captain's diapers and

we get out of here. And get some clothes on. Bushnell has a

city ordinance against naked elves."

 

He had just managed to wriggle into a new shin and

pants from his suitcase when Amanda stirred and woke.

"Cass?" she called, still drowsy. "Cass, what is it? Where

are you going?"

 

He was beside her in an instant, holding her hand. "Con-

necticut, Amanda; we're going to find your old hometown. I

remembered the name from all the stories you used to tell me:

 

Godwin's Comers," he said.

 

"Godwin's—oh, Cass! How clever of you! He'd never

know to look for me in Connecticut more than any other place.

And Jeff—Jeff can find us there. I told him about it so many

times, said I wanted to go home one day . . . He'll find us,

won't he?"

 

Cass evaded the question. "What's more important is

who won't find us; not ever. We'll be free."

 

"Free ..." She spoke the word like a prayer and em-

braced him. Only Cesare saw the longing in Cass's eyes as his

fingers stroked the dark blond richness of her hair.

 

"We must leave quickly, I'm afraid. My father's too

close for comfort." His voice was husky. "Can you be ready

to travel soon?"

 

Cesare curled himself into a ball of disdain as Amanda

swore that she would be ready right away.

 

"Ready for Godwin's Comers?" the cat grumbled, nose

under paw. "Mavron'! The question is whether Godwin's Cor-

ners will ever be ready for us."

 

Chapter One:

 

Ever         In

 

Connecticut

 

SS'Wou were moaning in your sleep again," Lionel said.

 

& Sandy rolled over to stare at the alarm clock. The scar-

let numbers said 5:36, which meant that homicide would be com-

pletely exonerated. She rolled back to glower at her husband.

 

"Times like this, Lionel," she said slowly, "I am very

glad I kept my maiden name. It will make the divorce that

much easier, and I won't have to spend a fortune getting all

the monograms on my sweaters changed."

 

Lionel looked put out. "I thought you were having a

nightmare. I only wanted to help."

 

Sandy ran a hand through her sleep-tangled red curls.

"Did I sound as if I were scared of something?"

 

"Well . . . you were moaning." Lionel was a firm be-

liever in self-justification by reiteration.

 

"People moan for a number of reasons. I have heard you

moan when you ate one slice of anchovy pizza over the line, when

they passed you over for tenure at Columbia, when I told you I was

going into labor a month early, and when I put on that little number

with the black lace, red feathers, and the panties without any—"

 

"All right! All right!" Lionel added a new moan to the

catalog then and there. "I give up. Never start an argument

with a lawyer.''

 

"Some lawyer." Sandy dug both arms under her pillow

and buried her face in it.

 

Lionel frowned. He'd screwed up, and he knew it. All

he'd wanted to do was back out of a no-win situation with as

much grace as possible, and he'd hit a sore spot.

 

Lately, though, it seemed as if Sandy was nothing but

sore spots.

 

Lionel began to massage her neck. He leaned closer, his

breath tickling her ear, his voice crooning consolation. "You

finished law school, didn't you? Without any background in

15

 

16 Esther M. Friesner

 

prelaw worth mentioning. And you passed the bar exam the

first time through."

 

"Big deal," Sandy grumped. At least Lionel thought

she'd said "Big deal." It was hard to tell with her talking into

the pillow. He put more feeling into the neck massage. He felt

her shoulders relax a little, then go totally limp. She turned her

face out of the pillow, eyes shut.

 

She moaned.

 

"Aha!" Lionel bounced to his knees, finger pointing ac-

cusingly in Sandy's face. "Now that's just how you were moan-

ing when I woke you up! In fact, you've been doing it off and

on almost every night since you passed the bar. Sometimes you

do it so loudly, you wake me out of a sound sleep. When you

snore—well, hey, I'm used to that—but before I lose one more

wink, I want to know what the hell you're dreaming about!"

 

Sandy propped her chin up on her hands. "Why? Afraid

I'm having more fun without you than with you?" She got out

of bed and began to get dressed, paying no further attention to

Lionel's complaints.

 

He was not to be ignored. As a teacher, he was used to

lecturing to indifferent audiences. Lack of attention never de-

terred him, in or out of the classroom. "Recurrent dreams mean

something. Sandy. Loud ones especially. I think you've got

some unresolved frustrations that are coming out in your sleep.

If you don't deal with them now, you might have problems

digging them out of your subconscious later on."

 

' 'I've yet to hear of anyone dying from ingrown dreams.''

 

Lionel persisted. "Maybe you'd like to talk to Dr. Kip-

ling about it."

 

"Dr. Kipling? Anything weirder than tennis elbow and

he freaks. He's no psychiatrist." Sandy yanked open a bureau

drawer and pondered her options. "More damn alligators than

the whole blamed Okeefenokee," she muttered at her shirts.

 

"He could refer you to one." Lionel made the bed while

continuing to fight the good fight. "Or a therapist, if you don't

want a shrink."

 

"I don't want any of this." Sandy slithered into one of

a dozen skirt-and-shirt sets, identical in every detail save color,

and slipped unstockinged feet into tasseled loafers. "You're

the one who thinks there's something wrong with me just be-

cause I make a little bit of noise at night."

 

"Look, what could it hurt to see a therapist? Maybe one

who uses hypnosis? Then you could get to the bottom of what

these dreams have been—"

 

ELF DEFENSE                 17

 

"Yeeaaagh!" Sandy screamed at the ceiling, then bolted

from the bedroom, leaving Lionel to babble on about the won-

derful things hypnotherapy could do these days. In the kitchen,

peariy gray light cast the slim shadows of maple saplings

through the bow window and over the butcherblock table. Al-

ready the leaves were tinged with autumn colors, though Sep-

tember had barely begun.

 

Sandy started the coffee and sat down to wait out the

longest minutes of the day, the time between hitting the BREW

switch and the moment when the first caffeine fix hit the blood-

stream running. She could still hear Lionel walking back and

forth upstairs. If she got her first cup of coffee into her system

before he came down, she might consider letting him live.

 

"Dreams ..." She leaned an elbow on the kitchen table

and stared out the window, chin in hand, "Can't he even leave

me my dreams?"

 

"Mommy?" Her voice still muzzy with sleep, a little

girt padded into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Sandy took her

onto her lap and stroked her dark brown hair. The child's thumb

popped into her mouth with an audible slurp.

 

"How's my baby?"

 

"I'm not a baby!" The angry assertion came around the

thumb, still firmly anchored. Smiling, Sandy coaxed it out of

her daughter's mouth.

 

"I'll make you a deal, Ellie. When you stop sucking

your thumb, I'll stop calling you a baby."

 

Ellie's brows went up in a way that always reminded

Sandy of her mother. Five years old was too young to be such

a practiced skeptic. "I'll stop sucking my thumb if you stop

making all that noise," Ellie said.

 

"What noise?"

 

"You know. At night. You sound like you've got a bel-

lyache. Poor Mommy." Ellie shoved her thumb back in again

and nuzzled deeper into Sandy's arms, content.

 

Sandy was considering asking the child whether she and

her father were in cahoots when the guilty party himself

bounded in. His gray Harris tweed jacket was slung over one

arm as he made last-minute adjustments on his tie.

 

"No time for breakfast, we've got a faculty meeting this

morning," he announced.

 

"No time? But it's barely after six!"

 

"It's a big meeting, not just departmental; all-school."

He planted a kiss atop Sandy's curls, another on Ellie's head.

"That means we have to use the refectory, and that means we

 

Esther M. Friesner

 

have to clear out of there before they start serving the boys'

breakfast. My own I gladly sacrifice for God, for country, and

for the Godwin Academy, long may she wave. Bye." He was

off and running for the door. Sandy heard it swing open, slam,

then swing open a second time. He was back.

 

"Oh yes, I nearly forgot. I'm bringing my advanced me-

dieval and Renaissance studies class home for tea today at four.

Don't worry, you won't have to do a thing. We'll pick up some

cake and stuff on our way over here. Bye again." This time

 

the door slam was final.

 

"Why is Daddy always in such a hurry?" Ellie asked.

 

"He was born in a hurry."

 

The morning trickled away in a stream of lists. There

were people to call, meals to plan, laundry to do, errands to

run. Ellie watched "Sesame Street" and "Mister Rogers,"

then went upstairs and staged a battle for the conquest of the

universe. Barbie beat He-Man two falls out of three.

 

"She's bigger," Ellie explained when her mother came

up to ask what the devil all that racket was about. "And she

ran Battle Cat over with her convertible, so she wins."

 

Sandy contemplated the wisp-waisted doll's indelibly

charming smile. "Hooray for our side. Come on, Ellie, time

 

to get ready for school."

 

The place where Ellie attended afternoon session kinder-

garten was close enough for them to walk, but Sandy felt too

wrung out to suggest it. Only Ellie's loud, strategic whine when

Mommy said they'd be taking the car forced Sandy into surrender.

 

"I don't wanna drive! Do we hafta? All we hafta do

is cross the street, go up the hill, go through the church park-

ing lot, go down the hill, go through the green, cross the

 

street . . ."

 

Sandy knelt to straighten Ellie's hair ribbon. "But baby,

 

it'll only take us a minute if we drive."

 

"I DON'T WANNA!"

 

They walked. As they were cutting through the parking

lot of the Congregational church, Ellie asked, "Do you think

 

Jeffy will be going to school right now?"

 

Jeffy . . .?" Sandy squeezed her daughter's hand. "Oh,

so that's why you wanted to walk. Hoping to catch up with

your little friend?" Ellie allowed that this was so. "Is Jeffy

 

Taylor your best pal at school, then?"

 

"No. But he's real neat. He talks back to Miss Foster,

and he won't play in the playground at recess no matter what

she says, and he runs away and hides in his cubby every time

 

ELF DEFENSE                 19

 

she reads us a book, unless it's Dr. Seuss, and when the other

boys call him wimp he says that he's gonna get his big brother

to bum them all up with a magic spell or else he's gonna get

his cat to kill them, so they're scared and they leave him alone.

When I grow up," she concluded triumphantly, "I'm gonna

marry him."

 

"That's my girl," Sandy said quietly. "Always go for

the heroes." Ellie didn't hear her. She was still chattering about

all the neat things little Jeffy Taylor did to stir up Miss Foster's

kindergarten.

 

They did not meet up with the notorious Jeffy enroute to

class, but found him already there when they got to the kin-

dergarten building, a yellow clapboard house of eighteenth-

century vintage a stone's throw from the town green.

 

"I just love this old house, don't you?"

 

The question was squealed right in Sandy's ear a second

after she released Ellie to join her classmates at free play time.

She jumped, and came down facing one of Godwin's Corners'

only moving landmarks, Cecilia Godwin Haines. Sandy was

eternally amazed that this slim, bespectacled woman, mother

of three, five years older than Sandy herself, had first intro-

duced herself as "Yes, one of those Godwins, isn't it too de-

lightful? Call me Cee-Cee."

 

Delightful wasn't the word Sandy would have used.

 

It did not matter that Cee-Cee clung to a name more apt

for a Yorkshire terrier than a grown woman. Sandy thought. She

was a force with which to reckon if your universe ended at the

sign saying GODWIN'S CORNERS, EST. 1715. Veteran of a hun-

dred PTA fairs and bake sales, chief instigator of the annual fall

antiques show on the green, when Cee-Cee Haines talked, peo-

ple who were too slow to pull an unobtrusive getaway listened.

 

"Sandra, dear, I've just been speaking to Miss Foster

and she practically begged me to be room mother again this

year after all I did when Bitsy was in her class—how could I

say no?—and the first thing I think we should do is set up a

bake sale for the same weekend as the antique show. We can

sell just about anything halfway fit to eat to that crowd, so can

I count on you for a plate of cookies or—"

 

A loud shriek, part indignation but mostly pain, cut Cee-

Cee off the air. Every mother still in the vicinity of the class-

room came to immediate attention, and three more who had

been in the front yard came charging back inside.

 

"Duncan!" Cee-Cee forgot all about Sandy's halfway-

edible cookies. The victim was her son. He was sitting on the

 

Esther M. Priesner

 

20

 

floor with a large lump of blue Play-Doh smooshed firmly onto

his head. Cee-Cee threw herself to her knees beside him, si-

multaneously trying to quiet the screaming child and work the

gunk out of his hair without snatching him bald-headed. Miss

Poster hurried over to lend assistance and serve justice.

 

"Who is not being a good neighbor?" she demanded,

wagging a finger at the assembled tots.

 

So this is the KGB, Sandy thought, trying not to snicker.

Ve haff vays uf makink you talk, pipsqueaks. Confess, or ze

teddybear gets it!

 

At the table nearest the victim, humming happily, Jeffy

Taylor was molding a winged horse out of what remained of

the blue Play-Doh.

 

Sandy saw him at his occupation and wondered how long

it would take Miss Foster to catch wise. Circumstantial evi-

dence, Your Honor, is inadmissible. Witnesses have already

testified that Mr. Taylor's usual MO when dealing with his

peers is to threaten death by cat or immolation by elder broth-

er's sorcery. 1 move that the charges be dropped. Also the blue

Play-Doh. Preferably on Cee-Cee Godwin Haines's head. A

titter escaped her lips, but she tamed it to an imitation sneeze.

She sidled out the door just as Miss Foster noticed what Jefiy

had in his hands.

 

The afternoon had grown cooler. As she strolled down

Main Street heading for the coffee shop. Sandy kicked aside

the first stray fallen leaves. The elms lining the road all seemed

to turn color and shed their leaves in perfectly orchestrated

unison, as if they were under contract to maintain Godwin's

Comers' reputation for being tastefully picturesque.

 

"This whole town looks like one big college campus,"

Sandy told the leaves. "God, I miss New York!"

 

What do you miss? The crowds? The dirt? The craws?

Why don't you get honest with yourself/or once, Sandra Ho-

rowitz. It 'd make a nice change. You 're not homesick. You 're

scared.

 

"I am not scared," Sandy said aloud. It was an old habit,

arguing with herself, and one that passed unnoticed in New

York. In Godwin's Comers, however, she always checked the

environs for any potential witnesses. The gravest aberrant be-

havior the little town tolerated was voting Democratic.

 

Fortunately, she was still a couple of blocks from the

commercial center of town. She had the street to herself. The

only buildings here were architectural sisters of the kindergar-

ten, and like it, they had almost all been converted from private

 

ELF DEFENSE                  21

 

residences to more profitable properties. There was a dentist

and opthalmologist sharing space in one, a real estate agent

and interior decorator bunking down in another. Dr. Kipling's

practice doing a three-way split with a hot new dermatologist

and Cee-Cee's husband Dwight, allergist to all the right peo-

ple. Gwendolyn Dixwell, the town's family therapist ("spe-

cializing in divorce counseling and parent-child communication,

inquire about rolfing for juniors"), combined home and office in

her Federalist nest.

 

Then there were the lawyers.

 

Their shingles swung in the cool September breeze,

caught the dappled sunlight on their discreet gold lettering.

Once, when Sandy's law school diploma was still hot off the

sheep, she had tried to count the lawyers practicing in town.

She did it twice, to be sure. The tally came out higher the

second time, so she tried it a third. It was higher still. Every

time she counted them, they multiplied worse than dust bun-

nies. New shingles appeared with the spring peepers, or new

names added themselves to old signs.

 

Aha! Not afraid, are you? Bullshit, my sweet. Sandy's

inner voice could be an obnoxious know-it-all with impunity.

Lionel would never dare serve her the truth on a cold plate,

but there was no way she could throttle herself for doing the

same. All these lawyers in town already, and where's poor

Sandy going to fit in? You're afraid, all right. You're scared

witless of the competition.

 

"I am not." Head down. Sandy gave a small pile of elm

leaves a particularly vicious punt. "There's always room for

one more."

 

Is that what those replies to your job-hunt letters told

you ? Is that why all the local legals are at your door, begging

you to get into their briefs? Face it, woman. If you want to

practice law at all, you 'II have to find a city job. Try New

Haven.

 

"I don't want to commute that far. I'd have to put Ellie

in daycare."

 

It's that or set yourself up in practice on your own. If

you want to use your degree, that is. It's been a year since you

got it, almost that long since you passed the bar. Don't you

think three years' law school tuition is a bit much to pay for a

wall hanging?

 

Sandy walked faster. She'd only escape herself if she got

among other people. Already she was at the comer, and across

 

22 Esther M. Friesner

 

the street she saw Peggy Seymour waving at her. "I'll use it,

I'll use it," she muttered, hoping to get in the last word.

 

That's what you said about the twenty-dollar purple mas-

cara from Bendel 's, the voice concluded, and sank into smug

silence.

 

"I'm so glad I caught you, Sandra!" Peggy grabbed

Sandy by the elbow as soon as her feet met the curb. A clip-

board clung to Peggy's concave bosom like a lamprey. Unkind

friends claimed that she had been bom with a petition in one

hand and a Bic pen in the other, to make up for the absence of

a silver spoon in the usual orifice. She shoved the clipboard at

Sandy.

 

"What is it this time. Peg?" Sandy sighed. She scanned

the top sheet, noting that it was already covered with signa-

tures. There were three more pages beneath it. She assumed it

was something to do with animal rights. No other topic could

generate so much interest here.

 

"Come join me for a nice cup of coffee and I'll tell you."

Peggy linked her arm through Sandy's and dragged her off.

This too was part and parcel of Miss Seymour's mode of op-

eration, the old latch-on-and-tow. It served her well, for there

was something distinctly tanklike about the woman. She was

seldom seen on the streets of Godwin's Comers without a vic-

tim being trawled after her. Privately Sandy thought of her as

the Vampire Tugboat.

 

"Well, that's very nice. Peg, but I only have a—"

 

"Oh, this won't take but a minute, dear. And it's terribly

urgent. Enormously vital." Peggy plowed into the coffee shop,

nudged Sandy into a booth, leaned across the table, and whis-

pered, "It's satanic."

 

"What is?"

 

"Two cups of coffee." This was directed to the waitress,

and left Sandy nicely bewildered—was Juan Valdez in the pay

of the Prince of Darkness?—until Peggy explained: "It's those

boys at the academy. They're playing that game."

 

"Doctor?"

 

Peggy rolled her eyes. They were wintry blue and bulged

slightly, so the spectacle was quite amazing. "Don 'fjoke about

a thing like this, Sandra. You know what game I mean. With

those dice—"

 

"Oh, craps."

 

"—and those books, and pretending to be someone you're

not—"

 

"Charades"

 

ELF DEFENSE                 23

 

"—or even something, some creature that doesn't even

exist in a sane mind. And the worst of it is, they're doing it

with the help and consent of their teachers!"

 

"Oh," Sandy said. Her stomach wriggled into a granny

knot, then plunged into her shoes. Now she knew exactly what

had Peggy's ample bowels in an uproar, and her coffee took

on an acidic tang in her mouth.

 

"I'm getting oodles of signatures from longtime resi-

dents, people who count for something," Peggy said, self-

satisfied to the bursting point. "But I do think this petition will

have added clout if there's lots of names from the academy

staff too, to show the administration that the gown is right

behind the town."

 

"True, very true," Sandy replied cautiously. Especially

since what goes on at the academy is none of this pissant quaint

burg's business, her inner voice added. Of course a witchhunt

would be too preciously colonial for words. We could combine

the antiques show, the bake sale, and a public burning at the

stake. That'll get us a spread in Connecticut magazine if any-

thing will!

 

Peg pushed the clipboard at Sandy. "Then you'll sign?"

It was barely a question.

 

Sandy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "No."

She pushed the clipboard back.

 

"What?" the Vampire Tugboat blew her stack. "You

won't? Why not? Don't tell me you approve of this—this—so-

called game?"

 

"I don't approve or disapprove. I don't care either way.

I'm not into role-playing myself, but if the boys at the academy

find it fun—"

 

"I suppose if they started a drug ring up there and found

it 'fun,' you wouldn't care either?" The words were exces-

sively sweet, the tone reserved for dealing with village idiots.

"Really, Sandra, do you even know what they do during these

games?"

 

"Well, they don't do drugs. Not if they want to read

those teensy little pips on the dice, anyhow."

 

"They pretend they're not themselves! They abandon re-

ality! They behave as if they're in another world!"

 

Sandy had to laugh. "Peg, you've just described every

teenager ever born.''

 

"So you refuse to sign?"

 

"Since my husband happens to be one of the faculty

 

Esther M. Priesner

 

friends overseeing these imagination orgies, I think it'd be dis-

loyal of me, don't you?"

 

Peggy rose from the table, huffing audibly. "Well! This

puts quite another color on things, I see. You might have told

me. We're just trying to do the right thing in Godwin's Cor-

ners, especially for the sake of the children. Lord knows we

get no support from the people who should appreciate our ef-

forts most. Just don't come running to me when your own child

goes leaping off a cliff because she thinks she's a—a—an elf or

something."

 

Sandy's face froze. Slowly she stood up. "Elves don't

fly. Peg," she said. "They walk, the same as you or I, only a

damned sight more gracefully. Good-bye." She left Peg gawp-

ing after her.

 

Outside the coffee shop. Sandy leaned against the fake

half-timbered facade while her inner voice did a wild war dance

of victory. Oh, you've done it now, lady! Miss New York, do

you ? You 'II be back. What 'II you bet Peg's next petition is to

get you named visiting scholar at Bellevue? You almost made

it there once, you know, and it's never too late. . . .

 

"Oh, damn." Sandy's fists clenched, her teeth gritted.

"Damn it all. Damn New York. Damn Godwin's Comers.

Damn him!"

 

Damn him? The words were gentler now. That's one

curse you don't mean. I know your secret, Sandra Horowitz.

Damn him, when your dreams are full of him? When you 'd sell

your soul to return to him ? When you 'd pay the passage be-

tween worlds with your heart's blood if only you could be with

him again ? Damn him ?

 

The lowering sun struck a spear of reflected light from

the window of the dress shop across the street. It pierced the

leafy branches of the elms and dazzled Sandy's eyes. She saw

his face in the light, and the light melted time. She was young

again, caught up in a span of magic when one day she had been

an ordinary person—an art history major at Columbia Univer-

sity—and the next she had walked with legends. A dragon

stalked a city, a knight followed, and she and Lionel and a boy

playing squire all followed the knight into a world of wonders.

Her fists uncurled slightly, holding a remembered sword.

 

But that was long ago, wasn't it? That was far away,

and even the city has forgotten what happened there. And what

would it matter if New York remembered? New York's the other

end of the universe for the kind of people who live here. They

see it as a clutch of fine stores, extortionate restaurants, thea-

 

ELF DEFENSE                 25

 

ters, weirdos, celebrities, monuments. There's the stock ex-

change, of course, and some nasty sections that no one really

nice even thinks about if they can help it. But what comes

between all those markers . . . Ah! That's about as real as

dragons to them. Dragons . . . and other things.

 

The voice within her was a fading echo. Memory claimed

her. She stared into the glassy brilliance of the light, seeing

the face that haunted her dreams: sharp as a silver arrow, wine-

sweet, dawn-fair, beautiful as no mortal man could ever be.

He walked through a vanished forest, his quiver and bow on

his back, and not the slightest sound or movement of the wood-

land escaped the elfin archer Rimmon.

 

Elves? Peggy Seymour's high, nasal squeal burst into

Sandy's thoughts. Creatures that never existed in any sane

mind! And certainly not in Connecticut! Don't think you can

drag your schoolgirl daydreams into the flesh, Sandra. A

woman wailing for her demon lover is all very well in New

York—they 're used to worse down there—but we have zoning

laws in Godwin's Comers.

 

Sandy's heart protested: But it did happen! He was no

dream. He was real, my Rimmon, as real as—

 

Her fingers clutched the pendant of white rock whose

chain she still wore around her neck. Its intricately incised

pattern of alien flowers was never carved by clumsy human

fingers, and its milky heart cradled a bloodstone.

 

And who remembers, except you . . . and your husband?

Would he like to learn the real reason you wake him up nights ?

I do believe he 'd rather have you be insane. Rimmon is dead,

as dead as magic in this world. You 're a woman now, with a

husband, a child, a mortgage, a profession to follow, respon-

sibilities. . . .Why, you're even supposed to be taking on an

au pair girl this week, aren't you? Do you want her to think

all Americans are crazy? Grow up. Let no one ever guess you

had such silly dreams. Let your dreams go.

 

The coffee-shop door opened just then, and Peggy

emerged, blinking in the sunlight. Dreams could wait. Escape

was vital. Sandy made a break for the hills. Looking where

she was going was secondary to speed, and so ...

 

"Oh!"

 

"Ouch!"

 

"Excuse me, please, I was just—"

 

"My fault; I'm sorry."

 

The two women stopped and looked hard at each other.

 

"Aren't you Jefiy's mother?"

 

Esther M. Friesner

 

"Yes. And you're . . . Eleanora's?" Ellie's given name

sounded strangely musical on Mrs. Taylor's tongue. Sandy no-

ticed how strong the woman's accent was, the son of old Yan-

kee pronunciation more proper to dwindling backwoods towns

than to suburban Connecticut.

 

"I plead guilty," Sandy said with a smile. "I'm glad we

met, even if the introduction was a little rough." She indicated

the battered paper bag Mrs. Taylor clutche(i so tightly. It had

taken the brunt of the collision. "You know, our kids are thick

as thieves. You're looking at your future in-laws here, if Ellie

goes through with what she told me this morning. Said she's

going to marry your Jeffy."

 

"I see." Mrs. Taylor gave Sandy a dubious look. She

changed her grip on the little bag so that Sandy could see the

logo of a local jeweler. "I'm—I'm sure that's nice. I'm happy

Jeffy's made a friend. He hasn't much chance to play with

other children, except at school."

 

"Well, he could come to my house mornings if he wants

to play with Ellie. Or she could go to yours."

 

Mrs. Taylor's eyes went wide with alarm. "Oh no!

That's impossible, I'm sorry, I—I have to be going." She fled

like a frightened sparrow and ducked around the first comer to

hide from Sandy's sight.

 

"It's been great running into you!" Sandy hollered.

 

"Hmph!" The steamy snort down Sandy's neck an-

nounced that the Vampire Tugboat had recaptured her incau-

tious prey. "That Amanda Taylor; there's a queer bird. Keeps

to herself in that big old house, her and those two sons of hers.

Three years it's been since they came here, and no one sees

the boys except when they're in school. Nobody even knew

she had a second son until she showed up to register him for

kindergarten!"

 

"Jeffy's her second child?" Sandy hated to play up to

Peggy's gossipy nature, but Amanda Taylor intrigued her.

"Who's her first?"

 

"Oh, / wouldn't know his name. Ask your husband, if

he ever stops playing wizard. She put him into the academy

the week they moved here—don't ask me from where. They

have more money than God, and close with it? Not one soul

in this town has ever been asked inside her house! Afraid we'll

steal something, maybe." With a short, sarcastic laugh, clip-

board to the wind, the S.S. Seymour sailed on.

 

Loitering in front of the coffee shop was not the done

thing in Godwin's Comers. Sandy was on the point of wan-

 

ELF DEFENSE                 27

 

dering away herself when something sparkled at her feet. She

knelt to pick up a slink of fine silver chain with a charm the

size of a thumbnail hanging from it.

 

Hooves poised in midnight, wings drinking the wind, the

silver double of Jeffy's blue Play-Doh horse spun lazily back

and forth at the end of its tether.

 

The winged horse had to be a custom-made order, of the

if-you-ask-you-can't-afford-it price range. Remembering the

much-mauled condition ofAmanda's death-gripped bag. Sandy

guessed this treasure must have fallen when the two women

had their unscheduled meeting. It wouldn't take a very notice-

able tear to let something so delicate slip out. Fascinated by so

much beauty in such small size, Sandy lowered the charm into

the palm of her hand.

 

"Oh!"

 

The hooves moved. She felt them prick out a path across

her skin. The wings flapped up, then back, as the tiny head

lifted with rightful arrogance to meet her astonished eyes. Min-

iscule nostrils dilated and closed. The impossible creature shook

himself briskly, so that the chain holding him slipped forward.

The horse bit it once, and it snapped. Silver wings flashed, and

in a starry blur it was gone.

 

All Sandy held in her palm was a severed chain.

 

Chapter Two:

 

Tea For Three

 

dT^addy! Daddy! Daddy!"

 

U At his desk in the small study just off the entry

foyer, Lionel looked up from a sheaf of test papers. Ellie

dropped her mother's hand at the front door and ran into her

father's arms. He picked her up, grunting like a bear, and

threatened to eat her belly, after a thick spreading of belly-

jelly, of course. Ellie shrieked happily, pounded on the bear's

head, and recounted the deliciously awful thing Jeffy Taylor

had done to Duncan Haines that day.

 

"And even when Miss Foster made him sit in the think-

 

Esther M. Priesner

 

ing comer, the first thing he did when he came out was cal

Duncan all kinds of names, like Duncan Donut, and Dunca".

Haines Cake-Mix Face, and Infidel Dog, and—"

 

"You mean Devil Dog, don't you?" Lionel asked

smoothing back his daughter's wayward curls. "Your friend

seems to like high-calorie name calling."

 

"I dunno. But he ran away and hid in his cubby today

again too. Miss Foster read us 'Sleeping'Beauty.' "

 

"That bad fairy can be pretty scary." Lionel set the child

down.

 

Ellie shrugged. "I'm gonna play with my Barbie some

more." She started upstairs, then paused midway. "What's a

heretic geek. Daddy?"

 

Lionel blinked. "A what?"

 

"Oh, never mind." Ellie took the rest of the steps by

two and was gone.

 

"Did she just say 'heretic'?" Lionel asked Sandy.

 

Sandy didn't answer. She stood in the entryway, shoul-

ders slack, and stared into the eagle-topped mirror opposite the

front door. She saw no difference—a pale, pointed face with a

sprinkling of freckles, the tormenting hint of incipient crows'

feet at the eyes, a thread or two of gray weaving through hei

tightly curling red hair—but did your face have to change just

because your mind had kicked itself free of reality? She could

still feel the prick of tiny hooves pawing her palm.

 

"I've got to stop talking to myself so much," she told

the glass.

 

Lionel came up behind her and clasped her shoulders

"Arc you okay?"

 

It was a question Sandy didn't want to get into at the

moment. Instead she said, "It's past four. I thought you were

having a class over for tea."

 

"Something came up at school, so I asked them to come

by tonight after supper. You don't mind, do you, babe? We

can have the mad tea party for dessert. Will you join us?"

 

Sandy wished Lionel had chosen some other way to de-

scribe the planned get-together.

 

"Oh, have it without me. The boys won't want a woman

around, cramping their style."

 

Lionel raised one eyebrow. "Just how much do you know

about the style of seventeen-year-old boys?"

 

"You know what I mean. You told me yourself that you

like them to relax, to see that they can discuss academic stuff

outside the classroom too. How can they do that with me hang-

 

ELF DEFENSE                 29

 

ing around? I'll just sit there, not knowing what's going on,

and remind all of them of their mothers."

 

"They should be so lucky." Lionel's hands glided down

her arms, slipped around her waist, and pressed her close. His

lips touched her neck, tingling.

 

"Besides"—she lodged her conclusive bit of evidence—

"I'll be busy putting Ellie to bed."

 

"No you won't." Lionel took her hand and led her to-

ward the stairs. "That's the something that came up this after-

noon."

 

"Davina . . . what?"

 

"Goronwy," the raven-haired girl supplied. She had a

charming smile and extremely fine features. The pity of it was,

her dainty face looked as if it should be on another body. When

Sandy was growing up, she'd had a girl cousin with Davina's

build. The charitable way to describe it was "healthy," but

charity always took a backseat to accuracy when Sandy's

mother got her mouth on a topic.

 

"Low metabolism my eye. Your cousin Pamela eats like

a horse, which is why she looks like one," Mrs. Horowitz

remarked on more than one occasion. "The kind that pulls beer

wagons," she specified.

 

Davina Goronwy didn't remind Sandy of a Percheron,

but her short, sturdy body brought to mind Welsh ponies, Welsh

corgies, and overindulgence in Welsh rarebit.

 

"So—ah—where are you from in Wales, Davina?"

 

"My folk are from Caer Mab, to begin," the girl said

brightly, blue eyes dancing. Thick-set as she was, and seated

on the edge of a prim ladderback chair, she still gave the im-

pression of constant animation. "That's so small a town by the

sea near Harlech that you won't have heard of it. Smaller and

smaller it grew, and I doubt maps can find it these days. We

moved to Bangor not three years ago, and then of course I went

to London to study."

 

"Davina was accepted at the Royal Academy of Dra-

matic Art. She was one of the youngest students they ever

admitted." Lionel spoke of Davina's accomplishment as

proudly as if he had some personal stake in the matter.

 

"The RADA? That's something. But... you can't have

graduated already?"

 

"Oh, no, Mrs. Walters." The girl blushed true crimson,

and the blood lingered in her cheeks. Sandy had never seen the

 

30                Esther M. Friesner

 

like. Davina looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "I

left."

 

Lionel came in quickly. "Well, Davina, we hope you'll

be just as happy in Godwin's Comers as you were in Lon—I

mean, in Bangor. You go on with your unpacking, and call us

if you need anything. See you at supper." He took Sandy's arm

and steered her out before she could say another word to the

girl.

 

Sandy didn't care for steerage. In the hall outside the

small spare bedroom she dug her feet into the carpet and re-

fused to take another step. "What do you think you're doing?"

She twitched her arm away.

 

"Come in our room. I've got to talk to you."

 

"What about?" she brushed off her arm in the traditional

New York manner that indicated she was ridding herself of his

"cooties."

 

"About Davina."

 

Sandy cast an appealing glance to heaven and followed

her husband into the bedroom. Once inside, Lionel shut and

locked the door.

 

"That's a surefire way to bring Ellie running," Sandy

said. "I swear, the sound of that latch clicking works on her

like a bell on Pavlov's dogs."

 

"Maybe she's determined to stay an only child." Lionel

grinned, but it shattered against Sandy's well-I'm-waiting stare.

"So ... Some surprise, huh? She came a week early and

phoned me at the Academy from JFK this morning. I had to

drive into New Haven to get her. How does it feel to have an

au pair girl at last?"

 

"Delightful." Sandy crossed her arms. "What's wrong

with her?"

 

"Wrong?"

 

"You hustled me out of her room and nearly dragged me

in here by the hair because you've got to tell me some deep

dark secret about Davina, so what is it? Is she into drugs? Is

she pregnant? Does she belong to a cult?"

 

"Come on, Sandy, a Welsh Moonie?"

 

"Maybe she's a Druid. We'll have to lock ourselves in

our rooms during the equinox, or whenever they sacrifice hu-

mans. What is wrong with Davina?"

 

"She's a dropout." Sandy's short burst of laughter made

Lionel shake his head angrily. "I'm serious. She left the

RADA. Quit. Dropped out. That's why she applied for an au

 

ELF DEFENSE                 31

 

pair job in the States. She wants to leave Britain far enough

away so she can think about what to do with her life next."

 

Don't I know the feeling! "Poor kid. Couldn't do the

work?"

 

"Are you joking? We got to talking in the car on the way

from New Haven. She told me all about it. She was doing as

well as some and better than most, but she kept getting typed

in ... well . . . matronly parts: Juliet's nurse, Gertrude, Oc-

tavia—"

 

"Who?"

 

"Mark Anthony's wife; the one he leaves for Cleopatra.

It wasn't the sort of career she had in mind. She wants to play

Cleopatra and Juliet and Ophelia, not the also-rans."

 

Sandy struck a pose reeking of righteous indignation. "I

think it's terrible that some people are too prejudiced not to

see past a person's appearance. If Davina can act the part, she

shouldn't be denied it just because she's—athletic-looking."

 

"When was the last time you saw a jowly Juliet?"

 

"Davina does not have—"

 

Lionel held up one hand. "Just a for-instance. I think

we both know what appearances count for in some fields; es-

pecially weight. We might not like it, but that won't make it

go away." He sighed. "Davina loved acting, and she was

good."

 

"It's not fair."

 

"It isn't. But what can we do about it besides keep off

the topic of theater, and London, and whether she's got any

plans for the future?"

 

Plans for the future. Sandy's dormant law degree flick-

ered across her mind's eye. She was fast becoming an expert

on avoiding the topic of future plans.

 

"—and above all," Lionel was saying, "we won't make

any comments about her weight."

 

Jason Penfield nudged Cass Taylor in the ribs, jerked his

head at Davina's retreating form, and snorted like a pig.

 

"What was that, Penfield?" Lionel cut short his exon-

eration of Lucrezia Borgia and pounced.

 

"I—uh—I must've swallowed some tea the wrong way,

Mr. Walters."

 

"Through the nose is hardly the best way to savor a good

Earl Grey. You are fortunate, gentlemen. You are the first of

my students to taste tea brewed as it should be, by the hand of

a young lady from Great Britain."

 

32                Esther M. Priesner

 

"Young truck," Jason whispered to Cass.

 

Cass leaned forward to pour himself a fresh cup. As he

settled back on the couch, he tipped the saucer. Hot brew

streamed down Jason's leg.

 

Jason leaped up, yelling. The other four boys wearing

the cadet-blue Godwin Academy blazer all jumped from their

places, too, as if in sympathy. While Jason's classmates of-

fered him their handkerchiefs and condolences, Lionel gave

Cass a thoughtful look.

 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Walters." Cass was on his feet, the

picture of flustered youth, eager to right what his clumsiness

had upset. "I'll get some paper towels to blot the rug."

 

"Fine, Taylor, fine. The kitchen's through the dining

room, back that way. If the towels aren't on the counter, look

under the sink. Watch yourself. The light's off in the dining

room and the switch is all the way across, next to the kitchen

door."

 

"I'll be careful, Mr. Walters." Cass went where he was

directed, doing his best to look more gangly than ever. He had

a number of nicknames at the academy, most referring to his

height, his thinness, and his way of never knowing where his

feet were from one minute to the next. No one would ever

imagine that what he'd just done with his tea had been on

purpose. Scarecrow Taylor was disaster on wheels.

 

No one except Mr. Walters. Cass's classmates often said

that there was something odd about that history teacher, and

they didn't mean just his New York accent.

 

These were the same classmates who saw nothing at all

bizarre in Twisted Sister, Ozzie Osbome, Weird Al, and Max

Headroom.

 

What would his classmates think if they could see Scare-

crow Taylor now, moving through the pitch-black dining room

with the deft grace of a hunting cat? In front of the tightly

drawn curtains, Cass danced with shadows. He danced with a

freedom he didn't dare use at home. It brought Amanda too

many painful memories. If anyone in the living room looked

his way, their human eyes would see nothing. He shared blood

with the night.

 

The shadow dance had to end at last. The class was wait-

ing. He walked the thread of glow seeping from beneath the

swinging kitchen door and balanced on the borderline between

bright and darkness.

 

He heard voices beyond.

 

"—lovely gown."

 

ELF DEFENSE                 33

 

"It's pretty, isn't it? Kind of silly to wear something so

nice looking when no one's going to see it." Silky cloth

swished.

 

"Someone will." Soft laughter, two pitches blending one

high and tittering, one deep and comforting as the sea.

 

That voice took Cass by surprise. It had the sweet lilt of

the lost lands, the dear heartspring countries that had borne his

race. It was a sound he thought never to hear any more in this

strange land, so rich with its ancient music. He could have

listened to it for hours, remembering, and the Hounds take him

if he cared what words it spoke. The other voice was more

monotonous, a little nasal, commonplace. He imagined it must

belong to the girl who had brought in the tea and cake. It would

suit her. She hadn't said a word when Mr. Walters introduced

her, only nodded and smiled. It would suit her. He tried to

remember whether her dress had been as attractive as all that.

 

He called back clumsy Cass and pushed the door open.

 

" 'Scuse me, but could we have some, uh . . ."

 

Both of the women at the wooden kitchen table turned

from their teacups, but one of them melted into air. The other

filled his eyes. He could not speak. He felt as maladroit as he

had pretended to be.

 

Oh, she was lovely! She was taller than Amanda, and not

so small-made. Under the shimmering royal blue of her gown

he saw how her body curved, promising more than any of the

willowy women of his own people could offer. Hate his father

as he did, Cass still understood a part of the passion that drove

him. Elfin women were air and darkness, the whisper of a

shadow, the sisters of dreams. This mortal was deep-dreaming

earth and silent flowing water and a fire in the soul that was

time.

 

Cass saw how time had already changed her, read what

she had been, knew how each second left its passing print on

her. It didn't matter. Where he longed to take her, with all his

heart, she would be shielded from the seasons and hidden from

the gray hunter of all mortals. For that gift alone, she would

love him. She would be a fool not to love him for that.

 

As Amanda loved your father? He pushed the question

from his mind. He wanted her, not questions.

 

Then he saw what she wore around her neck.

 

"Yes? Can I help you, dear?"

 

The voice was wrong, but that was a detail now. Cass

thought it a mighty poor way to run a world when this lovely

woman had a voice unworthy of her, while the sweeter song

 

34                Esther M. Friesner

 

came from a giri who was . . . well . . . healthy-looking

enough for a whole lacrosse team. He had upended his teacup

into Jason's lap for the form of gallantry, to avenge an insult

against a lady, but in his heart he was just as guilty of the same

affront.

 

"I'm—looking for the paper towels."

 

Sandy glanced at the sink where a whole roll stood in

plain sight on the counter. She fetched it for him, yet still he

lingered, holding the towels and gazing at her. Then, waking,

he mumbled some thanks and excuse and left.

 

He heard them plainly, even through the closed door.

 

"—the nerve! It's not as if I'm Dolly Parton or anything,

but still ..."

 

"You know how these young boys can be, Mrs. Walters.

It's the first he's seen a grown woman in her nightgown,

likely." The big girl had a merry laugh. Its sound had no fur-

ther power to enchant him.

 

He mopped up the spill on the living room rug automat-

ically. A bloodstone cupped in carved white stone twirled as a

trim star across his sight.

 

She has known us! She has known one of our kind! The

carving on that white stone—I can't place its tribe, but still

... Oh my lady! Then when I tell you what I am, you will

believe. There 'II be no need to convince you, to be afraid of

scaring you away, to go too slowly. You will know all I can

offer you, and you will welcome it quickly. That will be good.

Your breed don't have time enough for me to waste too much

in courtship.

 

"Uh, Taylor, I think you've got it all." Lionel motioned

for Cass to resume his seat. "We were discussing some pretty

juicy gossip about the papal family. Cesare did most of the

killings, or commissioned them, but Lucrezia got most of the

blame. Why do you think that was?"

 

"It's always more convenient to blame the woman. She

couldn't defend herself. ..."

 

Cass talked of Renaissance society and politics, but his

thoughts were elsewhere. It had just registered that the black-

haired girl had called the woman Mrs. Walters. Whoever had

been the giver of the lady's elfin token, he was gone. Why else

would she settle for a life shared with an ordinary man like

Lionel Walters?

 

Cass studied Lionel. As far as appearances went, he was

an acceptable comedown for a woman who had known an elfin

lover. The history teacher was one of those mortal men who

 

ELF DEFENSE                 35

 

aged well. Years made his face look rugged, not saggy, and

the few shots of silver in his dark hair only added interest. He

was almost worthy of such a wife.

 

Almost.

 

Cass smiled. This would be easy. Lionel caught his eye

and innocently smiled back.

 

Sandy found a rose on her pillow the next morning. It

glowed silver, flower and stem, but when she picked it up she

knew that it wasn't made of any metal. It nodded between her

fingers, thrilling with its own life, each thorn a caress.

 

This was no time to fool with contact lenses. She groped

for her glasses on the bedside table and read the note tied to

the flower's stem. A flush of gold drenched the blossom of the

rose the moment she touched the silk-strung tag. Her face was

reflected in every petal.

 

You are of us, my lady, and my heart is yours.

 

"Lionel . . .?" Sandy's voice was a squeak. The place

beside her in bed was empty. She looked at the clock. It was

past nine. Ellie should have been on top of her hours ago,

demanding breakfast. "Ellie?" she called a litle louder. She

wanted witnesses to see the incredible flower. Without them,

she had no way to prove she hadn't gone insane in the night.

 

Her bedroom door opened. Davina sailed in carrying a

footed tray arrayed with coffee, hot muffins, strawberry jam,

butter, and orange juice. "I've given the little one her break-

fast and dressed her for the day. So good and quiet she is,

letting you sleep late as I asked. Here's breakfast for you, now,

and I hope you like—"

 

"Davina, what do I have in my hand?" Sandy held out

the gold and silver rose. Her hand shook, but the flower swayed

back and forth to its own inner music.

 

"Holy angels above!" Davina set the tray rapidly down

on the bed, almost spilling the whole thing. Her blue eyes

showed white all around the iris. She reached for the rose.

 

When it passed from Sandy's hand to hers, the note van-

ished. Silver and gold turned to green and pink. It was a flower

like any other, and it stayed so even when Sandy took it back

from Davina.

 

The women looked at each other. Did you see? I saw.

Did you? Yes. The words didn't need to be spoken.

 

Sandy took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "Either

we're both crazy or we're both sane," she said lightly, shifting

the breakfast tray onto her lap and helping herself to a cup of

 

T36                Esther M. Friesner

 

coffee. She felt wonderfully relieved, knowing that the none-

such flower really had existed. She would worry later about

where if had sprung from. For now, she just wanted her morn-

ing fix.

 

"I'd not speak too carelessly of sane or mad." Davina

suddenly took on the grave demeanor of a banker explaining

poor credit risk. "Madness is spun from the moon, and they

rule her with their dancings. They can play with a mortal's

mind the way a tyke toys with an India rubber'ball."

 

Sandy stirred in a spoonful of sugar. " 'They,' Da-

vina?"

 

"The Fair Folk, Mrs. Walters. I've a touch of the 'sight'

for knowing them, and this flower bears their mark as sure as

I'm living. The Good People have a special way with the magic

that governs flowers."

 

"What good people?" Sandy raised her cup to her lips.

"Elves."

 

Coffee stains being what they are, the blanket went to

the dry cleaner's that morning.

 

Chapter Three:

 

A Green Thumb

 

^W0' h011^1^'l really couldn't. ..."

 

S-t Sandy's protests fell upon willfully deaf ears, or

else were plowed under by the iron blade of Cee-Cee's hell-

bent enthusiasm.

 

"Oh, now be truthful. Sandy dear. It's only a question

of willingness to help with a worthy cause. If / can find time

for this project, anyone can. And it's for our children's sake.

I know that I simply couldn't live with myself if I let little

Duncan down. I just could not look in the mirror."

 

"I have mornings like that," Sandy murmured, but she

knew when she was beaten. She stretched out her hand limply

to receive the list Cee-Cee had been trying to push on her for

the better part of an hour, along with "just another sliver" of

apricot torte. "I'll call them."

 

ELF DEFENSE                 37

 

Cee-Cee was gracious in triumph. "You won't be sorry,"

she said, with absolutely nothing hut pure faith to back up the

statement. "It's for the children, after all. Only don't call them;

 

go visit. It's much harder to turn someone down when she's

looking you in the eye."

 

Sandy could testify to the truth of that. She said she had

to be going. Mission accomplished, Cee-Cee made no move to

detain her further.

 

"Ciao-ciao, Sandy dear. See you tonight at Peggy's?"

 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Somehow Sandy's

tone of voice failed to lend credence to her words, but Cee-

Cee didn't notice. Observing nuances wasn't her specialty, and

in any case, the bubbly Mrs. Haines assumed that everyone

shared her passion for spending a crisp fall evening in the in-

spection and purchase of self-seal plastic storage ware.

 

As Sandy left Cee-Cee's home—one of the authentic

Federalist structures in Godwin's Comers and not a subcon-

tractor's idea of generic Colonial—she gave herself a series of

savage mental kicks. Never volunteer for anything. Never sur-

render. Never let the dog-faced bastards see you crumble, re-

treat, or even waver.

 

She asked herself how General George Patton would have

fared in escaping a Parent Teachers' Association assignment.

 

"I guess I'm just not army enough to live," she said to

the interior of her car. Before turning the ignition key, she gave

the list a once-over. Cee-Cee's project was Alexandrian in its

scope of new worlds to conquer. Not only was the little woman

spearheading the usual PTA bake sale, to take place at the

upcoming antiques show on the green, she sought to combine

one fund-raiser with another by running a tag sale the week

before.

 

"Not everyone can bake, or likes to bake, or can bake

anything worth eating," she'd said, looking meaningly at

Sandy. "But there's no one in this town without some junk

they'd like to get rid of. That's why a tag sale is so perfect.

We get the money from it for the PTA, yet we make it look as

if we're doing the donors the favor of taking away their trash.

God knows, some of it isn't fit for pigs to own, but there's no

telling about taste."

 

Sandy wondered whether Cee-Cee's family castoffs did

qualify as suitable for porkers to possess. She hoped so.

 

Her portion was not to waste time in speculating on the

nature of the Haines's giabhage. Hers was but to contact the

ten women on the list and strong-arm them into promising to

 

38 Esther M. Friesner

 

bake a goody for the bake sale, no excuses accepted, as well

as pledging a mound of ancestral relics for the tag sale. They

were all mothers of children in Ellie's class, which association

made Cee-Cee assume that they'd either say yes to Sandy's

request or move out of Godwin's Corners by sundown.

 

You simply did not let the children down. It went against

the Code of the Suburbs.

 

"Farnsworth, McCall, Bascombe ... Oh shit. Taylor."

Sandy smacked the steering wheel. "Christmas on crackers."

 

An Irish lace curtain in the Haines's front parlor window

twitched. Sandy caught a glimpse of reflected sunlight on Cee-

Cee's glasses. She felt like resting her head on her arms and

waiting for the falling leaves to cover her up, Toyota and all,

but she had the suspicion that Cee-Cee would call the constab-

ulary and have her towed a tasteful distance off the property to

have her angst attack.

 

She did not want to call on Mrs. Taylor. Not at all.

 

Sandy started up the car and backed down the driveway.

The Haineses owned a substantial lot at the back of the local

riding school. They did not own the school itself, mirabile

dictu, but their offspring boarded a pair of Morgans there. Or-

dinarily it was restful to watch the old stone fences slip past

and check the several paddocks for horses, but not this time

Sandy didn't want to think about horses and Amanda Taylor

together. It made her palm tingle.

 

And then there were those sons of hers. . . . She no

longer found Ellie's tales of Jeffy's antics amusing. The child

gave her the creeps. Last week, when she'd come to pick up

Ellie at school he'd marched up to her, clasped his hands be-

hind his back, and announced, "I lost my first baby tooth to-

day."

 

Sandy had laughed and ruffled his hair in just the way

she'd found unbearable when she was small. "You take it home

and put it under your pillow and the tooth fairy will leave you

a quarter for it."

 

Jeffy made the face of one who did not bear fools gladly.

"My mommy would leave a quarter. The tooth fairy still does

dimes. Mommy told him and told him about how stuff costs

more now, but he's too old to change. Or too cheap, Cass says.

Anyhow, he already paid up for my whole mouth, in advance,

soon as I got my first tooth in. But that was just to keep the

trackers off us. If he came every time I lost a tooth, we'd be

in big trouble, Cass says. My brother sure knows a lot."

 

"Aha. I see your mother by the door. Run along, dear,"

 

ELF DEFENSE                 39

 

Sandy said nervously. She no longer had the slightest wish to

rumple Jefiy's hair.

 

She had about as much desire to seek out Amanda Tay-

lor. She turned onto the main road, heading south for the center

of town, firmly determined to tell Cee-Cee she had asked

Amanda to help and had been politely refused. It would be

 

only a small lie.

 

There is no such thing as a small lie. The Vassar-ed-

ucated tones of Mrs. Horowitz sounded their stem admoni-

tion in her daughter's head. Sandra Horowitz., you gave your

word—foolishly, but we shall let that pass—and you can ei-

ther keep it or live with the shame of a weak character. San-

dy's mother was never too far away whenever she found

herself on the brink of an unpleasant situation. Her spirit was

usually foursquare behind her daughter, ready and eager to

shove her in up to the collarbone in the name of character-

building experience.

 

You should not have promised to help out if you feel

incapable, though why a healthy woman of your age should

be incapable is beyond me. Of course I'm just your mother.

You might have had the courtesy to tell me you've decided

to go against all the values your poor father and I have

sweated blood to instill in you. But that's all right. Don't

call on Amanda Taylor. Tell lies. Let people down. Nice peo-

ple who belong to the right portion of society. People who

mean something. If it were some of those bummy New York

types you used to hang out with, you 'd be falling all over

yourself to bend backward and jump the minute they said—

 

Sandy covered the distance between chez Haines and

Amanda Taylor's house in record time. She didn't know why

or how the still, small voice of her conscience had been ousted

by the loud, implacable nattering of her mother—the phenom-

enon had happened shortly after the birth of her own daugh-

ter—but she wanted a word with the powers involved.

 

It was a beautiful day, September fading fast into the

more glorious foliage weeks of October. In town the green was

occasionally the site of a quick pumpkin sale. Most other flow-

ers were gone, but asters and autumn crocus lingered, and pots

of chrysanthemums—bronze and white, purple and yellow-

flanked nearly every doorway. Indian corn was nailed up on

the doors themselves in richly colored bunches.

 

Amanda's yard held June roses.

 

Sandy smelled them before she saw them, caught their

unmistakable scent from the curbside where she parked her car.

 

40 Esther M. Friesner

 

The Taylor house had no garage, no driveway, and was

strangely oriented in its lot, the front door not visible from the

street. You could only see small sections of thickly curtained

windows over the high hedges backing the white picket fence.

Other houses on the same street were content with a similar

wooden fence or a low privet, not both. When Sandy let herself

in through the little wicket gate, she stepped on a cluster of

violets, releasing their unique fragrance of April rain. The tulip

beds were what she saw first, multicolored waves of them,

backed by the tall spears of Dutch iris.

 

The fragrance of the roses still beckoned. The meander-

ing flagstone path Sandy followed to the Taylor front door took

her past plantings of hyacinths and daffodils and under a long

archway of lilacs. Once through, she saw the front steps framed

by a living wall of roses in bud and bloom.

 

In bud . . . in September. Sandy shook her head. She

reached for the doorbell and pricked her finger on a thorny stem

that had not been there before. "Ouch!" The finger went

straight into her mouth, which was not a bad thing considering

that it stopped her from screaming her head off as she watched

the climbing flowers twine themselves into a protective knot

that hid the doorbell from sight entirely.

 

"My mother's not home right now, Mrs. Walters."

 

Sandy turned sharply. Standing in the shade of the im-

possible lilac arbor, Cass Taylor smiled at her. He was out of

his academy uniform, looking more substantial in a heavy Irish

sweater and dark gray corduroy slacks.

 

Sandy could hear Lionel remarking, "That Taylor kid—

Cass—he's one of my finest students, a day boy. A little

clumsy, but that's to be expected at his age. They call him

Scarecrow at school. He's all legs, like a new colt. A thor-

oughbred. Even if he does have a crush on Brooke Shields that

the whole school knows about. Poor kid."

 

The lovely Miss Shields would be a fine match for this

boy, Sandy thought. She'd be one of the few girls vaguely near

his age who wouldn't need a step ladder to have an eye-to-eye

chat with him. As he stepped out of the fragrant shadows, his

hair blazed silver gold.

 

"Maybe I can help you?" He stood at the foot of the

porch steps, offering her a hand down. The gesture was courtly,

not what Sandy would expect from a boy whose nickname

evoked Ichabod Crane more than Prince Charming.

 

"Oh! You've scratched yourself!" A white handkerchief

 

ELF DEFENSE                 41

 

nicked out of Cass's pocket and was around Sandy's injured

finger in a trice.

 

"It's nothing." When she tried to pull away, she found

his grip too strong. Her hand came free when he allowed it.

 

He held her with more than his hand. Sandy's stomach

contracted as if she'd walked into a table. His eyes were on

hers, and a presence hovered at the edges of her mind. She

could sense it even as she denied it entry.

 

She jerked her head aside, breaking eye contact. "Oh,

what a pretty cat!" She knelt gratefully and reached out to pat

the large, indifferent animal that had followed Cass out from

under the lilacs. It wound its body around Cass's legs and

regarded Sandy's kneeling adoration with disdain.

 

Cass knelt too, but he had lost the advantage. When

Sandy looked into his eyes next, she saw only a noncommittal

expression, the stonewall mask of a young man guarding his

own thoughts.

 

You keep out of mine and I'll keep out of yours. Sandy

thought, her mouth curving into a wry smile. She had to laugh

at herself then. Listen to me! I get the willies for no damned

reason and right away I'm blaming it on this kid. I remember

him. He was the one who came into the kitchen a couple of

nights ago and gave me the glad-eye. And I'm wearing a knit

dress today that's a recruitment poster/or the Le Leche League.

Serves me right if they haul me in for flashing my headlights

at infants. Brooke Shields, huh? The Playmate of the Year's

his speed, more likely. He wishes.

 

The cat nudged her hand, demanding more attentive pet-

ting. "Cesarc seems to like you," Cass said. His voice gave

away no more than his eyes.

 

"Well, I like cats, but Lionel's allergic. Professor Wal-

ters, I mean." To Cesare she said, joking, "You come by our

house anytime you want to be spoiled rotten. Kitty. There'll

always be a slice of lox put by for you."

 

"Lox?"

 

"For Cesare?"

 

Sandy assumed Cass had asked both questions as one,

though his voice . . . Well, even though he was near college

age, a boy's recalcitrant hormones could still pull a nasty in

matters of pitch and timbre.

 

"Sony." She stood up, feeling more in control again.

"I keep forgetting that not everyone speaks fluent New York.

Lox is smoked salmon, and it's very good."

 

Esther M. Friesner

 

Cass rose, too, looked away from her. "You must think

I'm pretty ignorant."

 

"Because you didn't know what lox is?" She patted his

arm with all the condescension her advanced age allowed her

to exercise over a mere teen. "Don't worry about it."

 

"Mrs. Walters, I—"

 

"Cass!" Amanda Taylor's shout was magnified by the

tunnel of lilacs. Curling petals clung to her ha,ir as she burst

through, Jeffy trawled long in her wake. Her entrance spooked

the cat, who bounded into the tulips. She didn't check her pace

until she stood right between Cass and Sandy, forcing them

both to make room.

 

"Why, hello, Mrs. Walters," she said brightly. "I didn't

expect to see you. Can I help you?"

 

Cass had used almost the same words. They sounded as

if they should be coming from a salesclerk eager to close a

transaction and see the customer on his way. The lady leaned

forward, making Sandy take another step back, away from

Cass. Though Amanda smiled and smiled. Sandy had a hunch

that there was more to her aggressive friendliness.

 

Don't worry, dear. I'm no Mrs. Robinson. Though you

might dump a pail of cold water over your infant Romeo.

 

Briefly, Sandy explained her mission. Amanda's smile

took on a frozen cast. She readily promised to bake three cakes,

but as for the tag sale . . .

 

"We really don't have anything anyone else would want

to buy. I'll bring the cakes to your house and save you the

trouble of coming here."

 

"That would be very nice." (Lock up your sons, ladies,

Sandra Horowitz is back in town! Of all the—) Two could play

the game of synthetic smiles. "And why don't you have Jeffy

come over to play with Ellie some time? They get along so

well at school."

 

"That's a wonderful idea. Mother," Cass put in a little

too quickly. "You're always saying how you'd like him to

have more friends. He could play with Ellie in the afternoons

and I could pick him up on my way home."

 

Amanda's smiling mask shattered. "No, Cass. I won't

impose on Mrs. Walters. It's out of the question."

 

"It wouldn't be any imposition."

 

"No. Thank you."

 

Jeffy squirmed and began to whine. "But I wanna go to

Ellie's house! I wanna play with her stuff. She's got some real

neat toys. Mommy, I wanna!"

 

ELF DEFENSE                 43

 

Without another word of discussion, Amanda hauled her

younger son up the front steps and inside. She didn't even

pause to fumble with a key. The door was unlocked, but the

click of tumblers and the slide of a deadbolt from within told

Sandy that it was more than securely fastened now.

 

"Well ... I guess I'll be going." She was on her way

even as she said it, and happy to be gone.

 

"Mrs. Walters, please wait." Cass caught up with her

under the lilacs. He snapped off a branch of bloom and urged

it into her hands. "For you."

 

Sandy could not resist taking the offering and pressing

the nodding flowers to her nose. For her there was no greater

temptation, no smell in all the world to match the lilac's

springtime sweetness.

 

"How does she do it?" Sandy marveled.

 

"She?"

 

"Your mother. Does she use collapsible greenhouses or

cold frames or what?" She made a sweeping gesture, neces-

sarily confined by the in-crowding arbor flowers. "How does

she manage to force so many out-of-season plants?"

 

She heard Cass's chuckle, very deep for one so young.

"My mother acquired her talent over the years. It's a kind of

. . . understanding she has."

 

Sandy shifted, ill at ease. She thought the perfumed

bower was wider and higher than this when she'd first passed

through it, but it seemed to have grown in on itself. Petals

tickled her cheeks. She could hardly move without rustling the

branches.

 

It would not do for one of Lionel's students to see his

teacher's wife with the terminal heebie-jeebies. She pulled her-

self together and tried to keep up her end of the conversation.

"With a garden like this, your mother must be the envy of the

neighborhood. It's all I can do to grow marigolds in the sum-

mer. ''

 

"Do you like growing things?"

 

A warm breeze laced with a headier fragrance than lilac

stirred her hair.

 

"Uh . . . yes."

 

"I could give you that. I could, as easily as I give you

this." She heard another snap. More lilacs were in her hands,

slender, strong fingers still around the stems.

 

It was dark in the flowering arbor. Sandy saw Cass's face

backlit by the sun outside, the features indiscernible. Was it

her imagination, or did two blue lights kindle there when she

 

44 Esther M. Friesner

 

took the new lilacs from him? She didn't linger to make sure

She shot from the other end of the tunnel like an arrow.

 

"Mrs. Walters! Mrs. Walters!"

 

They both hit her car at the same time. "I have to go

It's later than I thought," Sandy babbled, rummaging for the

key. "I've left Lionel home with Ellie all this time—Oh, and

Davina's there, of course, but she said she'd be cooking dinner

tonight, so if Lionel has some work he has to do, and Ellie

wants to play—"

 

Cass stood, hands in pockets and shoulders crouched for-

ward. Even the thick white knit of his sweater couldn't hid tht

fact that the boy was all knobs and gangles underneath. As

Sandy watched, she saw a blush paint his face.

 

"Um, gee, I only thought that maybe you were going to

the academy." Cass fidgeted and scuffed one foot against the

other. "See, I've got this homework assignment, and I left my

book back in Salem Hall, and it's getting kind of late, and

Mom doesn't drive, and . . . Oh, never mind. You're going.

I'll walk over."

 

Sandy fought down panic. Am I really going crazy? Is

this what I was running away from? This child? I can almost

hear his knees knocking over the big deal of asking his teach-

er's wife for a lift! What's the matter with me?

 

She forced a smile. "Don't do that. My husband can

hold down the fort for ten more minutes." Unlocking the door,

she tossed her bunch of lilacs into the backseat. "Come on,

I'll drive you."

 

"Would you?" Cass looked pitifully thankful. Sandy's

heart slowly stopped hammering her ribs. "Gosh, I really ap-

preciate this, Mrs. Walters. I know right where the book is

too. I'll just run in and run out."

 

He was as good as his word. While Sandy's car idled in

front of the ivy-grown brick facade of Salem Hall, he came

loping out with the wayward book held high. He must have

removed his sweater inside the building, for he now carried it

draped over one arm, and he nearly fell headlong into the side

of the car when the white knit bulk slipped to the ground and

snared his feet.

 

"Cass, be careful!"

 

He recovered, grinning sheepishly, and pitched the of-

fending garment in on top of the lilacs. "Thanks. Thanks a

lot, Mrs. Walters," he repeated for about the tenth time. He

was still thanking her when they pulled up near his house and

he got out, hugging the book to his concave chest.

 

 

 

 

ELF DEFENSE

 

45

 

As Sandy sped for home, a lithe gray shape eased itself

through the hedge and the fence to butt Cass's leg.

 

"You forgot your sweater," Cesare said.

 

"I know what I did."

 

"Planting an excuse for her to come back? Clever.

Amanda's not going to like this, you know."

 

"Believe it or not, Cesare, I don't care."

 

"Don't you? You used to."

 

"That was then."

 

"And this is now? Brilliant." Cesare purred. "Ah, the

constant heart of youth!"

 

"Come on, Cesare. This is different."

 

The cat switched his tail. "They all are. It's spring when

a young man's fancy's supposed to turn to thoughts of love.

Lightly turn. Here it is fall, and your fancy's a whirling der-

vish. How long has it been since you. . . ?" Cesare raised one

discreetly inquiring whiskery brow.

 

Cass mumbled something unintelligible.

 

•'When, did you say?"

 

"1843."

 

Cesare marched through the garden gate. "Then you'U

be wanting a cold shower before you reconsider bothering poor

Mrs. Walters any further. And the Sports Illustrated bathing

suit issue goes out in the trash tomorrow. You'd have the mor-

als of a tomcat, if I'd let you. Trouble with you, Your Royal

Hotness, is you mistake the call of the heart for the call of

the-"

 

"Cesare!"

 

' 'Andiam'.''

 

Chapter Four:

 

There was nothing like a beautifully set table to make

Sandy feel inadequate as a wife, mother, and woman.

Just the realization that there were people capable of making

cloth napkins into funny shapes was enough to depress her.

 

46 Esther M. Friesner

 

Davina was one such person. The menu for Wednesday

night dinner was cold cuts and salad, yet the Welsh au pair

had scorned paper plates, paper cups, even paper napkins for

the real thing. Sandy felt like a paying guest in her own home.

Her brain had even gone into tip-calculation mode.

 

"Wow," Lionel said when he beheld the splendor of the

festive board. "I didn't know we had half this stuff." He picked

up a paper-thin slip of lox with a two-pronged silver fork.

 

"Wedding loot," Sandy said, looking glum.

 

"Gee, this is pretty, Mommy." Elbe's mouth formed an

0 formerly reserved for the once-yearly New York City pil-

grimage to see the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.

 

"Ah, my head'll be getting too big if you make so much

of nothing." Davina dismissed all compliments airily. "It's no

more than anyone else could do, given the time."

 

Ellie shook her head. "Oh no, Davina. My mommy never

does anything like this, and she's got lots of time. Please pass

the turkey. Mommy."

 

It would not have been nice to hurl the turkey at her only

child, especially not when Sandy knew damned well Ellie was

only telling the truth. Still, she might yet salvage a little face.

 

"This really is a pretty table, Davina. And I've brought

home just the thing to make it perfect. You get a vase and I'll

get the flowers from the car. Wait till you see them!" She

pushed back her chair.

 

Though she outweighed Sandy by a fair number of stone,

Davina had an actress's agility. She had the car keys from the

back-door rack and was heading for the garage before Sandy was

out of her seat. "Don't you bother, I'll see to it myself. Have your

supper now, for didn't you say you had to be going to that party?"

 

When Davina popped out the door, Lionel asked his wife,

"Aren't you taking her with you?"

 

"To a Preserv-a-Pak party?" Sandy took a large bite of

her sandwich. "Don't you think the poor girl should leam about

the Ugly American on her own?"

 

"It's just a bunch of women buying dishes and having

coffee. She doesn't know anyone in town and she doesn't go

out at all. She might like it. It's harmless fun."

 

Sandy rolled her eyes, too choked with emotion and

cream cheese to speak. Lionel's innocence was touching. It

should be cherished. She prayed he would never have to learn

the truth about Preserv-a-Pak parties.

 

Davina returned looking bewildered. Sandy recognized

 

ELF DEFENSE                 47

 

the thick white sweater draped over the Welsh girl's arm. She

held a sheaf of brightly tinted autumn leaves in her hands.

 

"I looked all over the car for flowers, Mrs. W—Sandy,

but it's only these I found under this jumper." She fanned the

 

dead leaves.

 

"But—but couldn't you smell the lilacs?"

"Lilacs? In September?" Davina's musical laugh was

 

guileless. "Wouldn't I give half my heart for a scent of lilacs

 

now!"

 

Ellie was bouncing in her seat, clapping her hands. "Oh

Mommy, those are neat leaves! They'll look great on the table.

Put them down, Davina! Put them down!"

 

Davina obeyed, then shook a few flecks of dead leaf from

the white sweater. "And where would you have me put this?"

 

The doorbell rang before Sandy could say where she'd

like Davina to put the sweater, together with the entire Taylor

family and their metamorphic garden. "I'll get that. I'm done

with dinner anyhow." Though half her sandwich remained

uneaten, it was no lie.

 

The fake coach lantern on the Walterses' porch shone on

Cass's stiffly grinning face. "Uh ... Hi, Mrs. Walters. I

mean, good evening. I think I forgot something in your car. I

hate to bother you. Am I interrupting your dinner or some-

thing?"

 

He was so ordinary looking. His hair was slicked back,

fresh from the shower, a few droplets still clinging to the wa-

ter-darkened strands. He had his hands jammed into the pock-

ets of a ripstop windbreaker. Sandy could see the outlines of

fingers fumbling nervously with whatever nameless horror of

used Kleenex, furred candies, and free lint those pockets might

contain.

 

"Come on in, Cass." If her mind had turned his boyish

gift of autumn leaves to spring lilacs, he wasn't to blame.

"You're not interrupting anything. It'll be Ellie's bedtime soon,

and Davina and I were just about to go to a party."

 

"A party?" His eyes lit up, but only in the normally

acceptable way. "On a Wednesday night? Sounds like fun.

Gee, I wish I had your connections. I mean—" He turned red

and mauled the contents of his pockets with renewed diligence

to cover his embarrassment.

 

Sandy conducted him into the living room. In the dining

room Ellie was leaning across the table to get a look at the

visitor. Lionel pulled her back by the waistband of her overalls.

 

48                Esther M. Friesner

 

He spared the boy a friendly nod. Davina was out of sight,

taking dishes into the kitchen in relays.

 

"Don't envy us, Cass. It's a Preserv-a-Pak party. You

just ask your mother about it sometime. I'll bet she's too sman

to go."

 

"I don't think she's ever been asked. But I doubt she'c

go if she were. She doesn't go out at night at all. She doesn'i

Want to leave Jeffy alone, not even with me."

 

"Why not? You seem like a competent young man."

 

Sandy didn't catch the flicker of irritation that momen-

tarily changed Cass's blandly pleasant expression.

 

"Jeffy has bad nightmares. When he does, he just wants

Mother. Once when he was little he had one at nap time while

she was out shopping. He screamed nonstop for an hour until

she came home. Now they just happen at night,"

 

"I see."

 

Cass looked thoughtful. "I've heard about Preserv-a-Pak.

It's these plastic dishes that're airtight and don't leak, right?

They keep things sealed fresh?"

 

Sandy nodded. She'd been introduced to the wonders of

Preserv-a-Pak technology in college when the smaller-sized

containers were the status stash-keepers among her friends.

 

"You know, my mother could use some stuff like that,

and I hear you can only order it at the parties. Mrs. Walters

... do you think your friends would mind if I came along with

you—you know, just tagged along—and ordered some pieces

for Mother? As a surprise."

 

Lionel and Davina came into the living room as Sandy

began her detailed explication of why it was unthinkable for

Cass to attend a Preserv-a-Pak party.

 

"Now ladies . . . and gentleman," the Preserv-a-Pak rep

said with an unbecomingly coy twinkle in her eye. "Please

feel free to pass our new Leafresh lettuce bowl around. It comes

in your choice of colors, so it'll match your other Preserv-a-

Pak containers whether you're collecting our Bolds or our

Shys."

 

Peggy Seymour was the first to hold the pink plastic globe

with its cleverly embossed SealSup lid. She oohed and ahhed

at length over it, demanding whether the other guests had ever

seen anything half so wonderful this side of heaven. As the

Preserv-a-Pak party hostess, it was incumbent upon her to

stroke the fires of acquisitiveness in her guests. She might oth-

erwise not receive her free set of SnakSnips—oversized plastic

 

ELF DEFENSE                 49

 

paper clips used for keeping opened potato chip bags fresh-

fteshfresh. This largess would be all Peggy's if the party's total

orders topped a hundred dollars. She would make sure this

happened or know the reason why.

 

When the sacred lettuce keeper reached Sandy, she passed

it on to Cass so quickly that Peggy took note. It was always

dangerous when Peggy noticed anything. It could mean another

 

petition.

 

"Do you already have a lettuce keeper, Sandra?"

 

"Yes. I call it the refrigerator."

 

Peggy clucked. "You know that's not enough. Greens

go bad before you can imagine. / like to care about the fresh-

ness of everything my family eats."

 

Sandy refrained from pointing out that Peggy Seymour's

family consisted in toto of Kwai-Chang Caine, the most pissant

Shih Tzu ever to curse Godwin's Comers. Even now she could

hear the beast's dyspeptic yaps coming from the bathroom.

Kwai-Chang Caine loved to bite ankles, but would take the

fleshier, more satisfying taste of calf when he could get it.

Peggy always accused the victim of provoking her precious

pet, and Peggy was a vocal force with which to reckon. As the

party continued and coffee was served there would be more

than one lady torn between obtaining relief and facing down

the midget Hound of the Baskervilles.

 

"Mrs. Walters, you ought to have another look at this."

Cass passed the bowl back to Sandy. "It's something special.

It really is."

 

Sandy gave Cass a quizzical look. Exceeding interest in

plastic storage ware was not normal in a person of his age and

sex. She wasn't sure it was normal for anyone, except those

looking to make a buck off it. Bemused, she accepted the dish.

 

"Open it," Cass said. "Look inside."

 

She did.

 

Rubies redder than the blood of dragons threw back the

light, made the bowl glow a deeper rose. Sandy's neck tingled.

Carefully she reached into the lettuce keeper and poked one of

the gems with the tip of her nail. It rolled over, making a solid

enough click as it hit its neighbor.

 

Breath drifted over her cheek. Natalie Voorhees was

peering over her shoulder into the bowl. "Oh, isn't that

clever?"

 

"Clever?" That was hardly the word Sandy would apply

to rubies.

 

"The way they've got those little spikes inside to keep

 

50                Esther M. Priesner

 

the lettuce from resting on the bottom and rotting. I always

have that trouble with my greens, don't you?" Natalie reached

past Sandy's face to stick her own finger into the bowl and

flick one of the rot-fighting spikes. The finger went righ'

through the rubies. "Mind if I have a second look at that?"

 

"Please." Sandy fairly thrust the bowl into Natalie''.

bosom. I'm seeing things again. I'm nuts. I don't want to losf

my mind, she thought. But if I must 'go insane, please Lord,

don't let it be at a Preserv-a-Pak party!

 

She glanced at Cass. He smiled at her. A blue sparl^

glimmered briefly in his eyes and she smelled lilacs. Then thi

woman seated on Cass's other side handed him a Portamunch

hors d'oeuvre tray. It distracted him only a moment. His hand;

 

touched Sandy's as he passed it on to her. The long fingers

caressed her skin in a disturbingly familiar manner. They were

smoother than they should have been, if he were nothing more

than an ordinary seventeen-year-old boy.

 

He wasn't. Sandy knew he wasn't. The touch of such

alien skin was too well known to her memory, too dear to be

forgotten, though now it only came to her in dreams. She shook

her head very slightly, a gesture of rejection almost too subtle

to be seen. "You can't be," she whispered.

 

"I am."

 

"All right, girls, it's time to play a game!" the Preserv-

a-Pak rep shrieked. A cascade of multicolored plastic doohick

eys poured into the center of the floor and instructions were

given for how to obtain one or more. It was a contest of skill,

talent, and rich reward. Some exchanging of seats was re-

quired, ditto the utterance of animal noises.

 

The Prince of Elfhame Ultramar won an olive-stabber

and a pink swizzle stick topped with a teddy bear. He lost his

seat next to Sandy. The shifts and place trades of the game put

Davina there, and Sandy's wildly clutching hand held her to

the spot.

 

"Don't leave me," she whispered between clenched

teeth.

 

Davina gave her a searching look, but stayed put. ' 'What-

ever's troubling you?"

 

"Do you see that young man over there? The one we

came here with? Cass Taylor?"

 

Davina's brows raised slightly. The gentleman in ques-

tion was now seated almost directly opposite them, waving his

prizes proudly and accepting the compliments of his neighbors

for a truly lifelike imitation of a tomcat's yowl.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 51

 

"He's a fine-looking one, if you don't mind my being so

forward. What of him?"

 

"He's—" Sandy's hand was cold and growing clammy.

What good would it do to tell Davina the truth? Who would

ever believe it but those whose lives had touched the elfinkind?

Lionel would understand. He'd understand, but he wouldn't

like it. What he didn't know of her past with Rimmon he had

guessed. He wasn't stupid, but like many other husbands—and

wives as well—he was happier remaining deliberately ignorant

of his spouse's past.

 

"He's got a crush on me. I think." It was lame and

sounded it, but what else could she say?

 

"A crush?" Davina's brows winged a bit higher. "Surely

there's a greater feeling than that. I never knew the Fair Folk

to have less than a grand passion for mortal women. Of what

tribe does he come? I'd put him to the elfinkind, myself, but

I've been wrong before this. The merkind sometimes walk dry

land for a time and have that look. ..."

 

Sandy gaped.

 

"Come with me," Davina said, helping her to her feet

with a Nanny's no-nonsense grasp. "We must speak of this,

for it may be grave danger touching you. I'd not have that for

the world."

 

Sandy let herself be conducted out of the enchanted plas-

tic circle and toward the bathroom. Behind the closed door,

Kwai-Chang Caine yapped doom and death threats. Davina

opened the door and in one smooth move scooped up the nox-

ious creature, holding him at arm's length until she could flip

wide the laundry hamper and pop him inside. She then shut

and locked the door, seated herself on the hamper lid, and

motioned for Sandy to take the throne.

 

"How do you know?" Sandy held her hand to her heart,

feeling it flutter much too fast. The combined shocks of Cass's

confession and Davina's casual familiarity with Faery were not

doing her health any favors.

 

"I'm from Wales." Davina folded her arms across her

substantial bosom. "And I'm Sighted besides. There were

many such in my old village. My mother said it was due to all

the remnants of the Old Blood lingering so thick in our region.

There were precious many bastard children born with a fey

look about them to our village girls, especially those as had a

long and solitary way home to go of nights. Now the Old

Blood's thin, though potent still in matters of the Sight. The

years taught us to keep still about it. In other times they burned

 

52                Esther M. Friesner

 

us for witches or stoned us when our prophecies of evil came

true. These days they call us cranks. I can't say as I care much

for either. But you must be of the Sight as well."

 

"Not me." Sandy shook her head. "I wish I was. Maybe

then I could see a way out of this mess."

 

Davina leaned forward, her eyes searching Sandy's.

"You're afraid, but I see it's not ignorant fear. You know what

it means, the love of the elven—too sweet, too^ strong for mor-

tals to bear long, that's what we used to sing. Oh, and far too

tempting to let us turn away. You've tasted it once, and much

as you love your husband, you fear the call will be too pow-

erful."

 

Miserable, Sandy confessed that this was so. She told

Davina of her dreams, and slowly began to recount her mem-

ories of Rimmon. By the time she was done, Kwai-Chang Caine

was howling fearsomely in the hamper, Peggy was pounding

on the door demanding to know what- was going on, and Da-

vina had made every known warding sign against evil in West-

ern civilization.

 

"We must go home," the Welsh girl said, rising hur-

riedly from the hamper and removing the dog. He was half

smothered and wholly wilted, capable of only an indifferent

snap or two. "I've never heard the like!"

 

Sandy agreed. She opened the bathroom door. A solid

wave of women poured in, Peggy at the crest.

 

"What is the matter in here?" She gave Sandy a suspi-

cious stare that bored deeper when she caught sight of her pet.

The former devourer of ankles now showed all the ginger of a

wrung mop. "And what have you done to my baby?"

 

"Oh, the darling dog!" Davina grabbed Kwai-Chang and

pressed him to her bosom. The Shih Tzu was too dispirited to

do more than roll his eyes and await a merciful death. "So

well behaved he was all the while we were in here. I wasn't

feeling quite myself, you see, and Mrs. Walters kindly took

me aside to look after me. We didn't wish to disturb the party."

She planted a wet kiss on Kwai-Chang's nose. "Isn't he the

dearest thing?"

 

The other ladies exchanged doubtful glances, but Peggy

took the dog from Davina, nuzzled him further into submis-

sion, and said, "Well, we were worried. It was time to fill out

the order blanks and we couldn't find either one of you. That

nice Taylor boy suggested the bathroom."

 

Sandy glimpsed that nice Taylor boy over the heads of

 

ELF DEFENSE                 53

 

the women. He smiled at her with something far more than

Boy Scout cheerfulness. Her face burned and she looked away.

 

She placed her Preserv-a-Pak order without thinking. The

sales rep was delighted. "I've never sold one of our Mammoth

Melon-ball Keepers before. Would you like the five-gallon lid

in matching or contrasting color?"

 

"Whatever. Come on, Davina. We're leaving now."

 

Cass was waiting for them at the door, his sweater over

one arm. "I haven't finished giving in my order yet, Mrs.

Walters." He leaned against the jamb, blocking their escape.

Sandy saw blue fire in his eyes again, though banked and bum-

ing more gently than the blazes that had made her run scared

under the lilac arbor. "I sure could use a lift home. It's late at

night and—"

 

"Night was mother to all your brood, and air's the blood

in your veins." Davina placed herself between Cass and Sandy

and spoke low, lips curving. The elven blinked in surprise,

took a step back, hesitated.

 

"By standing stone and fairy ring, I conjure and com-

mand you, let this mortal woman be." Davina's words came

in a whisper so faint that Sandy had to strain to hear it. The

other women, gathered around the Preserv-a-Pak rep, paid no

mind to the scene going on in the doorway. "By iron edge and

holy cross, I charge you—"

 

"Huh?" Cass' exclamation of disbelief was loud enough

for everyone in the room to hear. He made a face at the Welsh

girl. " 'Iron edge'? Who are you kidding with that old-style

stuff? This is America, Taffy. Get real!" He laughed in Davi-

na's startled face and swept regally out the door, letting his

Preserv-a-Pak order form drop to the carpet.

 

Peggy was there and on it like a cat on cream gravy.

"What was all that about, Sandra?" she inquired, running her

eyes over Cass's discarded order.

 

"Lovers' quarrel."

 

"Really?" Peggy looked down her nose at the only two

prospective candidates for the co-starring roles in such a tiff

and discarded one as impossible, the other incredible. "Well,

these teenagers . . . you never know. I'll just have Brenda total

up his bill and you can tell him that the merchandise will arrive

in ten days. He can pay me then." She whisked off.

 

Sandy leaned on Davina most of the way to the car. The

Welsh girl offered to drive, but Sandy declined.

 

"I'll be all right." She fastened her safety belt with a

firm snap. "Yes, it's much better now. Just knowing there's

 

54 Esther M. Priesner

 

someone I can talk to about this ... I can't tell you what a

relief it is."

 

"You must be calm, Mrs. Walters. Calm above all, when

dealing with the elfinkind. They're a passionate race, all fire

when roused. Even when they seem to contemplate us with the

disdain immortals feel for death-bound beings, they bum with

envy. Time stretches to infinity for them, unless death comes

violently. They bore easily. They wish they had our talent for

enriching every hour. We are as children in their eyes."

 

"Good. Then we can drive them nuts." Sandy clasped

the steering wheel.

 

Davina's full mouth quirked up. "A strange way of put-

ting it, but a good one. Short-lived creatures must have long

wit, or where did all the tales of mortals outfoxing elvens come

from?"

 

"And how do you propose we outfox my young Romeo7

He wasn't impressed by your conjurings, and I do want him to

cool off."

 

"Is that what you want truly?" Davina sighed, and in an

undertone added, "God gives bread to them who have no

teeth."

 

"Look, Davina, I told you what happened to me. That

was in the past. If I've wished to have Rimmon back again

. . . Well, I know it's impossible, and even if it weren't—"

 

"It's safer to yearn for a dream than to have it?" Davi-

na's brow rose in gentle question.

 

Sandy nodded, with some small regret. "I'm married

now, a respectable wife and mother. I'm too old to go bouncing

around a fairy ring with a kid young enough to be my—"

 

"Old enough, you mean; centuries old, centuries fair."

 

Sandy flipped on the interior light and looked closely at

Davina. "You want him." It was said with astonishment and

understanding combined, and a trace of pity.

 

Davina heard it all. "My wants don't signify." She gazed

down at her plump hands, folded in her lap. "It's you his eyes

follow."

 

"Well, they can damned well follow something else for

a change." Sandy gunned the motor. "I'm going to do some-

thing about it."

 

"And what's that, when all the ancient off-keeping spells

only made him laugh at me?"

 

Sandy's teeth flashed. Her old spunk was back, now that

she wasn't alone with her problem. "There's one spell that's

never been known to fail for getting someone to back down.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 55

 

More powerful than wolfbane! Stronger than iron! Twice the

umph of holy water and the cross!"

 

Davina pursed her lips. "And what's that?"

 

"I'm going to tell his mother on him."

 

As they drove to the Taylor house, Davina asked, "Are

you sure that will work? The fey don't like to be told what to

do by mortals."

 

"It's only a theory, but I don't think Mrs. Taylor's any

more fey than Arnold Schwarzenegger. Still, she's in the po-

sition of power in that whacked-out household, so she must

have some sort of hold over Cass. Anyway, my motto's always

been: It never hurts to ask. Here we are."

 

The Taylor house was dark but for a tiny lick of light in

one window of the upper story. Sandy got out of the car and

strode purposefully toward the gate. She sniffed the air, thick

with bitter woodsmoke from many a neighboring fireplace. Yet

even so, she could still smell the rich perfume of impossible

roses. She rested her hand on the gate just as a small gray shape

slipped down the pathway from the house. The hinges whis-

pered.

 

Legs stiff, neck-ruff bristling, the silver-white wolf

curled back his upper lip and showed a row of sickle fangs.

His growl raced up Sandy's legs and froze a knot around her

heart. Her eyes locked with his, and behind her she was only

marginally aware of Davina's voice whispering, "Oh, mer-

ciful powers ..."

 

"Sorry. Mistake. Just going. Nice doggy." She skittered

backward on her heels as the wolf stalked toward her, back

arched bizarrely, menacing. With a garbled cry, she wheeled

and ran for the car, slamming the door and flooring the gas as

soon as she turned the key in the ignition. The roar of the

departing car covered the scornful feline yowl that the great

wolf loosed at the moon.

 

Several blocks' worth of peeled rubber later, Davina and

Sandy crawled back home. They found Lionel studying a gam-

ing manual while having herb tea and cookies at the kitchen

table.

 

"Ellie's asleep. Have a nice party, ladies?"

 

"I want a drink." Sandy staggered over to the pantry

where the liquor reposed. She poured herself what Lionel called

a Suburban Sacrilege: two fingers of single-malt Scotch diluted

with six ounces of Diet Coke.

 

"That good, hm?" Lionel went back to his book.

 

56                Esther M. Friesner

 

"What is it that you're reading?" Davina asked, cocking

her head to scan the manual's brightly colored cover.

 

' 'Oh, I'm thinking of running a new character in the role-

playing game I've got going with the academy kids. I'm son

of fed up with being a wizard, but I can't decide what's next.

What do you think, Sandy? Could I run a good elf?"

 

"You could run him all the way to Pittsburgh, with my

blessings!" Sandy slammed out of the kitchen. They could hear

her stomping all the way upstairs to bed.

 

Lionel looked at Davina. "It's only a game," he said.

 

Chapter Five:

 

A Word to the Wise

Is a Waste of Time

 

€€'W the doesn't want you calling on Mrs. Taylor, you'd

& not be wise to persist," Davina said as she buttoned

Ellie's sweater.

 

Sandy drummed her fingers on the kitchen table. "I can

live with that. Maybe the attempt was as good as actually hav-

ing a word with the woman. Maybe now Cass will realize I

don't want anything to do with him—anything beyond my role

as his professor's wife, that is."

 

Davina shrugged and took Ellie's hand. "No law bars

hope. Still, they can be a fearsome stubborn lot."

 

"Who can?" Ellie asked.

 

"Presbyterians," Sandy supplied. She gave her daughter

a kiss. "You be a good girl at school now, and introduce Da-

vina to your teacher.''

 

"Yes, Mommy." Ellie took the au pair's hand in propri-

etary fashion. As they walked out of the house. Sandy overheard

her daughter telling Davina the latest Jeffy Taylor atrocity.

 

Maybe I should've told her not to play with him anymore,

Sandy thought. Then: No: what harm is there in the child? He looks

normal enough . . . and so did Cass, until I took a closer look.

Damn it, elves have got no business in Connecticut! Why can't they

stay in—in—why can't they go back where they came from?

 

ELF DEFENSE                 57

 

She took another sip of coffee and tried to imagine where

elves did belong. Inevitably her mind kept skipping back to

Rimmon's land, the lost land of Khwarema, dead in dragon

fire, alive with ghosts. In pavilions of silk, in castles made of

stone, under the towering gray of monoliths, in the green shad-

ows of ageless woodlands, between one plane of reality and

another, that was where elves and all the faery kind might

dwell and mortal minds accept them.

 

But must they lie so far away? The dreamwoods of

Khwarema faded into the last of the old-world forests. English

oaks ringed with moon-touched toadstools, French glades of

neolithic standing stones, the shadows of more than light and

darkness that played around the fallen pillars of old Roman

villas in Italy, the windswept peaks of German mountains where

more than birds sailed across the blue gulfs of air. . . . There,

too, the most rational person alive might encounter something

other and not have his mind flee from the hinted touch of magic.

 

But in America? All the standing stones were made of

steel and glass. Shadows only danced by night on television

screens. The forests not yet pulped were being steadily, re-

morselessly nibbled away. The only wizards lived on Wall

Street, or at computer terminals, and elves . . . ?

 

"California," Sandy said aloud. "If they're lucky. Def-

initely not in Connecticut."

 

Skeeeeee!

 

Sandy's skin caterpillared all over her body. Her shoul-

ders shot up to shield her ears, but the piercing, nerve-fraying

sound penetrated like a laser.

 

Skeeeeee! Cat claws on the kitchen window just above

the sink. Sandy spied the Taylor's brindle torn with polydactyl

paw splayed, ready for a third scrape down the glass. She

rammed the breath out of her belly on the edge of the sink in

her hurry to get the sash up before the cat could do that again.

 

Cesare stepped prissily over the sill, skirted the sink,

leaped gracefully to the floor, and stared up at Sandy with the

nonchalant command of one bom to terrify headwaiters.

 

"Well, what brings you here?" Sandy gave the beast a

condescending smile, hands on hips.

 

"Lox," said the cat. "You did promise."

 

Sandy folded her legs and sat down hard on the kitchen

floor.

 

Cesare strolled over to her and insinuated his head under

her limp palm. A few tentative buttings did not produce the

desired petting reflex, so he began to knead her thigh petu-

 

58                Esther M. Friesner

 

lantly. She felt it, even through the thick twill of her navy

slacks.

 

"I don't see what you're taking on about," the cat mut-

tered as he dug his claws in with increasing emphasis. "You're

no virgin—figurative or otherwise—and not too thick, for a

human. You know what Cass is. Why am I such a surprise?

Did you expect one of his kind to keep a common cat?"

 

Sandy swallowed hard and wet her lips. "l—\ never

thought there was such a thing as a common cat."

 

Cesare abruptly stopped kneading and looked up at her.

His whiskers curled forward. "Ah! Bene. You frighten easily,

but you recover well. He might have done worse. Now, where

is this lox?"

 

Sometime later. Sandy was finishing her fourth cup of

coffee as she watched Cesare spear the last sliver of lox with

two claws and daintily rasp it into his mouth.

 

"Excellent." The cat licked his chops widely and made

a cursory toilette. "So. To business, e vero?"

 

"Business." Sandy polished off the dregs of her cup and

felt a bit nauseated. "Listen, if your master's sent you as his

ambassador, you're the cutest John Alden I've ever seen, but

I'm sorry: I'm not buying."

 

"Buying?" Cesare's eyebrow whiskers quivered rogu-

ishly. "Madonna mia, you are mistaken. First, we will not

speak of masters."

 

"True. You are a cat, after all. My apologies."

 

Cesare winked. "Second, my ... master doesn't know

I'm here. I am acting independently in this. As in all things,

might I add. Third, and last, I haven't come to urge you to

give in to my young friend's courtship. On the contrary, sweet

lady, I am here to beg you to run as if a thousand devils were

on your track, not to look back, but to keep running until you

haven't breath, strength, or shoe leather to take you any fur-

ther. Keep away from the one you call Cass Taylor, and farther

from the lady under his roof. Roofs have a habit of caving in

on occasion. It would distress me to see you caught in the

rubble." His red tongue wrapped itself once around his muz-

zle. "Especially after having experienced your most succulent

hospitality."

 

The cat jumped from the kitchen table across the yawn-

ing gap of air to the counter. He nicked his tail twice, and

added, "You are the first mortal I have ever known to be elven-

touched and still survive to lead a life that is—" he glanced

about the tidy kitchen—"that appears to be normal, by your

 

ELF DEFENSE                 59

 

standards. If that is what you want, then take my advice: Stay

clear." He bounded through the open window and was gone.

 

Sandy undid the chain holding Rimmon's bloodstone to-

ken to her throat. She let it trickle to the table where she sat

contemplating it for a time. In its milky nest of carved white

flowers, the stone glimmered with its own secrets. She raised

her eyes and took in all the bright, bland, everyday order of

the kitchen—the canisters of staples on the counter, the file of

coupons by the phone, the little notes held to the refrigerator

with plastic magnets shaped like butterflies and rainbows:

 

Use up yellow stuff in pink Preserv-a-Pak bowl by Tues-

day, latest!

 

Call rest of tag sale/bake sale list.

 

Pick up dry cleaning.

 

Get milk, lettuce, Spaghetti-Os, cake mix.

 

Call Mom or suffer the consequences.

 

Sandy picked the bloodstone up by its chain and let

twirl in the light. She smiled.

 

"Who the hell listens to talking cats?"

 

Chapter Six:

 

(K^iWhe cat speaks?"

 

H ' 'Would you expect an elf to own a common cat?"

Sandy replied archly.

 

Davina didn't know what to make of all this. "In the old

country, the Fair Folk were a shy and secretive lot. They never

came out, except at certain seasons of the year, by moonlight.

Even then it took one of the Sighted to mark them and their

familiars. Here ..."

 

"Americans don't stand on ceremony so much. We're

more outgoing."

 

"Yes, but the elvenkind—"

 

"Naturalization's a funny thing. Only in this case, we're

dealing with supematuralization. Whatever. All I can say is

I've had a very illuminating morning. The cat's visit, for one

 

Esther M. Friesner

 

60

 

thing, and for another—" She reached into the buttondown

pocket of her man-tailored blouse and dropped a slip of metal

to the table. "This came in the mail today. It was stuck inside

one of those 'You May Already Be A Winner' envelopes."

 

It was cut square, no more than two inches on a side, a

piece of wafer-thin gilded copper. Davina carefully picked it

up between thumb and forefinger. The light flashed from it in

starry bursts, coruscating along the silver lines etched into the

 

surface.

 

"It's you. . . ."

 

"Not a bad likeness," Sandy allowed of the miniature.

"I may be buck naked, but at least he had the courtesy to

fantasize me without stretch marks or cellulite. Now see what's

 

on the flip side."

 

Davina turned the square over and saw the image of a

winged horse. As she stared, her eyes widened. The creature's

wings trembled at the tips, then lowered, then rose only to

lower again in stroke after feathery stroke of flight. And from

the square's edge a twinkling hand crept around. The tiny,

naked, beautifully etched figure of Sandy Horowitz came,

creeping around the comer to mount the winged horse and drink

the wind that blew as they flew across that metal sky.

 

The Welsh girl gasped and nearly dropped the square.

Sandy got it back and flipped it from one side to the other.

"Now Horsie and I are motionless and back where we started.

What do you make of that?" she asked, tucking the glittering

 

square safely away again.

 

"A promise?" Davina raised her palms, uncertain. "A

 

pledge?"

 

"And maybe just the elfin way of saying, 'Hi, I'm Cass.

 

Fly me.' I ought to tell him that I'm scared of heights." She

toyed with the metal slip some more. "Lionel was there when

I found this in the mail. He said he didn't see anything odd

about it. To him, it looks and feels like one of those cardboard

doodads you're supposed to stick in the YES', pocket if you want

umpty-nine issues of House Meticulous magazine. But you and

 

I can see it as it is."

 

"I am Sighted, you are elven-touched." That explained

 

it all, to Davina. "Will you return the token?"

 

Sandy's smile was crooked. "Give an underage boy a

picture of a naked lady? A naked me? That would be corrupting

a minor, even if he is a gazillion years old. Take my word for

it, you can't be too careful when it comes to the law. Let him

magic up another feelthy peecture, if he insists. He's not get-

 

 

ELF DEFENSE                 61

 

ting this one back, and I am definitely not sticking this one in

his YES! pocket."

 

The Welsh girl looked as if she felt an unexpected chill.

"It doesn't do to play high-handed with the Fair Folk. I'd feel

more at ease if the old forbiddings worked, but this American

breed . . • How can they be controlled?"

 

"Your guess is as good as mine. I can hardly control my

daughter. Speaking of, it's almost dismissal time. Let's pick

up Ellie. And maybe I can snatch a word with Mrs. Taylor too.

Wolfless, if I'm lucky."

 

"I never did have any luck," Sandy muttered as they

neared the school. She gestured at a tall, skinny, pale-haired

figure in the Godwin Academy blazer, out of place among the

mothers waiting by the gate for their little ones.

 

Cass grinned when he saw her, a slow, sensuous smile

that lingered in his eyes. Sandy noticed that he no longer both-

ered to cover up with his gawky teenager act, even when there

were other people besides herself and Davina watching.

 

You're getting cocky, aren't you? she mused. Good.

That's one mistake. Let's use it.

 

In a clear, far-reaching voice. Sandy belled, "Why, Cass

Taylor! Why aren't you in school?"

 

Heads turned. Cass squirmed under the massed inquisi-

torial eyes of Godwin's Comers' Concerned Mothers. These

ladies believed in a place for everything and everything in its

place, especially children. Truancy could lead to juvenile de-

linquency, as was well known by every mother worth her Par-

ents magazine subscription; and juvenile delinquency could lead

to drugs, liquor, sex, wild parties, and mailbox bashing, which

was the horrid prelude to the ultimate degeneracy, a dip in

property values. Suddenly Cass was not so alone with his prey

as he might have wished.

 

Sandy pressed her lips together to keep from smiling as

the elven quickly tossed on his so recently disdained role of

adolescent goof. "Uh—gosh, Mrs. Walters, it's okay. I've got

a note and everything from school. My mom just—she just

stopped by the academy and asked if maybe I could pick up

my brother today. She has to be somewhere, see some-

one. . . ."he fumbled in his pockets. "I've got the note, hon-

est!" He was deliciously graceless, and mortified to the roots

of his hair. When his eyes met hers, they glared.

 

Awwwww. hzums angry? Sandy let her thoughts show

on her face. In her best condescending manner she said,

 

62                Esther M. Priesner

 

"That's quite all right, dear. We'll trust you. My husband

always tells me what a good boy you are." She turned her

back on him. That will teach you to come on strong to me.

 

"Mrs. Walters." Davina's whisper in her ear was ur-

gent. She let the Welsh girl draw her aside. "Mrs. Walters,

you mustn't rile the Fair Folk at your pleasure. They've a ter-

rible temper, every one. It's a woeful thing you'll do if once

 

their favor turns to hate."           '

 

"So they carry grudges? Don't try scaring me with that,

Davina," Sandy shot back. "My mother could teach Remedial

Vendetta to the Mob. She's still toting a whopper she picked

up at a family reunion back in 1968 when she found out Cousin

Harriet went to a wedding in Taos and missed my graduation

from Erasmus High. I don't know what brought Tinkerbell over

there into my life, but I do know I want him out, and if I have

to embarrass him cross-eyed to make him back off, I'll do it."

 

Davina was glum. "To banish the Pair Folk is never that

 

easy."

 

"That was what everyone said about Cousin Harriet and

 

buffet tables, but she hasn't shown up at a catered affair where

she might meet my mom since 1969. Never mind him. Here

 

come the children."

 

The door opened and they streamed down the steps, deaf

 

to Miss Poster's ineffective exhortations of walk-don't-run.

Mothers signaled and called to their young, like a scene out of

a Disney nature film where, with much bellowing and thrashing

of flippers, hundreds of mama seals picked their own pups out

 

of the rookery rummage sale.

 

"Ellie! Ellie, over here!" Sandy was on tiptoe, wigwag-

ging with the best of them. Only Cass and Davina remained

quiet, sifting the crowd of children with eyes alone. "There

 

she is! In the pink sweater! Ellie!"

 

But Ellie wasn't alone. She held Jeffy Taylor by the hand

and ran only halfway down the path to the gate before stop-

ping, whispering something in the boy's ear, and then taking

off with him around the comer of the yellow house.

 

"Ellie! That child . . ." Sandy's fists were on her hips.

"Now we'll have to wait until the bottleneck at the gate clears

up before we can go in and get her." She looked at Cass. "And

 

your brother."

 

"Why?" Cass was suddenly taut. "Won't they come out

 

with the rest? Where did they go?"

 

"Now don't worry ..." His fingers closed tightly on

her wrist. The blue fires in his eyes were burning white. "Let

 

ELF DEFENSE                 63

 

go of me," Sandy said very low. "Let me go or I'll kick you,

and I know that works on elves too." She felt his fingers un-

clench. There were faint marks on her arm. "Come on , follow

us and don't get all upset. They've only gone to the play—"

 

Ellie's terrified scream leaped over the rooftree.

 

"—ground."

 

Miss Foster got there before anyone, which was a won-

der, considering how Cass vaulted the picket fence and seemed

to fly around the comer of the house. Sandy took the more

conventional path, through the gate, followed by Davina and

as many of the other mothers as were unable to dissuade their

children from rubbernecking.

 

Sandy's first reaction was a wholehearted Thank God!

when she saw Ellie kneeling in the dirt, frightened but unin-

jured. This was followed by a more leisurely backwash of guilt

as she realized that there was an injury after all; a pretty spec-

tacular one.

 

Jeffy Taylor lay on his back near the seesaw, blood

streaming from his nose, while Ellie ineffectively tried to mop

it up with her flimsy cotton hankie. The dainty rag was soaked

scarlet and smeared with dirt. The little girl twisted it through

her fingers over and over as she tried to make her friend stop

his shrill, incessant bawling.

 

Cass froze in his tracks. Sandy had never imagined a man

so fair could blanch further, but Cass did. It was as if he'd

gone into a trance of some kind, or perhaps it was just the

normal reaction of an inexperienced person when first con-

fronted by a hurt child. The impulse to run away and let some-

one else take care of things was always a hair stronger than the

urge to help the little one.

 

Miss Poster summed up the situation with a cold and

practiced eye. "Just a bloody nose. I'll get the first-aid kit.

Jeffy, Ellie, you know you're not supposed to go on the

playground equipment without an adult to supervise. You will

both have indoor recess for the rest of the week. Stop crying,

Jeffy. My mind is made up." Jeffy's renewed howls followed

her as she marched off to fetch medical supplies.

 

Sandy did what no one else seemed to think necessary.

She got down in the dirt with the two children and gathered

Jeffy into her arms. There was blood on her shirt and sweater,

more on her own handkerchief when she pressed it to the little

boy's nose, but it only made her cradle him more closely.

"Don't cry, Jeffy. Hush, dear; don't worry, your brother's

here. We'll take you home, won't we, Cass?"

 

64 Esther M. Priesner

 

She looked up. Cass was gone. Davina returned her star-

tled gaze and shrugged, waving at the air as if to say that that

was the route he had taken, witnesses be damned.

 

As soon as Miss Foster provided a coldpack and some

fresh wadding. Sandy explained that she would be seeing Jeffy

home. "His brother ran ahead to open the house for us and see

about finding their mother," she explained glibly.

 

She didn't feel quite so glib when they got to the Taylors'

gate and found Jeffy's mother standing in the front yard, wait-

ing for them. The look on her face was chilling. Sandy had

seen people wear such expressions many times, but always in

newsreel footage of natural disasters. That face belonged on a

woman who'd returned to find her home burned to the foun-

dations, or inundated by a mud slide, or torn to flinders by a

whirlwind.

 

It seemed a bit much for welcoming home a small child

with a bloody nose.

 

"He's all right now," Sandy tried to tell her. The dead-

eyed look remained. "Really. It stopped bleeding halfway

here."

 

"I was only trying to show Ellie something. Mama,"

Jeffy quavered. "I told her about Bantrobel, how she flies when

she spreads her cloak on the winds, and the only way I could

do that was to have EUie hold down one end of the seesaw

while I climbed up to the other end, only her hands slipped,

and the seesaw came down, and I fell, and—" He was blub-

bering again.

 

His mother made no move to take him into her arms.

 

"Will you come into my home, Mrs. Walters," she said.

It wasn't a question, or even an invitation, but a concession to

the inevitable. For form's sake, she added, "Please."

 

Sandy held Ellie and Jefly both by the hand. She felt her

daughter's fingers twine more tightly through hers. Jefly was

still sniveling; his little paw was ice. She gave them each a

warm, reassuring squeeze, and boldly said, "Why, thank you

very much, Mrs. Taylor. But please call me Sandy. And this

is our au pair, Davina Goronwy. I think that you ought to

know that she's Sighted."

 

The strange word had no obvious effect on Amanda Tay-

lor. "I know. Cass said he suspected that much. It won't mat-

ter. Inside, the wards are down." She held the gate open for

them and led the way through the garden.

 

Sandy heard Davina gasp behind her as they ducked be-

neath the lilac arbor. A brindle gray cat bounded into the mid-

 

ELF DEFENSE                 65

 

die of their path before they mounted the steps to the front

door. He was holding a small white drawstring bag in his teeth.

His talent let him address Sandy without dropping the tiny sack.

 

"I did warn you."

 

"When cats listen to humans, I'll listen to cats," Sandy

replied lightly. He flaunted his hindquarters at her contemptu-

ously and inarched back into the underbrush.

 

"I see you've met Cesare," Amanda said.

 

"Oh yes. We had a lovely chat some time since. What's

he got in the sack? Chewing tobacco?"

 

"Poison." Amanda's voice was flat.

 

"Mm?" Sandy's brow lifted. "Lucky you. Hardly any-

one can find a good mouser these days."

 

"Cass is right. You are used to wonders." Amanda

opened the door and stepped aside, motioning Sandy and the

rest in.

 

"Used to them?" Sandy laughed as she led the children

across the threshold. "My dear, I'm—"

 

The rainbow weavings of a thousand invisible hands

wafted from the bare beams of the ceiling. Each breeze that

chanced through the open door changed their living patterns.

Faces smiled and lips moved wordlessly within the embroi-

dered borders, offering untold secrets. Willows set in alabaster

tubs spread their lacy fans of tender leaves. Their drooping

branches trailed through the burbling rill that meandered across

the floor. Everywhere in the half dark was the gleam and flash

of gold, the glow of ivory and the liquid fire of opal. Radiant

waterlilies opened at every footstep that the visitor took, cup-

ping human feet with a soft, perfumed welcome.

 

Sandy's shoes and socks vanished. She felt the cool ca-

ress of the flowers against her bare skin. Her clothing too was

gone, transformed from the pragmatic textures of suburban chic

to a loose-floating robe of butterfly silk. At her side, Ellie too

now wore a smaller version of her mother's splendid attire. A

glance behind her revealed Davina in a more voluminous in-

terpretation of the same. Their heads were wreathed with infant

roses. Mrs. Taylor, sliding an iron bar across the front door,

turned to show the winged silver coronet on her hair.

 

Jefly, in fiery silken tunic, ran across the flowering floor to

throw himself into his elder brother's arms. Cass sat on a chair

that was an arabesque of pearl-strewn silver, a shape of metal

that looked as if it had been grown, not formed by any hands.

 

"Welcome to our home, Mrs. Walters," he said, his

blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Can I get you a Pepsi?"

 

66                Esther M. Priesner

 

An arm, wrapped all in white samite, thrust itself up out

of the stream, a bottle in its hand. Cass accepted it, then stud-

ied the label.

 

"No caffeine."

 

Chapter Seven:

 

Pamify Matters

 

After Amanda put the wards back up, they had tea.

Sandy kept shifting her weight nervously from thigh

to thigh throughout the steeping, the pouring, and the highly

Victorian cream-and-sugaring ceremonies of her hostess. It was

hard to believe that the prosaic flowered blue Hide-a-Bed sofa

on which she and Davina now sat was in reality a griffon-

shaped settee carved from an impossibly huge chunk of amber,

its cushions stuffed with jasmine. Though she sniffed and

sniffed, she could not catch more than a hint of the crushed

petals' perfume. She thought she sensed the faint crackle of

static electricity when she rubbed her legs against the sofa, but

that might have been imagination at work.

 

Davina was not so hampered by the limitations of ordi-

nary senses. The Sighted giri rested one hand in midair, at just

the height where the sofa-beast's point-eared head would be.

When she balanced her teacup there. Sandy had to look away.

Obviously physics was what you made of it.

 

"We haven't much time," Amanda said, passing around

a plate of cookies. "Still, there must be a little grace. However

fast his messengers reach him with the news, it will take him

a while to decide on how he'll come for us."

 

"I'm sorry?" Sandy was suddenly aware that Amanda

had been speaking to her for some time. Her mind had been

elsewhere, still trying to pierce the mundane disguises of the

warded room without benefit of magic. Was that the sound of

trickling water she heard, or just the boiler in the basement?

Did the Cape Cod curtains at the window hide a wise-eyed

face? Ellie and Jeffy had run off to his room to play. He'd

asked her if she wanted to play with his dragon's egg. Children

 

ELF DEFENSE                 67

 

always did accept marvels with more nonchalance than adults,

Sandy reasoned. No one bothered to tell them there weren't

dragons until much later.

 

Dragons . . . Sandy shruddered. She could still see Li-

onel holding that strange, ensorcelled sword in the middle of

Fifth Avenue. It wasn't as if she herself hadn't experienced

more than her share of dark enchantments.

 

But in Godwin's Comers, for God's sake?

 

". . . in Godwin's Comers that he first found me,"

Amanda Taylor was saying.

 

"Who did?"

 

"Kelerison." The woman raised her large, hazel eyes.

"The King of Elfhame."

 

"Oh." Sandy knocked back a fast slug of tea. "Right.

That Kelerison, the King of Elfhame; who else?"

 

"Elfhame Ultramar," Cass corrected. "Don't give my

father more honors than he's due. He'll see to that for him-

self," he concluded bitterly.

 

"Of course it wasn't called Godwin's Comers then,"

Amanda went on. She put down her teacup and picked up a

paperback book from the coffee table. Sandy squinted, trying

to remember what really stood in that spot. A harp that played

itself? A pot of gold? A caldron full of blood? More caffeine-

free Pepsi?

 

The paperback was one of those Domino Romances. Sandy

thought that Amanda had picked an odd time to catch up on her

reading. The young woman was riming through the pages of Love

Bade Me Follow while she spoke. It was all very distracting.

 

"... a few farms, and not very good ones. The soil's

too rocky. My mother died birthing my youngest brother soon

after we came here from Sussex. I was barely sixteen, and

looking after the house and the babies and helping Da with the

cows ai.d our vegetable patch besides ..."

 

The fluttering of pages of the book fuzzed into a blur.

Sandy's eyelids drooped, sprang wide, lowered again. She did

hear the sound of running water. She felt its cool kiss between

her toes, and smelled the fresh green of watercress, the clean,

hot scent of ripening corn. She pulled her calico skirt higher,

kilting it up over her knees to keep it out of the brook, and

waded in. The water rushed midway up her calves. Her straw

bonnet, once her mother's, kept the sun from bringing out her

freckles; highly unfashionable, and a trial to a girl who had

once dreamed of having the milk-white skin of all the court

beauties back in England.

 

68 Esther M. Priesner

 

Her sister Sarah could be trusted to mind the little ones

for a while longer. Sarah was twelve; it was time she learned

more responsibility. Amanda had claimed that she was only

going out to investigate the honey tree young Edward said he'd

found. Her little brother was bold, for six, but not bold enough

to brave a swarm of angry bees. Amanda promised she would

come home with the honeycomb, if his explorations proved

right.                                    -

 

Now here she lingered, by the brookside, a slab of hon-

eycomb resting in her basket. She'd only been stung twice, to

her pride. She would have to go back to smoke the bees out to

get the rest—sweet golden liquid for her baking, wax to be

made into candles later on. One task led to another. She felt

she'd earned a little respite from the house. Between chore and

chore, she stole the time to dream.

 

Then there was a shadow on the water near her feet. It

fell over the rippling current in a cloud of gold, not darkness,

and she felt it as if it were a palpable thing when the edge of

it brushed her bare leg.

 

Her eyes were fear-wide when they startled up to see

him. He was clothed in the court fashion—or as Amanda re-

called it from tumbled memories of England. White lace spilled

from his throat and sleeves, silver braiding edged his waistcoat

and the stiff cuffs of his creamy coat. Though he held a tricome

loosely between his long, white, beringed fingers, the hair he

set it on was not the powdered wig she might have expected.

It was loose gold, and the sight of it alone made her yeam to

touch it and see whether anything on earth so lovely could

possibly be real.

 

She took the hand he silently outstretched to her. His

beauty had the power to banish fear. Her naked feet stepped

from the brook onto a silken carpet of woven dawn that sud-

denly overspread the grass. She could still hear the distant

sounds of the farm—the cows lowing as milking time came on,

the gabble of poultry in the yard, her father's hunting dog bark-

ing as the younger children romped and teased him. But then

she heard nothing more but words sweeter than any music,

words of wonder, words of promise, words that laid the im-

possible at her feet as easily as the carpet into which her bare

toes now dug deep.

 

The carpet separated into the petals of a briar rose. They

closed over the heads of girl and elfin. Light poured over the

closed flower, and it melted from the sight of the sun, seeping

 

ELF DEFENSE                 69

 

into the ground. Only Amanda's basket remained, a curious

wasp now treading over the abandoned honeycomb.

 

"... and because I'd never seen the like of him, I be-

lieved him. He was always gentle, never fearsome—though in

those first days together I did see many things that would have

terrified me senseless if he hadn't been with me. It was only

later that I learned he'd made a secret of the most fearsome

 

thing of all."

 

Sandy's head was spinning. The book was back on the

table, the vision was gone, but her fingers still tingled with the

touch of inhumanly soft hair. She brought them to her lips,

where a kiss taken from another woman's memory was bum-

ing.

 

"Time," said Cass. "I don't know why you make that

my father's chiefest sin against you. Not when he had so many

other faults more deserving of attention." He looked at Sandy

meaningly. ' 'Isn't that one of your dearest fantasies too. Sandy?

To cheat time?"

 

"And be cheated in turn?" Amanda snapped before

Sandy could object to Cass's uninvited use of her first name.

"To go home, after what you think is only a few days' passing;

 

to go back, because you don't want your family to worry about

you, because you're so happy you can't bear to think of them

being upset, and to find"—her voice caught—"to find that years

have gone and they're all dead."

 

"He comforted her, of course." Cass took more tea.

"My father's always been very big on making you see the good

side of a bad situation. After all, time in Elfhame's always

been different. Doesn't everyone know that? And Amanda

wasn't alone. She still had him." He drained the cup. "He

was all she had. A fine way to guarantee your lover's faithful-

ness, when you're her sole link to the changing world."

"Well, that son-of-a-bitch!" Sandy snorted.

"That son-of-a-bitch," Cass said, "is on his way here."

"Which is why we must be gone," Amanda said.

"No." The hardened way Cass uttered that simple word

and Amanda's exasperated look told Sandy that this was not

the first time they'd debated departure. "My mind is made up.

We're staying."

 

Amanda turned to Sandy. "Can you make him see rea-

son?"

 

"Who, me? I don't even know what's going on."

"Sandy ... do you know that Cass loves you?"

 

Esther M. Friesner

 

70

 

Sandy gave the brooding elf a droll smile. "I've had an

inkling."

 

"Then for God's sake, use your influence on him. Tel!

him we've got to leave now, before Kelerison gets here, while

there's time!"

 

"I said no!" Cass's fist struck the arm of his chair, trans-

forming it and him to shapes of silver. He was the storm wight

springing from the lightning-blasted tree, the night terror given

human form, the rage of an ancient world's first children against

the insolent encroachments of men. Five star sapphires were

beacons on his brow, girdled with a strand of silver, and his

tunic was lifted from the foam of the sea.

 

Then he calmed, and the illusion of ordinary humanity

came flowing back over him. "No," he repeated. "We're done

running away, Amanda. This time I'll wait for my father, and

I'll fight. If I can't defend you and the boy, how can I expect

Sandy to believe me strong and worthy enough to stand true to

her?"

 

"Just a minute here—" Sandy was about to object to

Cass's multiple assumptions, but something caught in her mind

as stubbornly as a fishbone in the throat. Suddenly it didn't

seem so important to tell Cass what he could do with his tender

passion. That would keep. This would not. "Amanda . . . why

must you run away?"

 

"He'll take me back if I don't." Amanda's fingers in-

terlaced around her teacup. "By force, if I won't come will-

ingly, though he'll try persuasion first."

 

"My father fancies himself a great convincer." Cass's

lips twisted in mockery. "Especially of women."

 

"I don't know what he'll do with Jeffy."

 

"Jeffy's not . . .?"

 

"The child is mortal," Davina said softly. "Full mortal,

as I can read him. You've been deeper elven-touched than he,

though his mother still consorts with lesser beings of the Fair

Folk. Is that not so, Mrs. Taylor?"

 

Amanda nodded. "I was the first of Kelerison's mortal

lovers to leave him before he tired of me. I met—I met a man

of my own kind one summer when Kelerison was busy else-

where in his realm. We fell in love. He didn't think I was crazy

when I told him who and what I was, where I'd come from.

We ran away together, he and I ... and Cass."

 

The tomcat leaped from the darkness under the coffee

table up into Sandy's lap, making her drop her cup and saucer.

"And me," he said, with a splendid flourish of his banded tail.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 71

 

"/ was the one who tracked them down, afterward, and warned

them. You'd think she'd remember that."

 

Amanda poured Cesare some cream in a saucer, which

he deigned to accept on the cushion between Sandy and Da-

vina. Sandy scratched the cat's neck as she asked, "What did

he have to warn you about?"

 

"What do you think?" Cass spat. "My father doesn't

like to lose what he considers to be his property. Oh, if he

finishes with it himself first, then it's fine if he tosses it aside.

But his pride gives him a damned tight grasp, and he doesn't

look kindly on thieves."

 

Her voice barely rising above a murmur, Amanda re-

counted to Sandy how she had lost her mortal love. Throughout

the narrative—told briefly, yet with deep pain—Sandy's eyes

grew harder and harder behind her glasses, while two pairs of

lines cut deep at the comers of her mouth and the inner edges

of her eyebrows.

 

"His minions track like other hounds, by scent,"

Amanda said. "Blood lays the strongest trail of all, when it

touches the earth or the water. That was why I kept such a

close watch ofJeffy; for nothing, as it turned out. He's a child,

and children will collect a hundred different scrapes and cuts,

unless they're kept in a padded prison. I thought he deserved

as much of a normal childhood as any other little boy. He was

always so careful before this! But when he hurt himself like

that today ..."

 

"Like any other normal litle boy," Davina soothed.

 

"That was my mistake, thinking he and I could ever have

a normal life." Amanda stood up. "I can't risk losing any

more time. Cass, if you insist on staying here to face your

father, farewell." She held his face between her hands and then

kissed him tenderly on one cheek. "You've done more than

enough for Jeffy and me. We must go on alone."

 

She started from the room, but a hard grasp on her wrist

stopped her short. "Cass, please ..."

 

"Cass nothing!" Sandy pulled Amanda back and made

her sit down in her chair again. Waving a finger in the woman's

face, she lectured, "Now you listen to me. You're not going

anywhere. Not if it means you're running away. Do that, and

you're admitting that you're this Kelewhozis's property. You're

no one's property, got that? While you were being dragged all

over Fairyland for a couple of hundred years, we got a consti-

tution, Lincoln freed the slaves, women got the vote, and Glo-

ria Steinem said it was okay to get old. I think. If you keep

 

72 Esther M. Priesner

 

your figure. Anyway, this is the twentieth century, by God! A

woman's got some rights. It's all a matter of defending them."

 

"Didn't I say she had a fighter's heart?" Cass was on

his feet and in full elfin battle regalia. The effect was dazzling,

for besides his gemmed circlet he now wore a starry corselet,

greaves, and a skirt of lasses. He brandished a dragon-tongue

sword of smoky-gray steel and a willow-leaf shield. "You have

nothing to fear now, Amanda! With Sandy by my side, I will

defend you to the death!" He slipped his small shield high up

his arm and tried to embrace his chosen lady.

 

"Oh, put that down before you stick yourself!" Sandy

smacked his shield arm down and gave his sword hand a shove

for good measure. Sword and shield winked away. "I'll do the

defending here, and not to anyone's death. Unless you get

scabbard-happy again." She scowled at Cass.

 

"No, 'm." Cass's armor dulled and vanished. He dwin-

dled back into his seat and had more tea with much too much

sugar.

 

"Mrs. Walters, how can you defend the lady?" Davina

asked anxiously. "It's the Pair Folk, the King of Elfhame

you'll be facing!"

 

"Elfhame Ultramar," Cass mumbled into his cup.

 

"How can you stand against magic?" the Welsh girl

cried.

 

Sandy smiled. "You forget," she said. "I'm a lawyer."

 

"Law against the powers of Faery!"

 

"Why not? It worked for Daniel Webster against the

powers of hell."

 

The doorbell rang. Before anyone could react. Sandy

blithely took it upon herself to answer it.

 

The family resemblance was astounding. If she wouldn't

have known him from Amanda's vision, his face and form were

similar enough to Cass's for there to be no mistake. They even

shared the same overweening, superior smirk.

 

"The King of Elfhame, I presume?" Sandy tendered her

hand.

 

"Kelerison, Lord King of Elfhame Ultramar," he re-

plied, ignoring it.

 

"Sandra Horowitz, Crown Princess of Alimony till It

Hurts," she snapped back, and slammed the door in his face.

 

Chapter Eight:

 

A Woman Has Rights, and

Occasionally a Sharp Left

 

Sandy slumped against the door. "Good Lord, what did

I just do?" she asked, eyes rolling.

 

"Do? You were wonderful! Magnificent!" Cass skidded

onto bended knee before her, in the style of many a boondocks

Little Theater Romeo. Sandy didn't care for the way he stared

at her balcony from that angle, but her pulse was still running

too fast for her to chide him.

 

"Cass is right. Sandy." Amanda's meek voice was full

of unspoken admiration. "You stood up to him. I—I didn't

think anyone unprotected could do that and live."

 

"But she is protected, Amanda!" Cass was on his feet.

His hand darted for Sandy's chest. She smacked him.

 

"Young man—"

 

"The stone, my lady. Show her the stone you wear."

Sandy's frown made him add, "If you please."

 

She wore Rimmon's token next to her skin, under the rough

cloth of her shirt, though silk itself would have felt rough in com-

parison to the bloodstone's touch. She pulled it out of her collar

by its chain and let Amanda come close enough to study the glow-

ing heart of it, the intricately carved flowers of its milky setting.

 

Amanda was awed. "How did you get this?"

 

Sandy shrugged. She didn't want to speak of Rimmon

now, not with Cass's eyes so heavy on her. Rimmon is dead,

she told herself firmly. Dead and done with, as he was before

you. loved his ghost. Free of you, as you must get free of his

memory. For Lionel's sake. She felt a pang of guilt when she

thought of her husband.

 

Amanda did not press the question. She touched the stone

with the ball of one finger. "Elfin, but not made by any of the

tribes I knew. It doesn't even belong to the old-worid gathers.

Kelerison showed me examples of their work, and this is not—"

 

"Speaking of Kelerison, he's still prettying up your

doorstep. What are we going to do about him?" Sandy jerked

her thumb at the door. "Wait until he goes away?"

73

 

74 Esther M. Friesner

 

Cass chuckled. "You don't have that much time. My

father is persistent. Also immortal."

 

"Not really. Is he? No one lives forever!"

 

"My lady, you've never heard how old some of his jokes

are. Unless he meets a violent death, he will not die."

 

"You mean he's going to hang around out there for-

ever?"

 

"Until he gets what he came for." ,

 

Sandy gave Cass a speculative look. The elven seemed

to be getting a good measure of jollies from the whole situa-

tion. His every word and mannerism was brimming with an

obnoxious air of passing amusement at the ways of mortals.

She wondered what had possessed him to throw in his lot with

Amanda if he looked down on humans so much.

 

All right, baby, I won't spoil the show. If you want some-

thing to tickle you, I'll provide. She opened the front door

again.

 

Kelerison was leaning on the jamb. She'd seen wolves

with smaller grins and duller teeth. The King of Elfhame Ul-

tramar wore a charcoal-gray pinstripe suit, a pink shirt with

matching handkerchief protruding from the suit's breast pocket,

and what looked like a genuine gold collar stay. His socks had

the sheen of silk, and his shoes were Italian leather.

 

There was a pink flamingo, a palm tree, and a hula giri

hand-painted on his tie.

 

"You really are from another world, aren't you?" said

Sandy.

 

"Well? Aren't you going to ask me in?" Kelerison's

voice had the low, hypnotic rumble of surf in a coral cavern.

Try as she would. Sandy could not assign a mortal color value

to his ever-changing eyes.

 

"It's not my home," she replied, forcing herself to re-

member that behind all this beauty was one mean soul. She

silently thanked Rimmon's spirit for his gift of the bloodstone.

If it carried some measure of magical protection, she was glad

of it now that she faced Kelerison. "It's not up to me to invite

you."

 

"But it is your place to insult me, then slam the door on

me." His eyes were cool, his smile momentary.

 

"Sorry. We were expecting the Roto-Rooter man. You

can imagine our disappointment. My apologies."

 

"You can make them better if you'll have me inside and

offer me a cup of ... Is that Darjeeling I smell?" His finely

 

ELF DEFENSE                 75

 

drawn nostrils twitched. Sandy wondered whether the fra-

grance of tea was the only message he sifted from the air.

 

Her arm went up, barring the doorway. "You'll have to

take my apologies right where you are. I don't think it's in my

client's best interests to see you now."

 

"Your client?" This time the amusement was more pro-

nounced. Kelerison's thin, mobile mouth was about to explode

with laughter.

 

"Amanda Taylor."

 

"Ah! Amanda . . . For a moment I believed that my son

had finally had the good sense to hire someone else to fight his

battles. The Powers know, he never had the wherewithal to

fight them himself. You haven't the look of a swordswoman.

Still, there have been sports. Can you hold steel?"

 

Sandy felt hard hands on her shoulders dragging her back

from the door. "I can hold my own blade!" Cass shouted.

 

Now Kelerison did laugh. "That's a fine greeting for

your father after all these years, Cassiodoron. However, if

there's truth in it, I'm glad. Step outside, boy, into the garden

that Amanda has cultivated so well with the help of my sub-

jects. Take off that gewgaw"—he indicated the twisted symbol

at Cass's throat—"and summon any weapon you like. Let's

prove the truth of your claims."

 

Sandy's eyes went from father to son, son to father. She

could feel the air between them tighten to a metallic scream,

like the links of a wringing chain. There was a barrier between

them, hot and thick with many old insults, grudges, scomings.

It pushed them apart and tugged them nearer at the same time.

 

Then she looked down and noted that father and son both

took great care that their feet remained on opposite sides of the

threshold stone. Even Kelerison's hand, resting so jauntily on

the doorjamb, kept scupulously to his own side of the invisible

dividing line.

 

". . .or shall I come in after you?"

 

All the tension of confrontation fell away as Sandy

shoved Cass back into the house. "You're not coming in here

for anyone, and you know it." She stood staunchly in the door-

way, arms akimbo. "Not without an invitation. Was I sup-

posed to say something like, 'Enter freely and of your own

will,' or is that for vampires?"

 

Kelerison laid his right hand to his breast in an elegant

salute. "No swordswoman, I see, but able to split hairs neatly

without a blade. A fighter with hard words and sharp insights.

My compliments, Amanda!" he called into the darker reaches

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Esther M. Priesner

 

of the house. "You haven't entirely misspent our time apart."

To Sandy he resumed, "And what is your calling, my lady

Sandra Horowitz? A priestess? An herbwife? A wise woman?

A bard, perhaps, in these degenerate climes?"

 

"I'm a lawyer," Sandy said.

 

Kelerison blanched.

 

"Law ..." The word shook on the air. "A woman of

law! Why not a mooncalf, too, and a cockatrice hatched from

the same shell! What can a woman know of any law but

whim?"

 

"I don't think I like your attitude. I know I don't like

the way you've been treating my client. I can't do anything

about the first, but I'm willing to make cultural allowances

About the second . . . I'm hereby serving you formal notice

that Ms. Amanda Taylor, hereinafter to be called the plaintiff,

is entering a request for the formal termination of any and al5

bonds, unions, and associations, civil, religious, and/or com-

mon law, heretofor contracted with you, Kelerison, hereinafter

to be called the defendant, otherwise known as King of

Elfhame. Ultramar!'' She tacked it on before Cass could prompt

her.

 

Kelerison heard her out, his exquisitely arched brows

coming together and remaining so until she had finished. Then

very gradually his forehead smoothed. A charming smile played

over his lips.

 

"Is it any wonder we are so taken with you mortal

women? Spice! Pepper on the tongue, honey under it. You

please me, Sandra Horowitz. And I see that one of my kind

was once able to please you." His eyes danced lasciviously

over her bloodstone token.

 

Sandy clapped a hand over it, feeling unaccountably na-

ked. "My pleasure is none of your business!"

 

"Ah, but my pleasure is yours. And it pleases me to let

you play your little game, for the time being. Chatter on. In

the end, I will have my way. I will have Amanda back, and

her brat, and you, if that's what I've a mind to."

 

"You'll have nothing!"

 

An icy wind rushed through Sandy's clothes. Kelerison

whirled, and Sandy leaned out of the doorway to see Cass,

once more armed and armoured, standing before the lilac ar-

bor. "Come on!" he cried. "Come and fight me now, before

you do any harm to these innocent folk."

 

The King of Elfhame Ultramar chuckled and rubbed his

chin. "Why, Cass, I could almost think you meant it."

 

ELF DEFENSE                 77

 

For answer, Cass craned his neck so that his father might

see that he no longer wore the protective symbol or its chain.

 

Sandy felt a furry shape nudge her ankles. "Idiot," Ce-

sare grumbled. "Hothead. Contadino ignorante. Jerk." The

tomcat looked up at Sandy. "Well? Are you going to stop him

before or after his father makes him into meatballs?"

 

From the garden, Cass was shouting, "I'm ready for you,

Father! I won't run away again! For the breaking of Amanda's

bond, for the blood of my mother Bantrobel, for the crown of

Elfhame Ultramar, I challenge you!"

 

"Oh dear," sighed Kelerison, apparently much dis-

tressed. "And here I left my sword in my Sunday pants. Now

what did I pack in this suit?" He made a great business of

patting down his pockets until he slipped a hand inside the

jacket. A mottled sphere of green and gold—a cat's eye marble

an inch in diameter—twinkled beneath his fingers. "Ah! Not a

sword, but it will have to serve." He flicked it into the garden.

 

The marble described a high, narrow arc in the sun, and

dribbled to a halt at Cass's feet. It lay still a moment, then

began to turn faster and faster, filaments of gold whirling out

from it, a spiral galaxy in small. The threads of gold steamed

up, caught one to the next, twined, wove themselves into a

gyrating pillar tinged with green.

 

"Boo," said Kelerison, and the green and golden light

flattened down into a cranky dragonet the size of a Labrador

retriever. The reptile spat fire with no great accuracy and let

loose a croaking roar that broke on the bass note.

 

It wasn't very impressive, as dragons went. Sandy had

seen better—or worse—in her time. She was about to ask Kel-

erison whether that was the best he could do when she saw that

the King of Elfhame Ultramar had done well enough to suit his

purposes.

 

Cass was on his knees, sword tossed aside, cowering

behind his flimsy shield. She could hear the sound of dry sobs

and see his whole body shaking uncontrollably.

 

"But it's a lousy dragon!" she protested.

 

"A pitiful specimen," Kelerison agreed. He spared a

scornful glance at his son. "I seem to collect pitiful speci-

mens."

 

"Cass!" Amanda was at Sandy's back, trying to get the

elfin prince to look up. "Cass, it's only a little one! It's more

afraid of you than you are of—" She tried to push past Sandy.

Kelerison smiled.

 

"Back!" Sandy dug in her heels and fended off Amanda.

 

78 Esther M. Friesner

 

"Can't you see that's what he wants to happen? For you to go

out of the house so he can grab you?"

 

"Alas." The King of Elfhame Ultramar shrugged his

perfectly tailored shoulders. "Discovered."

 

Sandy ignored him. "You stay right in there," she told

Amanda, and yanked an umbrella from the porcelain stand be-

side the door. Kelerison made no attempt to impede her as she

flounced past him, down the steps.

 

The dragonet had lost interest in Cass and was rooting

up the tulip beds when Sandy whacked him in the sheave hole

with the umbrella handle. The beast hissed steam and took off

for the high country.

 

"There, that's taken—"

 

Sandy didn't even have time to dust off her hands when

the screech of brakes from the street and a meaty thud made

her flinch. A car door opened and slammed, and the voice of

a harassed motorist came wafting over the hedge: "What the

hell did I hit? A fucking porcupine?"

 

"You see, dear lady"—Kelerison's mellifluous voice

oozed condescension—"it is unwise to defy me. That was but

a sample of what I can do."

 

"Some sample. Your pet dragon gets taken out by the

first car up the block. My client and I are not exactly trembling

in our boots."

 

"But my son is. I have never cared for grand displays of

power, though my lady Bentrobel has always been at odds with

me there. I find them wasteful. Magic, like much else, should

be conserved against true need. I prefer to use just enough

power to get the job done. In this case, my goal is to recover

strayed property. There's no need for me to do anything spec-

tacular . . . yet."

 

"Property!" Sandy leveled the umbrella at Kelerison's

nose. "Amanda Taylor is not your property!" She flung the

bumbershoot down and linked her arm under Cass's, hoisting

him up. The prince was still shaking badly when she dragged

him past his father and shoved him back into the shelter of

Amanda's house. From the threshold she thundered, "You may

be the King of Elfhame Ultramar, but you're in Connecticut

now, brother, and this is America!"

 

Kelerison twiddled his forefinger and Sandy's clothing

was transformed into a Las Vegas overkill-couture version of

the Statue of Liberty, complete with red-white-and-blue-span-

gled pasties and a torch full of sparklers. Sandy's mouth opened

and closed indignantly several times before she kicked the door

 

ELF DEFENSE                 79

 

viciously to shut out the sound of the King of Elfhame Ultra-

roar having the best laugh he'd enjoyed in centuries.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine:

 

Grounds for Dhorc c

 

^WMiere, there," Davina said gently, passing Cass a

* cup of tea liberally dosed with brandy. She and

Amanda had been trying to cajole him into good humor for a

quarter of an hour. The elfin prince sat between them on the

sofa and refused comfort. "Anyone might've reacted so on

seeing a true dragon in broad daylight."

 

"No, no, not when it was such a puny thing." Cass

shook his head miserably. "There were always at least three

or four that size mucking about under my mother's throne;

 

common household pests. Her youngest flower maidens would

shoo them out before high court began, and nip their tails when

they didn't run away fast enough. A mortal was able to dis-

patch it!" His hand swept toward Sandy, who was ensconced

in an armchair, huddling under a sheet thoughtfully fetched by

Amanda. Though Kelerison had cleared off the property, his

departure had not restored her original clothing.

 

"Actually I think it was a Mercedes," Sandy said, "That

sounded like Fred Morris's voice, and if the dragon dented his

bumper enroute to its eternal rest, he's going to be pissed."

Her mouth twitched. "What I wouldn't give to be there when

he tries explaining it to his insurance company."

 

"It's no use." Cass's head drooped. "My father's right.

I'm a coward. I've always been one, and I'll be one until the

end of time."

 

"You're not." Amanda stroked Cass's silver-gilt hair,

"I won't let you say that. Who made it possible for Jeff and

me to escape Kelerison? You risked everything for us. A cow-

ard wouldn't do that. A coward cares only for himself. All the

happiness I ever knew with Jeff was thanks to you."

 

Cass looked away.

 

Sandy plucked burnt-out spariders from her hair one by one.

 

 

 

 

80 Esther M. Friesner

 

"Cass, right now I don't care whether your father thinks you're

the Queen of the May. We need your assessment of him more than

his of you, and you're not going to give us accurate information if

you're all curled up into a tight little ball of self-pity. So you fell

to pieces over a midget Godzilla. Big deal! You should see me

when I unearth a nest of worms in the garden. And God forbid

anyone should see Lionel come face-to-face with a cockroach. Ev-

eryone's got his little squeamish point. Yours is dragons."

 

Davina rested her hand on his shoulder. "I still sleep

with a wee light shining, against the bogles."

 

"What you've got is"— Sandy searched the air for the

proper term—"Dracophobia gravis. Nothing therapy won't

cure if you want to get rid of it. But in the meantime, don't let

simple fear of dragons cripple your life."

 

There was a new hope in the elfin prince's face. "You

mean . . .I'm not a coward after all?"

 

"Rest easy. You're just a neurotic like the rest of us."

 

"Praise the Powers!" He took the cup Davina offered

and drank it off.

 

"Now, let's see where we stand." Sandy clasped the

bloodstone as if for luck or inspiration, and not for the last

time. "You've been saying that I'm 'protected' by this. Pro-

tected how? From what?"

 

"The same way that Cass and I—and Jeffy too—are pro-

tected by these." Amanda opened one button of her blouse to

show Sandy the symbol she wore. A quick glance in Cass's

direction showed that his was back around his neck. "It's a

rune of ancient power to ward off the lesser mischiefs of the

elvenkind and their kindred."

 

Davina leaned toward Cass for a closer look at his. Sandy

caught herself wondering whether the Welsh girl didn't linger

a bit longer than need be to study the silver tangle the elf-prince

wore. "Ah, I think I've seen like marks on age-old stones near

Caer Mab. Holy stones, we sometimes called them."

 

"Lesser mischiefs." Sandy frowned. "That doesn't

sound like much protection."

 

"It covers every eventuality short of outright combat,"

Cass snapped. "Combat, and all the formalities it entails, isn't

something my folk enter into lightly. We can do more harm

than you'd care to imagine with our lesser mischiefs."

 

"You needn't sound so damned proud of it," Sandy re-

torted. "How about abduction? Does that come under the head-

ing of lesser mischiefs? Can Kelerison just up and grab you,

Amanda?"

 

ELF DEFENSE                 81

 

"Not while I am in my own home, unless he's invited

to cross the threshold."

 

"Aha! So I was right."

 

"And not if he ever wants to carry me over the border

into the Elfhame Ultramar again."

 

"Which is exactly what he wants," Cass growled. "It

won't be a triumph for Father until he can show his court the

willing captive recaptured. Unless she gives her consent, by

word or sign, she'd be worth no more to him than a change-

ling."

 

"The Pair Folk are famous for tricking mortals into con-

sent," Davina put in. She averted her eyes from Cass's cool

gaze and added, "Often a kiss was the sign."

 

"But he could whisk you off to somewhere like—oh—

Poughkeepsie, for example?" Sandy asked.

 

"Poughkeepsie?" Amanda had to laugh. "What would

possess Kelerison to journey there?"

 

"Maybe he'd got a Vassar giri on the side. Maybe he's

visiting relatives. Maybe he wants to buy an IBM computer so

the Tooth Fairy can run a spreadsheet, how should I know? It

was just an example. My point is, if he can snatch you away

by magic, he might pick some desolate spot as journey's end

and use it to break your spirit, threaten to leave you there

unless you agree to return to Elfhame Ultramar with him."

Amanda was still smiling at the idea until Sandy added, "Or

he might take your son."

 

Amanda's hand flew to her mouth. Cass put his arm

around her protectively. "It's all right, Amanda," he reassured

5   her. To Sandy he said, "You're right. Nothing could prevent

my father from taking the boy; nothing in the realm of magic.

He could even transport the child to Elfhame Ultramar, if he

so chose. The symbol will not save Jeffy from that. He is young

enough to be brought into the elfin halls without his agree-

ment."

'i.         "Why does his age matter?"

 

"Have you heard of changelings? Mortal children spir-

ited away and replaced by one of our own?"

 

"Good Lord, yes," Sandy said. "But I never believed

it."

 

"And I never saw the sense of it," Davina added. "Why

should the Fair Folk want to trade their own children for human

ones?"

 

"The elvenkind seldom indulge the custom," Cass ex-

plained. "But we are only one of the Five Peoples of the Air.

 

82                Esther M. Friesner

 

Water sprites and the Winged Ones too prefer to raise their

own babies, but the People of the .Darkness—goblins, brown-

ies, trolls, karkers, and that crowd—make the exchange often;

 

for a good reason. Have you ever tried to housebreak a kar-

ker?"

 

"The pleasure's been denied me. Water sprites. Winged

Ones, People of the Darkness, elves . . . That's four. You

mentioned the Five Peoples of the Air, Cass."

 

The elfin prince was grim. "The People of Blood make

five. I wish they did not."

 

"How old does a child have to be before he's safe?"

 

"When they reach puberty, the Fair Folk can't touch

them," Amanda said.

 

"I don't like this." Cass frowned in concentration. "If

Kelerison can steal your son—or my daughter, because I'm

helping you—he's got too big a trump card in his hand."

 

Cass came near and took Sandy's hands in his own. "He

will never dare. If he does, he knows that I will kill him."

 

Sandy did not like the way Cass's eyes glowed when he

said that. She tried to withdraw her hands, but he wasn't letting

go. Like father, like son. The tag kept running through her

head. Her voice was hoarse when she said, "I'd better get

home and start work on the case. I'll have to do some research.

I—I'd appreciate it if you could lend me something to wear,

Amanda."

 

"Of course." Amanda brought her a raincoat while Dav-

ina went to get Ellie out of Jeffy's room. As Sandy slipped it

on, Amanda said, "Thank you. Sandy. What you're doing for

Jeffy and me—"

 

"Nothing's done. " To herself, she thought. Why is this

woman thanking me? What in heaven's name good can I do

her, really? Mortal law against a creature of magic? We're

tilting at dreams. She made herself smile. "I mean, nothing's

done yet. But it won't take long. You're a free woman, and

we're going to make Kelerison know it."

 

Davina brought a very sulky Ellie back into the room.

"Jeffy fibbed. Wasn't any dragon egg in his room, just an old

turkey egg, and that was hollow."

 

Cass gave the child his hand. "I'll tell you a story about

a dragon on the way home. Will that make you happy?"

 

Ellie gave him a penetrating stare. "Tell it first."

 

"Wait a minute, we don't need you to walk us—"

 

Cass cut off Sandy's protest. "I would feel better if I

saw you safely home, and I'm sure my ... mother agrees."

 

ELF DEFENSE                 83

 

Amanda squeezed Sandy's arm. "He's right. Let him

take you home. You don't know Kelerison."

 

"What I know, I don't like. If you insist. . ." Sandy

thought she caught the flicker of a sly smile on Cass's lips, but

when she looked him full in the face, he was all sobriety. As

the four of them walked down the streets of Godwin's Corners,

he told Ellie the promised dragon story and seemed to be com-

pletely indifferent to both Sandy and Davina.

 

Then they were home.

 

So was Lionel. "Cass Taylor, I hope you're here with

an excuse for missing class." Lionel flung open the front door

while Sandy was still jiggling the key in the lock. His reading

glasses had slid down his nose and his dark hair was as rumpled

as his shirt. Sandy read all the earmarks of a rough day in the

trenches of Academe.

 

"Yes, sir. Oh, yes, sir, I do. I mean, I am." Cass was

seventeen again, and perhaps a shade younger. You could al-

most hear his knees knocking together as he confronted an an-

gry teacher. Now that Sandy thought of it, she couldn't recall

any boy of Cass's supposed years who acted half so skittish,

awkward, and desperate to please adults.

 

He's so blaringly harmless. It's not natural. But it's

damned good protective coloration. It caters to every adult's

dearest fantasies about how they wish their teenagers would

behave, so they don't question a good thing too closely. Nice

move, Cass.

 

"Cass's little brother had an accident at school and his

mother couldn't come for him," Sandy explained smoothly.

 

Lionel readjusted his spectacles. "What are you doing in

that raincoat?"

 

"Avoiding arrest." Sandy dropped the coat. Ellie

shrieked with delight at Mommy's spangled splendor.

 

"Good Lord!" Lionel yanked her into the house, the

others coming after. He shut and bolted the door, then de-

manded, "Have you really lost your—get away from that open

window!—mind? "

 

"Lionel, dear," Sandy said slowly, holding her hus-

band's eyes with her own, "something new has been added to

Godwin's Comers. Let me see, how can I put this? Darling,

do you remember how you and I first met?''

 

The blood left Lionel's face. He tried to speak, but no

words came.

 

"You see, Cass?" Sandy said, "You're not the only one

who suffers from Dracophobia gravis. "

 

84 Esther M. Priesner

 

"Is that how you met?" Cass's eyebrows rose. "Against

a dragon? You and . . . him?"

 

Sandy had heard the same scorn in Kelerison's voice

when he'd learned she was a lawyer. She didn't like it any

better when it came from his son and was aimed at her hus-

band.

 

"I'll tell you all about it sometime." Every word was

frigid. "For the moment, all you need to know is that Lionel-

Professor Walters—and I have had some previous experience

with the unearthly."

 

"You, yes." Cass stared at the bloodstone, and a good

deal more. "But—"

 

Lionel whipped one of Sandy's own coats out of the hall

closet and draped it over her, glaring at his student. "What

business is it of yours, Taylor?" His hands remained on San-

dy's shoulders and he pulled her back against his chest.

 

Cass returned Lionel's hard look. He was no longer play-

ing at being the dream-perfect, impossibly docile seventeen-

year-old. Though his features remained the same, something

intangible about him seemed to take on the privileged mantle

of years. "Since Sandy has seen fit to tell me that there is more

to your past life than I thought, allow me to admit you to my

confidence as well. Professor Walters. And the first thing you

should know is that I prefer not to be called by a name that

isn't mine."

 

"Now look, Cass—"

 

"Cassiodoron. Prince Cassiodoron, Professor. "

 

Cass let every human vestige fall away. He did not put

on armor for his silent revelation, or even a tunic of nixie-

woven watersilk. Nothing wrought by men or elvenkind hid his

body from full view. Davina gave a little gasp, and even Sandy

heard herself draw a long, deep breath of awe to see so much

naked beauty.

 

Lionel's hands felt cold, even through the heavy wool of

the coat. It took Sandy several moments before she realized

that they were a dead weight on her shoulders. She touched

them, and found them immobile. She dipped slightly and

stepped out from under their empty grasp.

 

Lionel's eyes were fixed on the wall opposite. Davina

and Ellie stood in similarly rigid attitudes, trapped in the chill

hold of a spell. Their skins were hard and shone with the se-

migloss of mannequins, the minutes petrifying over them.

 

"Don't be afraid. Sandy." Cass's voice was in her ear.

 

ELF DEFENSE                  85

 

"They're all right. I wouldn't harm any of your folk for the

throne of Old Elfhame itself."

 

"Then what have you done to them? Why?" She rounded

on him, fists up. He only smiled at her within a cocoon of

opalescent light. She knew then that she would never touch

him if he did not wish it. Her hands slowly came down. "Let

them go."

 

"Soon." The rainbow aura faded from him. He was still

unbearably fair to see, lovely as only the truly alien can be

when it leaves all mortal things—the beautiful and the ugly

alike—equally ordinary to the eye. He extended one beckoning

hand to her almost languidly, as if his mind were on something

else entirely. Her own arms rose with similar independent

movement and she stepped into his embrace.

 

The garish costume his father had given her melted into

a robe of translucent green silk, cool as the water of a mountain

freshet. His mouth, when it covered hers, was honey sweet.

When he permitted the kiss to end and she looked at his face,

it was neither young nor old, as she and her race could reckon

such things. No matter how many times he would put on his

mortal appearance afterward, this was the face she would have

before her eyes, his true seeming.

 

She drew back from him, breaking the enchanted hold of

his eyes. "No ... no, you had no right to do that."

 

"I know." There was no triumph in his expression. "It

was base of me, but I had to do it. You would never have

allowed it on your own, and that kiss ... I could have com-

manded more. I know that I desire more. Will you thank me

format?"

 

"For what?"

 

"I knew you wouldn't understand."

 

"It wouldn't matter to you if I did," she said. "Would

it?" He shook his head. "I thought not. I'm only ... a mortal.

You use your powers over us just because you can."

 

"If you had such powers, you would not use them?"

 

"Not for something like this." The name she thought

she would never speak aloud again to another soul was on her

lips. "Rimmon never did. He used the strength he had to fight

what was evil, not to add to it."

 

"And you see my love as evil?"

 

"If you must compel me to love you, then—your love

isn't love, and the evil is yourself. And Kelerison's, for never

having taught you any differently."

 

Cass pulled back at the sound of his father's name as if

 

 

 

 

86 Esther M. Friesner

 

from a slap. His eyelids lowered. "A point. A sharp one. My

father doesn't know what he'll have to face with you, my lady.

With all your barbs, you can't convince me to stop loving you,

wanting you, but I will concede this: I swear by the sacred

stones of Old Elfhame never more to use my magic to gain the

smallest token of your affection. Oh, don't think I'm giving

up! I'll have you. But it will be love willingly given, on youi

part. Are you content?"

 

"Yes. As soon as you add a promise .not to use your

magic that way on any other mortals."

 

The Prince of Elfhame Ultramar made an incredulous

face. "Is that all? Well, to please you, I'll swear to that as

well. Will you tell me why I must?"

 

Sandy's teeth flashed. "Call it part of my retainer fee

And heaven knows, someone's got to teach you some manners

or you'll never get a date for the senior prom. Now please

defrost my family and get me into some normal suburban

clothes. Lionel and I have a lot to talk about. He'll be a big

help to us, you'll see."

 

"I could almost think he was a serious rival." Cass

cocked his head at Sandy's unmoving husband.

 

"Hm," she returned, noncommittally.

 

The elfin prince gestured, and he became Cass Taylor in

the same breath that restored the three frozen mortals to life.

Sandy's instantaneous hair-crisping scream nearly refroze them

all.

 

"This is your idea of normal suburban clothing?" She

spread her arms so that all could see the ballooning muu-muu

she wore, flamingos and alligators in aerobic suits rioting across

the material.

 

"That's my idea of an improvement," said Cass.

 

Davina mumbled something in Welsh. "What?" Sandy

barked.

 

"The small revenges of Elfhame take strange form."

 

Chapter Ten:

 

You Won't E^en Know I'm

 

Lionel was waiting for her when she pulled into the

driveway. "Any trouble in New Haven?" he asked.

 

"Not a hitch." Sandy slammed the car door after getting

a large, black book out of the backseat. "In the papers, I called

him Thomas Keller—the name he's registered under at the Sil-

ver Swan Inn—but I tacked on his real name as an a.k.a. just

to make sure: Kelerison, Rex Elfhame Ultramaris. Anything

sounds legitimate in Latin. Let the court think he's a nut case.

How about here?"

 

"No problems. Ellie got a little fractious about wearing

her protective pendant, but Davina reasoned her into it; said

Barbie and the Rockers all wear necklaces just like it. Ellie

claims the iron wire's too itchy." He scratched his own chest

through his rugby shirt. "I kind of agree with her. Is there

such a thing as an allergy to magic?"

 

"Don't be silly."

 

"Hey, you're the woman who christened Dracophobia

gravis. Maybe I've got . . . eczema elficus?"

 

"Lionel ..."

 

"Okay, okay." He lowered his voice and added, "With

or without a name, Cassiodoron makes me sick."

 

"My, my, do I hear the jolly green-eyed beast on the prowl?"

 

"You told me he's after you. How do you expect me to

feel?" Lionel's brow furrowed. "I don't like the act he puts

me through every day in class. Sandy. He's taunting me. Swear

to God, the little creep's been behaving like even more of a

klutz than before, especially when he knows I'm watching. I

don't want to play 'Our Little Secret' with him. And when we

run our regular game—"

 

"Don't tell me he's been playing an elf?"

 

Lionel touched a finger to the tip of his nose. ' 'And win-

ning by so damn much that he leaves the rest of us gasping.

He makes a big deal out of it all being the luck of the roll, but

then he looks right at me and . . ."Abruptly, Lionel hugged

Sandy close. She could feel his arms shake with the intensity

of his grip on her.

 

87

 

88                Esther M. Friesner

 

She tried to distract him. "Did Amanda call?"

 

"Every fifteen minutes since I've been home." He re-

laxed a little. "She really seems to think what you're doing—

filing divorce proceedings and all—will exorcise this elf-king.

She's probably haunting her phone. Are you going to call her

now?"

 

"I suppose I should. Here, earn your keep." She shoved

the book at him.                            ,

 

Lionel hefted it experimentally. "Doing a little light

reading? What is this?"

 

' 'Black's Law Dictionary. I got an older edition cheap at

the Yale Co-op. I figured that while I was in the neighborhood,

I might as well see about adding to my law library, pitiful

though it is."

 

"You can buy more books when you settle this case."

Lionel chuckled. "What kind of alimony can you ask the King

of Elfhame Ultramar to pay? Ten percent off the top of the

pixie dust trade? A cut of toadstool rentals to leprechauns?"

 

Sandy wasn't laughing. "What am I doing this for, Li-

onel? How far is the joke going to go? Have you ever heard

Cass talk about his father?"

 

"I'm too young to listen to gutter talk."

 

"I mean it. Cass has magic—you've seen it—but he re-

ally is just a boy by their system. His father is an adult, and a

king, with a ruler's magical powers to command. What could

he do if he felt like it? To Amanda? To Jeffy?"

 

"To us?" Lionel asked it for her. He put one arm around

her, cradling the law book in the the crook of the other. They

walked into the house. "He hasn't done anything yet."

 

"What does that prove? He could be toying with us. I

feel like I'm acting in a farce. I go into New Haven; I file a

divorce complaint for a woman who was bom over two hun-

dred years ago; I file it against a being to whom two hundred

years is an afternoon; I call it divorce because I don't know

what else to call it, but they were never married." She sat at

the kitchen table and rested her head in her hand.

 

"No?" Lionel was genuinely surprised. He set the law

book down in front of her and put the kettle on.

 

"You didn't know? Kelerison's wife is one of his own

kind: Queen Bantrobel. She's Cassidoron's mother."

 

Lionel clattered around with the tea things. "I'm no law-

yer, Sandy, but if Amanda never was Kelerison's wife—and

forget about the problem of getting the elf-king to show up in

 

ELF DEFENSE                 89

 

court in the first place—how can a divorce do anything to help

 

her?"

 

Sandy sighed. "Sometimes you build a case on a little

 

evidence and a lot of wanting."

 

"What about when there's no evidence?"

 

"There is." A folded sheet of letter paper fanned from

her hand to his. Beneath the logo of the Silver Swan Inn

("Godwin's Comers on the Green Since 1805") was a lengthy

message in an ornate copperplate hand. Lionel read it care-

fully, and when he was done, he and the teakettle simultane-

ously released a long, slow whistle.

 

" '. . . endured your insults and threats for far too long,

out of a misplaced tolerance for mortal foibles. I expected com-

mon sense to assert itself, that you would tire of your silly

game. I have watched your comings and goings in ways you

can never imagine, waiting. At first I told myself that it was

only a woman's pastime, for lack of anything truly productive

to occupy your—' Jesus, Sandy, don't kill him; he's got a

rotten kid to bring up."

 

"Ha-ha. Read on."

 

" 'Now I see that you mean to see this charade through

to the end, even to entering my name on the documents of your

mortal courts of law. I warn you, if you remain bound to this

foolish course of self-destruction, I will see to it that you regret

it. Amanda is nothing to you. My son is less than nothing.

Renounce them while you can. Share their folly and you shall

share their punishment.' " Lionel refolded the paper. "And

they say the art of letter writing is dead. What's this evidence

of, besides terminal elvish snotitude?"

 

"It's what's kept me working for Amanda when every

cell of my brain's screaming for me to stop, to think, to see

that I'm wasting my time. Don't you see, Lionel?" She took

the letter back and waved it under his nose. "Can't you smell

it? All this blustering, all this posturing, all these dire warnings

. . . He's afraid! Kelerison, King of Elfhame Ultramar, is

afraid of me, of what I'm doing! If he weren't, would he be

trying to frighten me off? No! He'd just sit back and laugh,

then reach out and do whatever the hell he wanted with

Amanda.''

 

Lionel turned off the kettle and poured steaming water

into the cups. "I think you're right. Maybe you aren't wasting

your time with this case. But if Kelerison is that scared ..."

He looked troubled.

 

"Yes?"

 

90 Esther M. Friesner

 

"Shouldn't we be a little scared too?"

 

The phone rang before Sandy could answer. "That's got

to be Amanda. Again. I'll get it," she said. She was gone from

the room for half an hour. When she returned, her tea was cold

and her face would have made Cassandra of Troy beg for Ad-

vanced Foreboding lessons.

 

"That was my mother."

 

"7"                           <

 

"She's coming here tomorrow. She wants me to meet

her for lunch. She's had a simply delightful letter from a per-

fectly charming gentleman who's heard wonderful things about

her professional reputation."

 

"Your mother's little hobby? She's a Bright Choice Girl,

God help us. She does everything but cure cancer by changing

the way a person color-coordinates his wardrobe. Who'd call

that a profession?"

 

"And so," Sandy forged on, "he insists that she and no

other is going to handle his case, transportation paid and order

guaranteed in advance. You can guess how thrilled he was to

leam that she had relatives in Godwin's Comers. It's just ex-

actly midway between New York and where he lives, and he

was going to be meeting with a client there anyway, what an

amazing coincidence, so why don't they get together at the

Silver Swan Inn." Her teeth clenched. "I'll kill him."

 

"You mean the King of Elfhame Ultramar . . .?"

 

"—is going to get his colors done by my mom."

 

Kelerison smiled his most disarming smile as he raised

Mrs. Horowitz's hand to his lips. Smartly turned out in a trim

brown herringbone suit, his golden hair tastefully threaded with

silver and the skin of his high-boned face lined just enough to

be attractively craggy, the elf-king was every older woman's

beau ideal. Sandy's mother giggled like a bubblegum-rock fan,

though toward the end she tried to turn it into a throaty laugh.

Sandy made a pained face, which went unnoticed.

 

"I can't express my gratitude sufficiently, Mrs. Horo-

witz, for your consenting to travel all this way just to accom-

modate me."

 

Mrs. Horowitz made deprecating noises. "I would have

come all the way to your place of work, Mr. Keller, if you'd

have preferred. Business is business. / take my career seri-

ously." She shot a look at Sandy, but her daughter prudently

had established eye contact with the life-sized wooden swan

 

ELF DEFENSE                 91

 

decoy sailing over the inn's public-room hearthstone. "And

after that nattering letter you sent me, I couldn't do less."

 

"Madame is gracious. Shall we go in to lunch?" He

offered her his arm, which Mrs. Horowitz latched on to like an

anorexic lamprey.

 

"Catch you later. Mom," Sandy said. "I don't want to

be the fifth wheel at a business meeting."

 

"But you must join us," Kelerison said suavely. "I in-

sist. How often does a man of my years get to boast that he

squired two such lovely young ladies at the same time?"

 

Mrs. Horowitz had mastered the whiskey laugh by this

time, and she loosed it on an undeserving world. "Mr. Keller,

if there were more gentlemen like you, we wouldn't need an

Equal Rights Amendment."

 

"There aren't many like him," Sandy mumbled. "You

can bet on that."

 

"Don't swallow your words, Sandra," Mrs. Horowitz

rapped out briskly. "If you have something worth saying, say

it so that we can all hear." To Kelerison she added, "You try

and try with your children, but it never ends, does it?"

 

Sandy privately agreed that it went on forever. She trailed

into the dining room in the frothy wake of her mother and the

King of Elfhame Ultramar.

 

An iron-grip rapport was welded into place between Mrs.

Horowitz and Kelerison before the second round of G&Ts had

been cleared away. Sandy poked at a rose-colored abomination

of shaved ice, tequila, and smooshed strawberries while her

luncheon companions discussed children: King Lear Didn't

Know the Half of It.

 

"At least your daughter can be said to be settled in life.

Somewhat," Kelerison said. "Correct me if I am wrong. She

has a nice house right here in Godwin's Comers—"

 

"It would be nicer if she kept it clean, but you know

these young women today. Dusting isn't relevant, and waxing

the kitchen floor isn't fulfilling. If the board of health ever

checked up on them, then you'd see fulfillment."

 

"And she has a husband who's doing well—"

 

Mrs. Horowitz sniffed. "A teacher. He could do better.

But I never say a word. It's not my business what he does with

his life. Not one word. Such a sweet boy Lionel is, too. The

things he puts up with ..."

 

Sandy stabbed her swizzle stick into the pink slush in her

glass and told herself it was Kelerison's heart.

 

"Then there's her child—"

 

92 Esther M. Priesner

 

"An angel. And I'm not just saying that because I'm

Ellie's grandma."

 

Kelerison raised his glass. "I believe that, Mrs. Horo-

witz; though anything's easier to believe than the fact that a

woman who looks like you is a grandmother already."

 

"Sandy was in a hurry," Mrs. Horowitz said, after the

correct amount of oh-get-along-with-you-now tittering.

 

Sandy's chair scraped backward from the table. "I really

have to be going. ..."

 

"Sandra, sit. " Sandy sat. "Isn't that just like a child?

Hasn't touched her drink, and completely forgot she ordered

lunch, and yet whoops, tally-ho, off she goes. Where on earth

do you have to be this very minute? Not that I'd be surprised

to hear you'd scheduled something right on top of your own

mother. God knows, Mr. Keller, I try not to intrude—young

couples today love impromptu entertaining so long as it's not

a blood relative; then it's intruding—but you'd think I was

coming all the way up here from New York, through all that

terribly exhausting traffic, every other day and twice on Sun-

days from the way my own daughter can't seem to wait to get

our visits over with."

 

Sandy sank lower in her chair and took a long pull on

her Montezuma's Lady. "I don't have any appointments,

Mother. My mistake."

 

"Sandra, darling, didn't I give you a nice Gucci appoint-

ment book for your birthday? If you'd look at it, you wouldn't

be flying off in all directions at once. Don't you have it with

you?" Sandy's negative reply was met by a heave of the ma-

ternal bosom. "I'm not surprised. Not in the least. It was only

bought at Bloomingdale's. Not on sale, either; full price. And

what I would've heard if I'd have given you a nice blouse or

some perfume instead. 'Mom, I'm a career woman! Mom,

why don't you ever give me something I can use in my pro-

fession?' My Sandra's a lawyer, you know," she confided in

Kelerison.

 

"Really." He sipped his drink, rainbow eyes fixed on

Sandy over the glass's rim.

 

"Where are you keeping that appointment book, Sandra?

No, never mind, don't tell me. You've either lost it in the

hodgepodge you call a desk or it's still in its box on the hall

table. The day you use it will probably be the day you write

me a thank-you note for it."

 

Sandy stopped playing with her drink and disposed of it

in one desperate gulp, then flagged the waitress for a refill.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 93

 

Mrs. Horowitz made an offhand comment about too many

drinks before five being bad for girls whose complexions are

sallow to start with, then leaned across the table to implore,

"Do your children give you any pleasure at all, Mr. Keller?"

"Not recently."

 

Sandy's lunch passed in a pink tequila fog while her

mother and Kelerison commiserated on the shortcomings of

their respective offspring. Through the pleasant buzzing in her

ears, Sandy became marginally aware of the fact that Kelerison

was speaking of having two sons; not just Cass, but Jeffy too

was mentioned.

 

Mrs. Horowitz brought out the swatches at the same time

that the mobcapped waitress wheeled around the dessert trol-

ley. The King of Elfhame Ultramar ordered strawberries and

schlag for the table while Mrs. Horowitz segued into her Bright

Choice spiel. Sandy goggled at the plate of strawberries in

front of her. A chorus line of Montezuma's Ladies did the

jarabe tapatio across her line of sight while she valiantly tried

to keep lunch from rising to the occasion. She came groggily

to her feet.

 

"I really ought to be going. ..."

 

"Nonsense, Sandra. Sit down and have some coffee.

Black." Her mother's waspish tone and her own lack of intes-

tinal fortitude made Sandy's legs fold obediently. "I'm sure

Mr. Keller would like a younger woman's opinion on which

Life Direction Spectrum looks best on him. We always get

outside input, Mr. Keller, so our clients never have to have

second thoughts about whether they were railroaded into a de-

cision by a pushy consultant."

 

"Pushy, Mrs. Horowitz?" Kelerison adjusted the set of

the mauve swatch currently draping his chest. "You?" His

eyelashes were thick and black as the bristles on a mascara

brush, and he could bat them without looking a whit less mas-

culine.

 

' 'What do you think, Sandra? With that fair skin and hair

I'd say he's a definite East, although those eyes ..." She

removed the mauve sample and tried a turquoise one on him

for effect. "Now you look like the classic North type, except

. . . Mr. Keller, you have the most perplexing eyes." She

plucked at the swatch coquettishly. "They make me want to

change your Life Direction from one minute to the next."

 

"Ah, Mrs. Horowitz, your daughter is already seeing to

-that."

 

"What?" Mrs. Horowitz's hands dropped into her lap.

 

94 Esther M. Priesner

 

"My Life Direction, as you say, has certainly been

changed. My children may not be all I'd like, but I had hoped

to see them occasionally. Thanks to your daughter's efforts,

that won't be the case much longer."

 

Mrs. Horowitz's flinty stare slewed from Kelerison, no-

ble and heavy-hearted, to her daughter, tiddlywinked to the

gills. "Sandra. . ."

 

Kelerison's hand closed on Mrs. Horowitz's. "Please,

Mrs. Horowitz; when I asked to see you today, I never knew

that your daughter was that Sandra Horowitz. It is such a corn

mon name, n'est-ce pas?"

 

"Oui, " Mrs. Horowitz replied in stony French. She had

stopped shooting eye daggers at her child and escalated to tac-

tical nukes.

 

"It was just a name on some . . . very painful papers."

 

Kelerison bowed his head and shaded his eyes with one

hand. "She's only doing her job. I suppose you ought to be

proud of her. If I were thinking clearly, I never would have

mentioned the divorce at all, but when I saw her, when I learned

she was a lawyer, when I put two and two together, when I

think of never seeing dear little Jeffy again—" He choked

nicely. "I shouldn't have brought up the subject."

 

Sandy was trying not to bring up anything else. She

hadn't a prayer of mounting a decent self-defense when her

mother went for the kill.

 

"You are handling this gentleman's divorce?"

 

"Oh, she's not interested in my side of it at all," Kel-

erison said meekly. "Don't trouble her."

 

"What's this about his never seeing his children again?

Sandra, stop turning green this instant. I want an answer."

 

Sandy gave her peristaltic process a severe reprimand,

swallowed hard, and was at last able to reply, "He can see

them if they want to see him."

 

"Amanda convinced the older boy to run away with her

when Jeffy was just a baby," Kelerison slipped in gracefully.

"Cass is a teenager. It's a very difficult age, especially when

you're dealing with a parent of the same sex."

 

Mrs. Horowitz's mouth grew small and hard as a nut as

she stared at her daughter and thought back over the years to

the truth of this.

 

"He's a very romantic boy, and he always was readier

to believe Amanda's side of things. Freud was right. I hoped

for a reconciliation, but by the time I traced them here, Amanda

 

ELF DEFENSE                 95

 

had already made your daughter's acquaintance and ..." Kel-

erison shrugged, his eyes artfully moist.

 

The strawberries were rubbery, the schlag a puddle of

curds, and the early diners just starting to be seated before Mrs.

Horowitz finished with Sandy. She only paused long enough

to assure "Mr. Keller" that he was one of the rare North-East

blends and to take his order for a Bright Choice Life Direction

Spectrum Wardrobe Compass Computer Kit. The King of

Elfhame Ultramar discreetly paid the check and absented him-

self from the table while the harangue continued.

 

Only the thought of driving back to New York in the

dark made Mrs. Horowitz call a temporary truce. "I'll be ex-

pecting your call when you've come to your senses and con-

vinced Mr. Keller's wife to stop being silly." She rose grandly

from the table. "Or I'll call you."

 

Sandy ordered a Coke to settle her various assaulted in-

ternal systems, and also to give her mother a good head start.

She was feeling a little better when she stepped out into the

crisp autumn air.

 

"Sandra ..." Kelerison flowed from the shadows on the

inn's long porch.

 

"That was dirty pool. Your Majesty. How would you

like it if I called your mother in on this little mess?"

 

"My mother has passed into mythology. We don't see

much of each other. I warned you. Will you be sensible?"

 

"WilJ you tell my mommy on me again if I say no?"

 

He gave a short laugh. "In all the years of my exile, in

every conflict I have ever known, with every opponent I have

ever faced, I have never once had to repeat a battle gambit.

And why should I? A contest should be elegant as well as

exciting. It should not merely crush the loser, but glorify the

victor."

 

Sandy's hand closed on the bloodstone. "Don't tell me

the story of your love life, 'Mr. Keller.' "

 

He made her a mocking bow. "My dear, for the duration

of my stay here, you may call me Thomas. For Thomas the

Rhymer. It's a pretty tale. He kissed our elfin queen and so

became her thrall for three years, though that was by the time

of Old Elfhame. Far more time had passed in the world above.

When his service was done, he found nothing of his old life,

nothing he had loved or known left. He thought he was doing

a brash, bold deed, to take that kiss from the elfin queen. He

learned that any mortal who tries to play the swaggering hero

at our expense soon pays quite a different reckoning."

 

96 Esther M. Priesner

 

Sandy felt the bloodstone pulse like a small heart in her

hand. A dear, lost voice whispered in her mind. Do not fea'

him, my lady. You have faced greater evils than mere pride

and ignorance.

 

"Don't worry, my lord king," she replied. "I won't be

kissing you."

 

Kelerison showed a wry smile. "Doubtless my son wil

be happy to hear that.''

 

Sandy blushed a deep crimson that clashed with her red

hair. "I won't be kissing him, either."

 

"A fighter, are you?" Kelerison's smile twisted even

more. "Then you may win. Against him, I mean. Cassiodoron

was always faster with his feet than with his sword when a

fighter was about. He ran off shortly before Lord Syndovar was

supposed to put him through the combat trial of manhood. It

didn't take me long to wonder how much of his flight was for

Amanda's sake and how much for his own."

 

An invisible hand seized Sandy's chin. Kelerison chuck-

led as she tried to slap away what she could not see and only

flailed the air. His visible hands remained leaning on the porch

rail while Sandy's chin was forced up.

 

"Yes, a fighter," Kelerison said, gazing into her eyes at

his pleasure. "But why must you ally yourself with the losing

side? Use your talents of persuasion for me, Sandra Horowitz.

Surely you see that I will win in the end, and you would do

very well to be with me when I do."

 

"If you're so sure of victory, why do you need me?"

 

Sandy tried to jerk her chin free, but the unseen grip on

it was too strong.

 

"A whim. A wish to see whether this whole unpleasant

affair can be terminated more quickly with your help. I don't

want to keep Amanda in Elfhame Ultramar forever. There were

simply some . . . loose ends left there that I thought she ought

to resolve. Then she will be returned to this world, a free

woman."

 

"AndJeffy?"

 

"Unlike some of my subjects, I have no interest in keep-

ing mortal brats. Well, my lady? Will you aid me?"

 

Cold encircled Sandy's neck. The hand that clasped the

bloodstone pendant felt heavy strands overlay it. The King of

Elfhame's face rippled featureless and became a silver mirror

that let Sandy see the wealth of precious gems set in gold now

hanging in tiers of ruby, diamond, and sapphire from her neck.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 97

 

Then Kelerison's eyes floated above the reflection of her own,

and his thought was clear as if spoken aloud.

 

This is but a sample of how I reward those who serve

me. Well, my lady? What is your reply?

 

Sandy spat into the mirror.

 

All the elf-king's magic vanished. The chains were gone,

the grasp on her chin released, Kelerison was wearing his

Thomas Keller mask again. It was a harsh, ominous mask.

 

"So my son has found his equal in folly."

 

Sandy put on a chipper look. "Tsk. I'm sorry if my turn-

down was a little unpolished. Your Majesty. I'm new to the

practice. For months I haven't had one client, and suddenly

I'm deluged. But it wouldn't be ethical for me to change sides.

You do understand?"

 

"I understand that whether you persist in this or not, I

will have Amanda. If I can't convince you to abandon her

cause out of plain self-interest, I'll find others of your kind to

convince you for me."

 

This time Sandy's chin came up of her own volition. "If

you mean anyone in my house, they're all on my side."

 

"I envy you their loyalty. However, you mortals are

strangely interdependent beings, and there are more than just

your household members living in this town."

 

A hostile glint came into Sandy's eyes. "What are you

going to do?"

 

"Make a gift of Godwin's Comers to my subjects, sweet

lady, and sign every card with your name. And Amanda's.

How long do you think these simple people will be able to

stand all the lesser mischiefs of Faery before they beg—no,

before they order you to give up Amanda's case?"

 

"Nobody gives me orders." Sandy's hand tightened to

a fist around the bloodstone. "And in case you've forgotten,

this is America—don't you dare put me in that spangled outfit

again, you bastard!—and the last king who tried bullying us

into doing something we didn't want was George the Third. So

you can take your lesser mischiefs and—"

 

Kelerison twirled his little finger.

 

A whirlwind corkscrewed down the chimney of the Silver

Swan, tore shingles from the roof, leaped the porch railing,

and swept Sandy up into the air. The wildly tunneling wind

dipped and soared across the dusky town green, the houses and

streets below all a swirl, the early stars streaks of light to San-

dy's eyes. She was frightened too breathless to scream, and by

the time she had gathered enough breath for a hearty shriek,

 

98 Esther M. Friesner

 

the mad ride came to an end with the twister grazing the steep'e

of the Congregational church and dropping her off on the roor

 

The air beside her turned to tweed as Kelerison maten

alized, smugger than a spoiled cat, rump in the rain gutter ana

feet dangling over the edge. "Well, I see that that fascinatirg

pendant of yours doesn't interfere with transportation spells

How useful to know. I beg your pardon, my lady, but what

were you saying we could do with our lesser mischiefs?"

 

With a great effort to hold her hands steady. Sandy

reached into the pocket of her skirt and extracted a large en

velope folded into thirds. She passed this to Kelenson, who,

with a speculative quirk of the lips, opened it. His expression

passed from mild mirth to puzzlement to blackest anger as he

read the contents.

 

"Now you can ship me all the way to Peoria, if you're

too scared to face me here," Sandy said. "It won't make ary

difference where I am. The complaint's been filed, the process

has been manually delivered, as per Connecticut state law, and

you, sir"—she smiled stiffly to keep her teeth from chatter-

ing—"have been served."

 

Kelerison's shout of rage transformed him into a blazir.g

fireball that shot from the steeple across the greater part uf

Godwin's Comers. Peg Seymour was among the first of the

rubbemeckers who came running to the scene, only to find

themselves tapped for an impromptu rescue party After they

got Sandy safely down to earth. Peg used the considerable force

of her personality to dismiss the other gawpers, categorically

forbidding them to bother poor Mrs. Walters with any ques-

tions. She then insisted that Sandy come straight over to her

house for a calming cup of tea.

 

It was always more convenient to grill a guest in your

own home. The tea was no sooner out than Peg demanded what

Sandy was doing shooting off flares from atop the Congrega-

tional church.

 

"I had to get someone's attention if I was ever going to

get down, didn't I?" Sandy inquired innocently.

 

"But why did you go up there in the first place?"

 

"It's the best place in town for shooting off flares."

 

Peg grew suspicious. "Has your husband started you

playing that game too?"

 

"Speaking of my husband"—Sandy finished her tea—"I

should call home. May I use your phone?"

 

"It's in the kitchen, but so is my doggie. I'll just come

along to hold little Kwai-Chang Caine while you talk.''

 

ELF DEFENSE                 99

 

Sandy wasn't too surprised when her hostess remained in

the kitchen, conveniently close to the telephone, the entire time

she was speaking to Lionel. As she did her best to calm her

unnerved husband, using terms too vague for Peg to get any-

thing juicy out of her eavesdropping, the inquisitive Miss Sey-

mour gave up all pretense of loitering just to keep her Shin Tzu

in check. Peg dropped the dog, who began to yap and run

circles around Sandy's feet while she spoke.

 

The kitchen phone hung on the wall and the wall where

it hung was lined with cabinets. Kwai-Chang Caine scrabbled

in faster and faster circles, his barks and snarls rising as he

drummed up courage for an attack on Sandy's ankles. Peg was

playing the indulgent mother, ignoring the more obnoxious be-

havior of her darling while she rinsed out the cups. Sandy had

plugged her ear with a finger trying to hear what Lionel was

saying over the Shih Tzu's canine tantrum.

 

Neither she nor Peg heard the kitchen cabinet door creak

open. Kwai-Chang Caine stopped yipping and concentrated on

low growls. Something hollow thunked onto the floor. Sandy

and Peg both glanced toward the sound at the same time.

 

It was Peg's new Preserv-a-Pak lettuce keeper, rolling

across the linoleum under its own power. The large pink plastic

bowl wobbled lazily along in a wide arc circumscribing the

snarling Shih Tzu. There wasn't room enough for it to make a

full circle, so when it came to the end of the arc, it simply

backtracked as if this were the most natural motion in the world

for an unabetted lettuce keeper. The second arc described less

area than the first, and the third less than the second. The

lettuce keeper was not just out for a jaunt; it was closing in on

prey.

 

"Sandy? Sandy, are you still there? Sandy, what's hap-

pening?" Lionel got no answer. The rambling Preserv-a-Pak

bowl had mesmeric power that a cobra might covet. Sweat

slicked the handpiece of the telephone as Sandy watched the

fur rise on Kwai-Chang Caine's scruffy back. His growls dwin-

dled to whines. The bowl was rolling closer and closer to him

with each arc it completed.

 

Suddenly, the lettuce keeper sprang. It clamped down

over the tiny dog with a loud clop. Peg gasped and threw her-

self onto the bowl, but the moment she touched it, she gave a

squeal of pain and clutched her hand. It was dotted with a

horseshoe of bleeding pinpricks.

 

Seated cross-legged on top of the lettuce keeper was a

wizened brown creature with a needle-toothed smile that slit

 

100 Esther M. Friesner

 

its face from ear to pointed ear. "Ah, ah, ah!" It wiggled a

stick finger at Peg. "Not nice to disturb. Ask Amanda Taylor.

She will tell you what happens to naughty ladies who don't let

brownies feed in peace."

 

"Feed?" Peg's face contorted with anguish.

 

The brownie folded down its ears and tucked in the tips

to shut out the shrillness. "Oooh, so loud! Don't mind, lady,

don't mind. Soon we'll be done." The Preserv-a-Pak bowl

burped itself, which was a change from the usual. The brownie

grinned. "See? All done!" It disappeared.

 

They waited until Lionel showed up to get Sandy, then

made him be the one to lift the bowl. All that was left was

Kwai-Chang Caine's collar and license and an oak leaf scrawled

with the spidery words: GOOD DOG.

 

The war had begun.

 

Chapter Eleven:

 

The Siege of Godwin's Corners

 

Cee-Cee Godwin Haines stood at the top of the base-

ment stairs and called down to her husband, "Dwight,

dear, have you found the problem yet? The bake sale on the

green's tomorrow and you know I can't do anything with no

water in the house."

 

"Glub," said Dwight, thrashing his legs in the waist-

high water.

 

"Oh, do be still, you graceless creature," the nixie

pouted. "A little water never hurt anybody."

 

Dwight thrashed his legs, though not out of any desire

to please. The supple water sprite had her legs wrapped around

his chest and was presently using both webby hands to keep

his head submerged.

 

"Dwight?" Cee-Cee caroled from above. "Dwight, I

didn't hear what you said. Dwight, do you want me to call the

plumber?" Her footsteps wandered to and from the basement

door several times, paused on the threshold, then made sharp,

determined echoes as she clomped down the steps.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 101

 

Her scream echoed through the very dimly lit basement,

frightening the nixie into a deep dive. She was no more than a

flash of light and shadow to Cee-Cee's eyes, soon ignored and

dismissed from mind in the presence of the great scream-in-

spiring disaster. Dwight came up spluttering.

 

"Cee-Cee, honey, it's all right, I'm fine, don't worry,

she didn't drown m—"

 

Dwight's gasped reassurances did nothing to comfort his

wife. She moaned like one in pain and exclaimed, "Look at all

this water! I don't know why you wouldn't let me call the

plumber. It's not as if we can't afford it. Oh, oh, ohhhh! I was

storing some of the PTO tag sale things down here and now

they're ruuuuuuined!"

 

Beneath the surface, the nixie swam between Dwight's

splayed legs and tickled.

 

"They're antiques," Jennifer Franklin glibly told a

browser. Of all the PTO mothers, she was the coolest under

fire, mistress of turning the skeptical glance of potential cus-

tomers into a helpless buying frenzy. A few words on the his-

tory, pedigree, and intrinsic value of some anonymous colonial

housewife's piece of trash, and a shapeless chunk of wood and

bad taste was transformed into a relic.

 

Had she lived in an earlier age, Jennifer would have done

well as one of those merchants in True Cross splinter futures.

 

But the age of great huckstering was gone and now she

sat behind a table full of old stuff, contributed by young fam-

ilies, and convinced one browser after another that here was

his chance to legitimize his own precarious toehold on the

American Dream. One eighteenth-century tin pie plate in the

house could do much to exorcise any dark-eyed ghost of Ellis

Island.

 

"See those water spots?" Jennifer was pushing one of

the items rescued from the Haines basement inundation. "This

piece was in the Johnstown Flood."

 

"What about this one?" The buyer-to-be was a short

man with a swarthy complexion and a Burberry overcoat, the

very personification of the perfect mark for Jennifer's spiel.

All around the PTO table were other stalls where more ethical

vendors of antiques held court. They never bothered to say as

much about their wares as Jennifer, but then, they also didn't

sell half as many items.

 

Jennifer looked at the piece her victim was holding up.

It was an alabaster egg, one of the Minimum Daily Adult sou-

 

102 Esther M. Priesner

 

venir requirements to be brought back by anyone who has ever

visited Italy. The eggs usually retained their popularity after

the trip for six months—twice as long as it took for their owners

to misplace those charming tooled leather bookmarks from Flo-

rence. Then they hit the tag sale trail by the dozens.

 

"That is an Early American hand warmer," Jennifer rat-

tled off without a blink or a thought to whether one could heat

alabaster safely or not. ' 'The eighteenth-century ladies would

heat these up in a special basket hung over flie fireplace and

pop one into their muffs just before going off to church on those

cold winter mornings. Have you ever seen George Washing-

ton's famous letter to Martha from Valley Forge in which he

mentions how much he misses her hand warmers? No?" She

dimpled modestly. "There I go again, expecting everyone to

share my interest in the human side of our great country's his-

tory."

 

"But I am interessssted," the dark man said, rotating

the egg slowly between his fingers. He held it up to the light

of the sun as if candling the stone. "Tell me more, pray,

Misssss . . . ?"

 

"Mrs. Franklin." Jennifer had a way of pronouncing her

married name that left no doubt in the hearer's mind that yes,

there was direct bloodline descent from that Franklin. Some of

the unkinder townfolk said that she was the only twenty-seven-

year-old they knew who affected bifocals and who couldn't

wait for her long chestnut hair to go gray so that the Franklin

heritage might be all the more pronounced. Still nastier souls

asserted that Jennifer would shave the front of her head and

develop a figure like a Franklin stove, if not stopped.

 

"Sssso? And did this Washington ever get his hands

warm enough?"

 

"Well, there's no textual evidence, but I'm sure Martha

was kind enough to send one or two along. Mind you, I'm not

saying that this is the very hand warmer that George Washing-

ton used, but the stone itself is certainly old enough for that to

be a—"

 

The dark man twirled the egg so that it spun around and

around on the tip of his index finger. It twirled as swiftly and

gaily as if it had been a child's pinwheel, and not an awkwardly

shaped lump of stone. A robe of white shining spun with it, an

illusion of light that made the alabaster egg seem to grow in

size, to soften in outline. The creamy stone darkened to the

buttery hue of spring crocus, deepened to rich orange, flushed

with the radiance of blood.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 103

 

"It warms well," said the dark man. "How much?"

 

"Buh—huh—bun—" Jennifer Franklin watched the spin-

ning egg go through its transformations. For once she was

speechless, and the only incident in Early American history

she could hold on to in her mind was the witchcraft trials of

Old Salem Village.

 

A crusty brown crack shivered down the length of the

egg. The dark man flipped it into the air and caught it on the

palm of his hand as it fell. The crack forked, spread, and

the scarlet shell crumbled to powder as a moist, red, lizardlike

thing emerged. It blinked dull black eyes at the light and curled

in on itself.

 

"Ah. Thisss one is not good to me now, I fear." The

dark man gave a rueful shrug of his shoulders. He took Jen-

nifer's nerveless hand in his own and poured the creature into

it. "I had wanted to hatch one myself, under more controlled

circumssssstancesssss. But now, the beassssst is yours. They

are faithful, you ssssee, to whoever owns the egg at the time

of their hatching. Sssssalamanders are sssso bourgeois. Prop-

erty-consciousss even in the shell." He smiled at Jennifer with

hooded eyes. "At leasssst your hands will be warm thissss

winter." He hurried off toward the cotton candy stand.

 

"Salamanders?" Jennifer peeped. She stared at the crea-

ture in her hand. It did look like the common amphibian her

brothers used to tease her with in years past.

 

No it didn't.

 

Hairs of gray smoke were rising from the tiny animal's

paws, each minusicule claw emitting its own contrail. It moved

its flat head sluggishly from side to side, pinpoint nostrils flar-

ing whenever it snuffed up the scent of smoke from its own

paws. White sparks winked on its snout, then turned to seeds

of dancing fire. A crackling ridge of flame raced up the beast's

spine.

 

Jennifer screamed and dropped the salamander into the

grass. Immediately a ring of fire poofed into being around it.

Passersby saw it and started to shout for help, gesticulating and

milling about. A pair of boys from the high school took action

by grabbing opposite ends of the PTO tag sale table and run-

ning it away from the small conflagration. Dimestore crockery,

promoted to the status of vintage Fiesta Ware by the Franklin

fiat, went crashing. "Depression glass" that hadn't been more

than a handful of silica until 1959 met a similar fate. Painted

tin was trampled and battered past the point where even Jen-

 

104 Esther M. Friesner

 

nifer could explain it away as being the scars of slave-versus-

free toleware involvement in the Civil War.

 

Not that Jennifer was worrying about the merchandise

just then. She was running for her life. And scurrying after,

like an earthbound comet, the faithful fire-elemental blazed a

smoking trail through the Godwin's Corners antique show on

the green.

 

"Wasn't that Jenny Franklin?"

 

Pat Brownmiller looked up from the plates of baked goods

she was setting out on the PTO bake sale table and wrinkled

her nose. "Yes, and look at the time. She's not supposed to

leave her place at the tag sale stand until half past. She came

on the same shift as I did, but you know Jenny. Thinks she's

something special because of that last name of hers. If you ask

me. Chad Franklin would've done us all a favor if he'd have

let her keep everything except his last name when the divorce

went through."

 

Betsy Rogers giggled, then sniffed the air. "Do you smell

something burning?"

 

"If it's anything salvageable. Jenny will sell it next week,

claiming it was scorched in the War of 1812 when the British

burned Washington."

 

"Washington burned?" The dark little man sidled up to

the bake sale table, his blunt face full of sympathy. "Ssssuch

a shame. Martha should not have sssent him more than one

band warmer. If they hatch ssssimultaneoussssly, they fight."

 

In a voice meant for Betsy's ears alone. Pat Brownmiller

remarked, "Who is this loon?"

 

At a similarly low pitch, Betsy replied, "I don't know.

He's no one from this town. Maybe New Haven?"

 

"I think to get them this creepy, he'd have to commute

up from New York." Pat cleared her throat and in her most

affable manner asked, "Can I help you, sir?"

 

The man pointed at the masterpiece of the bake sale, a

triple-layer strawberry cake. Fresh berries ringed the top, all

of them plump and temptingly juicy in spite of the fact that

autumn was not high season for such fruits. The berry in the

very center of the cake was a four-bite gem.

 

"Who did thisss?" the dark man demanded.

 

"Why, I did," Betsy Rogers admitted, slightly confused

by the fellow's somber mien. "Would you like a slice?"

 

"Cut it up?" His eyes flashed, and right then the two

woman saw that they were pure black, unrelieved by even the

 

ELF DEFENSE                 105

 

smallest encirclement of sclera. Deep in the heart of those

lightless eyes, a six-pointed slash of red twinkled, an asterisk

of bloodlight. "Haven't you done enough?"

 

pat was a woman of the best old Yankee breed. Though

her legs begged her to put them to best use, she would die

before deserting her post in the face of an itinerant madman

with inhuman eyes. One of her ancestresses had once scared

off a catamount in the wilderness by shouting selections from

Pilgrim's Progress at it.

 

Pat could not do less. She contained her fear and leaned

across the table, trying to stare the dark man down. "If you

don't like strawberries, fine. Other people do. Now do you

want the whole cake, a slice of the cake, a different cake, or

maybe a bag of Toll House cookies?"

 

"Murderers." The dark man's lips curled back. Pat was

close enough to see that he hadn't a tooth in his head.

Gum ridges the color of swamp water served that purpose.

"Shamelessssss killers. Their deathssss are on your heads. May

their spiritsssss haunt you forever!'' He whipped his Burberry

closer to his squat body and stalked away.

 

"Didn't want the cookies either." Pat brushed it all

away. "New Haven nut case. My God, I can understand saving

the whales, but what did a strawberry cake ever do . . . ?"

 

Oh woe! Oh woel

 

"Paaaat . . ." Betsy's voice squirmed with terror. "Pat,

the strawberries ..."

 

They rocked back and forth on the icing, digging little

cavities in the white sugar. The central berry rose two inches

into the air, by honest measure, and stayed there. Its surround-

ing sisters wailed a treble dirge and prostrated themselves in

the snowy icing.

 

Oh most precious life, child of sun and rain and just a

little spray to keep off the aphids! Oh gift of slow ripening into

full beauty! Tender white petals of my blossoming youth, was

it for this you seduced the wandering bee? That in the end, full

of time and sun and sweetness, I might be torn from the leafy

bosom of my mother, crammed into the harsh prison of a plas-

tic box, have the last green reminder of my origins wrenched

from my very guts by the grim huller, and end thus, a mere

ornament?

 

A green-skinned girl no taller than a toothpick material-

ized beneath the levitating strawberry. Her cheeks and eyes

alone were rosy, and there was a seed sprinkling of black dots

across her face. She balanced the huge berry on her head and

 

106 Esther M. Priesner

 

swayed back and forth as she gave vent to further dolorous

lamentations. One by one the other berries atop the cake rose

up to join their sorrows to hers, each of them likewise borne

high by its own genius spirit. They echoed the cry of Woe! Oh

woe!

 

It was a circumstantial impossibility to have a Greek cho-

rus strawberry layer cake carrying on at the big antique show

on the green and not attract some notice. The crowd that gath-

ered, gathered quickly and stayed forever. They were most

affected by the central berry's bewailings. Vaughn Collins, a

man of steely stomach who wrote scripts for used car TV com-

mercials, was actually seen to weep. His wife Corinne angrily

demanded Betsy Rogers's immediate resignation from the local

chapter of Greenpeace.

 

Alas, alas, they tell us that to this end were we born! the

main spokesberry groaned on. To sate the fearsome appetites

of our betters, so they claim! Go, go thou all and study whither

appetite may lead! Ask of Sandra Horowitz the price of uncar-

ing ambition! Seek out Amanda Taylor and learn the wages of

vanity! Oh, we might have been spared this, but for them! Oh

seedlings, my seedlings, now we shall never meet! The runners

propagate, and to what purpose? It is better that we die. . . .

 

The spirit sank down beneath the weight of her berry and

was gone from sight. The ring of her sisters too returned to

lifelessness. A little red juice dribbled down the side of the

cake.

 

Pat Brownmiller looked around the ring of faces staring

at her, some tear-streaked, some hostile.

 

"We also have some nice brownies," she said lamely.

 

"Never mind that," Vaughn Collins growled, swiping

the last of his tears away. "Where's this Sandra Horowitz?"

 

Cee-Cee leaned on the jamb of the cellar door. "Dwight,

darling, I'm leaving for the sale now. Are you sure you'll be

all right?"

 

"Perfectly fine, angel," her husband called from below.

"You go ahead and have a good time."

 

There was a short pause. Cee-Cee frowned as she con-

sidered whether or not to tell her husband what she had done.

Sometimes it was difficult to know whether to tell the whole

truth, carefully selected portions of the truth, or chuck the

whole mess and lie like a trooper. Near as she could remember,

the latest issue of Time had made much of "The New Domestic

 

ELF DEFENSE                 107

 

Diplomacy: Whiter Lies, Longer Marriages." She acted ac-

cordingly, as the media directed.

 

"Precious, I gave an eentsy-beensy phone call to Mr.

Andropoulos—you know, that nice old handy man Priscilla ab-

solutely swears by?—and I asked him if he'd pop by to give

you just a smidgen of advice. Do you mind?"

 

"Tell her you don't mind," the nixie whispered, mas-

saging the back of Dwight's neck. "Otherwise she'll be down

here trying to make you do it her way." The water sprite draped

a crisscross of duckweed on Dwight's bare chest.

 

Dwight gasped as sharp, fishy teeth grazed lasciviously

over his skin. "Whatever you say, sweetheart!" he yelled up-

stairs. "Anything at all!"

 

Soon—barely soon enough for Dwight—the sound of Cee-

Cee's departing car voomed past the basement window. He

turned to embrace his own personal siren.

 

She wiggled away and submerged in the water that still

welled up through the very pores of the house foundation.

Dwight waded after, splashing like a grounded tuna and calling

her name, which came out as an inarticulate gargle. She sur-

faced behind him, laughing, and snared him with the golden

net of her hair.                                      '

 

"So much hurry! Even sailors offer me a drink first."

 

Dwight was surprised. "I thought you only drank wa-

ter."

 

The nixie laughed again. "Never! Who better than I

should know what fish do in it?"

 

They had cracked their second bottle of the '79 Pouilly-

Fume when Mr. Andropoulos let himself in.

 

"I quit!" In her office overlooking the green, Laura

Young slammed her appointment book closed. All around her

was the shrapnel of yet another meeting with the Godwin's

Comers Historical Society bigwigs. This year's major project

was the restoration of the Elspeth Morgan House, the oldest

structure in town, dating back to the seventeenth century, be-

fore Godwin's Comers was even officially founded.

 

To be tapped to design the interior decoration of the his-

toric house was an honor. The publicity value alone would be

the making of the consultant lucky enough to be chosen, but

to top it, the remuneration for the job was generous.

 

No one had told Laura that she would be spending most

of her pay on antacids and headache remedies.

 

She paged through a catalog of paint chips, all in colors

 

108 Esther M. Priesner

 

certified an authentically colonial. There was more than one

such tome lying around the office, as well as books of stencu

designs, floor-cloth patterns, and furniture and accessor.

guides. It only wanted a consensus of opinion from the resto

ration committee before the actual work could commence.

 

It might as well have wanted the moon.

 

Laura tilted her chair back and closed her eyes. She could

still see the Lees, mother and daughter, arguing vehemently

with Dennis Tuttle over whether to hang seven cooking imple-

ments beside the Morgan House kitchen fireplace or fewer. He

kept slapping the piles of photocopied documents in his lap-

"Original, contemporary sources which I have collected at

great personal inconvenience and expense''—and shouting that

Elspeth Morgan could not possibly have kept house with merely

one ladle and a toasting fork.

 

Viola Harper jumped into it then, declaring that she spoke

for all Godwin's Comers when she said that the purpose of the

Morgan House restoration project was to recreate a typical sev-

enteenth-century home and not to build a shrine to Elspeth

Morgan, never mind what Mr. Tuttle's mother's maiden name

had been.

 

"Well, if authenticity means nothing to you, perhaps you

shouldn't be on this committee," Mr. Tuttle had sniped.

 

"If sensible expense means nothing to you, maybe we

ought to resign together," Viola shot back. "If you're that

interested in authenticity, let's not forget to include a para

graph in the descriptive booklet that mentions the fact that El-

speth Morgan was nearly tried for witchcraft!"

 

"She never was!"

 

"Only because the witchfinder they sent from New Ha-

ven died under mysterious circumstances at Lee's Tavern!"

 

The meeting shattered into a three-way fight over witch-

craft, authentic colonial salmonella, and the probable sanitary

standards of the Lee ancestors in the Good Old Days.

 

"Same time next week?" Dennis Tuttle had asked Laura

archly as the committee filed out in angry silence.

 

"I'm going to be doing this forever." Laura smacked

the desk. "They're never going to agree on one damned thing.

You can't make reasonable human beings out of committee

members. It would be easier to turn a pig's ear into a pocket-

book."

 

"Or spin straw into gold," said the dwarf in the comer.

He hobbled forward on bandy legs, his red beard sweeping the

floor. An incredible leap lifted him onto Laura's desk, where

 

ELF DEFENSE                 109

 

he sat tailor-style on her appointment book and twitched his

icicle-shaped nose. "Can we talk deal?"

 

Her recent ordeal with the restoration project committee

had left Laura's psyche bruised and tender. She hadn't the

strength to question the dwarf's reality or her own sanity. It

was easier to accept what she saw at face value and ask the

manikin what he meant by "deal."

 

"I use my magic to make that batch of doodlebrains agree

to the very next set of interior design ideas you lay before

them. In exchange for this—"

 

"Uh-uh, If you want my firstborn son, you're out of

luck. I had four daughters before I got my tubes tied."

 

"What would I want with one of your human brats? That

changeling trip is old hat. I'm into self-actualization, not acting

out my ambitions through my kids. Or yours."

 

"So in that case"—Laura looked askance at the little

man—"what's the catch?"

 

A fan of full-color pamphlets whipped open in the dwarf's

hands. "Have you heard the good news about being a Forest-

fresh Seven Steps to Home Beauty System distributor?"

 

Twenty minutes later, Laura Young was putting her sig-

nature on a document that bound her to become a Forestfresh

products distributor for twenty years in return for specified

spells of compulsion to be worked as desired by the Connect-

icut area general manager.

 

"Which means me. I hope you make your quarterly sales

quotas, milady," the dwarf remarked. "The boys in the head

office, they don't take excuses."

 

"They're the ones who'll take my firstborn son?"

 

"They're the ones who'll slap a fattening spell on you if

you screw up. Ten pounds permanent gain for every time you

come up short. Kids grow up and leave home, but thunder

thighs are forever. Those head office boys know it. Seven of

the toughest little workaholics in the dwarf game, and I'm not

just whistling Dixie."

 

Laura's pen paused in midsignature. "Um . . . shouldn't

there be an escape clause in here somewhere? A way I can get

out of the payment conditions?"

 

"You bet. It's traditional. I got Sandra Horowitz to draw

up this baby, and she is one lawyer who knows her way around

with the Little People. Hey, I wouldn't be in this town at all

if not for her and Amanda Taylor."

 

"Horowitz ..." The name sounded familiar. The

amount of small print in the contract was daunting, but if she

 

110 Esther M. Friesner

 

couldn't trust a fellow human being to look out for her own

Laura figured it was a sorry world. Still, no harm in playing it

safe.

 

"What kind of escape clause?"

 

The dwarf winked. "Old stuff. Piece of cake. Remember

that peasant girl I made a queen? She couldn't even sign her

own name, and she managed to wiggle out. It's a sweetheart

clause, believe me. Happy-ever-after city."

 

Laura looked suspicious. "You're making this contract

I sign sound too easy to get out of. Why?"

 

His leer stripped her to her skivvies and blushes without

removing one actual item of clothing. "Let's just say I think

we've got enough Forestfresh distributors totzing around, but

not enough bods like yours, sweetmeat. Be a shame to hide

that stuff under a bushel of lipids. Can I buy you a drink after

we tie up our business?" The gleam in his eye implied that

business was not the only thing the little man wanted to tie up.

 

"First tell me about the out clause. What do I have to

do? Guess your name or what?"

 

"Something like that. You guess, you got it. Simple,

neh ?''

 

Promises were empty air, but lechery was honest. If he

claimed to desire her unfettered by flab, he must mean it. Lau-

ra's head still hurt from the recent meeting and she felt at least

as smart as any jumped-up peasant girl. It was a matter of

believing in her own abilities. Besides, after reading umpty-

nine thousand fairy tales to four kids, she knew how the story

went. The dwarf began to whistle "I Am Woman" sotto voce

while she pondered her options. Laura signed. "Okay, I'm in.

Do your stuff.''

 

A golden spindle appeared in the dwarfs gnarled hands.

Thread fine as spiderweb spun itself out between his fingers. He

rocked back and forth on Laura's desktop as he worked

humming "Unter den Linden." The thread snaked down from

the desk, across the floor, and hootchie-kootchied up to the win-

dowsill.

 

The dwarf stopped spinning and cut the product free.

"Sic 'em," he told the thread. It looped one end of itself to

the stock of an old Brown Bess musket Laura had hung on her

wall for colonial clout and leaped out the window. The musket

moved only slightly when the thread went taut, but was not

jerked from the wall. Instead, the thread stretched itself thinner

and thinner before Laura's eyes, until all that told her it was

 

ELF DEFENSE                 111

 

still there was the minuscule tremblings of the anchoring Brown

 

Bess.

 

"Twang on it if you want," the dwarf said. "It'll hold."

He slipped his thumbs under the embroidered suspenders of his

lederhosen. "Fact is, that's how you activate the spell. Right

now that thread's frayed itself into as many strands as there are

committee members. Each strand's tied itself into an invisible

hangman's noose—one size fits all—and dropped over their

necks. Now all you've got to do is get your designs set so you

like them, call a meeting, show them to those bozos, and ask

for the go-ahead."

 

"And if they don't give it to me? If they start fighting

each other again? I twang that string and . . . ?"

 

"They choke. Oh, not to death, but they won't be blow-

ing any birthday candles out too easily after. And they don't

get their breath back until they come around to your way of

seeing things. You'd be surprised the effect a good garroting

has on the spirit of cooperation. So, how about that drink,

honey?"

 

Laura found the dwarf's upfront lust a refreshing change

from the usual cut of swains a divorced mother of four had to

pick from. Either they acted like they were doing you a favor

or they tried snowing you with the Sensitive Man pose by

bursting into tears over dinner and blabbing about how they

wouldn't feel degraded if a woman supported them until they

finished that novel. Not so her diminutive admirer. He kept

playing with his spindle while he waited for her to lock up the

office, and the intimate feminine garments his magical spinning

made would have reduced every Bawdy Boutique in the coun-

try to Chapter XI had he marketed them.

 

"Care to try one on for size?" He rolled his banjo eyes

at Laura as he held up a shimmery scantling. "Be nice and I'll

see about maybe knocking a C-note off your quarterly sales

quotas."

 

Laura laughed at him. "You're cute, but you're getting

a little ahead of yourself. Thanks to that escape clause, I'm not

going to have to meet any quotas. Rumpelstiltskin is your

name."

 

"Of course it is," the dwarf snorted. "Always was, al-

ways will be. What's that got to do with the price of Forest-

fresh catbox deodorizer?"

 

"But—but I guessed it! I guessed your name! That means

I get out of my part of the bargain."

 

 

 

 

"Are you for real?" The dwarf pinched Laura's rump.

 

Esther M. Priesner

 

"Yeah, I guess you are. Babyboo, you think a slick lawyer

like Sandra Horowitz'd put a dipstick escape clause like that

in a contract? Guess my name, f'Pete's sake? Kidstuff!"

 

"You said . . . !" Laura yanked her copy of the contract

from her portfolio and skimmed it desperately, lips moving.

 

"Right there." Rumpelstiltskin kindly pointed out the

clause she sought.

 

She read it. She paled. She looked at her creditor with

just the same expression of hopelessness the peasant-girl-

tumed-queen had once worn. Her lower lip trembled.

 

"I've got to guess your Social Security number?"

 

'' Without benefit of bureaucracy or computer.'' The dwarf

twirled the scantling around one finger and gave Laura a side-

ways ogle. "A C-note off the quarterly. Think about it."

 

Later, in a hastily booked room at the Silver Swan Inn,

Laura Young shimmied into the magic-woven scantling. Her

mind was not on the business at hand, though. She was seri-

ously thinking of how well her daughters would cope after their

mother was arraigned for the murder of Sandra Horowitz.

 

From the bed, Rumpelstiltskin whistled Dixie.

 

Cee-Cee Godwin Haines came home to a strangely quiet

house. She was dying to tell Dwight all about the weird hap-

penings in town. Sandra Horowitz's name was on everyone's

lips, generally followed by a snarled threat. Likewise the name

of Amanda Taylor was being bandied about, but mostly with

confusion attending it. The reclusive woman was an unknown

quantity, a mousy presence to whom no one who mattered in

Godwin's Comers society had to pay a second thought, or even

a first. Now, however . . .

 

"Dwight! Dwight, sweetie!" Cee-Cee sought him here

and sought him there, but her husband remained damned elu-

sive. At last she wandered into the kitchen, where she almost

tripped over an open toolbox and a set of sopping wet denim

overalls. The basement door was ajar and the sounds of gentle

sloshing rose up damply from belowstairs.

 

"Why, of course!" Cee-Cee had to smile at her own

absentmindedness. In the aftershock of an animistic bake sale,

she had all but forgotten Mr. Andropoulos's promised visit to

dehumidify the Haines basement. "Yoo-hoo, Dwight! Mr. An-

dropoulos!" Her voice carried well, but no one responded from

down under.

 

And yet they were there. Who else was laughing like

 

ELF DEFENSE                 113

 

that? And . . . moaning for mercy? And—could it be?—im-

ploring someone for one more go at "playing Flipper"?

 

Cee-Cee came from those Godwins, and those Godwins

had not gotten a town named after them by dithering about at

the top of the basement steps. Cee-Cee plunged into the damp

darkness, looking formidable and determined.

 

Mr. Andropoulos didn't hear her coming, though the

wooden stair echoed her every step and he was standing right

on the first tread above water. An empty wine bottle was in his

hand and a pair of boxer shorts was on his grizzled head. Be-

yond that, he wore basic duckweed and a smile.

 

"Mr. Andropoulos!" Cee-Cee shouted his name several

times before she realized he wasn't hearing a thing. When she

tapped him on the shoulder, he did turn and take notice.

 

"Ah, Mrs. Haines!" He kissed her resoundingly on both

cheeks. His breath reeked of vintage Nuits-St.-George. "God

bless you, dear lady! You have made an old man very, very

 

happy!"

 

"Mr. Andropoulos, I never intended to make you—"

 

"Cht! Just a minute." He probed his right ear with thumb

and forefinger and extracted a pellet of wax, then did the same

to the left. "That's better. So long as you do not listen to their

song, you are safe from falling under their spell. This does not

mean"—he winked roguishly at her—"that you cannot enjoy

whatever else they may offer you. They are better sports about

it than the old tales tell."

 

"Who are?"

 

Mr. Andropoulos bent over and dredged up a submersi-

ble flashlight. He aimed it out over the waters and flipped on

the switch. A beacon illuminated the darkness.

 

Dwight and the nixie were caught in the spotlight and in

very imaginative flagrante delicto. Cee-Cee's shock was tem-

pered by intellectual curiosity. In ten years of marriage she had

never imagined how flexible her husband could be, in the proper

circumstances.

 

"Uh ... hi, honey." Dwight wiggled his fingers in

 

greeting.

 

The nixie wiggled everything else.

"I'll say 'hi' to you in court," Cee-Cee spat.

A small white slip of pasteboard materialized in the air

before her eyes. It was a business card with Sandra Horowitz's

name and profession tastefully embossed on it, and a line be-

neath saying "Divorces Our Specialty."

 

 

 

 

114               Esther M. Friesner

 

"Tell her I sent you!" the nixie called merrily as Cee-

Cee stormed up the stairs.

 

Sandy was having a tuna fish sandwich when the stone

came smashing through the kitchen window. The anonymous

note on it read. What could we expect from New Money?

 

The first phone call was Kelerison, laughing, but those

that soon followed were all too human.

 

Chapter Twelve:

 

Lionel looked at the mess in the yard. "I didn't think

things like this happened anymore," he said. "Not in

this century." He knelt and poked at the still-smoldering mound

with a stick. The stench was unbelievable. Sandy held her nose.

 

"It's better than lynching, I guess," she said through

pinched nostrils.

 

"By how much?" Lionel scraped a glob of melted pastel

plastic from the edge of the bum site. "What the hell is this?"

 

"Looks like Preserv-a-Pak lettuce keeper. Or one of their

freezer containers. Kind of hard to tell in its present condi-

tion." Sandy gestured at several small bits of metal in the

ashes. "What are those?"

 

Lionel used his stick to get one out. It was not so badly melt-

ed as its brothers. You could still see the wings, though they had

drooped into the body, and some of the facial features remained.

"It's a gaming piece."

 

Sandy sighed. "Leave it to Peg to react rationally."

The bushes rustled. Lionel grabbed his stick like a club.

"If that's those damned pixies again ..." His jaw clenched.

 

Sandy laid a restraining hand on the stick. "Come on,

honey. Out of all the rest of the refugees from Grimm, the

pixies have been the least harmful."

 

"After what they did at the track meet?"

"Those were the fairies," Sandy explained patiently.

"They're smaller, but they're much more obnoxious."

 

ELF DEFENSE                115

 

"Not too small to grab the whole Godwin Academy hur-

dling team and airlift them all the way to Guilford! You try

explaining to one of those shoreline towns why you're har-

vesting track runners out of their elms.1'

 

"Oaks," Sandy corrected. "They put the Booster Squad

up the elms."

 

"Five boys have been withdrawn from the academy al-

ready." Lionel clutched his stick all the more grimly. "They

had plenty to say to their parents on the phone."

 

"About me?"

 

"And me, as your husband. And Cass Taylor's family.

The fairies made plenty sure that those kids knew just whom

to thank for that nonscheduled flight." The bushes rustled

more, and there was the hint of mocking laughter. "Come out

of there, you litle vermin!'' Lionel shouted.

 

The rhododendron leaves parted around a pointed, feline

face. Cesare's whiskers twitched, and he set down the small

white drawstring bag he held in his teeth. "Vermin, am I?

Mondo putana! These are the thanks I get. I demand an apol-

ogy," the cat said coldly.

 

Lionel was in no mood to placate anybody but himself.

"What do,we have to thank you for, Cesare? Eating us out of

every scrap of lox in the house just because Sandy's a soft

touch for a whiskered face?"

 

The cat spat with remarkable accuracy, right past Lio-

nel's left eye. "For one, since we speak of vermin, you might

thank me for keeping your miserable home vermin-free."

 

"That's any cat's job."

 

"Job?" Cesare's antennalike eyebrows quivered in dis-

dain. "You confound me with a common mouser? I am an

artist! In my small way," he added modestly.

 

Lionel picked up the little white bag and dangled it be-

tween his fingers. Sandy recalled having seen it in the cat's

possession more times than this, and she admitted to a hog's

load of curiosity about it. "What're you schlepping around in

this, cat? Your 'art' supplies? Or a dead mouse?"

 

"Put that down," the cat said calmly. "Or at least hold

it farther from your gaping mouth. It is poison."

 

"No fooling." Lionel chuckled.

 

Just then the underbrush shook with a host of minor

tremors, and five moles staggered out into the sunlight. With

piteous convulsions they died, one by one. A look of great

perplexity gathered itself on Lionel's gauntly handsome face.

 

116 Esther M. Friesner

 

There was something damned familiar about the disposition of

the burrowers' tiny corpses.

 

"The final curtain of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark," Ce-

sare supplied, without so much as a blink. "See, that skinny

one in black is the prince—it took me some time to cast that

role properly, believe me—the other male with the slightly de-

bauched appearance is the usurping uncle, the young gray

sprat is Laertes, and the plump female—ah, permiso ..."

Cesare patted the mole in question a little closer to the Claudius

counterpart. "Better. The female is Gertrude, as I was saying.

A fine presentation, although I did better with Othello. Fewer

bodies, a lesser challenge. I really must leam to adjust the

dosage for body weight. Just because it worked with mice ..."

 

Lionel put down the white sack quickly. "You couldn't—

you didn't—you poison your prey?"

 

The cat was incredulous. "How else did you expect me

to kill them?" He flexed his paws. "I have frequently mourned

the lack of an opposable thumb. Jesu! What a fencer I might

have been! But then, who would have trained the moles to the

blade? No honorable duel, but a slaughter. I am a cat, not a

butcher.''

 

"You poisoned them and could control where they'd

fall?" Lionel surveyed the tableau. All that was missing was

a pair of rapiers, some empty wine cups, and a surviving mole

to announce that Rosenkrantz and Guildenstem were dead.

Otherwise it was pure Old Vie.

 

Cesare touched the fallen sack with one respectful claw.

"It is La Cantarella, preferred by my first masters two-to-one

over any other leading remedy for dispatching one's expend-

able associates. With this one may control the time of death,

and thus where the body will be when it dies."

 

Lionel was well versed in some of the less salient points

of Renaissance history. The name La Cantarella struck an im-

mediate bell. "You knew the Borgias?"

 

The cat proved himself an even more astounding beast in

that he managed to shrug. "In passing. But my first true and

heartfelt allegiance has always been to Prince Cassiodoron.

That is why I am here. Or do you think your moles are more

worthy of my attention than those of your neighbors? Which

brings me to the second reason for my presence."

 

He turned his eyes to Sandy. "We have lost the game.

My lord prince Cassiodoron will give in to his father. He will

secretly surrender to King Kelerison, submitting himself to

whatever punishment and humiliation the Lord of Elfhame Ul-

 

ELF DEFENSE                 117

 

trainar may devise. Mark me, my lady, I know the king well.

He will not disappoint Cassiodoron's worst-imagined night-

mares in his choice of punishments. The prince believes he can

slip off secretly, but Amanda will know. Kelerison shall see to

that. And once he makes sure that she finds out where Cass

has gone ... she will surrender too."

 

"No! She can't!" Sandy felt Lionel's comforting hand

close over her own tightly balled fist as something distant, un-

real. "You must be wrong. Has Cass told you he's going to

 

do this?"

 

"He has told me so in greater than words. The most

carefully closed mind is not strong enough to keep out the

family cat." The big tom's eyes were fixed in moon stare.

Sandy felt the truth of what he said in her marrow.

 

"I have to stop him," she said quietly.

 

The cat's words came inside her head. "It is for your

sake he means to do this. He fears for your safety should his

father continue to goad these townsfolk. He has lived long, my

young master, and seen many things that your people do when

fear binds them into a mob. He also knows that for those of

your faith ... it is often much harder."

 

"My faith . . .?"

 

The cat nodded at the remnants of the fire. "He saw

more than one of these in the times when we still dwelled in

the Old Land. More than one, in more than one country. I

sometimes think he has been drawn to you because your folk

share something of the outsiders' blood he feels in his own.

You are different. So is he."

 

"I think your young master could do with a trip to Tel

Aviv. Outsiders!" This time Sandy did feel Lionel squeeze her

hand. She drew strength from his presence without knowing it,

as she had so many times before. "Enough so-called civilized

people have been trying to foist that role off on me and mine

over the centuries. We don't need the elves getting in on it too.

No one's going to make an outsider out of me!"

 

The cat was unmoved. "There is a romantic air that

clings to being otheriy."

 

"You can catch your death of cold from that romantic

air. If your master finds something mysteriously attractive about

being an outsider, he can keep it. I like it inside, thank you,

where it's maybe dull, sometines, but it's always nice and

warm. I'm just as much an insider as any other human being,

and I'll fight to stay that way. Go back to Cass, Cesare. Tell

, him not to do anything rash until he hears from me. Thank him

 

118 Esther M. Friesner

 

for his sympathy, if you think that will please him, but make

him see that I can take care of myself.''

 

"Sympathy?" The cat's slitted pupils dilated inexpli-

cably in the full sunlight. "Is that what you cal' love?"

 

Sandy's own hand uncurled. Her fingers twined with her

husband's. "I know what love is, and I know better than to

panic over a few fringe incidents." She gave the smoking heap

of trash a look of disgust. "With certain exceptions, this is

still America. Before you can stage a pogrom here, you'd

damned well better make sure you've got a license for it. I've

got faith that we'll be protected by the one institution that made

this country great, without regard for race, creed, color, or

shape of ears!"

 

The cat looked skeptical. "Democracy?"

 

'' Bureaucracy.'' She turned to Lionel. '' Call Harv Thorn-

ton, babe. Time to get tough. Godwin's Corners is going to

have us a town meeting.'

 

Sandy and Davina hurried to the Congregational church

on the green through a topaz autumn dusk of crunching leaves

and woodsmoke. "Mrs. Taylor said she'd meet us there," the

Welsh au pair said, though her doubt was clear to hear.

 

Sandy shared Davina's misgivings. "Cass is staying

home to keep watch over Jeffy, and Lionel brought Ellie over

to their house for extra protection. He even dug up that old

sword of his."

 

"Steel has not the banning power over this breed of elven

that it had in the old country," Davina murmered.

 

"A sword's still a wonderful comfort. Trust me on that.

And you only mentioned steel to Cass that time. I wonder how

brave he'd be staring down a blade's edge?" She sighed. "I

hope Amanda shows up. She really doesn't have any excuse

not to be there. We need her testimony."

 

"I'm coming." Amanda emerged from the shadow of a

great tree. Her face was partially concealed in the drape of a

gold-shot woolen shawl cast over her head and shoulders.

"When I found out what Cass meant to do, I had enough. This

time, I don't run; I fight Kelerison."

 

Sandy gave her a quick hug. "That's the spirit!"

 

Amanda smiled shyly. "It's a spirit I've forgotten. My

pa always used to say that I was the scrappiest of all his chil-

dren. He said he wasn't afraid to leave me alone with the little

ones back in the cabin. If any danger came along, he knew I'd

stand up to it." She turned her face to the moon and Sandy

 

ELF DEFENSE                 119

 

saw tears tracking her cheeks. "I never even did get to say

good-bye to him."

 

Inside the church, all heads turned to stare when Sandy,

Amanda, and Davina made their entrance. Sandy held her head

hieh as she swept down the center aisle and up the platform

steps at the front where a table and podium for the town council

members and speakers had been set up. Without waiting for an

invitation, she commandeered the microphone.

 

The hell with it, she thought. I'm a newcomer, I'm New

Blood, I'm New Money, and I'm—yes, by God, I am a lawyer!

And a female one at that. If I didn 't act pushy for any one of

those reasons, they 'd be disappointed.

 

She took a deep breath and grasped the podium for sup-

port. "Friends . . ." It was an unfitting beginning, to judge

from the looks knifing up at her from the floor. "Fellow citi-

zens, let's get right down to it. I'd like just one of you to stand

up right now and tell me what's been going on in this town for

the past couple of days."

 

"Us tell you?" Hoots of laughter followed the anony-

mously shouted question.

 

"Yes, you tell me!" Sandy shouted back. "Just because

my name's been bandied about—and Amanda Taylor's too—

doesn't make us the masterminds of these shenanigans. Tell

me here, now, out loud, in your own words! Say it straight,

make a joke of it, do it off the cuff or rehearse it until you're

tired of hearing yourself talk, but say it so we can all hear how

it sounds when it's put into words instead of scribbled down,

tied to a rock, and smashed through my window! What's been

happening here?"

 

There was a very brief silence. Very brief indeed, for

Peg was in the audience and now she rose up like an indignant

blowfish to huff, "Something nasty's going on in Godwin's

Comers and it's all your fault!"

„     Sandy leaned across the podium. "Specify."

|f     "My dog was killed. My poor"—a sob caught in Peg's

pthroat— "precious puppy was—was—devoured alive by—"

"I've called the media, you know."

Peg choked.

 

"They said they'd be happy to send someone out here to

jpnvestigate."

 

I'     Peg stammered something incomprehensible.

IF     "I've taken the liberty of giving them your name, among

pothers."

 

Esther M. Priesner

 

Peg's face turned the color of a good New England clam

chowder.

 

"Now what were you saying devoured your dog?" San-

dy's lips curled up lazily. "Speak up. When they get here,

they'll want some really interesting interviews."

 

A low mutter rippled through the massed townsfolk of

Godwin's Comers. Still on her feet, Peg blushed a maidenly

rose. She tried to continue testifying to the fate of Kwai-Chang

Caine, but a series of glottal blocks kepi her silent. She sat

down.

 

"Nothing more to say, Peg?" Sandy's palms were

sweating, but only the podium knew it. She glanced sidelong

at the town councilors seated in a row at the long table a little

behind her. Those of them who were not taking furious notes

were engaged in intense conferral. Heads were shaken in wis-

dom and despair. Harv Thomton nibbled his Mark Cross auto-

matic pencil, desecrating it with toothmarks as if it were the

lowest of board of ed. yellow wooden handouts.

 

"How about you, Cee-Cee?" Sandy's index finger made

a flamboyant stab at the lady in question, a gesture of which

Perry Mason might be proud. "Would you like to tell everyone

here what you told me over the telephone when you accused

me of breaking up your marriage?"

 

Cee-Cee clutched her Nantucket purse with both hands

and compressed her lips tightly. Her backbone bored into the

pew behind her. She was too well bred to blush, but she could

steam very nicely.

 

"Not"—Sandy's finger now lifted on high to illustrate a

point—"that Cee-Cee ever claimed / was the one who seduced

her husband. Just my employee. She made that clear. She's

honest. I'm sure she'll be just as honest with Mike Wallace or

Dan Rather or whoever People magazine sends along here to

cover the story." She folded her arms. "That's going to be

some story, Cee-Cee, if you tell them what you told me. Do

you think Dwight's going to back you up? Or Mr. Andropoulos?

Bugs in your home computer are one thing, nixies in your base-

ment are another."

 

From the far left rear of the room, old Mrs. Talbot raised

a white-gloved hand and was recognized by the chair. Aided

by her niece Emma, she rose to her feet and leaned on the pew

ahead.

 

"Young lady," she said in her firm voice. "Young lady,

I believe that you may stop this performance of yours without

calling upon any more specific cases. You have made your point.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 121

 

Were we to tell anyone outside of this town about our current

predicament, we should all be adjudged insane—victims of

mass delusion, at best, as were those unhappy folk in old Salem

village. I, for one, should prefer not to have my mental health

debated, particularly as I am of advanced years and do not wish

to have my last will and testament brought under question by

Emma's brother Brian once I am gone." She lowered her voice

and added, "We don't talk about Brian."

 

The indistinct sounds of agreement filled the Congrega-

tional church. Sandy tried not to smile quite so much, but the

grimace had gelled into place at the height of her anxiety and

now refused to be disenfranchised. After this, addressing a

hanging jury should be cupcakes, she thought.

 

She pushed herself off the podium with an effort and said,

"Thank you, Mrs. Talbot. I'm on your side. I think we all are.

I haven't actually called in the media. I simply wanted to illus-

trate our situation—ours, not just yours. This is my home too.

I haven't lived in Godwin's Comers long—some of you here

tonight represent families who've got one century of residence

for every year of mine—but even so, I love this town. I don't

want it reduced to a headline on the front page of the National

Enquirer or an entry in some Weird New England guidebook.

I don't want to see the green overrun with tourists, or the street

signs changed to 'Pixie Place' and 'Queen-of-Air-and-Dark-

ness Lane.' I don't want my Ellie to grow up and get a job

hawking cute little plastic unicorns with thermometers growing

out of their foreheads."

 

Peg led a chorus of gagging sounds in which the ladies

of the Godwin's Comers Garden Club were loudest.

 

"I wish we could close our eyes and have all of these—

incidents vanish," Sandy went on. "We all know that some-

thing strange is happening, just as we know how the rest of

the world would react if they ever found out. We don't want

that. But we—or you—do want to know why these things are

happening. You're entitled."

 

The town meeting hushed expectantly as Sandy motioned

for Amanda Taylor to join her at the podium. The young wom-

an's shoulders shook under her sparkling shawl, but she laid

her hands on the smooth old wood and controlled the urge to

flee. Amanda Taylor began to speak, and although her tale was

first greeted by incredulous whispers and a few fingers tapping

temples to indicate doubts about her sanity, in the end the peo-

l1' pie of Godwin's Comers understood the source of their own

mischances with the world of Faery.

 

Esther M. Priesner

 

"He wants me back," Amanda concluded. "He's only

waiting for me to consent, and then he'll leave you and your

town alone." She turned to Sandy, who had discreetly taken

her seat while Amanda spoke. "Mrs.—Afa. Horowitz has been

trying to make me see this through. She seems to think we

have a hope of severing all my ties with Kelerison if we persist

with our lawsuit. I don't know why mortal law should bind an

elven. The threat of it certainly has angered him.*'' She dropped

her eyes. The microphone scarcely picked up her voice. "You

are all suffering from that anger. It isn't fair. While I've been

up here talking, I've also been thinking about it. Why should

anyone have to fight my battles for me? What am I to any of

you? I am nothing, no one, a stranger among you. This is your

town. For your sakes, I will give in to the lord of Elfhame

Ultramar and leave you in peace."

 

Amanda tried to descend from the platform, but found

her passage blocked by none other than Cee-Cee Godwin

Haines. "Don't you dare!" She stamped her foot for empha-

sis, though the thick sole of her topsider absorbed most of the

sound. "My people—I'm one of those Godwins, you know-

knew your people. Not the Taylors, of course, but your orig-

inal family. As soon as I heard you give your maiden name I

thought it sounded familiar."

 

"One of the first families of Godwin's Comers," Dennis

Tuttle chimed in, waving his omnipresent sheaf of original

source material. "Elspeth Morgan mentioned them in her jour-

nal. She borrowed a toasting fork from your sister."

 

Mrs. Lee nudged her daughter. "I thought Elspeth Mor-

gan was a trifle before that lady's time?"

 

Miss Lee shrugged. "I don't think Elspeth Morgan had

much respect for time, or much else. Anyway, she's got the

only gravestone in the old burying ground with question marks

all over it and no guarantee of a body under it."

 

The Lee family's comments were lost in the common

clamor of welcome and acceptance now being tendered to

Amanda Taylor. Sandy let the tension trickle out of her bones

as the most prominent and powerful in the small sphere of

Godwin's Comers society came forward to put themselves into

Amanda's service.

 

Harv Thomton, Chairman, summed it up for all present

when he said, "If I hadn't've seen what this Kelerison person's

capable of, I'd've marked you down for touched, Mrs. Taylor.

But he's cut his own throat—if he's got a throat—by dragging

in this whole town to be your witnesses. Okay, so we can't tell

 

ELF DEFENSE                 123

 

anyone else about him and his minions. So what? He's still got

us to deal with, and you've got us to count on. You're not

giving up. This is your home, we're your friends, your neigh-

bors maybe even your blood, and we know how to stand up

for one of our own. You too. Sandy."

 

"Sue his tights off!" someone shouted from the floor.

 

Peg sidled up the platform and whispered, "I'm sorry

about what I did in your yard, Sandra dear. It was just that

poor Kwai-Chang—oh, I'm so embarrassed!"

 

Old Mrs. Talbot had Emma help her all the way up the

aisle and onto the platform where she grasped the podium and

declared, "We the people of Godwin's Comers have weath-

ered the blizzard of seventy-eight, the hurricane of eighty-six,

and Lord save us, the Summer People. We can weather elves."

 

As the hall exploded into cheers and applause. Sandy

could almost feel sorry for the King of Elfhame Ultramar.

 

Chapter Thirteen:

 

>».

 

Emma followed her aunt's advice and used more fal-

low-through on the downswing. The umbrella struck

the unicorn a slight blow on the muzzle, making the beast snort

in confusion without deterring him from his purpose. Emma

uttered a tiny squeal of distress and ran around the corner of

the house. The unicorn followed.

 

From her place in the window seat, old Mrs. Talbot

clicked her tongue and remarked to herself, "Dropped the um-

brella too. Such a fuss. When will that child leam?" Contin-

uing to mumble over the shortcomings of the new generation,

she took up her blackthorn walking stick and went to see about

settling matters properly.

 

In spite of advanced arthritis, Mrs. Talbot carried herself

with stiff dignity and self-possession. No one looking at her

could begin to guess the agonies she suffered with each step.

She walked out the front door and intercepted her niece on the

' third circuit of the family homestead. Emma cowered behind

 

124 Esther M. Priesner

 

her aunt's tastefully flowered challis dress as the relentless uni-

corn came charging down upon them both.

 

"Begone, sir!" The blackthorn stick struck the homed

creature sharply dead center between the nostrils. Mrs. Talbot

followed up this blow with another, broader smack to the right

flank, trying to turn him. The unicorn reared in pain, lashing

the air with his cloven hooves not three inches from the old

lady's face.

 

He got the blackthorn across the pasterns of both forelegs

for that. "Down, sir! Down, I say!" Mrs. Talbot menaced him

with her stick. The unicorn's glass-green eyes rolled in his

head. Here was a breed of dragon he had never before encoun-

tered. His nostrils flared, and he tossed the tangle of his mane

in confusion. Head lowered, he backed a few paces away.

 

Mrs. Talbot bore in upon him, making threatening ges-

tures with her blackthorn despite the nastily shining silver horn

that might have converted her to the world's first DAR shish

kebab. Emma clung to her aunt's skirt and came tippy-toeing

after. "Oh please. Aunt Viv, don't hurt him!" she begged.

 

Mrs. Talbot's small, cold eyes pierced all the more

deeply when seen from the other side of her bifocals. "Not

hurt him? Emma, while I find this palpable evidence of your

good morals a comfort, I will not have my schedule of obli-

gations interfered with by mere beasts."

 

"My . . . good morals?"

 

"Your virginity." The old woman snapped out the words

as if they were somewhat distasteful. "Good gracious, don't

you know anything about unicorns? It's only the virgins they

bother. Our Emergency Action Committee has already set up

a hotline for those poor put-upon souls who are being harassed

by the creatures. Peggy Seymour has been chased up a tree

three times already since the unicorns showed themselves. Not

the same tree, mind. And it has been quite, quite unbearable

for those poor young men at the academy. Another seven mem-

bers of the senior class have asked their parents to withdraw

them from school after unicorns singled them out for atten-

tion." Her tone grew icy as she added, "There was no need

for anyone to tell the classmates of those young men what made

them so attractive to the beasts. The ragging has been inexcus-

able. In my day, virginity was not regarded as an affliction or

a shame."

 

Emma wrung her fingers abjectly. The unicorn took this

chance to try circumnavigating Mrs. Taylor in order to attain

his goal, and got another whack from her walking stick.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 125

 

"Stay, sir! Stay!" Mrs. Talbot addressed the unicorn

with the no-nonsense steadfastness of voice recommended for

cowing the larger breeds of dog. Something regal went out of

the animal, though Mrs. Talbot was just as unmoved by his

large, mournful eyes as by his formerly warlike stance.

 

"Emma, come. We are in danger of tardiness. Had I con-

sidered the possibility of your maiden state making us late for

a social appointment"—she glared alternately at her niece and

the unicorn—"I might almost have wished you otherwise."

 

"Me too," muttered Emma. She gave the unicorn a wist-

ful look as her aunt shooed her along.

 

The Godwin's Comers Emergency Action Committee met

in the dining room of Sandra Horowitz's home. There was

some small delay getting people in the front door.

 

"It's no use, Mrs. Walters!" Davina called to Sandy

from the foyer. "There are five unicorns waiting out here al-

ready, and they're every one of them blocking the door."

 

Mrs. Talbot twitched her nose and slewed her eyes from

face to face of those committee members already present. She

was clearly calculating the unicom-to-virgin probabilities.

Dennis Tuttle squirmed uncomfortably. Miss Lee crossed her

legs and tried to look happy. There was Emma's unicorn, of

course, and one of the creatures might have picked up the scent

of the girl-child living in this house, but as for the fifth . . .

 

Davina passed through the dining room with a wicker

rug beater in her hand and a determined expression on her face.

They heard the kitchen door open and shut, and not long after

there came from the front the sound of dull thuds on cervequine

hide and the high-pitched belling of persecuted unicorns who

were just trying to do their jobs.

 

Davina reentered by the front door, looking draggled and

tired. The rug beater was broken. "It's no use," she said.

"Miss Seymour arrived with another one just as I was driving

on" the rest.''

 

To give credit to Davina's words, Peg Seymour breezed

in and nabbed herself coffee and a bagel before sitting down.

She wiggled her hindquarters into a chair and said, "Stupid

beasts. They are doing their best to get their horns stuck in

your Ellie's swing set now."

 

"Good. That'll keep them out of our hair." Sandy

opened a looseleaf binder. "We're almost all here. Doris from

the library sent her regrets. She can't get out of her house."

 

126 Esther M. Friesner

 

"If she says she's scared of the unicorns chasing her"—

Mrs. Lee smirked—"she lies."

 

"Doris has a limoniads in her kudzu, if you must know."

 

Miss Lee's snicker was a lot like her mother's, only more

nasal. Doris Perkms, absolute monarch of the Godwin's Cor-

ners town library, had once accused the eternally kittenish Miss

Lee of returning Love's Devouring Passion with peanut butter

gluing up the chapter where the Elvis impersonator seduces

Brandi Donner. Mrs. Lee protested in vain that her daughter

would not be caught dead reading such guff. At thirty-nine, a

girl of her Kathryn's breeding had higher tastes. Still Doris

slapped them with the cost of replacing the book.

 

"Limoniads? People who pay lip service to housework

deserve to be overrun with the six-legged horrors," Mrs. Lee

said.

 

"For God's sake, limoniads haven't any more legs than

you do. They're flower nymphs, the way dryads are tree

.nymphs and oreads—oh, the hell with it. They got into Doris's

patch of kudzu and made it grow like nobody's business until

she'll need a machete to get out of her own house. We've

dispatched a pack of Cub Scouts to handle it.'' Sandy turned

a page in the binder. "Fortunately, the stuff doesn't keep her

from making phone calls, and in the meantime she gave us

plenty of good suggestions over the wire. I've taken the liberty

of divvying them up into assignments."

 

Sheets were passed out to the committee. Dennis Tuttle's

pepper-and-salt eyebrows rose as he read until they were lost

in the thatch of his grizzled bangs. He lowered the paper to his

lap. "Why me?" he whined.

 

"It's a dirty job," Sandy replied.

 

"This doesn't look so bad." Peg squinted at her own

assignment sheet. "Public awareness coordinator. I like it."

 

"Couldn't you spell 'gossipmonger,' dear?" Mrs. Lee

whispered to Sandy.

 

"I don't know about this." Kathryn Lee frowned over

her orders. "I'll have to get the parents' consent."

 

"That's where you and Peg team up," Sandy told her.

"This is one action that calls for full, townwide cooperation,

and I mean./»//. Adults, children, men, women, old and young,

everyone."

 

Miss Lee thrust out her underlip. "None of this is going

to work. What can we really do against the Lord of Faery? He

and all his creatures are magic! How can we fight that?"

 

"Are you kidding?" Sandy grinned and picked up a copy

 

ELF DEFENSE                 127

 

of the Brothers Grimm from the table. "We wrote the book.

Several." She pointed in turn to a volume of old ballads, a

scattering of paperback fantasies, a dog-eared pile of gaming

manuals and graphic novels borrowed from Lionel's students,

and assorted books of folklore.

 

Then her smile faded. "We're modern, educated, serious

people. We're adults. We've been fighting magic for longer

than you know. And I'm afraid we're winning."

 

Peg Seymour saw the unicorn loitering near the jewelry

store and let him get her scent. She walked quickly but never

seemed to flee, allowing him to follow her without breaking

into a trot. People on the main street saw them coming and

stood aside. It was no use crossing the street to avoid encoun-

tering the fabulous steed, for the opposite sidewalk was already

the turf of Emma Talbot, who had picked up her own unicorn

entourage.

 

As the two maiden ladies strolled on, additional unicorns

joined them. Either the tracking was poor elsewhere or the

animals had a sort of telepathy, informing their brethren that

here were two likely subjects who didn't hit or make you work

up a lather to catch them. By the time Emma and Peg had gone

the length of the town, they each had four unicorns apiece in

their wakes.

 

At the corner of Maple Street, toward the end of town

where the wetlands commenced, Dennis Tuttle fell into step

beside Emma. He had a dozen unicorns sniffing at his heels

and he didn't look at all pleased with his success.

 

"Where's Kathryn?" Emma asked. She spoke as one

conspirator to another, without making eye contact. Emma,

Dennis, and the rest had learned that unicorns were proprie-

tary, and tended to guard their own selected virgin jealously

from other unicorns and even from other virgins.

 

"At the rendezvous," Dennis replied out of the corner

of his mouth. "She got them. They're waiting."

 

"I've never been so nervous in my life." Emma's words

were barely audible. She pressed dripping palms together and

wiped them surreptitiously on her skirt. "I'm petrified to think

of what will happen if this doesn't work. 'Always keep mov-

ing,' Davina told us. What happens if you stand still?"

 

"I think they wait for you to sit down," Dennis said.

"Then the unicorn lays its head in your lap."

 

"Then what?"

 

Dennis thought about it. "Then . . ." He cast a furtive

 

128 Esther M. Friesner

 

look over one shoulder. Three more unicorns had fallen in be-

hind him. He felt ice in his bowels. "Keep moving," he said

hoarsely.

 

For all practical purposes, the town of Godwin's Comers

ended where the sidewalk did, boundary signs notwithstanding.

The last street before this was itself a roughly paved road with-

out concrete walkways, and it was here that Emma, Dennis,

Peg, and their homed followings all converged. The three sep-

arate herds of unicorns did not care for the merger, but the

narrowness of the street left them no choice. They shouldered

each other roughly, trying to keep their eyes fixed on the sole

virgin of their fancy. It was not easy, and more than once

Emma shuddered when she heard the sharp clack of huge teeth

and the shrill scream of the bitten animal.

 

Up the slight hill they went, under the limbs of old syc-

amore trees, past the American Legion hall, and into a stretch

of open ground that, miraculously, had not yet been black-

topped or condominiumed over. Grass still grew there, autum-

nal golden blades brightened by a few late-shining purple stars

of aster fenced only by a distant stand of pine trees. The hu-

mans could hear soft whickerings of wonder and delight from

a number of throats behind them. They did not look back, but

marched on, until they were in the very center of the field.

 

And then Peg Seymour cupped her hands to her lips and

shouted, "Come and get them, girls!"

 

The pine woods exploded. Laughter wilder and sweeter

than any other sound on earth rushed from the fragrant ever-

green shadows as a horde of little girls, all between the ages

of eight and twelve, came running into the meadow, arms out-

stretched to the unicorns.

 

It was over in a few minutes. The beasts never knew

what hit them. Kathryn Lee had had to conscript every willing

and qualified Girl Scout and Brownie in town, with a few

Campfire Girls thrown in for safety in numbers, but it was

necessary. Sandy had suggested a minimum of three girls per

unicorn to guarantee success. It worked.

 

Elflock-tangled manes were unraveled and combed silky

by small, eager hands, then braided up with bright ribbons.

Lumps of sugar, carrots, even granola bars were thrust under

the beasts' noses, and an endless stream of cloying pet names

were trilled into their ears. The unicorns found themselves

kissed, caressed, hugged, coddled, and spoiled from all sides.

It was an assault of very human enchantments, no less com-

pelling than Elfhame magic. Huge, age-wise eyes lifted to link

 

ELF DEFENSE                 129

 

glances above the sea of adoring young faces. A calm, mutual

agreement was exchanged. Whatever their original orders had

been, the unicorns had reached a decision of their own. They

liked this just fine.

 

They let the little girls lead them all away and left the

adult virgins to their own devices.

 

"It worked." Kathryn Lee sounded as if she still had

trouble believing it.

 

"Did we get all of them?" Emma wondered.

 

"I covered the academy campus." Dennis still sounded

miffed. "You ladies covered the town proper. I'd say we got

them all."

 

"But will the ruse hold them?" Peg asked. "What's to

stop them from breaking free of the little girls and coming back

after us, or the academy boys, or any transient virgins in the

neighborhood?"

 

A shy, knowing smile touched Emma's lips. "You never

were horse-mad, were you. Miss Seymour?"

 

Peg shuddered in just the way a brood mare might twitch

flies off her coat. "They do smell so."

 

"Then you can't know a thing about the bond that forms

between a young girl and her horse. Some people will tell you

it's all in the girl's imagination, but—"

 

"They're wrong," Kathryn said hotly. "They don't

know anything!" Tears leaked from her eyes.

 

"Did you have a horse. Miss Lee?" Dennis put the ques-

tion gently and dared to let his arm rest on the woman's plump

shoulders. He was gratified when she did not jerk away, but

snuggled more deeply into his bird-boned chest.

 

"Lord Rheingold Silver the Bruce Wyremad's Pride, the

most spirited gelding there ever was in the world! I called him

Brucie. He died when my mother told me we couldn't afford

lessons anymore." A sob tore her throat. "He died because he

pined for me, I know he did!"

 

Peg Seymour made a disgusted sound. "Beasts are

beasts. Pining for you, no less! Really, Kathryn, you're a little

old to be weeping over a horse."

 

Dennis found his reedy arms closing protectively about

Miss Lee's daunting dimensions in just the way so many Brads,

Winthrops, Dirks, and Stewarts behaved in the Mistglow Ro-

mances he read on the q.t. ("It's for my mother. Miss Per-

kins.") It was an alien action, reeking of testosterone, and he

found he rather enjoyed it. Just for grins, he tried thrusting his

chin out and tightening his jaw muscles.

 

130 Esther M. Friesner

 

"If you're incapable of comprehending the finer emo-

tions, Miss Seymour, at least have the courtesy not to mock

what you don't understand!"

 

"Hmph! I understand that there's more work to be

done." Peg turned on her heel and stalked back to town, Emma

Talbot hurrying after.

 

"Oh, Dennis, you were wonderful!" Kathryn burrowed

into him more fiercely. Dennis felt a rising heat in his loins.

Usually the sensation panicked him into' drinking three pots of

chamomile tea and doing some research on the Morgan family

tree. He was always afraid that if he did anything more direct

about answering his glandular imperatives, he would do the

wrong thing, do it poorly, do it far too hastily, and be laughed

at. Better to drink tea. But this time he was far from home, in

the middle of a meadow, and for once he didn't feel as terrified

of his own fleshly impulses as formerly. The shadow of a ram-

pant unicorn hung against the sky with a double-dog-dare-you

leer on its face.

 

"No, Kathryn," he breathed. "I am not wonderful. You

are." Their lips met and fused together on contact. They sank

down into the windswept grasses, and though passion swiftly

overcame their every scruple, blood and breeding indicated the

old Yankee gentleman. Dennis still took that extra moment to

check their flowery bed for unicorn chips.

 

The dark man in the Burberry raincoat leaned across the

rail fence and cursed the prancing unicorns in an unknown

tongue. "Is thissss how you obey your king? Worthlesssss

beastssss! The girls have gone. Come! Leave thisssss place!

There is work for you!"

 

He rose into the air and floated over the fence, coming

down beside the largest of the fabulous creatures. It was a

stallion, with a silver-tipped white coat and a horn so translu-

cent that the blood pulsing within the shaft gave it the illusion

of a captive rainbow. The big steed's mane was braided into a

series of loops, each decked with a blue ribbon rosette, and his

breath was still sweet with sugar.

 

The dark man glowered into the unicorn's liquid eyes.

"Did you not hear me? Lord Kelerisssson demands that you

lead the herd back to the academy grounds! Ssstrike there, and

we may yet cause the mortal woman's mate to lose his job.

That will sssstab her deep! Come, I sssay! Sssserve your king

as he bids you!"

 

"That won't do you a stitch of good, young man." Old

 

ELF DEFENSE                 131

 

Mrs. Talbot had a clear voice that carried well, even across the

breadth of an open paddock. She came toward the dark man,

leaning on Emma's arm. "You might tell your employer that

he'll get n0 further use out of these unicorns. They are entirely

attached to the girls. Believe me, I have tried to shoo them off,

as an experiment, and have had no luck whatsoever, though

the girls are all in class now." Her eyes narrowed as she drew

nearer. "I hope I shall have better fortune shooing you away."

 

The dark man's all-black eyes returned Mrs. Talbot's

gimlet glare. "Old fool! If it wantsss the children to fetch the

unicorns, do you think the lord King Kelerison will balk at

 

that?"

 

He flung back his Burberry, and the raincoat transformed

itself into a cape of reptilian scales, blue and green, wildfire

smoldering around the hem. Beneath it, the dark man was na-

ked, and Emma gasped to see any near-human form so mis-

shapen, any being so repulsive to the eye. A reed flute showed

itself in the dark man's twisted fingers, and he moistened his

lipless mouth with a pebbled gray tongue before he began to

play.

 

"That will do," Mrs. Talbot said, and her walking stick

put bite behind her words as she smashed the flute from the

dark man's hands. "We'll have none of your Pied Piper non-

sense in Godwin's Comers. This happens to be a school day,

and truancy is sufficiently widespread without your encourage-

ment."

 

A hawk's hunting cry split the dark man's face. He leaped

for Mrs. Talbot, hands clenched into claws, his cloak of scales

streaming fire. The old woman gave an involuntary shout for

help, arms crossed before her face, and stepped backward with-

out looking. She trod on a small tussock of grass and her ankle

turned under her, then snapped with the brittleness of her years.

She fell, and the scream of pain she uttered left no doubt in

Emma's mind that her aunt had at the very least broken her hip

as well.

 

"You . . . you coward!" Emma grabbed up her aunt's

walking stick and drove it down hard on the dark man's skull.

Not even Mrs. Talbot could criticize her fellow-through this

time. It made a rubbery noise on impact, but it stopped him

before he could reach the old woman. He staggered, eyes

blinking. Emma raised the blackthorn for a second blow.

 

The unicorn spared her the trouble. He was between her

and the dark man, flailing his razored hooves at the creature,

jabbing in with his horn, slashing huge rents in the fiery scale

 

132 Esther M. Friesner

 

cloak with his teeth. Threads of flame wriggled and went out

wherever the unicorn's horn touched. The magical cape lost its

fire, then its light. The scales turned ashy gray, charred black,

and the dark man curled into a ball of cringing terror beneath.

The unicorn blew scornfully through his nostrils and showed

his fallen foe his hindquarters before prancing away to where

Mrs. Talbot lay.

 

The unicom bent his neck and touched her with his horn.

A wave of something more than light emanated'from the pearly

tip and spread over the woman's body in a tide of healing. Mrs.

Talbot stared into the unicorn's impassive face as her body

responded to the grace of magic. The unicom lifted his head

and trotted off in the direction of the stables to wait until his

three special girls should come from school to spoil him fur-

ther. He was unconcerned with human awe or gratitude. He

had only been doing his job.

 

Emma breathed a prayer of thanks when she saw her aunt

healed of more than those broken bones. Mrs. Talbot got to

her feet as easily as a schoolgirl and announced, "My arthritis!

Emma, it's gone!" She came over to where her niece still stood

above the trembling dark man and stared at him with just the

same cold disdain as the unicom had used. "Let that be a

lesson to you." She turned her back on him. "Come, Emma.

This is only a start."

 

But it was not in Emma's nature to pretend that an ene-

my's pain was less real than an ally's. Her heart ached with

pity. She was softer than her aunt Vivian would have liked,

but that was her nature. Leaning on the blackthorn stick, she

knelt beside the dark man and rested a hand on his back. "I'm

sorry," she said.

 

"What do you know of sorrow?" Every word was a

groan. Emma winced in sympathy when the dark man moved,

revealing the bleeding gashes that the unicom had dealt him.

 

"You—you attacked Aunt Vivian, and she's an old

woman. I had to protect her. What you did—"

 

"You think I did it freely? That it was my pleasure to

act thus?" Pain throbbed in the night eyes, shone in the bloody

star-shaped pupils, yet the dark man managed a bitter laugh.

"But of course you do! I am a monster to your earthbound

eyes, and what is ugly without must be damned within. The

shell betrays the substance. If I would tell you the truth of my

seeming, your eyes would say I lied. What is ugly, is evil,

always."

 

"No." Emma shook her head. She slipped her arm be-

 

 

ELF DEFENSE                 133

 

neath the dark man's head and cradled it. She thought of her

own plain face, and her innate shyness. Better than any fence

of witch-called thorns, better than any ring of enchanted fire,

they had kept Emma isolated from all the mundane princes of

her world for what seemed like over a hundred years. She knew

much of unattractive shells and the secrets they could hide.

The blackthorn fell to the ground. She took her own handker-

chief and dabbed at his wounds. "No."

 

"Liar! You mouth what makes your soul feel justified,

but your heart knows the truth! You find me hideous, body and

 

soul!"

 

The words and the gesture were simple. "Not hideous;

 

sad." And a kiss on the lipless mouth, given with a compas-

sion more rare than pity or love.

 

"Emma!" Mrs. Talbot was scandalized. "Emma, what

are you—oh! Oh heavens! Oh dear!''

 

The beautiful young man broke through the dark man's

shell in a hatching more dramatic than any salamander's birth.

The old skin flaked away and rode a passing wind into obliv-

ion. The man remaining was tall and golden, his eyes the color

of hyacinths. His cape, tunic, and hose were all the shades of

blue in a changing summer sky, and he drew a joyfully sur-

prised Emma into an embrace that lasted far too long for her

aunt's sense of propriety.

 

"Young man." Mrs. Talbot tapped him smartly on the

back. "Young man, as Emma's nearest living relative—with

the exception of her brother Brian, and we don't talk about

him—I think we should discuss your intentions before this un-

seemly display of affection goes any further.''

 

The extraordinary eyes reluctantly turned from Emma's

ecstatic face. He spoke in a voice half honey and half music.

"Madam, I am Prince Fergus MacNuada of Eire and Faery,

with vast domains in both your world and my fay sire's, A

curse was placed upon me by a disgruntled Englishman when

I refused to sell him certain portions of my Connemara estates

during the Great Potato Famine."

 

"Forgive me if I question your word," Mrs. Talbot re-

plied.

 

"Because of the long lapse of years between the famine

and the present? But I am of the blood of Elfhame."

 

"I don't question your pedigree. It is simply that I cannot

picture a proper Englishman cursing in public."

 

Prince Fergus had a smile to charm mercy from a stone.

"He had been stationed in India and picked up some of the

 

itf

 

134               Esther M. Friesner

 

more unfortunate native customs, including powerful magic.

The curse worked, and I became such an embarrassment to my

old-world relatives—mortal and elfin both—that I left the es-

tates in trust and emigrated. King Kelerison gave me a post in

his court, but now"—he returned his fondest look to Emma—

"now that this blessed girl has broken the spell's power with

a kiss, I am free to return."

 

Mrs. Talbot frowned.

 

"With her, of course," Prince Fergus added.

 

Mrs. Talbot glowered.

 

"—as my lawfully wedded wife—"

 

Mrs. Talbot's eyes shot sparks.

 

"—after an Episcopalian ceremony."

 

Mrs. Talbot smiled. "Bless you, my children."

 

Kelerison was in his room at the Silver Swan Inn, deep

in a dream of mortal women, when there came a knock at the

door. He grumbled and opened it without getting out of bed,

putting a minor itching spell on whoever was unlucky enough

to have disturbed his rest.

 

Scratching furiously in a host of embarrassing spots,

Rumpelstiltskin entered.

 

"Well?" Kelerison stretched his long bones until his back

arched. "How soon before these townsfolk tear the brazen

wench apart for me?"

 

"Bad news. Your Majesty." The dwarf used his golden

spindle as a backscratcher.

 

Kelerison sat up straight, eyes afire. "Bad news? I don't

care for bad new. How bad?"

 

"Well . . . they neutralized the unicorns, for one."

 

"Unicorns—" The King of Elfhame Ultramar snapped

his fingers. "I only threw them in for nuisance value and dec-

orative effect. One brownie is worth a dozen unicorns in plagu-

ing mortals into submission."

 

Rumpelstiltskin became so upset that he forgot to scratch.

"Got the brownies too," he muttered.

 

"What?"

 

"It's not my fault. Your Majesty, I swear!" He made

the Old Sign over his heart and kissed his pinkie for emphasis.

"You didn't give me but a handful of the People of the Dark-

ness to deploy, and second stringers, most of them."

 

Kelerison's brow darkened. "I don't need Bantrobel in-

quiring into my present business here on the surface. If I di-

 

ELF DEFENSE                 135

 

 

 

 

verted too many of our subjects, she might suspect something

and come after me."

 

The dwarf sighed noisily. "Queen Bantrobel hasn't come

after you in more than a century. What makes you think she'd

care enough to start nosy ing in now?"

 

"My lady wife might act indifferent to my comings and

goings, but it's no more than a ploy on her part. She does

care!" Kelerison's expression challenged contradiction.

 

"As you like it, Your Majesty." Rumpelstiltskin's

shoulders rose and fell.

 

"What I would like is to hear is what's become of our

effectives."

 

The dwarf decided that the inevitable could not be soft-

ened by delay. "They got 'em with the shoes."

 

"?"

 

"Shoes, Your Majesty. You know us People of the

Darkness. Too damned close to the land, that's our problem,

never really able to cut the ties to the old country like you

elven. You're assimilated, but us—we're still too ethnic. Cus-

toms, customs, customs . . ."He shook his head and scratched

under his arms.

 

A charge of raw, irritated power from Kelerison blasted

every itch on the dwarf's body into kingdom come. "Stop your

gibber and tell me what happened!"

 

"They put out their old shoes, that's what!" Rumpelstilt-

skin shouted back. "Reeboks and Nikes, Maine trotters and

topsiders, even a gaggle of Thorn McAns. There wasn't one

doorstep in all Godwin's Comers that didn't have a bowl of

milk and a set of cruddy treads on it last night Even up at the

Godwin Academy there were paper cups full of Grade A out-

side every dorm room and sneakers shot to hell."

 

The dwarf sighed. "You know how it was in the old

country? There never was a brownie, gnome, or karker could

resist a free drink, only after it's down the hatch, we're honor

bound to pay back the treat with a service, and that's always

been free cobbling. There are only so many of us here with

you now. Your Majesty, and there are only so many hours a

night, and cobbling—really fine cobbling—takes time. We're

old-world craftsmen who take pride in our work. By the time

it was sunup, we'd finished the shoes but there wasn't any time

to do any mischief.''

 

"That accounts for one night," Kelerison said testily.

 

"One night, sure; and the next; and the next. Never saw

 

136 Esther M. Friesner

 

so many shoes in my life! If I ever meet this Maude Frizon

chick, I'm gonna—"

 

"The Winged Ones! Surely they have been accomplish-

ing something more concrete?"

 

The dwarf doffed his cap. A tiny winged sprite sat cross-

legged on his bald spot, but at the sight of Kelerison it took to

the air, buzzing nastily. The King ofElfhame Ultramar plucked

it by the wings and forced it to calm down long'enough to

make a report. He heard it out, then tilted his head toward

Rumpelstiltskin.

 

"I am astounded. I didn't know you could jury-rig a

Japanese beetle trap."

 

"The Horowitz broad sent Prince Fergus around with a

letter offering to trade you seventeen bags full of pixies, fairies,

and assorted limoniads for an interview at her place this eve-

ning at six."

 

"She dares to set times and conditions?" Kelerison

roared. "Summon Prince Fergus to me! I will have him take

care of her."

 

The dwarf tied knots in his cap. "Prince Fergus is off

the payroll."

 

Kelerison slapped one hand over his eyes. "Who broke

the spell? A mortal?"

 

Rumpelstiltskin made a small sound of assent. "He said

to tell you thanks for the memories and the bride's registering

her patterns at Tiffany's."

 

Kelerison's body lost much of its stiff-boned pride. "Is

there more?"

 

"I-uh—I-"

 

"Et tu, Rumpelstiltskin?"

 

A tear or two of bleak defeat took the scenic route down

the dwarf's long nose before splashing to the floorboards. "No

sense putting it off, sire. He'll wait forever, if he has to, but

he said he's gonna see you and he means it. Take my advice:

 

don't fight him." More tears followed. "I tried; I lost."

 

The King of Elfhame Ultramar was off his bed of luxury

and on his feet. Shining layers of air were already molding

themselves into armor on his body, and a sword spiked out of

his hand. "A warrior! The Powers be praised, at last they send

me an honorable challenge, in the time-honored style of trial

by combat. Ah, it shall be sweet—"

 

Rumpelstiltskin dared to lay a restraining hand on his

master's sword arm. "Uh-uh," he said.

 

Kelerison watched, bemused, as the dwarf went back to

 

ELF DEFENSE                 137

 

the door and opened it. On the other side waited an apparition

so startling that the King of Elfhame Ultramar forgot to drop

his armored guise but stood there, in full battle splendor, star-

ing like an upcountry pumpkinhead.

 

Well might he stare. His caller was a hybrid more fear-

some than any chimera or griffon. From neck to feet he was

the picture of impeccable haberdashery. His Italian wingtips

matched exactly the color of his Crouch and Fitzgerald attache

case, both in mellow burgundy leather. His sober navy suit

hung well and was smartly, though not ostentatiously, creased

at the legs. Even his tie—that most treacherous of sartorial

shoals, that scrap of fabric upon which many an otherwise sane

man lavishes the worst lunacies of misguided self-expression

and is thereby wrecked, fashionably speaking—even that was

a demure navy-and-burgundy silk rep, with a faint stripe of

yellow as discreet as the finest assassin.

 

From the neck up, the man was a punk. Though his sil-

ver-lensed sunglasses were Dior, though his Mohawk was

thoughtfully dyed in the Princeton colors, though the crucifix

dangling from one pierced ear was probably Carrier, he was a

punk.

 

"Mr. Thomas Keller?" He walked in without an invi-

tation and sat in the ladderback chair beside the room's small

secretary. His attache sprang open on his knees and a series of

manila folders spread their contents over the desk.

 

Kelerison nodded. "Yes?"

 

His caller thrust out his hand. "Brian Talbot." He waited

for his host to sheath his elf-forged blade before they shook,

then he glanced back at the documents in front of him. "Also

known as William Kell, also known as 'Mad Jack' Kelly, also

known as Billy-Bob Kelso, also known as Tom Kelsey of the

sixties band Little Tommy and the Underbill Revolution?"

 

Kelerison nodded again, stiffly. Rumpelstiltskin gaped at

his lord. "A band? When the hell did you pull that one off?

Your Majesty," he added.

 

Brian Talbot stepped in before Kelerison could respond.

"Mr. Rumpelstiltskin, I'm not into pulling rank, but I'm a

busy man, okay? You can catch up on the past later. Anyhow,

the best Little Tommy and the Underbill Revolution ever did

was a warm-up act for Jimi Hendrix and a real short gig at

Woodstock. Had a song that made it about halfway up the

charts. What was it, devil-something?"

 

" 'Demon Lover.' " Kelerison sat heavily on the bed.

'Number thirty-seven for two weeks."

 

138 Esther M. Friesner

 

"With a fishing sinker. Good while it lasted, though,

huh?" Brian grinned. Two of his upper incisors were capped

with silver, two of the lowers with copper, and all of his ca-

nines had been stained lapis blue. He rapped a sheaf of papers

straight. "So okay, all the a.k.a.'s as above, plus also known

as Kelerison, King of Elfhame Ultramar, right?" Kelerison's

mouth slipped wider by a sizable notch. "Right. And not one

damn penny paid to the IRS—that's me"—he laid a hand to his

bosom and bowed modestly—"in, oh, let's say since there was

an IRS? Here."

 

A familiar-looking bundle of boilerplate was shoved into

Kelerison's hand. The King of Elfhame regarded the subpoena

with the loathing due an exceptionally slimy garden pest. Rum-

pelstiltskin whimpered beneath his lord's glower.

 

"It wasn't my fault. Your Majesty. It was that mortal

woman I tried roping into the Forestfresh biz. She—"

 

"I warned you. Forestfresh!" The elf-king's lip curled.

"I can't understand the blind greed of you People of the Dark-

ness. You can spin straw to gold, yet you insist on dickering

about with petty-cash schemes like that!"

 

"Hey, what do you have against free enterprise?" the

dwarf protested. Indignation made him overly bold. "How

about you elven? I never saw a mortal female yet who came

close to your own kind in the looks department, yet there you

go, chasing one earthbound skirt after another and sending me

home with excuse notes to your wife! And it's not just you,

Your Majesty, it's just about any elfin male worth his sword.

Me and mine going after mortals, I can dig it. You ever see

what one of our women looks like?"

 

Kelerison shuddered. Rumpelstiltskin nodded with satis-

faction and continued: "So you're greedy one way, we're

greedy another. Anyhow, spinning straw to gold—that's against

the law here, isn't it?" He looked to Brian Talbot for confir-

mation.

 

The hound of Internal Revenue gave it. "I'm pretty sure

it is. Could be called counterfeiting, could come under the

heading of an individual citizen holding too much gold." He

slid his shades down the bridge of his nose. "You are a citi-

zen? Our records say so, and you've got a Social Security num-

ber, but—"

 

The dwarf looked proud. "Every soul down Elfhame Ul-

tramar way's as much a citizen of these here United States of

America as any mortal whose ancestors came over on the May-

flower. That's how long we've been here. Longer."

 

ELF DEFBNSE                 139

 

;v

 

"No shit?" Brian shuffled his papers back into the atta-

che and snapped it closed. "I've got half a mind to drop in on

Aunt Viv and tell her that. It always torks the hell out of her

to hear somebody else has deeper bloodlines than her family.

Too bad she's not speaking to me."

 

"I can see why." Kelerison's thin skin of mortal seem-

ing peeled away. He let Brian have the full effect of his exotic

features, the searing rage that could only kindle properly in

elfin eyes.

 

Brian chuckled, safe behind his mirrored lenses. "You

think it's my look? Shows what you know. I'm good at my

job; damn good. So damn good that they don't mind if I keep

the look—potential undercover work opportunity, they call it.

Nah, the look's nothing to the department and nothing to Aunt

Viv either. But the minute I got this job and zinged her with a

delinquency rap, she cut me off dead. Said she'd expected me

to maybe turn to dealing drugs, and was all set to forgive that,

but this was one over the line." He had a snicker the Marquis

de Sade might have cherished. "By the time the department

got through auditing her, she had to dip into her capital! Never

forgave me. Never."

 

He was almost out the door when Kelerison called,

"Stop! Tell me, how did you leam this much about me?"

 

Brian leaned against the jamb. "Well, man, directly

speaking, your little friend there ratted some so's we'd go eas-

ier on him." Rumpelstiltskin cringed. "But we got onto him

through a Ms. Young—"

 

"She sicced 'em on me in trade for them calling up my

Social Security number. Your Majesty!" The dwarf was on his

knees, wringing his hands. "Have mercy! Now I've got to

make her Forestfresh sales quotas!"

 

"—and she got the idea for calling us in from another

woman—a real sharp legal type named—"

 

"Don't tell me." Kelerison's mouth was a brittle line.

'' Sandra Horowitz.''

 

Brian snapped his fingers. "You got it. And a Ms.

Amanda Taylor helped us out a lot too, giving us some of those

a.k.a.'s you've been using over the years. Nice ladies."

 

The power of great magic coupled with the immeasurable

strength of great anger gathered around Kelerison like a thun-

derhead. His silver armor tarnished black from the force of his

wrath. "You moth, are you blind to who and what I am? I am

Kelerison, Lord King of Elfhame Ultramar! Are you arrogant

 

140 Esther M. Priesner

 

enough to believe that this has any meaning for me?" He crum-

pled the subpoena in his hands.

 

Brian calmly brushed the top of his black-and-orange

Mohawk. "Got me. That's not my department. Like Ms. Ho-

rowitz said, no harm in trying, okay? If it doesn't work, we

tried; if it does . . . Hey, I really like that heavy metal stuff

you're wearing, y'know? Outtahere."

 

The subpoena slowly came down at Kelerison'.s side. He

closed the door after Brian without moving from the bed. Rum-

pelstiltskin crept closer to his lord. "Your Majesty, I'm real

sorry, I swear that I—"

 

"Six o'clock," Kelerison said grimly. "She herself has

summoned me. Let her doom come to her out of her own fool-

ishness. Six o'clock tonight. I will be there."

 

Chapter Fourteen:

 

The Case of the Aagry Elven

 

tf^'Dass me Black's, Cass," Sandy said, not looking

IT up from the shuffle of yellow legal pads and Da-

vina's crisply typed research notes. The room so long con-

secrated to be Sandy's in-home office, and so long unused,

now looked as jumbled and lived-in as the most ambitious

proto-lawyer could desire. It was crowded with books and

papers and people—only three people, but what with the books

and papers taking up so much space, those three had to hustle

if they didn't want to do their assigned tasks sitting on the

floor.

 

"What's Black's?" the elfin prince asked. He had laid

aside his mortal looks from the day his father's vengeance had

begun. Now he sat at Sandy's feet, long legs folded elegantly

under him as he occupied a cricket stool. There was something

magical, or at least gravity defying, about the way he managed

to keep his balance on so precarious a perch.

 

"You know what Black's is." Sandy sounded irritated.

She did not look away from her scribblings. "You've passed

it to me enough times." She would not look at him.

 

ELF DEFENSE                141

 

"That was Davina."

 

First playing dumb, now outright lies. She knew it for a

lie, and she knew why he was lying too. He wanted her to look

at him. Just as strongly, she did not want to do that; perhaps

even more strongly.

 

"I think he's right, Mrs. Wal—Sandy." Davina still

didn't sound comfortable addressing her employer so famil-

iarly. She was cozily tucked into the room's one armchair, a

law book on her lap. "I'm sure it was I always retched it for

you, and not Cass."

 

The close air stank with conspiracy. No matter what

Cass said you could depend on Davina to back him up to the

death. There was little need to ponder why. It just wanted

one look at the elfin prince, and Sandy's head seized on the

excuse, turning to do so without a by-your-leave from her

brain.

 

It was distracting and disconcerting to tear her eyes from

the paperwork and meet Cass's gaze, for all that it was sen-

sually rewarding. In the most brightly lit room, his beauty

added an extra glow to the air. In a snug place like this, the

only light coming from a green-shaded cashier's lamp over the

desk, an upright lamp beside the armchair, and a pair of elec-

tric wall scones, the prince was a cool flame meant to draw

the fascinated attention of those mortals his father so aptly

called "moths."

 

Cass had also been watching MTV and had practiced a

come-hither pout that Mick Jagger and Billy Idol should have

protected by patent. He was using everything he had on her,

and Sandy didn't like it. She didn't like it at all, for three

distinct reasons:

 

For one, now that she had real work to occupy her time,

she had ceased to dream of Rimmon. She still thought of him,

she would always remember him with the tenderness and rose-

tinged regret proper to the most memorable love affair of one's

life, but he was out of her dreams. She only saw his face when

she summoned it. She didn't need or want to be reminded of

him by another of his kind.

 

For another, she was a respectable married lady, and a

mother. It sounded stodgy, but prudes led very safe lives, and

Sandy felt she had all the perils she could handle just then.

And prosaic as it sounded, she did love Lionel: a cozy, placid,

domestic love that she might have wished were a shade more

 

142 Esther M. Priesner

 

. . . piquant? No, no, that was the way back to impossible

dreams of alien pleasures, and all the lost passion she had felt

in Rimmon's arms.

 

No more! Sandy gave herself a sharp reprimand. It was

safe for me to fantasize an elfin lover when there wasn 't a

chipmunk's chance I'd see another elf this side of those Christ-

mastime abominations. Now . . .

 

She studdied Cass's upturned face. There was nothing or,

earth to touch him. His father was handsome, tempting, with

the added appeal of his, uncounted years of life to whisper in a

mortal woman's ear, Oh, the ancient delights I might share

with you, my love! But Cass was young, for what he was, and

in youth there was a sweeter seduction, even when the youth

in question had last had his diapers changed when the Great

Pyramid of Giza was a pup.

 

Reason number three why Sandy hated Cass's unrelent-

ing courtship: it was starting to work.

 

"Black's Law Dictionary!" Sandy barked at the elfin

prince. "There! On the table behind you! Oh, never mind, I'll

get it myself." She pushed away from the desk and stomped

past him, brows beetling, growling this and that about lazy

kids. Peevishness might help her cool the little fires that ran

up her limbs and settled uncomfortably in her belly whenever

the light struck Cass's marvelous eyes in that certain way.

 

She dropped back into her chair like a sack of salt and

ravaged the pages of Black's at random. She had totally for-

gotten the term she wanted to look up in the first place, but

damned if she was going to let on. The columns of legal phrases

in English, French, and especially Latin had a soporific effect

when read aloud. Sandy didn't want to go to sleep, just to put

her fractious blood on hold.

 

"Res caduca; res communes; res controversa; res coro-

nae; res corporales, " she intoned in a pleasant singsong. "Res

derelicta—''

 

"Don't." Cass seized her wrist so abruptly that she came

near to falling out of her chair. "If you want me to go, if I'm

bothering you by being here, just say so. I'll leave you. It

would be cruel of you to banish me, but my lady"—the allure

was gone from his eyes, no longer luminous with offered de-

sire, but flat and dull with fear—"that would be less cruel than

this."

 

"Cruel? Less cruel than what?" Sandy was bewildered.

"How am I being . . . ?"

 

The window shattered. A ball of marshfire flew past San-

 

 

ELF DEFENSE                 143

 

dy's head and hit the opposite wall with a sizzling thud. Davina

jumped out of her chair and beat the flames out with a cushion.

Cass too was on his feet, hot words in his own language pour-

ing from his lips.

 

Kelerison leaned on the windowsill, smirking. "Happy

Father's Day to you too, Cassiodoron. Though I doubt you've

any substance within your body more potent than maidenly

tears. You'll sire nothing with those but poetry." He shifted

his glance to Sandy. "I believe you said six o'clock?"

 

"You might have knocked."

 

"I remember the last time we stood on opposite sides of

a door. So does my nose. Ask me in and I'll fix the window."

 

Cass placed himself between Sandy and his father. "Keep

him out, my lady. I know that look of his. He'll give you his

word of honor that he'll parley peaceably, then turn on you if

you trust him. He'll betray you too."

 

Kelerison laughed. "What a weaver my son is! How old

do your mortal brats grow before they start fabricating such

falsehoods against their own parents?"

 

Davina came up on Cass's right side. Her dark eyes

flashed almost as brightly as if she too had some smattering of

elfin blood in her veins. "Maybe it's you that's the liar, El-

venlord!" The music of her voice was as mighty as a tempest-

stirred sea. "Why should we believe you against your son?

We've heard more than enough of your doings, and you have

shown your hand in this town."

 

"This one bums, Cassiodoron." Kelerison put both el-

bows on the sill to cup his chin. He regarded Davina steadily

from beneath his birdwing brows. "You are championed by

women again—your fate, it seems. Well? Will you prove to

your fair shieldmaid that I am the traitor you call me? A fine

accusation"—his tone shifted from light banter to a more som-

ber note—"from one who has betrayed his own kind, his own

race, his own family to go baring off as a mortal woman's

lapdog! Do they know why you fled with Amanda, my dear

son? Did you paint yourself as the perfect knight, rescuing the

fair lady from my filthy clutches?"

 

"Damn you. Father ..."

 

"Or did the truth slip out somehow? How you yourself

lusted for her—and so you did, if my eyes didn't betray me as

much as my own son! I was there, when you thought you and

she were alone in her bower. I heard your words of love-

pitiful, faltering things so vague that she assumed you offered

her filial love! But I knew. I read your lecherous little soul in

 

144 Esther M. Priesner

 

your eyes. Ah! Say nothing, Cassiodoron! Lechery is no shame

for us. Cowardice, though . . . cowardice in love as in all other

facets of your life."

 

"Call me coward again!" Cass lunged forward, but

Sandy grabbed him and held tight.

 

"Don't, Cass! He'll pull another dirty trick out of a hat;

 

or another dragon. Take your own advice, for God's sake, and

don't trust him one inch in a fair fight!"

 

"Brava, pretty lady." Kelerison clapped his hands lan-

guidly. "I see you mean to pass judgment before you hear the

evidence. Or do you just want to preserve my heir's handsome

face for your later enjoyment?"

 

Sandy pushed Cass back with all her strength. He touched

Davina by chance, and Kelerison was the only one who saw

how the Welsh au pair colored a violet rose when the elfin

prince's skin brushed her own.

 

"I asked you here, so come in. I'm not afraid."

 

"If I give my word that I come in peace, will you take

it?" the elfin king asked.

 

"I don't need it." Sandy gave a crooked smile. It only

faltered a fraction when Kelerison accepted her invitation by

walking right through the wall. The smashed window melted

itself whole behind him.

 

He took the one comfortable armchair in the room, where

Davina had been curled. "Cassiodoron tells you not to expect

me to keep my word, yet you seem to trust me even without

it. How strange. Why?"

 

Sandy went back to her chair at the desk, leaving Cass

and Davina to stand uneasily between herself and Kelerison.

"If it's no good, why bother getting it?"

 

"So you've sided with my son."

 

"I've sided against you in the matter of Amanda's free-

dom. Other than that ..." She looked at Cass and was sur-

prised to see that his eyes were fixed nowhere near her. They

stared with searing hatred at Kelerison, who appeared to be

unaware of his son's peculiar devotion. Cassiodoron was him-

self just as unaware as his father of the soft, imploring gaze in

which Davina's dark eyes bathed him.

 

Oh, Davina, Sandy thought. She sighed. One problem at

a time and first come, first served.

 

"Your Majesty, let's waste no time." She spoke with a

briskness she didn't feel. Inside, she was a mass of squealing

nerves. Her fingers strayed to the open copy of Black's on her

desk and rifled the pages. If she had two steel balls, she would

 

ELF DEFENSE                 145

 

have outclicked Captain Queeg. "I've got a few bags full of

your smaller subjects in our toolshed. I'm willing to trade you

their release for your agreement to get them and their kind the

hell out of Godwin's Comers."

 

Kelerison lifted one eyebrow and the corresponding cor-

ner of his mouth. "I adore negotiating with terrorists."

 

Sandy's face grew warm. "Call it guerrilla tactics. This

is open war, and you declared it. If you want to end it, call off

your troops and let Amanda go."

 

The King of Elfhame Ultramar slouched back in his chair.

"Why should I?" he asked. "We're at stalemate, you and I.

I can send my subjects against you and your people from now

until Lastday. Granted, you can counteract some small measure

of our doings. But you can't stop us. We are immortal, my

dear. We don't tire as readily as you when it's a case of siege."

 

"Oh, I can hang on longer than most. Your Majesty,"

Sandy replied without even the ghost of a smile.

 

"So stupid?"

 

"So persistent. As your son himself noted, I belong to a

human subgroup noted for our tenacity. A stiff-necked people.

We're very good at keeping faith where common sense says

forget the whole thing."

 

"True. You are a woman." Before Sandy could say that

she had meant something else, Kelerison spoke on: "I see I

have a worthy foe in you, and I respect that. Very well. Let's

talk terms of surrender. I will release Amanda unconditionally.

I will not interfere in any way with your petty mortal playtoy-

ings in the courts of law. She and the brat will go their own

way, and I shall allow this."

 

"So far, so good." Sandy shifted her weight, uneasy

before so much apparent good sportsmanship on the elf-king's

part. Black's Law Dictionary shifted with her, the big book

lying open in her lap, her fingers still turning the pages at

random. "But I sense a conjunction coming."

 

"Dear woman ..." Sandy felt the words take the form

of a lingering caress down her cheek. "How right you are.

Terms, I said, and terms affect both sides. For all I promise

you, I ask one thing only in exchange: let my son come home

again with me to the halls of Elfhame Ultramar, there to be

bound by a sacred vow nevermore to seek the surface, never-

more to wander in the realms of mortal men."

 

"No!" Davina cried out before she knew it. Her shout

of refusal was swallowed by Cass's own, yet Sandy and Kel-

 

146 Esther M. Friesner

 

erison both looked at the Welsh girl first, at the elfin prince as

an afterthought.

 

"You haven't the power to make me obey those terms,"

Cass declared, his pale skin darkening.

 

"Do you mean me?" Kelerison asked. "Or your lady''"'

His lazy eyes taunted Sandy. "What a coup for you, my deal

rid of me and my son in one swoop. Your tiny world will li-

the better for it, I'm sure you'll agree."

 

"Mrs.—Sandy, you're not thinking of accepting his

terms?" Davina dropped to her knees and clasped the edge of

the desk to steady herself. Her eyes begged mutely for an an-

swer. Kelenson chuckled indulgently to see her so.

 

The elfin king could not have known that the one thing

above all others that drove Sandra Horowitz wild was a pater-

nalistic chuckle. She'd heard it more than once too often on

the lips of male relatives, professors, and colleagues from her

law school days, all of whom treated her career aspirations as

the punch line to a three-years-running knock-knock joke. If

the chuckle were backed up by a pat on the head or a chuck

under the chin, homicide was possible. Even without these

added affronts, the sound of "there-there, you cute little girl-

child' ' laughter made her see blood red.

 

She bolted to her feet. Black's hit the floor. "I don't

make deals with anyone's life but my own, and I won't impose

your terms on Cass, no matter what we'd gain!"

 

Again Kelerison chuckled, knocking a new nail into his

coffin with every jocund syllable. ' 'You hear that, Cassiodoron?

My felicitations. It seems you may have a chance of seducing

this one, if you persist. She cannot bear the thought of being

parted from you. Why, she might even follow you into our

own realm, by the twisted paths guarded by the People of

Blood. As for the fat one"—he nodded scornfully at Davina—

"she is yours already. No challenge there."

 

Davina's gasp was harsh, its rough edge cut sharply by

the sound of Sandy's flat hand smacking Kelerison across the

face. "Get out of my house!" she shouted. "You haven't come

to talk. You've come to prove you're an obnoxious bastard.

Well, we all know that, so your job's done. Get out of here.

Take your brainless insults with—"

 

The hand that had dared to strike the elfin king clenched

of its own will. Each finger lost its stiff articulation, turned

fluid, writhed itself green and scaled, lidless eyed, flicker

tongued. Five small serpents coiled from a knot of reptilian

skin that had been Sandy's hand. Their mouths spread scarlet,

 

ELF DEFENSE                 147

 

showing fangs, and they had no qualms about sinking these

into their nearest brethren.

 

Sandy's silent shock broke with the first stab of fangs

into flesh. Her still-human hand groped for the wound auto-

matically, and the serpents bit it deeply. The room whirled

with the pain of it, the lamps blazing into sunrise bands across

her sight. Stunned, she stretched out her hands to the others.

 

Davina screamed and toppled backward from her knees.

Her fingers clawed for something to hold on to, closed on the

first thing they touched, tore pages from the law book. Cass

jumped away from the fluttering sheets as if they were the

serpents. In a daze of terror and agony. Sandy noted this with

the peculiar slow-motion clarity that often sharpens the eyes in

a disaster.

 

"My book ..." Her words were jumbled, slurred.

"Don't hurt my book, Davina. It cost Lionel a lot of money.

Please give it to me before ..."

 

The study was full of elfin laughter.

"What in Heaven's name is going on in here?"

Sandy blinked mildly as the shout echoed in her skull.

She felt herself drifting in a place of soft, warm shadows, like

the ghosts of cats. It was a very pleasant sensation, really, so

restful after all her sharp-honed plans and orders. She was

weary of taking charge, so weary! She would let someone else

see to Kelerison now. Yes, let Amanda step into what was her

own fight. Surely the woman couldn't be that much of a pud-

ding?

 

I've done enough, Amanda. Now let me rest. . .

"Sandy! Sandy, what's the matter with you?"

There it was again, that too-loud voice. It disturbed her

guests. It had frightened Amanda away. It wasn't Cass's, or

Kelerison's, and it certainly wasn't Davina's, though the girl

had a deep enough voice for a woman. Whose was it? Sandy's

eyelids closed. Whoever it was, she ought to tell him he was

being very rude. Some people wanted to sleep.

"Professor Walters, grab that book!"

Ah! Now that was Cass's voice. She would know it any-

where. "Thank you, Cass," she murmured drowsily. "It is a

very expensive book. Lionel would be upset. . . upset if I told

him . . . What? No, I can't tell him. It would hurt his feelings

if he knew that I wish I could have you and ..."

 

Someone had her mutated hand in his. It was a very cool

hand, cool even in contrast to the snakes, and they were cold-

blooded creatures. In the rushing noise that poured into her

 

Esther M. Friesner

 

ears, Sandy heard another voice, colder still: Kelerison's. Only

Kelerison's voice could be so cold.

 

"Get away from her, Cassiodoron! She knew what she

risked, standing against me. Let her leam! I forbid you to use

your healings!"

 

The slim hand tightened on hers. Cass's reply was sense-

less, only a tune whose words were inhuman.

 

"Be careful, Cass." Sandy's lips were drunken as she

spoke. "I don't want the snakes to bite you too."

 

"The book, for the sake of all you love!" (How nice,

now Cass was speaking more clearly. She could understand his

words again although they were coming from farther and far-

ther away.) "Read! Read! I can bear it!"

 

"Read?" That male voice again. It sounded confused,

frightened.

 

The room was growing chill. Sandy forced her eyes open

and saw a wide, black shape, like the wings of a devilfish,

extending from the chair where Kelerison sat. But where was

the elfin king? She could not see him for the darkness. A damp

wind rose, and the black shape rose with it to block the lamp-

light.

 

"Read!"

 

A scuffle. The hand no longer held hers. She felt the

dusty tufts of a rug against her face. She turned herself over

onto her back and saw three figures looming above her like

standing stones; three figures, and a wave of darkness.

 

And one of them held a book. He was white, white, fiery

white behind the open volume in his hands, and he read aloud

words that were strange, yet not so strange or musical as the

unknown language of elven.

 

"Haeres est out jure proprieta—proprietatis out jure

representation—tionis. ..."

 

The chill was fading from her flesh. She was wanning.

The heat came in gusts that ceased to blow whenever the reader

stumbled, or hesitated over a word. The weights left her eyes.

It was easy to see now. The whiteness became Cass, and Li-

onel and Davina were with him, staring into the open copy of

Black's.

 

"Haereditas damnosa ..."

 

Cass took a long, quavering breath. There was sweat on

his upper lip, beads of it trickling down his brow. Sandy in-

stinctively raised her hand to wipe it away and saw the snakes

stiffening, dying, bleaching back into five familiar fingers as

he read on.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 149

 

"Haec est—est final—finalis con ..."

 

Cass staggered. He fell to one knee and steadied himself

on her. What am I doing on the floor? A crackling went through

her skin. She sat up suddenly and snatched the book from his

hands. Her eyes whipped to where the dark wave loomed, and

in its heart she saw Kelerison's taut face. He bit his lip. Sweat

streaked his face too.

 

Cass tore a final word from the open page: "Nocent. "

The boundaries of his father's darkness shivered. Before they

closed, his eyes implored Sandy to understand.

 

She did, though she could hardly believe the evidence

that lodged in her belly instead of her brain. The book was in

her hands, and she knew. That would be less cruel than this.

She knew why Cass had said that, she knew why Kelerison had

not just laughed and ignored her * 'playtoyings in the courts of

law," she knew that there was a power to do more than stale-

mate the King of Elfhame Ultramar. A word of law, a word of

power, and words of power in grammarye were Latin for more

than a whim.

 

"Nomina sunt notae rerum," she read. Cass writhed on

the floor near her. The words exercised their awful spell on

him as well as on his father. It was a potent, painful thing to

see, but she could not stop. "Nomina sunt symbola rerum. "

 

"For the love of heaven, carry him from here!" Davina

shook Lionel roughly. Sandy's husband was a man waking from

a dream, but he woke quickly. He slid his arms under Cass's

knees and back, lifting the long body and bearing him out of

the room as fast as possible. Davina hovered on the doorsill,

her eyes dancing nervously from Sandy to Kelerison to the way

Lionel had taken Cass.

 

"Opens novi nuntiati. . . It's all right, Davina, you can

go help Lionel with Cass—nuntiatio!" Sandy hit Kelerison with

an adiibbed habeas corpus while Davina made her escape.

 

All the blackness cloaking the elfin king was gone. It had

soaked off into the air and disappeared. Still firing off one Latin

law term after another. Sandy climbed back into her chair with-

out taking her eyes off Kelerison. Each phrase struck him harder

than the one before. Their separate meanings were unimpor-

tant. A Vadium ponere was worth as much as a Vagabundum

nuncupamus eum qui nulibi domicilium contraxit habitations.

She only stopped when her opponent slipped senseless from his

seat and lay in a heap on the rug.

 

Sandy wasted no time waiting for him to recover. She

tore strips of paper from her legal pads, fastened them into

 

150 Esther M. Friesner

 

long yellow loops, inscribed each one with Collatio bonorum

and Dementia praecox, and tied them loosely around Keleri-

son's wrists and ankles. As a happy second guess, she stapled

two strips into a collar emblazoned with Errores scribentis no-

cere non debent and noosed it around his neck.

 

Kelerison moaned as he regained consciousness. He tried

to move his hands and gave Sandy immediate proof that her

paper manacles were just that; they tore with 'no trouble.

 

"Watch it! I've still got the book." She held it out at

him like Van Helsing stabbing a cross at Dracula.

 

Kelerison removed the paper collar and nibbed his head.

"So you do. Well. You have found your weapon. Now you

see why I have such a distaste for those legal documents you

insist on forcing into my hands."

 

Sandy thought of the word subpeona. "Because of the

Latin legalese in them," she said.

 

"Latin! I remember saying to my sire. King Oberon, just

before the Great Emigration, 'At least we shan't have to fear

the cursed tongue of wizardry in the new land.' " He winced

as he chanced on a still tender ache. "Simple folk settled this

land—uneducated, or suspicious of Latin as too Romish for

their minds, or both. I imagined Elysium."

 

He sighed heavily. "I forgot the lawyers."

 

"Never a good idea," Sandy said.

 

"No, it never is a good idea to forget the proper measure

of your foe." The elfin king's eyes narrowed. "Where is my

son?"

 

"Safe from you."

 

"Safe from . . . ? Then he is safe? The words did not

hurt him too much?" Kelerison smiled with satisfaction. "I

never yet saw him braver or more worthy of his blood than

when he turned that book against me. Can I see him?"

 

"What for? If you want to torment him more, you'll have

to find another opportunity. He saved my life from you, and I

don't feel like letting you near him."

 

"Your life. Would you believe that sleep was the worst

venom those serpents' fangs contained? That I would not take

your life for such a little thing as a slap across the face? No?

I thought not. Your mind is set. You will believe of me what

you have already decided to believe."

 

"Enough about me." Sandy's finger held a place beneath

a choice Latin phrase in Black's. "Let's talk about you. Your

Majesty, and what you're going to do now."

 

"No doubt you'll tell me." His mouth quirked.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 151

 

"First, you get all of your subjects out of town, like I

said before. Second, you sit back and let Amanda's action

against you go through. No interference! And that includes

plaguing the New Haven judiciary with any and all of your so-

called minor mischiefs. Third, you get off your son's case too."

 

"And if I don't, you come at me with that book. Is that

so?" His face was expressionless as he observed her victorious

grin. The King of Elfhame Ultramar stood. "So be it. I will

give you my word—although my son has taught you to doubt

its worth—and concede on all points. It is a tradition among

my folk for a battle's loser to make his conqueror a gift. What

can I give that you would accept?"

 

"The news that you're leaving will be plenty, thanks."

 

"No more than that?" Kelerison raised his hand. A white

flower with a silver heart blossomed in the palm. "Yet hear

me, Sandra Horowitz: that elfin talisman you wear is a love

gift to shield you from my folk's small evils, the book you

hold will keep us at a distance from you with its cold, hard

words of judgment while we walk in your world. Do not be

fool enough to think that either one can keep the deeper powers

of magic from invading your life. Do not grow overconfident.

Do not expect this to be your last battle. The sword is the only

finality for my kind as well as yours. Let this counsel be my

victory gift to you."

 

The lamplight held, but the King of Elfhame Ultramar

was gone. The white flower lay on the open pages of Black's.

Tentatively, Sandy lifted it to her nostrils and inhaled a fra-

grance of spice and sea.

 

She found Davina and Lionel fussing over Cass on the

living-room sofa. The Welsh girl was stroking his face with a

damp cloth and Lionel had broken out the cognac.

 

"Is he all right?" Sandy asked her husband.

 

Lionel was having a shot of the cognac himself. He

looked shaken. "I think so. Sandy—babe—I didn't—in there,

when Cass told me to read from that book, I didn't know what

he was talking about. I didn't know it would do any good. I'm

sorry."

 

"The Powers spare me from having any warriors like

you under my command in the Lastday battle," Cass snarled.

"While you'd nitter around and question orders, the bloodtide

would sweep us all into the sea!" In quite a different tone, he

softly questioned Sandy. "My lady ... my dearest, fairest

lady, are you well?"

 

Lionel and Davina made brittle excuses and left the room

 

152 Esther M. Friesner

 

before Sandy could object. She might have sought one or both

of them, but Cass groaned weakly from the sofa and sank into

the pillow, looking pathetic. At a loss. Sandy assumed Davi-

na's vacant post with the damp cloth. She laid the silver flower

on Cass's chest, the law book on her knees.

 

"Now that's over, you're going to have to explain to me

why Black's came near to totaling you and your father."

 

Cass's huge eyes twinkled. "Nothing in this world exists

without something to bound it. We elven have a saying—"

Here he rattled off something in his lilting native tongue.

" 'Only the Infinite is infinite' is a very inadequate transla-

tion."

 

"I'll say. The world's not ready for Zen elves."

 

"Let me try again: 'No power is so powerful that the

Powers have not made another power to overpower it.' "

 

"That's worse," Sandy said, "but I get the idea."

 

"In the old country, the old beliefs bound my ancestors.

They could be conjured away by mention of iron edges and

standing stones and a host of other charms."

 

Sandy remembered Davina trying to use such things on

Cass at the Preserv-a-Pak party. "Why don't they work on

you?"

 

"Why?" Velvety lashes veiled his eyes. "Our scholars

are still pondering the question. We only know what happened,

not why. When we crossed the wide sea to come here, it was

as if a great sword descended and cut the ties of old beliefs.

We felt it. I still remember how joyfully my parents reacted

when the revelation touched them. They were free!" He grew

dreamy, thinking of it. "I think that was the last kindness I

saw pass between them," he added ruefully.

 

"I still don't see why—"

 

"No heart, human or elfin, can remain empty of some

belief. The People of the Darkness believe in the endless shel-

tering warmth of earth's womb, the water spirits in the eternal

song of the father-sea, the Winged Ones in the immortal instant

of a flower's greatest beauty. Only the People of Blood have

none, they claim. If your folk came to this new land and left

the old beliefs and their protected power behind, you soon

forged new ones: belief in the perfection of a dream; belief in

the holy nature of the new; belief in trial by income; but over

and above and encompassing all these, belief in the constrain-

ing power of the law."

 

Cass took Sandy's hands and pressed them to his heart.

The white flower's petals were crushed, the scent dizzying in

 

ELF DEFENSE                153

 

her nostrils. She was falling forward, into the elfin prince's

eyes. His lips were drawing hers closer, his words passing

unnoticed from English to Elfin, hypnotic in their rhythm.

Black's was a hard wedge between their bodies, but their lips

would still touch.

 

And at the first brush of mouth to mouth. Sandy sat bolt

upright and cried, "No!"

 

"No because you will not have me? Because your flesh

wants none of mine?" Cass asked. "Or no because adultery is

against your laws?" He touched the crushed flower to her lips.

"I wish I could take you back to the halls of Elfhame Ultramar,

Sandra, elf-lover, lady mine. You would be different there.

You would pour the fire of the sun into me with your passion.

It was in a worid far from your laws that you took your pleasure

with the one who gave you this, wasn't it?" He gently tapped

the bloodstone pendant and read the answer in her race. "I

thought so. In our realm, there is only the law of combat and

the law of loving. But because we have dedicated our magic

to the service of your lands, we must be bound by the same

laws that bind you while we walk the surface.''

 

Sandy tried to stand up. Cass's grasp held her seated. "I

have to go." She sounded hoarse. "Lionel may need me."

 

"I need you."

 

"You? You're fine. You don't need—and Davina looked

upset. I'd better talk to her about what your father said. She

can't help—"

 

"My father isn't still here, is he?"

 

"He's gone. He surrendered. He—" Sandy's forehead

creased. "I think he threatened me before he left." She re-

peated Kelerison's departing words as well as she could re-

member them.

 

Cass's frown mirrored her own. "The tradition of the

loser's gift is one of our oldest. To violate it ... But why

would my father balk at that? He already betrayed our laws of

loving when he betrayed my mother."

 

"But you said that adultery—"

 

"He struck her!" The elfin prince's face was aflame.

"What greater ^betrayal is there than to give pain where you

owe love? She complained against his philanderings with mor-

tal women, as she had every right to do if it pleased her, and

he struck her. He knocked her down!" Cass lowered his voice.

"They began the quarrel over my refusal to accept a battle

challenge and my father called me a coward. The quarrel grew,

changed course, shifted from me to my father's mortal lovers,

 

154               Esther M. Friesner

 

and ended when he hit my mother, Bantrobel. He claimed to

be sony, afterward. He swore never to do it again.'1

 

"Did he?"

 

"I wouldn't know. It was soon after that that I helped

Amanda escape.''

 

"Then he might have kept his word, Cass."

 

"Trust him, then!" The elfin prince shouted in her face.

"I won't make that mistake!"

 

"If it is a mistake," Sandy responded softly.

 

Chapter Fifteen:

 

Lost! Lost!

 

1 €V ionel, aren't you supposed to be in school at this

JMhour?" Sandy peered into the kitchen as if she

were a stranger in her own house. Her husband sat at the table,

moodily scrying the future in the swirls of melting Cremora in

his coffee mug.

 

"Yeah," he answered, all his enthusiasm in the grip of

rigor mortis. "I am."

 

"So, get going! Your job wasn't exactly a model of se-

curity these past few weeks. I know it wasn't your fault, but

you ought to put in your classroom appearances on schedule,

to show everyone things are back to normal."

 

Lionel rested his arm on the back of the chair and gave

his wife a belligerent look. "Are things back to normal?"

 

Sandy tried to see what he was getting at. "Well, Cee-

Cee Godwin Hames just paid Daisy Septic System Cleaners a

small fortune to pump sewage out of her basement—which

wouldn't be so odd except she paid them another small fortune

last week to pump the sewage into the basement. And Dwight

Haines has suddenly taken a great interest in water sports, go-

ing halfsies with Mr. Andropoulos on a boat down at the ma-

rina. It's not even a big statusy sailboat, which you might

expect; it's a by-god fishing trawler. But hey, that family was

teeing off with a bent nine-iron for years."

 

"Do you call it normal to have him hanging around this

 

ELF DEFENSE                 155

 

house at all hours?" Lionel gestured out the open kitchen win-

dow just above the sink. A point-eared silhouette perched on

the sill, lazily rubbing his jowls on the potted mums.

 

"Cesarc?" Sandy looked at the tomcat. "I feed him, so

he hangs around. You don't like that?"

 

"I don't mean the cat. I mean—he's out in the garden

with Davina and you know who I mean! How come you don't

ask why he isn't in class? He's still enrolled at the academy.

He's got midterms coming up. Is he going to hocus-pocus his

way through them?"

 

"Well, for ... Lionel, you object to Cass?"

 

Lionel's mouth grew sullen and small. "Cass. I love that.

As if he were the boy next door. What is he, anyway? If he

wants to play human, let him look like one again! Let him go

to his classes, do his homework, go to his own home some-

times! And if he's an elf, let him be one someplace else than

our house. We don't need him."

 

"Darling, listen to reason. This whole town knows Cass

for what he is. No one minds—not after what we've all gone

through. Even Peg Seymour's asked him to explain gaming to

her. She wants to try running a troll, she told me. It would be

silly for him to go back to that old mortal disguise."

 

"And not half so pretty." Lionel sneered.

 

"He's only hangs around our house until it's time to pick

up Ellie and Jeffy from school. He saves Amanda and me the

trouble of going to get them, and guards them all the way home."

 

"What's he guarding them from?" Lionel didn't bother

hiding a sliver of his skepticism. "The bogey man?"

 

"The bogey man might be his uncle. It's his father he's

worried about."

 

"Ha! Present a case like that in court and the jury will

stay nice and cool when the wind blows through the holes.

Item!" Lionel held up one finger. "Kelerison's gone. He gave

up. He packed up all his little goblins and left town, word of

honor. Item!" A second finger sprang up. "What use would

Cass be if his father did decide to come back? You told me

how the brave warrior reacted to that pint-sized dragon. One

of those in his path, and all we'd see of Cass would be heels.

Item!" Three fingers bristled. "Davina's more than capable of

picking up the kids from school. That's her job! So why is

Cass really hanging around our house, as if I couldn't guess?"

 

A flowerpot crashed into the sink. Cesare made tongue-

clicking sounds as he delicately crossed the sill. "Permiso,

signer, signora. Allow me to answer this most burning prob-

 

156 Esther M. Priesner

 

lem." He twitched his whiskers at Lionel. "Obviously my

young lord. Prince Cassiodonm, is lingering in your home with

die intention of seducing your wife. He has not chosen to con-

fide in me; therefore I can not say whether his desires will end

with a single bedding, several, or if he intends to persuade her

to flee with him for good. Where? To the halls of Elfhame

Ultramar, perhaps. It is the traditional choice, the elvenkind's

poor answer to your Pocono Mountains. Ecco! Your questions

are answered, signer. There now remains one of mine for you

to answer in turn: in the name of all your cherish, if an elf-

knd in full possession of magic covets your wife, what do you

think you can do about it?"

 

Lionel's whole face stiffened. "I know where that copy

of Black's is," he said meaningfully.

 

"So you will read law over him until the pain of binding

is so great that he will have to go?" The cat's golden gaze

turned to Sandy. "You know this man of yours? Is he capable

of that?"

 

Sandy shook her head.

 

"Don't you think I have the courage to fight for you?"

Lionel shouted.

 

"Lionel ..." She tried to explain, but a siren's whine

blared through the sunlit air. Lionel was still carrying OK,

threatening to levy all sorts of ghastly challenges on the elfin

prince if he laid one wandering eye on Sandy. Most of these

were obscured by the siren's wail, and the rest were obliterated

by the sharp, shrill ringing of the telephone. Sandy ran to an-

swer it as if racing to a lifeboat, but Davina rounded the door-

way and had the receiver first.

 

Cass came after her, his arms full of iris and anemones

that now bloomed seasonless in Sandy's garden by the same

enchantment covering Amanda's. The captured limoniads had

chosen to remain behind and show their helpful side. It was

their own version of the Fair Folk's loser's gift. The Prince of

Elfhame Ultramar cocked an inquisitive ear to the siren's howl-

ing.

 

"Dear God ..." White-faced, Davina hung up the

phone. Tears flowed from her eyes. A nameless foreboding

slithered around Sandy's heart and squeezed. "Oh, Mrs. Wai-

ters . . ."

 

Her voice would not respond. Lionel had to be the one

to ask, "What is it, Davina?"

 

"The school ... the school ... the children ..."

 

ELF DEFENSE                 157

 

It was a crater dug by an invisible meteor, a smoking pit

eouged out of the ground where a house once had stood. The

playground equipment was twisted to slag and tangle behind

it the building foundations black with burning.

 

The children stood clustered around their teacher. Miss

Foster was trying hard to keep her voice level as she assured

them that it was all over, everything was all right. As their

parents arrived on the scene by ones and twos, sometimes they

would not go to mem. There was more security in the herd.

They clung to what they could. Their young lives had never

been meant to hold such an experience. The lucky ones would

be convinced that it had been just a dream.

 

"Oh, thank God, thank God ..." Each parent spoke

the same words as he or she picked out a boy, a girl, a face

that had suddenly become more precious than the eyes search-

ing for it in the huddle of other children. There were tears, but

they were joyous. There were embraces that might never end.

 

Sandy, Lionel, Amanda, Cass, and Davina stood at the

edge of the pit, looking down into hell. Two small faces were

missing from the crowd.

 

"What happened?" Lionel's tongue was thick, but he

had to ask it.

 

Miss Foster gave the last of the children into parental

arms and came forward. "Professor Walters, I'm so very, very

sorry."

 

"What happened?"

 

She recoiled sharply, with a hissing intake of breath. She

inhaled and exhaled deeply, twice, before she could begin.

"We were about to go out for recess when I thought I smelled

smoke. Jeffy—" She glanced timidly at Amanda, but the

woman was too numb to react to mention of her son's name.

"Jeffy said he smelled it too. It seemed to be coming from the

basement. I told the children to take partners and get ready to

leave. We were all out the door when—when—it was as if the

whole building caught fire everywhere at once. It was like

standing in front of an open furnace. The force of it was enough

to knock you off your feet. Pour sheets of fire went up in an

instant, then vanished, just like that! You'd think the whole

place sank into the—"

 

"You said you were all outside. You said the children

were all out." Lionel's face and voice were dead things.

 

Miss Foster quailed. "We—we were. I made the children

go out first. I came last, to make sure they were all out. The

 

158 Esther M. Friesner

 

fire went up so suddenly that the back of my coat's scorcher

Look!" She turned a sooty shoulder to prove it.

 

"But they weren't all out, were they." There was n''

question asked, only a dull despair.

 

"Professor Walters, I saw Jeffy and Ellie leave this

building! They chose each other for line partners and they weiy

the second pair in line. I saw them leave!"

 

Lionel was haggard, his eyes lost in the dark circles th.it

had come as suddenly as the freak fire. "Then where are the\,

Miss Foster?" he asked. "Where are they?"

 

Cass leaped into the pit. There were no fallen timbers,

scarcely any debris beyond a thick layer of ash. He brushed

this away and picked up two small chains. Runesigns twirled

merrily in the air, their bright metal traceries only a littie

smudged by the fire's passage.

 

A wall of black ice crashed down over Sandy.

 

Chapter Sixteen:

 

The sedative wore off with the sudden shock of summe:

 

lightning. Sandy's eyes blinked open into the darknes.

She was aware of pain in her throat, as if she'd been screamirg

or shouting for a long time. For an instant, she couldn't remem-

ber why she would have wanted to scream so much.

 

Then she remembered. Her eyes opened and closed on

the grit of long sleep. She had no more tears. "Lionel?" Hes

hand groped for his across the coverlet and found his side of

the bed smooth and empty. With the remarkable eccentricit',

of the mind trapped in nightmare, she noted that whoever had

put her to bed had not even bothered to remove the spread or

cover her with anything. She was still fully dressed. Only her

light autumn overcoat had been taken off. It made her irration

ally angry, thinking of how mussed and stained the bedspread

would be thanks to someone's thoughtlessness. She hung on to

the anger as a drowning woman might hold on to a branch too

small to hold her up in the middle of a flood-gorged river.

 

ELF DEFENSE

 

159

 

"Lionel!" This was all his fault. He never cared enough

about the house, never appreciated all the small attentions that

went into keeping up its appearance. And if he ignored a hun-

dred minor exhortations to keep his feet off the furniture, to

out a coaster under a wet glass, to unball his socks before

dropping mem in tne hamPe^ and hang his shirts up as soon as

they came out of the dryer, who got the blame for the end

results? Not Lionel. It wasn't fair.

 

It wasn't fair. . . . Tears did come, answering to self-

pity when they would not come for grief. Sandy turned her

face into the pillow and cried. She saw her daughter's face,

laughing, scowling, refusing to obey the simplest household

rule, just like her father. You pick up this room, young lady,

or no TV! Don't you talk back to me. You won't get to go to

Maddie's party if you get that dress filthy. Go wash your face.

Brush your teeth. No, you may not have another story, you 've

had three already and it's time you were in bed.

 

So many more tears.

 

"Sandy . . ."

 

"Oh Lionel!" She flung herself onto her back and threw

her arms around him, dragging him down onto the bed with

her. "Lionel, what are we going to do?"

 

Icy blue eyes lit by their own fires glowed in the dark

above her face. "I'm not Lionel." Sandy's arms dropped back

quickly. "Too bad," the elfin prince added wryly.

 

"Cass, what are you doing in my bedroom? Where's

Lionel? Why aren't you with Amanda? If she ever needed

you—"

 

"They sent me to bring you. You are the one we all need

now." His hand was smooth and warm in hers. "Come."

 

Amanda sat beside Lionel on the living-room sofa. Dav-

ina stood behind them, like the omnipresent British butler from

a drawing-room comedy of manners. She even carried a tray

of tea things to complete the effect, but the cups in front of

Lionel and Amanda were empty. Sandy too met her offer of

tea with a curt, negative shake of the head. She took her place

in an armchair and waited for them to speak. She hadn't the

strength for more.

 

Cass took an embroidered footstool and placed himself

at Sandy's right hand. No one present objected. Sandy thought

she saw a passing look of longing cross Davina's face when

the Welsh girl looked at the Prince of Elfhame Ultramar, but

she had no sympathy to spare.

 

160 Esther M. Priesner

 

Oh, stop your stupid dreaming, Davina! See when

dreams have gotten me!

 

"Are you better. Sandy?" Oddly enough, it was Amand?

who broke the silence—Amanda who always went about ois

velvety mousefeet, between one whisper and another. She

wasn't whispering. Her voice was hard and crisp, making i.

clear that she wasn't making small talk; she wanted a factuai

report on Sandy's current physical condition.

 

"I'm on my feet," Sandy replied. "I feel like I want to

die, but I bet I could walk to the grave without any assis

tance."

 

"You'll be doing enough walking, soon." Amanda's face

was stone, black stone chips where human-colored eyes should

have been. "The children may be alive." There was no pre-

amble to soften the statement. "I believe they are,"

 

"You believe." Sandy checked herself from saying any-

thing more. This was no time for sarcasm.

 

"Yes, I believe!" Amanda's shout made the electri;

 

lights seem to flicker like candle flames. "I'd like to say I

know, but I thought it would sound too arrogant. But if it means

convincing you, all right, then: I know they aren't dead!"

 

Sandy darted a look at her husband. Lionel's deep sigh

trembled in the shadowy air between them. He sat like an old

man. Amanda would need to do more than offer those few

flimsy words of hope if she would reach him. Sandy's eyes fell

to Cass for confirmation or denial.

 

"Amanda is—most likely right. Sandy," he said. His

fingers were worrying something. When they unclenched, she

saw the charred runesign necklaces that had hung around Jef-

fy's and Ellie's neck. She touched the elven-gifted bloodstone

pendant at her own throat without being aware that she did so.

"I can't believe that my father would feel such deep hatred,

such a hunger for vengeance, that he'd kill children to punish

their parents."

 

"Wouldn't he?" To Sandy's surprise, it was Amanda

who spoke so bitterly. "Is that why we've been running away

from him for so long, keeping Jeffy safe from him—at your

urging!—when all the time there was never any danger to my

son?" She slashed the air with her hand, cutting the past away.

"If it had been just my life at stake, I could have faced Kel-

erison ages ago! I am afraid of him, but I could have dealt with

that rear and covered it. I'm no coward. But when it was fear

for Jefiy's safety . . . You were the one who kept at me, kept

 

ELF DEFENSE                161

 

telling me we had to flee for the child's sake. For which child's

sake, Cassiodoron?"

 

The Prince of Elfhame Ultramar stood up, tall and beau-

tiful by lamplight. He acted as if Amanda had not spoken at

all. "I'll be in the garden, getting our equipment together. Join

me there when you've persuaded them—as you must. Sandy,

for your daughter, believe Amanda." He went out into the

night. Davina put down the tea things and followed him, glid-

ing unnoticed form the room.

 

Amanda leaned back on the sofa and released a long

breath. "He can't help being as he is. I shouldn't have said

that. We need his goodwill more than before, and there's no

guaranteeing he won't turn as petty and malicious as his father

if I push him too far."

 

Sandy protested. "I don't think Cass would ever—"

 

"He's an elf." Amanda rapped out the word like an in-

sult. "They're immortal. You'd expect them to be noble and

serene and utterly steeped in the wisdom of the ages. They're

not. I know. I lived in the halls of Elfhame Ultramar, and I

know. They're children: children too powerful for punishment,

children with nothing to do all day and all the days of the earth

to do it. Do you come from a big family. Sandy?"

 

"I'm an only child."

 

"You, Lionel?"

 

"I had a brother." Lionel did not recall Richard warmly,

though thinking about the way his brother had died always

made him ill.

 

"Then you will know. Even when there are just two of

you, the squabbling starts. When there's nothing to do, you

fight. It takes a parent to stop you, and sometimes that doesn't

work. Well, imagine a whole world of children who are im-

mune to punishment, who can gratify their every whim, who

don't even have the possibility of natural death to make them

do something constructive or creative or special with their lives

so that they'll be favorably remembered after they're dead.

Then imagine how one of these children might react the first

time he doesn't get his own way."

 

"But they can be killed." Lionel's hands grasped one

another so tightly that the tendons stuck out and the knuckles

whitened. "With any weapon?"

 

"Iron works fastest." Amanda gave him a look of ap-

proval. "That much hasn't changed, though they don't run and

hide at just the mention of the word. Oh yes, iron kills them.

 

!               Esther M. Friesner

 

They are strong and sly. You don't want them dying slowly,

or they'll find a way to take you with them."

 

"I have an old sword. I used to collect those sorts of

things—"

 

"Lionel!" Sandy exclaimed. "What are you planning to

do? Go to Elfhame Ultramar and hunt them all down? Strap

Kelerison to your fender after a sword fight, which of course

he'll have no way of winning? Even if it weren't impossible to

confront Kelerison on his home ground—"     *

 

"It's not impossible," Lionel burst in. "That's where

we're going now. That's what Cass and Amanda came over

here to tell us. We're going to Elfhame Ultramar to find the

children. They say they're still alive down there." His lips

moved as his gaze wandered vaguely. "Ellie is still alive. I

have to believe she's still alive."

 

"And Jeffy. Think, Sandy!" Amanda was in command

"If they were dead, wouldn't we have found some evidence of

that in the ruins?"

 

Sandy's heart wanted to believe Amanda, but reasor

made her say, "There was nothing left after the fire but ashes

The necklaces with their signs—they were made by Cass'is

magic. They'd be proof against the flames, but everything else

was—"

 

"Why didn't we find just the runesigns? The chains were

there too! The chains were never elven-touched, the way the

runesigns were. They should have melted away in the fire. It's

as you said it might be: Kelerison has stolen our children to

make us follow. He's lost on our battleground, so he wants us

to fight on his. All that we must do is find the gateway into

Elfhame Ultramar. It may be plain to see, it may be concealed.

He's capable of toying with us as much as he likes, as an

appetizer to his revenge, but he'll let us find it eventually. He

won't make the mistake of being too clever when he wants us

down there." A wolfish smile changed Amanda's face. "His

mistake is that he expects us to run headlong into his trap,

unprepared, two hysterical women."

 

She rose from the sofa. She was wearing the same coat

that had shielded Sandy when Kelerison decked her in showgirl

splendor. She shrugged it off. A loose-fitting shirt of light

chainmail glittered down to her knees. A small sword, a sti-

letto, a rawhide sling, and a pouch that must contain stones or

lead shot, all hung from her belt.

 

"I have tried to fight him fairiy. This ends it. He killed

my husband and, he stole my child." She patted the sling.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 163

 

"What is there for a mortal woman to do in the halls of Elfhame

Ultramar all day, awaiting her master's pleasure?" Amanda's

laugh sent chills down Sandy's spine. "Children will fight, to

pass the time. The elves place great value on the martial arts.

Their greatest master of arms is Lord Syndovar. He found it

amusing to teach me the use of weapons during the hours that

the two of us were unoccupied, the way a man might teach a

dog to walk on her hind legs. Well? Will you come? Gateways

shine brightest by night. Have you more arms than just that

sword to bring?"

 

Sandy stole a glance at Lionel before she answered

Amanda's challenge. Life and hope were back in his eyes. "I

could bring Black's.''

 

"No use. In Elfhame Ultramar, it is their laws that

bind."

 

"Okay, then I'll take the fireplace poker." To Amanda's

quizzical look she replied, "It's iron, it's sharp, and it's not

more than I know I can handle."

 

"I'll get the sword," Lionel said. He bounded up from

the sofa with reborn energy. When he returned, he had changed

from his rumpled clothes into jeans, a lumberjack shirt, a denim

jacket, and Timberline boots. The sword hung scabbarded from

his belt by a pair of makeshift loops. He also carried two wicked

Sheffield carving knives in lieu of daggers, and a red ripstop

backpack.

 

"I got our highway emergency kits in here," he said

proudly. "Astronaut blankets, flares, matches, first aid, you

name it. And a bottle of brandy."

 

"Well, if this is turning into an expedition, maybe I

should pack some granola bars," Sandy suggested.

 

"Granola? Oh, for God's sake, who needs that? Just

change into something better for roughing it and let's get go-

ing!"

 

When Sandy came down from switching into her own

version of Lionel's gear, she found the other four already out-

side. Cass and Amanda both wore shin-length cloaks. She was

pretty sure that the elfin prince had a set of mail on under his,

though she wondered whether an elf could stand having so

much iron so near his skin. As if in answer, Cass scratched

himself vigorously all over for the first of many, many times.

 

Davina was the only one not tricked out for wilderness

living. The Welsh girl wore sensible Oxfords, woolly stock-

ings, a twill skirt, a heavy sweater, and a navy pea-coat, but

that outfit was more appropriate for going to do the marketing

 

164 Esther M. Priesner

 

than for plunging into the elfin realm. She also carried a back-

pack. "Provisions," she explained when Lionel asked. "I only

hope I've tucked up enough granola bars." A small shadow

nibbed at her ankles and meowed until she added. "And tinned

fish, yes."

 

"Davina, you shouldn't come," Sandy said.

 

"Why not?" The girl stiffened haughtily. "I'm an extra

pair of hands. I was a Girl Guide not long since. What's more

to the point of it, I have the Sight, and where we're bound, we

may have grave need of that."

 

"Let her come," Cass said. The darkness was not enough

to cover the grateful look Davina gave him.

 

They marched through the deserted streets of the town

until they came to the place where the kindergarten had stood.

Yellow police barricades surrounded the crater. There were no

lights on in the windows of either of the neighboring houses.

It was very still.

 

"This is the best place to begin our search for the gate-

way," Cass said. "I think he must have spirited the children

away at the fire's height. He would need a gateway on the

spot."

 

"There," Davina whispered. She pointed into the hole.

"The northwest comer."

 

Sandy saw nothing different about that part of the rav-

aged foundations and said so. Cass reached for her neck and

raised the bloodstone pendant to her eye.

 

"Some of the Sighted have the power to recognize the

gateways into the elfin realms." He looked at Davina with

great respect. "I did not know that she had the gift to such a

degree. If you will look through this, you will see what she

sees, my lady, and perhaps more."

 

The milky setting of the bloodstone was hollow in the

middle. It was like the frame around a lens, though until now,

Sandy had never thought of Rimmon's gift as anything so prac-

tical. She did as Cass told her, holding it to her right eye like

a monocle.

 

Deep in the heart of the vanished building, a heptagon

of purple light glowed. Thinner threads crossed and recrossed

it, a twinkling cobweb pattern. The filaments seemed frail, but

Sandy suspected that they would be rigid as steel if she put her

hand to them.

 

"I thought so," Cass was saying. "A gateway, the very

way by which my father stole the children out of the heart of

 

ELF DEFENSE                 165

 

the fire. Look again, my lady, and you will see the road into

Elfhame Ultramar through the bars."

 

"I'll see it when I'm on it." Sandy sat on the edge of

the foundation and started lowering herself into the pit. The

others followed her lead. Cesare bounded down with scornful

ease and a grace that left even Cass looking clumsy by com-

parison. Lionel tried to ape the elf-prince's leap and landed

off-kilter, twisting his ankle. He bit back any cry of pain, and

when Sandy noticed him wincing as he walked, he claimed it

was nothing at all, or something else. Amanda and Davina let

themselves down with more circumspection and caution than

the menfolk. They all ranged up into a line in front of the

 

gateway.

 

"No, no. Back up a bit there." Cass made Lionel take

three painful steps to the rear. "If you are standing in the same

space as the gateway when it opens, it will tear you apart."

 

"I can't even see where it is!" Lionel protested. "How

can I be sure I'm standing okay now?"

 

Cass had a fox's smile. "You'll just have to trust me."

 

Sandy peered through the bloodstone again. "You're

fine, Lionel." To Cass she said, "Open it."

 

The elfin prince bowed. "My lady desires and it is so."

She had the odd feeling that he was making fun of her. In the

back of her mind was the galling notion that elves would al-

ways look down on mortals as only the very beautiful and the

very privileged feel entitled to do with their inferiors. Cass

might protest an undying passion—and who better than he

should know the meaning of the word undying ?—but she would

still be a mortal when the passion did die, and so to be readily

dismissed. She remembered all the times her mother had told

their pampered family spaniel, Pantagruel, that they were all

going for a nice drive in the country, only to stop at the vet's.

 

It didn't matter if you lied to a dog.

 

She touched the bloodstone. If things had turned out dif-

ferently, would you have loved me forever, Rimmon? You

weren 't of the same tribe as Cass—an elf of a lost world called

Khwarema—but you were still elvin. And though what I loved

of you was your ghost, it was more than capable of every act

of love. Your forever was death 's—more endless even than

Cass's romantic notion of the word. But would that have made

any difference? Death's wisdom over the heart's whim? I would

have always been what I am: Sandy Horowitz, a mortal girl,

a mortal woman now. Could you have loved that to the end of

eternity?

 

166 Esther M. Priesner

 

She used the bloodstone as a lens again. Cass was at the

gateway, hands starred as wide as they could reach. He laid

them on two of the cobweb's points and let the purple glow

seep up through his fingers until his whole body was sheathed

in light. He spoke a word that might have been a birdsong, and

touched his forehead to the gateway. It fell into a sparkling

powder at his feet. Lionel and Amanda, unsighted as they were,

took a step back and breathed hard. Sandy lowered the blood-

stone. Even without its aid, she could see the border of the

gateway shining in the dark, and beyond it, a white road. The

way into Elfhame Ultramar was clear.

 

Cesare was the first one over. ' 'Eh, bene! Are you com-

ing?" He switched his tail impatiently.

 

The last one through was Davina. Though Cass urged

her to hurry, before the gateway closed itself, she lingered to

kneel in the dirt and scoop up a handful of the purple dust,

mingled with the ashes from the kindergarten fire. She tied it

up neatly in her handkerchief.

 

"You never know what will come in handy," she said.

"Nor when it will be needful."

 

"Or if," Sandy said irritably. "Hurry up!"

 

Davina came along, still wiping her sooty hands on her

skirt. The gateway closed, cutting off the light of the upper

lands. There was a dirty rose glow in the sky, and the sky was

all around them. Only the slant of the white road under their

feet gave any indication that there were such directions as up

and down. Sandy had the uncanny sensation of being in free-

fall, fixed by magnetic boots to the one tongue of metal in all

the universe.

 

"Heavens!" Davina exclaimed. "Is it like this through-

out your father's realm. Your Royal Highness?"

 

Cass's laughter came back in a sharp echo from an un-

seen barricade. "There's no call to use fancy titles with me,

Davina. I'm still Cass to you. To all of you. No, this is just

the fashion of gateways, to open on a void. You could call it

an antechamber into Elfhame Ultramar. It will change soon

enough further down the road, I promise you."

 

His promise held true. They had gone less than six yards

along the downward sloping white road when the shapes of

pine and fir trees pricked up their crowns on both sides of the

way. The sky turned from rose to the deep teal blue of evening,

though this shift was quickly lost from sight as the evergreens

met overhead and closed off all sight of it from the travelers.

 

They went by ones and twos until the white path between

 

ELF DEFENSE                 167

 

the pines narrowed to single file. Cass led, with Cesare trotting

just a few paces ahead, Amanda coming after them, sword

drawn. Sandy and Davina came next, with Lionel playing rear-

guard, his eyes lurching from one thicket to another, his old

sword in his hand. He looked extremely nervous, but still will-

ing enough to confront anything the dark wood might disgorge.

 

Davina made little noises of pique as they walked. She

kept rubbing and scrubbing her hands on her skirt until Sandy

halted, exasperated, and turned on the girl. "What is your prob-

lem?"

 

Davina stopped short, and Lionel almost rear-ended her.

"Hey!" he shouted. It was too loud for the forest, the dim

trees commanding stillness from all who walked in their shad-

ows. Cass and Amanda stopped and glared back at their com-

panions.

 

"Don't you know anything?" Amanda hissed. "Hush!

You'll have Kelerison on us."

 

"And what's so unusual about that happening?" Sandy

shot back in a stage whisper. "There's only one road that I

can see. We aren't straying from it. He might as well have left

a breadcrumb trail, and a few THIS WAY, PLEASE signs. We're

already walking the way he expects us to go, so don't tell me

we're going to surprise the old bastard!"

 

"My father isn't near," Cass said. "I would know."

 

"More wishful thinking," Sandy muttered.

 

Cass stroked the sharp outline of his ears. "These are

not just for show, my lady. I am a keener tracker than most of

my kind too. My mother always said it came from her tribe-

great hunters all. My father said it was a skill I acquired so

that I might hear my enemies coming and hide sooner." He

showed his teeth. "This time, he was right."

 

"And I have even better hearing than my lord," Cesare

added. "Couple that with my fine sense of smell—"

 

"Well, I wish you might smell me out a handkerchief,

cariad," Davina said softly. "For I fear it's all my fussing

over this soot that's made Sandy lose patience with me. I can't

abide untidiness." She held up her dirty fingers. "Has anyone

a handkerchief?"

 

An ash shaft fleched with kingfisher feathers whizzed

through the air, passing between Davina's splayed fingers be-

fore burying its flint head in the thick trunk of a fir tree. The

white cloth tied to the shaft came off in the Welsh girl's hand,

leaving her staring dumbly at it.

 

168               Esther M. Friesner

 

Her comrades were staring just as dumbly at the elfin

archer who melted out of the woodland.

 

"Be my guest," he said. His bow went up again, another

arrow nocked and ready.

 

A second archer, bow similarly ready, emerged from the

other side of the path. One golden eye sighted down the length

of this arrow to Sandy's heart. "Any other requests?"

 

Chapter Seventeen:

 

In the Lands of the Pair Folk

 

f if ionel." Her husband's name escaped in a strained

 

SaS whisper from the comer of her mouth. "Lionel, I

really wish you'd put that sword down." At the very edge of

vision she saw the iron blade drop to the white path.

 

"We surrender," Lionel said, palms raised. "Please

don't hurt her."

 

"Hurt her?" The first elf was honestly surprised. He

looked at Cass. "Have we any reason to hurt her, my lord

prince?"

 

Cass ran a thumb down his jawline. "Oh, not really,

Pazhim. She's been a little reluctant . . ."

 

"With you, my lord?" The second elf—the one who had

drawn a bead on Sandy—lowered his weapon. "Why?"

 

"That one, my friend Tiv"— Cass indicated Lionel—

"is her husband."

 

"You mean her wedded lord?" Tiv gave Lionel a severe

once-over.

 

"They don't use that term anymore, up there." Bright

blue eyes danced with mockery. "Although from what I have

observed of their behavior, there are still many women who treat

their husbands as lord and master, no matter what the verbiage."

 

"That's a damned lie!" Sandy shouted. Her voice came

rifling straight back at her. The echoes of Elfhame Ultramar

were strange, hard things. Sometimes they set off echoes of

their own. She clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the

reverberations. Oddly, no one else seemed to be affected.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 169

 

"Sandy's right," Lionel said. He looked a little sheepish

as he added, "I'm not her lord and master. Sometimes I can

barely get her to match up my socks when the laundry's done.''

 

"Laundry?" Pazhim inquired.

 

"Clothes washing," Cass translated. "She also used to

do the cooking, until this lady came to live with them. Another

female, note that. And she performed the cleaning of their

house, all the rooms."

 

"His place too?" Tiv looked scandalized. "And washed

his clothes? And cooked his food?"

 

"I help with the housework." Lionel's objections were

lodged in a weak voice. "And I cook pretty well."

 

"All the rooms." Tiv still couldn't believe it.

 

"Helps with the housework. Largess. Condescension in

the flesh, or I'm a brownie." Fazhim shook his head. He

stowed his bow and arrow before taking Sandy's hand in both

his own. His face was dark as walnut-juice stain, his clustered

ringlets jet black until a random change of light showed them

to be the depthless purple of a midnight summer sky. "Dear

lady, and you are declining the attentions of my lord prince?

Let us not even consider the delights and refinements of the

flesh he might show you! Let us neglect to mention the perfect

health you would enjoy in his company, whether or not you

chose to dwell there above or here below. Let us forget entirely

the fact that you would be pampered and cosseted beyond the

wildest dreams your poor, crippled imagination could spew

forth. My lady: he would always pick up after himself!"

 

"And do his own laundry," Tiv tacked on, with a smug

look in Lionel's direction. "We all take care of ourselves in

Elfhame Ultramar."

 

"How jolly," Sandy stated. "I hope that includes taking

care of your own business and letting us take care of ours."

She cocked her head at Cass. "Who are these bo—people?"

 

The elf-prince laughed long and loud. The bristly

branches of the fir trees trembled. He strode forward to sweep

Tiv and Pazhim into a hearty hug. "These are my milk broth-

ers, lady mine! They are of good blood, which they disgrace

continually. Or have you two given that up and become re-

spectable since I left?"

 

Tiv's hair and eyes were both the color of new-minted

gold, and gleamed with equally metallic sheen as he shook his

head, grinning. "We've been doing our best, in your absence,

to make Lord Syndovar despair."

 

"We're nowhere as good at it as you were," Pazhim

 

170 Esther M. Priesner

 

said. "But we do try. He says he hopes to be dead long before

Lastday, rather than have to watch us keep up our end of things

on the field of battle."

 

"Once he said he'd rather mate with a karker and live in

the burrows than have someone mistake him for an elf, the way

we were disgracing our people." Tiv spoke with rich satisfac-

tion. He patted the bow on his back. "Of course, so long as

we hold our own on the archery field, he can't turn his back

on us completely. So to speak."

 

Amanda came to stand with Sandy and the other mortals.

The elf-prince's reunion with his milk brothers cast them all

into the tenuous place of outsiders looking in.

 

"All that's lacking is a cave," Davina whispered. "We

poor souls inside it, huddled by a wretched fire, and the flint-

scraped skins of animals barely covering our bodies, while out

in the storm we see our first glimpses of the Pair Folk dancing

with the lightnings."

 

Sandy shivered. "Well," she managed to say. "Well, at

least we had enough sense to come in out of the rain."

 

Cass was lecturing his friends on the peculiar ways of

mortals—the female of the species in particular. Tiv and Pa-

zhim shook their heads in wonder so many times that they gave

the impression of watching an invisible tennis match. Cass

capped his descriptions of mortal absurdity with a short dis-

quisition on the necktie, and tales of how humans wives duti-

fully trotted off whole skeins of these absurdities to the dry

cleaners.

 

"Enough!" Sandy cried. She picked up the sword Lionel

had dropped and pointed it at Cass's dainty nose. "Instead of

showing off for your friends, try remembering why we're here.

Believe it or not, there's one thing even more boring than wip-

ing out ring around the collar, and that's listening to an elf

make fun of neckties." Her eyes darted to Tiv and Pazhim.

"Ask him how many neckties he has in his own closet up there,

why don't you? Besides the necktie he had to wear as part of

his school uniform."

 

This time Tiv's expression went beyond shock. He

backed away from Cass in purest horror. "Neckties? You, my

loro?"

 

"It must be true, what Lord Syndovar preaches." Pa-

zhim clearly deplored the truth of it. "The upper world is a

poisonous place, its seductions permeating the very soil of the

worid until at last they seep down into our own sweet lands.

He would close off all the gateways, if he could, and still the

 

ELF DEFENSE                 171

 

influences would trickle into Elfhame Ultramar by the tracks

of worm and beetle, through the very stones."

 

Tiv snorted. "Oh, don't exaggerate! Lord Syndovar's al-

ways been one to rule by fear first, respect second. You're

talking just the way he'd love to hear it. As if we could be

influenced in any way by something so transitory as human

culture. I myself have made more than one visit to the surface

iust to see what all the fuss was for, and I was almost disap-

pointed. Mortal contamination! What a myth! Get real, Fa-

zhim! And as for you, sweet lady, we know all about your

quest and are here to help you, so put down that sword."

 

Slowly, with many a suspicious look at the two elfin

archers. Sandy passed the sword back to Lionel. Her empty

hand closed on the handle of the fireplace poker for reassur-

ance.

 

"Good. Now come with us." Pazhim took command and

plunged into the forest on the left-hand side of the path.

 

If it had been difficult keeping up a single-file line of

march on the white road, it was that much worse when there

was no clear path to take. Fleetingly Sandy wished that Tiv

had gone first—his gold hair would have been easier to keep in

sight among the trees—but Fazhim's dark coloring, his moss-

green tunic, his russet hose, all served as excellent camouflage.

Camouflage was not one of the qualities Sandy would have

preferred in a leader.

 

No, it wasn't easy going at all, and it grew harder. With-

out a path, the party spread out, each one picking his or her

own way through the wood. No one seemed to have the pa-

tience to go one after the other when there was no clearly in-

dicated road. So long as they kept at least one of their fellows

in sight, they felt they were doing all right.

 

Which is fine in theory. Sandy thought. Unless the person

in front of you is following a third person who's decided that

you 're the one he 'II follow.

 

She was in a nasty mood. The fireplace poker kept bang-

ing into her leg when it wasn't catching on things by its hook—

scraping the bark off trees, tangling in bushes, and more often

than both of these, snagging where there was nothing visible

to snag on. Every time the poker got caught. Sandy got jerked

back by the belt. Her jeans were too damned tight to begin

with, and her solar plexus didn't appreciate the intermittent

jolts it was getting.

 

"Sandy, what are you doing?" Cass materialized from a

thicket at her right hand as she struggled with yet another of

 

172 Esther M. Priesner

 

those unseen poker grabbers. He was silvery cool, and he deftly

twitched the poker free for her. "The others are in camp al-

ready. We were worried about you. Here, take my arm. I'll

guide you."

 

They entered the little clearing arm in arm. Sandy didn't

think anything of it until she saw Lionel staring at them. She

unlooped her arm from Cass's at once and rushed to sit by her

husband's side. She felt his arm shake when he put it around

her.

 

"All right." Cass squatted by the small campfire, if a

name reminiscent of burnt s'mores and sticky-fingered scouts

could be applied to a willow-green flame burning in a silver

bowl that rested on the winged back of a slumbering topaz lion.

"Now we can—the wards are up, Pazhim?"

 

"They're up. The minute you crossed that ring of stones,

your images continued bumbling on through the forest. They'll

keep going until they hit the westbound track, if anyone's

watching for you."

 

"Kelerison won't bother with watching," Amanda said.

"If he does, he'll know better than to believe we'd get so lost,

with Cass leading us. He'll just sit in the high court and wait,

but we won't fool him with wardstone-made images."

 

"Still, it's not as important that he knows where you are

not, as that he doesn't know where you are." Tiv looked proud

of himself for that one. "Our lord king may not believe the

images, but he will never know the exact point at which your

true bodies stopped and your shadow forms went on. A little

privacy, that's what the wards provide. No eavesdroppers al-

lowed; or possible." He gestured off into the shadows beyond

the fire. "I thought I was going to ruin myself moving those

stones, but it was worth it. No matter what the ladies claim,

when it comes to setting up wards, size counts."

 

Sandy peered into the darkness. All she saw were trees.

"What stones?" she asked.

 

"There, the great gray ones." Davina tried directing her

attention. Sandy still saw nothing and said so. Lionel seconded

it. The Welsh girl understood. "There are times I forget the

gift of the Sight is not everyone's. Mrs. Taylor, can you see

them?"

 

Amanda shook her head. "It's been years since my last

annointing."

 

Cass slapped his forehead. "Idiot!"

 

"No argument, my lord." Pazhim's teeth were bright.

 

"No wonder my poor lady kept getting tripped and tan-

 

ELF DEFENSE                 173

 

gled in snares that a half-blind troll would see! Tiv, Fazhim,

tell me you've brought a jar of the stuff."

 

Tiv uncurled his fingers. Pour small, round, cork-

stoppered clay bottles balanced on his palms. "Just so, my

lord One apiece. Haven't you found mortals to be rather fin-

icky about germs?" He passed the little pots around.

 

Lionel unplugged his jar and gave the contents a mis-

trustful sniff. Sandy offered her opinion that it looked like blue

Crisco and smelled like a French cathouse. "Nothing personal,

Cesare," she told the tomcat.

 

Cesare was too busy rubbing up to Davina, who in turn

was preoccupied with opening several cans of sardines. Paper

plates came out of her knapsack as the fish was divided into

eight small portions. Tiv gave his share to the cat, after a cur-

sory glance, and Fazhim did likewise.

 

"You wouldn't have any granola bars on you?" the dark-

haired elf asked hopefully.

 

"It's fairy ointment," Amanda told them as she dipped

her fingers into the scented goo. "It lets you see your where-

abouts just the way the Five Peoples see things down here."

She smeared the stuff over her eyelid, going up to and past the

brow. "Cover the entire eye, the whole compass of the socket.

It won't hurt to go a little past the borders, just to make sure."

 

"Must I?" Davina was no more enchanted by the too-

sweet smell of the ointment than Lionel. "I have the Sight."

 

"And no idea of where your Sight ends," Amanda coun-

tered. "Not everyone with your gift could've seen the gate-

way, remember? Do you want to leam the limits of your Sight

at a crucial moment?"

 

"Needs must." Davina sighed and imitated Amanda's

expert application technique. Lionel did the same.

 

Sandy balked until she caught Tiv watching her, a poorly

controlled smirk twisting his lips into all kinds of bizarre grim-

aces. She rested her eyeglasses on her knee and used the fairy

ointment. It was cool at first touch, a coolness that rapidly

wanned until it reminded her of the steaming washcloths her

mother laid over her eyes to combat sinus headaches. Then the

heat faded away.

 

"That wasn't so bad." She put her glasses back on and

looked around her. "I still don't see any stones, though."

 

"You will. Now that you have prepared the eye, you

make the second application." Amanda took a dollop of oint-

ment onto her right index finger, and with a gesture familiar to

contact lens wearers everywhere, she held one eye wide open

 

174 Esther M. Priesner

 

with two fingers of her left hand while she plopped the b\u«-

unguent smack onto the eyeball.

 

"No way " Sandy crossed her arms.

 

"If you leave it half done, you go blind," Amand?

pointed out in an irritatingly reasonable tone. "Soon."

 

Sandy sucked in her breath through clenched teeth, saic

a raw word, and slopped a healthy blob into her own eye. Thei,

she howled.

 

"You get used to it," Amanda said. "tt's only the first

time that hurts. Do the other eye—all of you, don't just sii

there. I meant what I said about going blind."

 

The clearing resounded with agonized caterwaulings in

three distinct timbres. The elves covered their ears and lookec

like a grouping of Martyrs of the Early Church.

 

"Thank the Powers, the wardstones hold sound in sc

well," Tiv commented. "The fat one, there, sounds tike a bog

gnome in the mating season."

 

Cass flicked his fingers at the golden-haired elf and Tn

yelped in pain. "You—you stung me, you—you—you wienie!'

 

"Just to let you hear how melodious your own voice

sounds when you're hurting, little brother. And her name is

Davina Goronwy, and her size is little business of yours."

 

Lionel blinked azure tears away and wiped the overflow

from his cheeks with his shirtcuff. "Sandy? Sandy, how do

you feel?"

 

Sandy had her eyes squinched shut as tight as they would

go. "This had better be worth it," she growled.

 

Cass touched her arm. "My lady, to know that you must

open your eyes."

 

She did, and her long-drawn exclamation of wonde-

braided itself into and over and around Lionel's and Davina's

 

They were still in the forest, but the trees had growr

translucent, their interiors made visible. Lithe spirits pent

within the bark slithered up and down the length of the trunks

swimming through the grain or floating in the heart of the wood.

as the mortals watched.

 

Some were young females, hair and skin the same deep

scarlet as the sap rising into the bud. These lived in saplings

of oak and ash, elm and willow, beech and the frondy mimosa

that had sprung up among the evergreens, unseen until the ap

plication of the fairy ointment. The pines and firs were home

to green-bearded sires and dreaming matrons with hair the sweet

yellow of new-split softwood, ripe breasts full and round and

brown as pine cones.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 175

 

The tree spirits were not the only beings living in the

forest With the ointment's aid, the mortals saw grass where

no grass had been, and a beetle-busy multitude of tiny sprites

scurrying through the blades, a few of which themselves housed

slim green creatures shaped rather like tadpoles—all head and

eyes, the body trailing away into a filament tail.

 

' At last Sandy understood why she had kept snagging the

poker when supposedly nothing was there. The underbrush was

at least twice as thick in reality as it had been to unannointed

eyes. Parrot-colored shrubs grew chest high, tossing their tre-

foil-leaved branches in the air without the aid of any breeze.

The air itself was thick with winged beings, bright and elusive,

whose jeweled hues would leave earthly butterflies dead of

envy. Each shrub was trying to lure at least one of the innu-

merable flying creatures to land amidst its temptingly perfumed

foliage. When lures did not work, the shrubs tried grabbing at

anything within range.

 

"Why do they do that?" Davina asked.

 

"Sssh." Cass took her by the hand to very edge of the

warded campsite. "Watch."

 

One airborne creature succumbed to the lure of an espe-

cially virulent fuchsia-and-teal shrub. In a flutter of wings, it

landed on a beckoning branch and buried its face in a cluster

of scented leaves. Almost at once, the leaves flew off in dif-

ferent directions, unveiling three sprites exactly like the new-

comer, only wingless. They set upon the visitor with piping

cries of glee and carried their pinioned victim deep into the

heart of the bush.

 

"Dear lord! Will they eat her?" Davina was aghast.

 

"Him," Cass corrected. "He's safe as may be from im-

mediate consumption, for a male newly mated. Powers that be,

my lady, would you devour your own husband, as if you were

no better than a she-spider?"

 

"Yes, but ... three of them to one male?"

 

"And one triad to every mature leaf cluster on that shrub.

It's usual for all three to breed too. If it weren't for the inherent

cunning of the males at avoiding capture, I don't know where

we'd be. My father's courtiers sit around complaining and

wondering why they can't take a deep breath in summertime

without getting their teeth full of pixies!" Cass rested his hands

on his hips. "Why do we waste so much time on the battlefield

and spend so little on worthwhile things, like getting these

damned pixies to stop it?"

 

"Now I've seen everything," Sandy said.

 

176 Esther M. Friesner

 

"Then it's working for you too?" Cass was at her side

again. He behaved as if the earth had mistaken Lionel for a

canape. "Can you truly see as I see?"

 

"I can see the stones now," Sandy cried. "Oh, and so

much else!"

 

The stones were marvelous to see, each one taller than

two elves, a deep blue gray striped with tracks of red lichen

and furry moss, here and there the star of a minuscule yellow

flower that had no name in the lands above. Garlands 'of blue

gentian crowned the monoliths, wreaths of flowers and striped

bronze ribbons fit for any bride to wear.

 

The sky of Elfhame Ultramar had shown itself too. The

tops of trees were ghosts that faded in and out of sight, but

never assumed enough solidity to obscure the bright dome

above. "It's . . . blue." Sandy sounded cheated.

 

"We have made it so," Cass told her. "Blue and bright,

without a sun to account for the color. Were you expecting

dark caverns, or the underside of a grave mound? The blue

fades with the waning of our day, which runs just opposite to

your own. But"—here he sighed—"there can be no sunset; no

sunrise; and if we want a light to guide our steps in the dark,

we must kindle our own. There is no moonlight, there are no

stars."

 

Pazhim's shoulders twitched. "There are nights I'd be

more than glad to have a friendly moon at my back. Pray the

Powers we don't cross paths with any of them on our way to

the high court."

 

"Them who?" Lionel demanded.

 

The elf regarded him with sad, pansy-heart eyes. "Jun-

gies. Heads. What does it matter? You couldn't do anything to

stop them."

 

"Junkies?" Lionel repeated, getting it slightly wrong.

"Heads?" To Sandy he said, "Sounds like Central Park all

over again."

 

Pazhim began drawing a map in the dirt. "Here is the

white road, and here is the great stream, and here is the high

court, with outlying regions, and here are we."

 

Sandy and the others leaned in to watch his sketch take

shape. Fazhim gave no scale, but the distances still looked

daunting. "It's a good thing for you that Tiv and I came out

to meet you," he said. "Your fastest route to the high court is

by boat on the great stream, in spite of the dangers, and we

sailed up in one of our swiftest.''

 

"I never came down by this gateway before, so I didn't

 

ELF DEFENSE                 177

 

know we'd need a boat," Amanda said. "But if we come by

the great stream, won't Kelerison be able to intercept us when

it emerges from the forest, into the parklands here?" She

stabbed at the nigh court with her dagger point. Fazhim

 

flinched.

 

"My lord Prince Cassiodoron is not without other

friends," Tiv said. He dared to pat Amanda's hand, even

though'it held an iron dagger. "Nor are you unkindly remem-

bered, my lady. Of all King Kelerison's fancies, you were the

only one who never treated us as if we were magic fetch-and-

carries, as in the old-country tales. Fazhim and I are but two

of a comradeship of seven, all of us my lord prince's friends.

We've left two others well placed along the water route, to

watch for any of Kelerison's patrols and either warn us off or

throw additional wards around us."

 

"Throw? Something that big?" Lionel jerked a thumb at

the standing stones.

 

"Wards set over you on earth must be of earth; wards

cast over water are of water."

 

"We left the remaining three in the high court proper,"

Fazhim continued. "Their job is to create an internal distur-

bance, if a distraction is needed when we arrive, and to watch

over the children."

 

"The children!" Lionel's hand reached for Sandy's and

squeezed it.

 

"Well, of course." Tiv lifted his moth-light brows. "We

said we knew all about your quest. It's hard enough keeping

two mortal babies under wraps in a normal court, where there's

some elbow-room available, but in our High Court? When

we're not dealing with babies, but good-sized children? Mean

ones," he concluded sourly. He rolled back the sleeve of his

sepia tunic to show a set of small tooth marks.

 

"Ellie's?" Sandy whispered.

 

"I never bet on a sure thing," Lionel whispered back.

For the first time in too long, Sandy saw him smile.

 

"She would not curtsey to Queen Bantrobel." Tiv pulled

the sleeve back down. "I was there. I saw it. I tried to make

the child comply for her own sake, in case Queen Bantrobel

should get sticklish about etiquette—she does, from time to

time, then gives it all up within a fortnight. This was the thanks

I got."

 

"Tiv is right," Fazhim spoke up. "I was there too, when

the children entered the court. I was surprised that my lord

King Kelerison was not there as well, but it's always been his

 

178 Esther M. Friesner

 

way to drop his latest bundle of surface-world gleanings right

on the High Court doorstep and zip off again as the fit takes

him. No consideration for where we're to find room to stow

his latest mania, no thought to leaving care and feeding instruc-

tions—"

 

"In this case, let us hope that feeding instructions were

not included," Cass said.

 

"You want him to starve our children?^" Sandy's indig-

nation was seconded by whole generations of Horowitz women

who had died with the words One more bite, darling, there are

poor children in some other country on their lips.

 

Cesare purred and butted at her legs until she took notice

of him. "Madonna, if you would have your children back

again, pray that they have been starved. One taste of the food

or drink of Elfhame Ultramar and they are bound to this realm

forever."

 

"Like the myth of Persephone," Lionel suggested.

 

"That's why we posted Simyna, Gathel, and Loris at

court. One of them will always keep an eye on your children

until you can reach the palace. Oh, don't worry!" Tiv made

calming motions with his hands. "They won't really starve.

It's a simple thing for us to slip up to your world and bring

down some mortal fare for the little ones." He rubbed his

injured arm. "Give them something else to chew on than elf-

flesh. Nasty little buggers."

 

"No mortal contamination's possible, huh?" Lionel

murmured for Sandy's ears alone.

 

Cass stood and stretched. "The sooner we relieve Si-

myna, Gathel, Loris, and the rest of their duty, the happier

these ladies will be. Take us to the boat now, my brothers. We

can speak of our plan of attack once we're aboard."

 

Fazhim. went from one standing stone to the next. His

fingers sliced off a sliver of rock from each monolith as if they

were made of soft cheese. "With these we can have a modified

ward around us on the way to the great stream," he explained

for the mortals' benefit. "But it's a very weak spell. You must

be completely silent and always walk within the triangle whose

points will be Tiv, my lord Prince Cassiodoron, and myself."

 

It was a substantial march to the great stream, one passed

in absolute silence, with total attention focused on the positions

of the three elves. Since the fairy ointment had revealed all the

hidden obstacles of Elfhame Ultramar, Sandy found the way

from the campsite to the boat much faster and less frustrating

 

ELF DEFENSE                 179

 

than the way from the white road to the campsite, even though

it was three times as long. What she could see, she could avoid.

 

The boat itself was a large, flat-bottomed craft that re-

sembled a mahogany sardine can. The wood of it gleamed, but

there was no ornamentation, no place to shelter from the light

of the sky, no oarlocks, and no sail. As Cass helped her into

the boat Sandy saw that there were also no cushions, no life-

jackets, and no seats.

 

Amanda took her place cross-legged on the boat's smooth

bottom, facing what might have been called prow or stem with

equal accuracy. The others took their cue from her. Cesare

chose Davina's lap to honor with his presence and went to

sleep while Tiv and Fazhim pushed the boat into the water,

then took their own tailor-fashion seats among the mortals.

 

Only Cass remained standing. The boat was taken up by

the current of the great stream and floated with it. Amanda had

indeed chosen the prow rightly. Cass was stationed in the stem.

He spoke a few words, and the vessel took on speed and a

firmer direction.

 

"Now there's something new in outboard motors: Elven-

rude." Lionel chuckled. Sandy slapped his hand.

 

She glanced back at Cass over her shoulder and saw him

stretch out his arms to the waters.

 

The boat began to sink.

 

"Illusion." Cesare's sleepy cat voice forestalled any cry

of distress from Sandy. "See, it is only a bubble of water that

my master has drawn up around us to be our ward."

 

"Elegantly done, my lord." Fazhim grinned his appro-

bation. "If all our battlefields were magical alone, no one could

find fault with you."

 

"You too, my brother?" Cass's voice throbbed with hurt.

"This from you?" His arms fell to his sides and the watery

dome over them burst. He sat down in the boat, which slowed

back down to the lazy, bobbing flow of the great stream's cur-

rent.

 

"My lord Pazhim meant it as a pleasantly." Tiv squatted

beside Cass. "It was a compliment. Will you not take it as it

was intended, for the love we all share?"

 

In the cramped quarters of the boat, it was impossible

not to eavesdrop, not to see every facial expression of your

mates unless backs were turned or eyes averted deliberately.

Cass's eyes flashed so fiercely that Sandy would have turned

away if there had been room to do so.

 

"He knows my shame! You and he are the only ones

 

180 Esther M. Friesner

 

who do, besides my parents and Lord Syndovar. I risked much

to tell you of it. Fazhim should have had a measure of common

sense. He should have known better than to speak of it at all,

pleasantries and compliments be damned!"

 

"Oh, for—" Tiv slapped his knees and straightened up,

all thoughts of peacemaking tossed aside. "So you sulk over

it, while this boat goes drifting wardless, just to teach us a

lesson!" He took over the helmsman's pl^ce Cass had aban-

doned and got the boat going strongly downstream again.

 

"I'll speak a few truths for you, my regal milk brother,"

Tiv remarked from his station in the stem. "No one outside

the royal family would care about your so-called shame, even

if they all knew about it. But you like the idea of having a

deep, dark, hairy secret. Does it ennoble you? Does it make

you into the tragic hero you'd love to be? I'll bet it does!"

 

"Tiv, Tiv, hush, please." Pazhim made frantic motions

with his hands. "We have no wards up. Shall I?"

 

"This far upstream?" Tiv laughed. "No one in his right

mind comes along the banks here, so close to where the Heads

wander. Why waste the power?" He returned to Cass.

 

"Secrets! You're just like your sire. He's been tightei

than a filbert for centuries with all the precious secrets of Lord

Oberon's last gifting, and you've picked up that secret-snug-

away obsession from him. It must give you both a feeling of

importance to think you know something we don't know. Well,

after all these years, no one in all the high court believes there

was a last gifting, and if there was, that it was more than a

pair of waterproof cobweb boots of your lady grandmother's

weaving!"

 

"There is more to it than that." Cass spoke dully. His

eyes gazed into the past. "My father took me into the chamber

of the casket, once, soon after our arrival in this new land. The

times were hazardous, though few of the Fair Folk knew it.

He came home from one inland expedition with Lord Syndovar

looking filthy and haggard. He told me that I must look into

the casket with him, to hear Lord King Oberon's charge to his

regent, in case something should happen to him. So I looked,

and I saw the last gifting." He bowed his head into his hands.

"May that be the last of it."

 

"More melodramatics! You always were like that. You

always yowled loudest of the three of us, carrying on like you

were going to die if you didn't get center tit every single time!''

Tiv's shining hair caught the dying light and held it like a halo

as he laughed at his friend. "Come on, my lord, lighten u—"

 

ELF DEFENSE                 181

 

The hiss was thin as thread, the sound of impact covered

hv Tiv's last words. For the second time, Sandy found herself

looking into the elfs golden eyes with an arrow between them,

only this time the hawk-fleched shaft protruded from Tiv's

heart.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eighteen:

 

Homecoming

 

Tiv's body toppled from the boat, but no splash came

from the great stream. A forest of mottled pale blue

and green hands sprouted from the waters to catch the corpse as

it fell. Water spirits— fishtailed, finned, web-fingered, and some

fully human in shape—carried the elfs body to the shore, never

letting so much as a finger trail in the current of their home.

They laid him out on the bank and dove back into the stream.

 

The bank itself was suddenly crowded. Nine elfin men

had appeared from among the tall stands of frosty white and

tawny gold reeds that rattled empty stalks in the wind. They

all carried bows and arrows, six of them aimed and ready to

fire on the people in the little boat. Two more played guard,

holding between them an elf-woman dressed in the males' pre-

ferred garb of loose-necked tunic and tight fitting hose, in the

earthy colors of stone and moss, soil and tree. She did not

struggle in their grasp, but stood with crop-haired head bent,

submissive and waiting for however they would dispose of her.

 

The ninth elf-man came down to the water's edge. He

stood above Tiv's body without sparing it a glance. The elves

were a beautiful breed, and he was no exception, yet as Sandy

looked at him, her stomach soured. His long, wild, gray hair

was a storm from the soul of the sea, his huge almond-shaped

eyes as blue and burning as Cass's, but with no depth to the

flame. He was in the peak of form, his muscles moving beneath

the silk of his tunic with a tried warrior's assurance. He would

look absurd if caught up in the figures of a dance, but when

swords did the dancing, then he would move and stalk and

meet and kill his foe, all beautifully.

 

182 Esther M. Priesner

 

It was only then that Sandy realized that their boat had

not moved from the moment of Tiv's death. It sat where it was

as if anchored in the water, without even the slightest bob or

drift.

 

"Don't match strengths, my lord Prince Cassiodoron,"

the elf-man called over the water. "Not even you can break

the hold all nine of us have on your craft. Bring it to shore. If

you refuse, my men will loose their arrows and your friends

will die."

 

Cesare arched and hissed. "Lord Syndovar speaks with

all the diplomacy of his sword."

 

Amanda stood up very slowly, holding her hands well

away from her body so that the elves ashore might see she had

no weapon to hand. "Will you kill me too, my lord?" She

lifted her chin so that he could have a clear view of her face.

 

"My lady." The tall elfin lord made a curt reverence.

"A pleasure to see you again. Do we have you to thank for

bringing our wandering prince home?"

 

"You might say that."

 

"Then I suggest you use the same good influence that

has brought him this far to make him obey." Lord Syndovar

never smiled. "Otherwise I fear that yes, I will have you killed

too, and then where would that leave your son?"

 

The boat lurched so hard as it shot in to shore that all of

those seated in the bottom piled into one another. Cesare

growled and spat as spray sprinkled his fur, and Amanda,

standing when the lurch came, was nearly pitched into the great

stream. There was another jolt when the craft hit the bank and

beached itself.

 

Cass jumped lightly ashore and gave Lord Syndovar a

bow that was barely more than a quick inclination of the head.

"You request"—the word was bitterly ironic—"and I obey.

You would think that you were the royal prince of this realm

and I the underling. By what right did you kill my brother?"

 

"You honor him too much, or else your speech is sloppy.

He was your milk brother, nothing more. I have spilled no

royal blood." Lord Syndovar's face was carved of icebound

rock. "He was a traitor to Elfhame Ultramar, and by that, a

traitor to our truly royal overlord. King Oberon of Elfhame.

Choose your friends more discreetly in future."

 

"Traitor! Where's your evidence that Tiv was any more

a traitor to this land than you?"

 

A tiny quirk at the corner of Lord Syndovar's tight mouth

 

ELF DEFENSE                 183

 

suggested very fleeting amusement. "For that, I suggest you

 

soeak to the lady there."

 

The elf-woman began to babble before Cass could turn

toward her, let alone ask a single question. "My lord, forgive

me' We were discovered in the high court. They have us all-

had us. I am the only one left alive. Gathel, Druvin, Simyna,

are all dead, and now Tiv ..." Sobs bubbled out of her chest.

"They surprised Druvin and me farther downstream, killed him

outright, questioned me. They said they would give me to the

Jungies if I didn't talk. My lord, my dearest lord, you have

been gone so long! You can't know the fear we live with, the

souls the Heads devour, the captives the Jungies take and en-

slave. Lord Syndovar's own son—seven of them before we

found his hair, bloody, nailed to the palace doors!"

 

Lord Syndovar stepped in front of her and dealt her four

short, sharp slaps. He turned to Cass again, smiling as if he had

done'no more than arrange the set of a flower in a vase. Eyes

sharpened by the fairy ointment. Sandy saw the elf-woman's

lower lip had been split.

 

"Now you know why I may use the word traitor so

freely. Your Highness. I will trouble young Lord Fazhim to

join Lady Yantel. His name as well as Lord Tiv's came up in

the conversation when she told us of your juvenile plot to defy

the lord of Elfhame Ultramar."

 

Still in the boat, Pazhim stifled a moan of fear. Sandy

had never seen a mortal man so possessed by terror before.

Who better than the immortal would have leisure to learn how

sweet living can be? The longer you stay in one place, the

harder it is to leave it. Who would be less eager to greet death,

knowing only life for so long ?

 

"Are you calling me a traitor too, my lord?" Sandy could

almost swear that a faint aura was forming hair-thin around the

elfin prince, the visible essence of the rage he held in check.

 

"You, Your Highness?" Again the twitch of Lord Syn-

dovar's thin lips. "For you, we could not call it treachery. It's

a family matter, between yourself and your father; one I hope

to see settled soon." Having said this, he was no longer inter-

ested in the prince. "Lord Fazhim, we are waiting."

 

The archers on the bank readjusted their aims. Now all

arrows fixed on Fazhim. He did as Lord Syndovar's curt words

and brief gestures directed, avoiding Cass's eyes as he took his

place beside the elf-woman. Her guards backed off, drawing

small daggers from their belts. It was a formality. The pris-

oners had lost any desire to try escaping. Pazhim pinched thumb

 

184 Esther M. Priesner

 

and forefinger together and a petal of green silk appeared. He

tenderly blotted the blood from Lady Yaritel's chin.

 

"We will waste no more time here." Lord Syndovar mo

tioned to his men. "The boats." It wanted only one man to

lower his bow and strip back the magical wards concealing

three silvery gray boats among the rushes. Their prows were

all adorned with the rampant forequarters of a winged horse,

lashing hooves painted gold, upswept wings bright as the au-

rora.

 

"Your boat shall remain here. The Jungies may have it,

for all I care." Hearing that voice. Sandy could not imagine

Lord Syndovar caring about anything. "Your group will ride

two in a boat, with the exception of yourself. Your Majesty.

You shall sail in the lead boat, with me. Two of your party to

three of mine . . . Yes, I think that should assure everyone's

good behavior."

 

Sandy did some fast toting up on her fingers and reached

her own horrified conclusion a heartbeat before Cass. "You're

going to kill them!" she exclaimed, pointing at the two pris-

oners. "Just like that!"

 

"Dear lady, please . . ." Fazhim's velvet eyes implored

her silence. He put his arm around Yaritel, who was weeping

without a sound.

 

"Murderer!"

 

"Sandy ..." Lionel's atempt at quelling his wife was

no more effective than Fazhim's. She was out of the flat-

bottomed boat, on the bank, and bristling at Lord Syndovar.

The elf's superior height made it a comic sight, an Irish wolf

hound beset by Peg's late, unlamented Shih Tzu, yet Lord Syn-

dovar did not look amused.

 

"You are outspoken, for a mortal female." His lips

pursed. "Old too. To my experience, it is only the very young

of your sex who chatter so. They have their youth as an excuse

for all manner of foolish excess, but they are trained down,

eventually. Why has no one done something about you?"

 

"I was a hard case, so they sent me to law school to get

properly humiliated. That didn't work, so they let me be a

lawyer. Ask your precious king how good I am with a copy of

Black's sometime. Oh, and you might try visiting the surface

world more often than once every two centuries. Decalcifica-

tion is good for the brain."

 

The eyes of every elf widened in astonishment as Lord

Syndovar lifted Sandy high in the air, laughing. He swung her

around once before setting her down, and steadied her, still

 

ELF DEFENSE                185

 

chuckling. "Fire and flame! And is there a glow as well, or

all crackle and sparic? You are right, little one. I have neglected

mv studies. You shall ride in my boat with Prince Cassiodoron.

No- alone. Your Highness will forgive me, but I have never

seen a creature like this before. It might almost explain . . ."

He glanced at Amanda. "Be kind enough to ride with your

father's chosen. Lord Prince. Once we reach the high court, I

shall have to conceal her from Queen Bantrobel's sight; an

unfortunate necessity."

 

Sandy brushed off her sleeves as if Lord Syndovar's grip

had left a residual slime clinging to them. "I prefer not to

associate with murderers unless it's a professional obligation."

 

"But you do wish to see your child again." Lord Syn-

dovar held out his hand with feigned courtesy as every drop of

fight drained from Sandy's face. "Our boat?"

 

The cat Cesare jumped from his boat to Lord Syndovar's

without bothering to touch the bank. The others walked more

circumspecdy to the boats they were assigned. Lord Syndovar

himself saw to the confiscation of their weapons, stowing the

collected armory in a green wooden box. He also directed his

men to take their places in the gray boats, leaving only the

prisoners, himself, and Tiv's corpse on the shore.

 

With a look of passing distaste, the storm-haired elf ran

his hand through the air above Tiv. A wrinkle in the grass

humped itself high as a wave to cover the body. That chore

done, he regarded Fazhim and Yaritel.

 

"My fair travelling companion seems to think I will kill

you," he said in a carrying voice. "Perhaps in her world they

treat traitors otherwise. Well, for the sake of her sweet com-

pany, let there be no blood spilled between us." He raised both

hands to his lips and seemed to blow a kiss into the cupped

fingers, then seized the prisoners' own hands before they could

react. "You are free."

 

Yaritel fell to her knees, doubled over. Fazhim's mouth

was foul with harsh sounds that could only be the vilest curses

of his people's tongue. He bent to cover the shaking elf-woman

with his body as Lord Syndovar, indifferent to the abuse trail-

ing after him, stepped into the lead boat and by the power of

his will launched it.

 

The three gray boats sailed into the middle of the great

stream. Sobs and wailing from the bank followed them. Sandy

clung to the gunwales, straining to see, until Lord Syndovar

commanded one of his retainers to take his place at the helm

 

186               Esther M. Priesner

 

to propel the craft forward. "You let them go free." Sandy

wanted to believe it, yet didn't dare.

 

"You find that odd?"

 

"You were going to kill them."

 

"I was going to have them die. There is a difference."

 

"But abandoning them there—"

 

"That will suffice. We shall never see them alive again."

 

Sandy knit her brows. "Fazhim—Maybe he's disarmed,

but it's not difficult to obtain new weapons, make them, maybe

get help from those little creatures. And the woman was re-

sourceful enough to make it all that way upstream—"

 

The cries of despair were dwindling with distance. A

mellow dusky light was falling on the great stream where the

three gray boats rode low in the water. Lord Syndovar dipped

his hands into the stream.

 

"Fazhim and Yaritel are both able woodcrafters. I trained

them myself, and I was bred in both Sherwood and Teutober-

gerwald. They might also beg help of the People of Earth and

the Winged Ones. Then too, they have the magic they were

bom with. It won't save them." He lifted his hand from the

water. A goblet of limpid ice had formed. "Some wine? Or

something lighter?"

 

Sandy ignored the offer. "Why not? If they have magic,

what can't they do?"

 

Lord Syndovar gazed at her speculatively. "An odd

question, coming from one who, I believe, proved the answer

of it to my lord King Kelerison. They have every power but

the one they need to survive. I have removed their ability to

set up wardings. All wardings. Only for a little while, so you

might compliment me on my sportmansh—"

 

A fearsome crash overwhelmed his words. Sandy whirled

around in her seat to see a series of seven huge pine trees go

toppling into the great stream, one after another. Clouds of the

Winged Ones swarmed up over the water, filling the air with

their high-pitched cries of panic. One scream, deeper than the

rest, tore through the multicolored curtain of their flight, and

a second, deeper still, dying to a piteous bubbling.

 

"Well," said Lord Syndovar, cocking an eyebrow. "A

Stone Giant. I had thought them extinct in these parts. I shall

have to make a report to Her Majesty." He tried offering Sandy

the goblet again, and was again refused. "Ah yes, the geas of

our food and drink. I had forgotten. It has been so many years

since I indulged in a mortal fancy. Oh, not that you have any-

thing to fear from me on that score, my lady. I merely asked

 

ELF DEFENSE                 187

 

(Q travel with me so that we might entertain each other on

a higher level. You are the one who stood up to my king, the

rumors say. I'd like to hear all about it."

 

Sandy wasn't listening. Her eyes still looked aft, from

where the chilling sounds had come. "They're dead." Her

fingers tightened on the rail.

 

"I'd hope so. What a Stone Giant would do to one of

our folk alive, well, I'd rather not imagine." That made her

stare at him, which in turn coaxed another of those small, cold

smiles to his lips. "So much you would know, isn't there? And

not the slightest idea of how to begin asking. Here, my lady."

He pressed the cup into her hands and would not accept refusal.

"Do not drink, but see."

 

There was nothing in the goblet one minute, and the next

it brimmed with a turquoise liquid topped with silver ripples.

The ripples chased each other around and around the goblet's

rim forming outwinding spirals that cleared the central whirl-

pool to a mirror of the past. Lord Syndovar's words brushed

her ear. "I give you a gift I can well afford, sweet lady: A

vision of the past that I know by heart. For once a vision is

called up from what has been, the same seeker may never call

it back again. This, I can spare."

 

"Shh!" Sandy did not take her eyes from the goblet.

With an impatient jerk of the shoulder, she bid the elven lord

keep quiet. He only laughed.

 

"You will need my voice, my lady. A vision is but that:

 

sight without sound. I must explain what you see. Aha! There.

It comes."

 

The vision came, and when it did. Sandy fell headlong

into the magic of that seeing. Her cupped hands held nothing,

for she had entered the world Lord Syndovar had summoned.

She stood beneath an arch of rock crystal, carved into the like-

ness of Assyrian winged lions, their paws closed around crossed

golden spears. Trailing vines rich with small purple flowers

draped the warring beasts, buzzed with the chatter of Winged

Ones in miniature court dress.

 

Sandy looked out from the shelter of the lion arch. She

was in a great hall whose walls were likewise crystalline, ex-

cepting only where fair silk tapestries, woven in the hues of a

Persian garden, overhung the luminous walls. There were flow-

ers everywhere, their perfumes singing through the air. Only a

little sweeter, only a shade more lovely to see than the flowers

were the folk of Elfhame.

 

"Welcome to the high court of King Oberon." Lord

 

188 Esther M. Priesner

 

Syndovar's voice insinuated itself into the vision. "Come and

stand beside me, lady."

 

Sandy looked about the gathering of elves and saw a

younger Syndovar, his hair long, black, bound back into a se-

ries of plaits whose ends were caught up with small bronze.

ornaments. He wore court armor over his short, plain white

wool tunic—a bronze breastplate and greaves of Homeric an

tiquity—and carried a swoid and ash-hafted spear of like de-

sign. Beside him stood two elves whom Sandy recognized at

once—Kelerison and Cassiodoron, with the cat Cesare wound

around the prince's ankle, drowsing.

 

As she approached the group she passed a length of bare

wall where the crystal was smooth and polished to a high de-

gree. In that mirror she caught sight of herself, and it made

her come up short. Her brief cap of red curls had been trans-

formed to waves of shining hair that fell the length of her green

velvet dress, itself trailing out behind her. Her freckled skin

was clear now, paler than human, finer, and her hands, her

feet, her face were all the long, slim, attenuated features of the

elfin race. Huge eyes that held their own inner light stared back

at her out of the crystal, and the delicate sweep of faun-shaped

ears lent her face a peculiarly tempting look.

 

"And you are among the least lovely of our women,"

Lord Syndovar said. "If one of your mortal males pursues one

of our ladies, can you blame him? Yet when one of us seeks

out one of your females, how can it be other than a madness?

A foolish, reasonless madness?"

 

"Thanks for the compliment." Sandy spoke, but the elfin

woman she was never moved her lips.

 

Now a bustle and a murmur ran through the assembled

elves. Someone of importance was coming. A tall elf whose

face resembled Kelerison's and whose coloring was Cassiodo-

ron's to the life entered the hall and all made way, bowing

before him. He took no throne, but instead mounted a low

drum-platform of carved crystal set in the center of the hall and

raised a green onyx staff. He spoke, and Kelerison came for-

ward to kneel.

 

"King Oberon. He has summoned his folk to tell them

of the changes in the upper world. New thoughts fly. Ships sail

into the sunset, seeking new lands even beyond Tir n'an Og,

finding them. Soon men of the Old Lands will sail there and

not return. They go blindly, as mortals always do, not knowing

what awaits them. Worse: they do not know what they leave

behind."

 

ELF DEFENSE                 189

 

Sandy lifted questioning eyes to the young Lord Syndo-

var at her side. He smiled at her, a smile so much warmer and

more feeling than any she had seen on the living Syndovar's

lips that she wondered how and why the change had come over

him. Then the present elf-lord spoke, answering her unvoiced

 

question.

 

"Magic. The very force that underlies all lands in the

 

old world. The force that bears life, true life, the life where

dreams may come and hope to be made real. No country can

breed men who are better than animals if it lacks the underpin-

ning of magic. It was kindled long and long ago—not even we

know how—and formed the marrow of our race. All the Peo-

ples of the Air were born of it. Where we dwelled, in that time

of all beginnings, there the first men became aware of what

they really were. By our presence."

 

"This is going to come as one hell of a shock to the

American Museum of Natural History," Sandy responded.

"Will we have to re-name it Darwin's Theory of Elfolution?"

 

Though the younger Lord Syndovar continued to smile

at her, she sensed his present form frowning. "I don't get it."

 

"You wouldn't. Speak on."

 

"But see, it is King Oberon who speaks! That scroll he

places in his son's hands commands Kelerison to take a party

of the younger elves and steal aboard the westbound ships of

men. We shall go with them, for the love that has always been

between our peoples." Syndovar's voice grew rough and bit-

ter. "The great love between elves and men. Yes, for that we

are to go into the west and establish the realm of Elfhame

Ultramar, so that the mortal clods who have always needed our

magic presence to lift them from the mud may not fall back

into it. We are the guardians of the imagination, the warriors

who battle to keep the path of dreams clear, the givers of gen-

ius and heartfire. What would the new lands be if they were

only of the natural world?"

 

The vision chopped back into silver ripples. The ripples

twinkled in the cup and spun themselves into a second seeing.

Sandy was still the red-haired elf-woman, only now she wore

a fog-soft cloak and stood at the rail of a ship heaving to along

a strangely familiar shore. At her side was a man in a steeple-

crowned hat, his white neckband much the worse for wear. His

dark clothing was stained with recent sickness, but his fever-

brightened eyes rejoiced to see the land. He was unaware of

her presence.

 

She looked behind her. A body of people in garb familiar

 

190 Esther M. Friesner

 

to every schoolchild who ever stapled paper feathers onto an

oaktag turkey knelt on the deck while the sailors scrambled

back and forth, around and through and on top of them. A few

standard maritime curses salted the hymns.

 

Running with the sailors to hold a knot or discreetly undn

a tangle were the ever-helpful gnomes and brownies, dwarves

and karkers. Soaring and swooping through the rigging the

Winged Ones starred the plain canvas sails with their bright

bodies, minding the set of every line. And standing among tfte

kneeling mass of mortals, the elves turned their eyes to th^

westem shore and sent the first arcs of magic to fasten then

souls to the new land.

 

"Son of a bitch, you came over on the Mayflower'

Sandy exclaimed.

 

"Some of us did. Some of us packed more expedients

and arrived at Jamestown. My lord Kelerison anticipated us

He landed on Hispaniola, making his way north by degree1.

gathering up the scattered Peoples of the Air to dwell first and

foremost in the High Court; for good cause. We thought to

spread our colonies throughout the land, but we never did

Instead, the realm of Elfhame Ultramar clings to the eastern

seaboard like a thin coat of seaweed. Would you see our re-

union, my lady? King Kelerison's return to his people? It wi''

tell you a great deal."

 

The question was rhetorical. Already the vision wa^

changing. A delegation of elves stood in a darksome cavem

Sandy was there, and as the seeing gained reality she became

aware of small hands fumbling at the front of her dress. The

infant in her arms whimpered for his mother's breast. She suck

led him, in spite of the disdainful looks she saw some of ths.

other nobly-bom elf-women give her.

 

"They think it unfitting to nurse their own. You migiil

have hired a karker for the job. But that was never your way

was it, my love? The easy way, the acceptable way, the safer

path, none of these ever suited you." An arm fell around San-

dy's shoulders. She looked up from the suckling infant to the

adoring eyes of young Lord Syndovar. "It was you who con-

vinced me that our duty lay in the west, though an arms master

of my skill could have retained an honored place in King Ob-

eron's court. You spoke of how our magic was more needed

there, in the new lands. You persuaded me of the rightness of

the journey. If a land of men lacked magic, it would fall. The

lesson of Atlantia was one you never forgot. See, my lady, the

lesson that comes now!"

 

ELF DEFENSE                 ,191

 

The darkness parted. Kelerison came stumbling into the

gathered glow of his waiting people. In his arms he carried a

stripling elr with g^"^ an(* bleeding skull. The right side of

his face had been caved in, and the whole spectacle was made

more horrible by the tenacity of the life yet in him. He was

still just barely alive. He only died when Kelerison laid him

 

on the earth.

 

"My lord king's youngest brother, Hylanteron. They

traveled together on that first voyage to Hispaniola, and nearly

all the way up the mainland coast before this. Look at our

proud king's face! Not even Kelerison himself is sure of what

has happened. They were scouting the new land, bringing the

smaller landing parties north to join us, and a blow was struck

out of the alien darkness. We did not know how to explain it,

either. See how we gasp and chatter? If you could only hear

us! Like squirrels. By coincidence. King Kelerison tells how

his brother had just loosed an arrow at a squirrel instants before

his death. Some argue that Prince Hylanteron must have stum-

bled in the course of his hunt. There are strange chasms here,

terrain we have yet to adapt by our magic. We will change the

native landscape, of course. That is our prerogative. After much

discussion, we agree that it is all a terrible accident. We will

build our realm beneath the lands of men as planned. Nothing

more will happen."

 

The liquid churned, then burst into a nine-pronged star.

Sandy gazed down at the face she had last seen in the rock

crystal wall. Was this another mirror? The eyes were closed.

How could the elf-woman see her reflection that way?

 

"The spirit leaves the skin. You were only a visitor."

Lord Syndovar's thin forefinger touched the surface of the see-

ing and the scope of vision irised out. Cast in a huddle of

anguish across the elf-woman's body, the young Lord Syndo-

var's hand closed on the arrow-shaft between his lady's breasts

and wept. Small faces, unelfin, unreadable, ringed those two

in the clearing where they lay. Then they and the vision were

gone.

 

A cool river breeze soothed Sandy's burning face. The

ice goblet melted between her hands and trickled away. Lord

Syndovar was watching her with a cat's steady stare. "So you

see, we had not come to a magicless land after all. We might

have left, then. We should have. There were more deaths.

There were deaths on both sides."

 

Lord Syndovar drew up a leather pouch from his belt and

spilled the contents into his hand. Sandy thought they were

 

192 Esther M. Friesner

 

carved acorns, a pile of the burnished brown nuts that over-

flowed the elf-lord's cupped palm. Several tumbled into the

bottom of the boat. She picked them up to return to their owner.

 

Then she saw the eye-sockets, no larger than pepper-

corns, and the infinitely fine delineation of the skulls. Lord

Syndovar accepted his trophies from her. One by one he let

them drop back into the leather pouch, hearing each hollow,

chalky "'tik* with deepening satisfaction.

 

"Whose arc they?" Sandy whispered.

 

"They are the skulls of the Jun-ge-oh." His eyelids low-

ered to a slit. "Do not think less of me for their size. I have

killed all breeds of the vermin that inhabit this land. The Stone

Giants crush and kill and devour their prey. They are slow and

stupid, easier to trick than trolls, no challenge, poor hunting.

The Flying Heads can stave in an elfs ribs or lay his stomach

open with a single blow of their bearpaws, but they too are all

appetite. A noose, well cast while they feed at a baited trap,

snares them by the hair and a knife blade, spear thrust, or arrow

does the rest. It is the Jungies who are the worst of all: the

Jun-ge-oh, the little people. They are intelligent, you see."

 

"I—never heard of—"

 

"Have you heard that there were men in this land before

your own people arrived from the east? Where there are men,

magic. Magic, and the children of magic."

 

"I think I see." Sandy wraped her arms around herself,

feeling an inexplicable chill in the balmy air of Elfhame Ultra-

mar. "The squirrel Kelerison's brother shot—"

 

"One of them."

 

"A mistake." The chill bored into her bones. "And your

people and theirs have been fighting ever since."

 

"My people, as you put it, know nothing. To most of

them, the Jungies and their like are tales to liven up a banquet

table. Other explanations are found when one of our number

dies. Only those who are chosen to train for fighters ever leam

the truth about why Elfhame Ultramar is so small a kingdom.

It is a slow process, building up an army of the elect, but we

elves can wait."

 

"Wait for what?"

 

"Lastday." Lord Syndovar blinked slowly, like a croc-

odile. "When my army has grown great enough in force of

arms and force of magic to destroy the Jungies and all their

kind utterly, completely, beyond even a dream of memory."

 

Sandy was silent, and Lord Syndovar chose to talk no

more. The gray boats sailed on down the great stream. The

 

ELF DEFENSE                 193

 

forests and stands of reeds to either side thinned to wetlands

and water meadows. For a time in the great stream's meander-

ing course the grassland turned to sheets of solid rock. Distant

lights flashed green and red, yellow and blue and all the colors

of a peacock's tail. A thick, cloying smell of incense and bum-

ing perfume came in the mist that blew across the water. Fish-

tailed women with large, bare breasts perched on the more

jagged rocks at the water's edge hailing the vessels with mu-

sical words. The two retainers in the lead boat returned their

calls good-naturedly. Sandy didn't understand the words, but

she knew the tune.

 

"Things are a little lax in this section," she commented.

 

Lord Syndovar made a moue. "Influence. It is a sorry

thing. The land derives its character from the magic underlying

it, but there appears to be some traffic in the other direction as

well. We are below New York and Atlantic City hereabouts.

The great stream wanders, and does not follow the contours of

the world above. We shall be away from this region soon."

 

The elf-lord was right. The water meadows returned, and

with them came the sounds of youthful voices. Among the pale

primrose grasses with their nodding green seedheads, a throng

of elfin lads and lasses dabbled their feet in the water and raised

sparkling cups of violet wine in salutation to the passing ves-

sels. Sandy thought she heard Cassiodoron's name called,

among the unfamiliar syllables. She craned her head and saw

him sitting with Amanda in the boat following hers. He was

all hunched up, unresponsive to the jolly greetings from the

bank.

 

One of the elf-lads tried to get a reaction by more direct

means. He threw something at the boats. It missed Cass's ves-

sel and landed in Sandy's lap. She held the yellow sphere up

as if it were a phoenix egg.

 

"A tennis ball?"

 

"I care less for this region than for the last," Lord Syn-

dovar said. "They are all New Magic here."

 

The sky of Elfhame Ultramar grew dark and light and

dark again. Sandy felt no need for sleep, and certainly no de-

sire. "Our times are yours," Lord Syndovar explained. "But

while you dwell among us, you share a part of our indifference

to any time."

 

At last the great stream began to pass buildings of brick

and dressed stone. Piers jutted into the water, nixies and tritons

darting in and out among the pilings. Roofs flashed gilded tiles,

and where the great stream poured its waters into a smoking

 

194 Esther M. Friesner

 

gulf that smelled of the sea, a series of barred barrel arches

linked the banks. Atop them was a wide bridge of speckled

blue agate, waterstairs winding down from either side. On the

bridge's platform a brilliant assemblage of elves jostled and

hummed and threw the occasional rose.

 

The gray boats tied up at the left-hand waterstairs, just

below the facade of a castle of cornflower spires and stone

walls the subtle shade of old ivory. A multicolored grandeur

of elves descended, led by a female whose beauty, bearing,

and sumptuousness of dress identified her well before she

whisked Cassiodoron from his craft and pressed him to her

heart.

 

"My son! My darling! Welcome home!"

 

Chapter Nineteen:

 

The Politics of

 

There were no cheers.

 

These elves are a self-contained lot. Sandy thought as

she and the other mortals stepped onto the waterstairs. Or

maybe they 're all just as snotty as Lord Syndovar even to one

of their own.

 

No one offered the ladies a hand up. No one bothered to

keep a weapon on them either. Perhaps it was bad manners to

do so in the presence of the queen, or else it didn't seem worth

the bother. With so many sources of magic power surrounding

them, what could a paltry gaggle of mortals do?

 

Cassiodoron broke his mother's embrace and stepped

back to kneel before her. Every motion had the stiffness of

tradition extraordinarily mated to the fluidity of an exotic dance.

 

"My lady mother." He kissed her hands. "Am I truly

welcome here?" He spoke so that the mortals might understand

his words. It might have been a declaration of courtesy or a

challenge.

 

"Can you doubt it, my dear one?" Queen Bantrobel re-

plied in the same coin. She was a dark beauty, with a look of

ancient Egypt. Her voice fluted exquisitely.

 

ELF DEFENSE                 195

 

"It's easy to doubt many things"—Cass glowered at Lord

Syndovar—"when your friends are cut down in front of you

and called traitors."

 

"Oh," said Queen Bantrobel. "That."

 

And the queen of Elfhame Ultramar stretched out her

hand to Lord Syndovar, drew him to her side, and slipped an

arm around his hips. They were both tall—she a hairsbreadth

more than he—yet she managed to contrive to rest her head on

his shoulder. The picture they presented was unmistakable in

its intended message. Cass's mouth dropped open an inch, then

snapped to as he tried to hide his reaction.

 

"Darling boy." The queen closed her eyes dreamily,

snuggling closer to Lord Syndovar. "I was told it was neces-

sary. A wise ruler heeds her wisest counselors, if she has half

a brain, and acts as they suggest. You'll understand someday,

when you're all grown up. I am sorry about your friends. They

should never have gotten involved with that silly conspiracy."

 

"Conspiracy!" The elf-prince stared at his mother and

her paramour. "There was no conspiracy. All we desired was

to recover two mortal children, wrongfully taken into our realm.

That was my father's doing, as you must know."

 

"Word does travel fast down here."

 

"You also know how uncooperative he can be when it

comes to giving up the things he's taken."

 

"So I do." Queen Bantrobel's eyes drifted to rest on

Amanda. "What a surprise, my lady. I thought we'd seen the

last of you."

 

"I haven't come back because I wanted—"

 

"Silence!" The word cracked like a whip. Amanda mur-

mured something in the elfin tongue and retreated. In a more

sedate tone, Bantrobel addressed her son once more:

 

"So you thought your friends would help you to rescue

the children—darlings, both of them, even if the female is a

sight quick-tempered—and then you would all return to the

surface?" She planted a kiss on his brow. "You adorable idiot.

As if they'd have let you go!"

 

Cass would have risen from his knees, but a hard look

from Lord Syndovar reminded him of the proprieties. Sandy

could see his teeth clench, a muscle along the jawline twitch.

 

"The Queen of Air and Darkness would appear to be a

dip," Lionel whispered in her ear. "And her royal son is roy-

ally pissed. No doubt about it: we're going to have to tighten

up the zoning laws in Godwin's Comers."

 

"Shut up." She clasped hands with him. A single

 

196 Esther M. Friesner

 

squeeze communicated their mutual relief to hear that Ellie was

all right—if a sight quick-tempered.

 

"Why wouldn't they let me go?" Cass demanded. He

pitched his voice low so that the crowd of elves on the bridge

above could not hear. For all they knew, the queen and her son

were catching up on old times.

 

"Well ..." Queen Bantrobel shrugged her shoulders,

soft, brown, and bare above the froth of her camelian gown.

"They'd need someone to fill the throne once they'd deposed

your father. Don't goggle at me, Cassiodoron! Your face will

freeze like that and everyone will think you're a pond-grim.

It's not your fault, dear; not at all. You've always been some-

one's pawn, always naive, always the romantic. And gulli-

ble?" Her pretty laughter cascaded over her son's bowed head

in a shower of ice water.

 

"But why would they want to do such a thing? The most

Tiv ever cared about was the color of his newest court

robes. Fazhim was happiest if left alone with his poetry, and

the rest—"

 

"You ascribe your own political apathy to all your con-

temporaries, my lord prince," Lord Syndovar purred. "It is

easier to hide one's faults in a crowd, isn't it?"

 

"I do wish you'd have stayed where you were needed,

Cassiodoron." Queen Bantrobel sighed. "Bad enough your fa-

ther goes rabbiting off to the surface every second moment, but

when you run away too! No one really likes a female regent.

Such a great many of our subjects will mutter in comers about

what use is an absent king, and why doesn't he lead his war-

riore in one final assault against those nasty, primitive, savage

Jungies and the rest. Just one good battle, massacre them, and

be done with it. We'd appreciate the security of being able to

go where we like in this new land, and we certainly could use

the extra room. I know the pixies need more breeding space."

 

Cass nodded his head. "Therefore, since the king is ab-

sent so much of the time anyway, why not be rid of him alto-

gether? I see. So they were traitors, my poor friends. You

executed them for wishing to depose the king."

 

"No, dear. Their crime was nut that they thought to de-

pose your father." A sphere of transparent rose quartz ap-

peared in Queen Bantrobel's hand. She positioned herself in

such a way that no one on the bridge could glimpse the vision

she called up into the shining ball. A gilded silver star of light

spidered over the surface. In the heart of the rock, for all on

the waterstairs to see, King Kelerison lay bound with iron

 

ELF DEFENSE                197

 

chains, hand and foot. The signs of a recent struggle marked

his face with bruises and dried blood. "But that they didn't

think of it first."

 

Bantrobel had a charming giggle. "Lord Syndovar has

your father pent in the maze. Can you see the hedge of ever-

bright behind him? You know the one: it's where you made

such a spectacle of yourself during your trial of passage, and

over that teeny little dragonet the gardener keeps in there to

scare off the crows. Now this is to be our little secret, Cassio-

doron. You mortals can keep secrets too, can't you? Do try, if

you want to see those sweet little ones of yours again."

 

The rosy sphere popped between her fingers like a soap

bubble. She looped her arm under Cass's elbow and raised her

son from the stones. "Politics always gives me such a head-

ache. And you must all be famished. Shall we go into the

feasting hall?" She tilted back her head so that the mortals on

the waterstairs and the elves on the bridge were equally able

to hear. "You are all invited!"

 

"When will we see the children?" Sandy whispered ur-

gently to Amanda.

 

"At the queen's pleasure." Amanda sipped her wine

without apparent concern. The mortals had been relegated to a

separate table? well below the salt, there to be served with -food

and drink of undeniable surface origin. Whatever else she was,

Queen Bantrobel was a considerate hostess.

 

They were the only ones being waited on. Around them,

the feasting hall was a milling confusion of scores of elves, all

looking after their own interests. True to what Tiv and Fazhim

had said, elves picked up after themselves. It was a little less

than a virtue when it meant whole tables full of them

were forever getting up and down to fetch some tidbit from the

sideboards during the great royal feast.

 

"This reminds me of my cousin Max's bar mitzvah,"

Sandy said. "They had a buffet."

 

The sloe-eyed young elf-lass who was their table's im-

promptu servant overheard and repeated, "Mack-sez 'bar mitz-

vah'?" in dulcet trills.

 

Sandy smiled wistfully. "You wouldn't understand."

 

The elf shrugged. "Vuh den? Ahz a yur uf zier!" She

flounced off muttering of goyisher kopfs.

 

Lionel stroked his chin in speculation. "Symbiosis," he

said. "That's the operative word. I'm willing to believe we get

 

198 Esther M. Priesner

 

some benefit from their magic running under our land, but they

don't come away empty-handed either."

 

"Professor Walters ..." Davina's mellifluous voice was

raised timidly. "In the Old Land we knew we needed the elfin

magic to sustain us, to lift us that much closer to the stars, but

what earthly good could such fair creatures derive from our

poor sorry doings?"

 

Lionel winked at her. "You'd fit right in here, Davina,

with an attitude like that. What can the deathless leam from

the doomed? What can the most gorgeous beings on earth leam

from a race whose number-one ticket to Nirvana is getting a

face-lift and lipo-suction? Look up there." He pointed to the

dais where Queen Bantrobel had installed Cass on his father's

throne. To her right sat Lord Syndovar, and though his was an

ordinary chair, no one seeing those three together could doubt

where the true power of the realm sat.

 

"I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life be-

fore," Lionel went on. "Bright and immortal and glittering as

a diamond. Hard as one too. Look at Lord Syndovar in partic-

ular. Now there is an elf who has kept his contacts with our

world to a minimum. His contempt for us is perfect as his

posture."

 

"He looks as if someone shoved a steel rod up his—"

 

"Sandy, please."

 

"Well, it's true!" Sandy exclaimed. "Lionel's right,

Davina. Just look at Lord Syndovar, and the Queen ofAirheads

and Darkness next to him. Even Kelerison was better than they

are. You could reason with him ... a little."

 

"So you could," Amanda interjected. "He was—he is

selfish, but not completely so. He knows that there's more to

the world than his desires, whether or not he likes it."

 

"And look at Cass!" Sandy noted that Davina did this

most willingly. "Imagine how he'd be if he hadn't spent so

many years in such close contact with mortals. He's learned

from us. There's something in him now to temper the arro-

gance of immortality, to bring out the soul."

 

"The Fair Folk have no souls." Davina's every intona-

tion seemed to mourn that lack among the elvenkind.

 

"Bull," Sandy said succinctly. "They've got at least as

much soul as a mortage banker. Whether they act as if they

ever use it or not ... but that doesn't mean they don't have

any." Her hand closed around Rimmon's bloodstone pendant,

and her gaze wandered back to the high table. She saw a fading

face out of memory where Cass's own should be. "Our envy

 

ELF DEFENSE                 199

 

mustn't let us deny the truth. Look at him, and tell me he has

no soul."

 

Davina hadn't the artifice to conceal the yearning in her

own eyes. "Oh, he has. He has."

 

Queen Bantrobel stood, clearing her throat for attention,

and all her court rushed back to their seats under Lord Syn-

dovar's cold eye. "I have the nicest announcement to make!"

She clapped her hands together. "In view of our lord King

Kelerison's unfortunately extended absence, our very beloved

son Prince Cassiodoron has agreed to assume the throne of

Elfhame Ultramar from now until, oh, whenever."

 

Restrained applause greeted this announcement, under-

scored by the sound of utensils scraping leftovers into the silver

bins at the end of each table. Cass stood up beside his mother

and bowed to the assemblage.

 

"Of course if our dear, dear lord ever should come back,

Prince Cassiodoron will step right down from the throne that

very instant. But in the meantime, he has appointed Lord Syn-

dovar as his chief adviser, a choice I endorse most heartily."

 

A number of murmurs weaseled through the crowd. These

passed mostly from one inscrutably lovely face to the next,

with hardly a tremor of the features to betray the flight of gos-

sip. There were exceptions. Those elves who had had contact

with the surface made themselves obvious by tongue clickings,

knowing nudges, and certain unfortunate finger gestures.

 

At a nearby table, a hard-faced elf rose and signed that

he wished to speak. Sandy recognized him as one of the archers

who had backed Lord Syndovar. "Ypur Majesty, we have let

too many years go by already, waiting for our lord king to lead

us into a battle that never comes. The Powers be my witness,

I would like to believe things will be different under Prince

Cassiodoron's rule, but he too has spent years among mortals.

Some say he has his father's tastes." The elf looked right at

Amanda. "What sort of influence is that for a potential war

leader?"

 

This time the commotion in the hall was general.

 

Bantrobel was livid. "He is my son too, and—"

 

"Mother, please." Cass gestured for silence. "My peo-

ple, you do deserve an explanation. I have been away from you

for too long. Let us say that I needed to spend time enough

among mortals to appreciate my own kind all the better. Those

of you who have dwelled on the surface will know what I

mean. Those of you who have never had to suffer the experi-

ence, be advised by me: remain in the halls of Elfhame Ultra-

 

200 Esther M. Friesner

 

mar. If you searched and searched, you couldn''t find a sillier

earthspawn than the human race. In their ignorance, they fill

buildings full of books with what they call wisdom. They be-

lieve in the quark and the virella and the diatom, because some

people in white coats decreed that such things exist. You can't

see them with the unassisted eye, but that doesn't matter. The

White Coats have spoken! But just let another human claim

belief in the merfolk, or the Winged Ones, or even in us ...

Well, then they send for some. other people in white coats to

take care of them."

 

The tables buzzed with scandalized reactions.

 

Queen Bantrobel's expression softened. "Cassiodoron, I

never suspected that when you ran away, it was for educational

purposes."

 

Cass laughed. "And the things mortals have taught me!

They hate in the name of a god of love! They make war in the

name of peace! They fancy themselves the lords of creation

because they are able to destroy it all! Oh, my people, avoid

them. If my words will not be enough to teach you, see what

I have brought back."

 

He waved his hands and the four mortals floated up from

the table. Sandy grabbed for Lionel, but the elf-prince's spell

had sent them tumbling in freefall without a second's notice.

They drifted apart. Cesare took the opportunity to jump onto

the table and browse among the abandoned plates. A gust of

Winged Ones swept down from the carved rafters of the feast-

ing hall to guide them as they flopped awkwardly in midair.

The elves looked up, some with scholarly interest, some for

pure amusement value, some with unconcealed disgust.

 

"I think you'll recognize this one." Cass pulled an in-

visible string, bringing Amanda down to earth just before the

high table. "She was my father's chosen. He gave her many

gifts, not the least of which was long life. Rightfully, she

should be a pile of yellow bones by now. Instead she took it

into her head to run off with one of her own flimsy breed. You

may have heard how I fled with them. My people, what use

are our lives if we can't fill the years with satisfied curiosi-

ties?"

 

A phantom hand materialized to stroke Amanda's cheek.

Cass tugged the magic guy wire and she flew back up to float

with the others. His fingers tweaked another portion of the air

and Davina alit.

 

"I must admit, they fascinate me, these mortals. See the

grotesque variety of shapes they come in! Yet this one is a

 

ELF DEFENSE                201

 

phoenix in the body of a river horse. She has the Sight, and a

voice to rival any one of yours, and she has the ability to put

herself into another person's skin: an actress, they call her."

His riny smile was the twin of Lord Syndovar's. "It had better

be a big skin if it's to hold all of you, my lady." Davina too

was whisked back among the rafters, to be replaced by Lionel.

 

"Behold one who thought he was my teacher! And

this"—he plucked Sandy from the air—"is an even rarer beast:

 

a woman of law. Don't laugh at this one, my people! She is

formidable. I watched as she held my father at bay with words

alone. She is the cleverest of the lot, and in spite of that, I was

able to lure her into our realm with the rest. And here I mean

to keep her."

 

He seized Sandy's hand in an unbreakable grip. Liquid

golden light flowed from his heart, down the length of his arm,

and laved her body with transforming magic that gowned and

jeweled her in more splendid style than Lord Syndovar's lost

lady. Her robes were sky-blue satin, foaming with white lace,

and the sparkling red slippers on her feet matched the parure

of rubies at her neck, wrist, and throat.

 

"Now, just a minute—" Lionel stepped right into a wall

of mist that sprang up from the floor and wrapped itself into a

tube around him. His objections could still be heard, but from

very far away. The cylinder tilted onto its side and wafted high

into the air, then flicked open like a throw rug being shaken

out. Lionel slid across the void and hit the minstrels' gallery

heels first. He clung to the balusters like a monkey. There was

scattered applause from below.

 

"Sir Devron is correct." Cass inclined his head toward

the archer as he pulled Sandy closer. She was too torn between

anxiety for her husband and her still-absent child to put up a

fight. "I do have my father's tastes." His arm was about her

waist, and he forced her head up to meet his kiss. Its rough

fire left her breathless.

 

Someone from the lower end of the hall shouted, "Way

to go!" At a sharp hand signal from Lord Syndovar, the sur-

face-tainted enthusiast was escorted from the premises by a

pair of his men-at-arms.

 

"My father's tastes"—Cass favored his subjects with a

wicked smile—"but more than my father's wisdom. Sir Dev-

ron, have no fears. The wisest ruler knows himself, and dele-

gates accordingly. Let my lord Syndovar come to me!"

 

The cold elf-lord rose slowly from his place. He looked

somewhat bemused by this summons, and his expression stated

 

202 Esther M. Friesner

 

clearly that he did not like unexpected puzzles. He liked even

less the ceremonial necessity of kneeling to his prince, for that

meant kneeling also to Sandy.

 

"My prince?"

 

"My lord. As my chief adviser, what would you say if

I told you that it is my pleasure to press the war against the

Jun-ge-oh—"

 

"Your Highness already knows my opinion of—"

 

"—tomorrow?"

 

Lord Syndovar remained unmoved, but his voice lost a

little of its frosty self-possession. "You—surprise me pleas-

antly, my prince. I did not think you would be the one to urge

us into battle so early in your reign. But then"—he stole a

glance at the helplessly floating mortals—"I seem to have given

you less credit than you deserve in many instances. So, we ride

tomorrow?"

 

"Ah, no, my lord, not 'we.' You do, for I name you

warlord. The wisest ruler, as I said, knows himself, and I know

that my skills lie elsewhere than in battle."

 

One-handed, he swept Sandy from her feet and over his

shoulder in a fireman's carry. This time she did kick up a

ruckus, and Cass was a shade too slow in bearing her off to

avoid having her catch Lord Syndovar in the nose with one

lashing scarlet heel.

 

The Prince of Elfhame Ultramar smiled a lame apology

and whacked Sandy's backside lustily. "Calm down, wench!

Lie still and enjoy it! You'll thank me for this someday!" Vic-

torious, he bore her from the feasting hall.

 

This time there were cheers.

 

Chapter Twenty:

 

Amassing Grace

 

Cass lay back on the bed. "Was I good?"

Sandy gave him the Bronx cheer. It carried all the

 

way across the vast bedroom. "Don't start building a glass

 

case to hold any Oscars just yet."

 

ELF DEFENSE                203

 

The elf-pnnce looked hurt. "Well, I had to do something

to get you out of there."

 

" 'Wench'?" She took a blue apple from the bowl at her

elbow and absentmindedly began paring it with a jade knife.

" 'You'll thank me for this someday'?"

 

"It was the best I could think of." Cass punched the

pillow. "The court bought it, didn't they?"

 

"I'll never understand elves. And this get-up." She

raised her azure skirts to gawk at her red footgear. "Who does

your wardrobe? George M. Cohan?"

 

"This is America, as you kept reminding my poor father.

I thought you'd appreciate the red, white, and blue."

 

"Three and a half cheers. Was this abduction neces-

sary?"

 

"Yes," Cass said, sitting up. "It was. I had to make

sure at least one of you was free to help me, to make my

mother and Lord Syndovar think I'm otherwise occupied while

the war preparations go on. You were the most credible

choice."

 

"It might have looked odd if you'd tapped Lionel." She

admired the job she'd done on the fully peeled apple.

 

"But I will. I will need you all before I'm done."

 

"What for?" The apple was an inch from her mouth.

 

"To help me rescue my father." The Prince of Elfhame

Ultramar snatched a stiletto from beneath his pillow and threw

it with unmatched speed and accuracy. It tzinged through the

air and struck the apple from Sandy's lips, impaling it on the

wall behind her armchair. She gaped at her empty fingers, then

at him. "Don't eat that," he said mildly. "Not unless you've

got the next century free to visit. It's one of ours."

 

Now Sandy's mouth hung open in earnest. "Oops."

 

"As much as I would like this little byplay of ours to

happen in reality," Cass went on, "I would not have you re-

main in my land against your will. And I won't ever have you

willingly, will I, Sandy?" She shook her head and he sighed.

"That is the real paradox you mortals pose: the faith in love

you sometimes keep for no reason anyone can see. Divorce at

an all-time high, and I pick the one woman who refuses to

keep up with the times!"

 

"In my family, we don't believe in divorce," Sandy said

lightly. "Just homicide." As soon as she said it, she wondered

whether Cass knew she was joking.

 

His face betrayed nothing. "Is he rich, your Lionel? Is

he so handsome that time will pass him by? Will he give you

 

204 Esther M. Friesner

 

all you ever desire? Is he . . . ?" The elf-prince's fingers de-

scribed a shape of exaggerated proportions.

 

"None of your damned business!" Sandy retorted. In a

more subdued tone she added, "Anyway, no. No more than

usual."

 

Cass flopped back among the pillows. "Then I just don't

see it!"

 

"Love, elves, and quarks. Now you see them . . . Wait

a minute. Rescue your father, you say?"

 

"You saw what they've done to him, my lady mother

and Lord Syndovar. How could she!"

 

"I'd say your mother finally got fed up with your father's

carryings-on and decided to give him a taste of his own med-

icine. Kelerison hasn't been the model of married fidelity.

Maybe Lord Syndovar has his charms"—Sandy screwed up her

mouth—"if you're fond of Popsicles."

 

"But that is no reason to put him from his throne! To

imprison him in the battle maze!" Cassiodoron's shoulders

shook. "You don't know what an awful place that is. The

everbright that forms its walls is an enchanted plant that first

grew in the gardens of Hecate. It drinks all the magic out of

us and uses our own powers to conjure perils we must face

with only ordinary weapons. To go through the battle maze is

our oldest, most difficult rite of passage."

 

Sandy crossed the room to sit beside Cass on the bed.

She rested her hands on his back and stroked him in just the

way she used to comfort Ellie when the child woke from a

nightmare. "Was that the test you failed, Cass?" She put no

shame into her words. "Was that why Kelerison called you a

coward?"

 

A deep sigh moved beneath her calming hands. "What-

ever he's said or done to me, I can't leave him like that. Praise

the Powers that inspired me to give Lord Syndovar the toy he's

always wanted: carte blanche for all-out war on the Jungies.

He'll be mustering his men right now, ready to march with the

dawn. That should keep him out of our way."

 

"When we go to rescue your father?"

 

"And your child. And your husband. And Jeffy, Amanda,

Davina . . . maybe Cesare too, if he's taken to clawing my

mother's throne again. They're all in the dungeons. Sandy.

They were sent there as soon as the feast ended."

 

"How do you ... ?"

 

Tapestries hung to either side of Cass's bed. At Sandy's

startled question, the left-hand one was pulled aside from be-

 

ELF DEFENSE                205

 

hind. The same sloe-eyed elf-lass who had waited on the mor-

tals at the feast greeted her with a cheerful, "Wie geht's?"

 

"Sandy, may I present Loris? My ears and my eyes."

Cass raised the maiden's hand to his lips. "Lord Syndovar did

not discover all of my so-called traitor friends."

 

The right-hand tapestry flipped back just as suddenly and

a small whirlwind bolted from the dancing dust motes into San-

dy's lap. "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" Ellie's satin dress

slipped and slid against Sandy's as the two of them tried to

hug and kiss and talk, all at once. Jeffy watched this undigni-

fied display with the solemn gravity befitting a lad wearing the

livery of Queen Bantrobel's household pages.

 

Ellie babbled about the big fire, about how she and Jeffy

had been almost out the door when he thought he heard his

mother calling him. Who could say it was impossible? The past

week, Godwin's Comers had teemed with impossibilities. Jeffy

stole back, evading the lines of escaping children. He had to

be sure. No one was looking for a child to run into a burning

building. Every panic-stricken eye was on the way out, the

teacher's too.

 

"I had to go back with him," Ellie explained quite rea-

sonably. "He was my line buddy. You never get separated

from your line buddy. I thought maybe I heard Mrs. Taylor's

voice too. Only it wasn't her, it was this man. He was all

wrapped up in a cape and he had this funny lizard on a leash,

and wherever that lizard ran, it all came up fire."

 

"A salamander," Cass commented.

 

"So it ran all around us, and it was on fire, and Jeffy got

scared 'cause we couldn't get out and his Mommy wasn't there

after all and he started to cry—"

 

"Did not! You did!"

 

"I didn't! You're a liar, Jeffy. It was me told the man to

help us get out."

 

"Did not!"

 

"Did too! Liar, liar, pants on fire!"

 

"Ellie, please ..." Sandy tried to get her daughter back

on the track.

 

The child took a much-needed deep breath before contin-

uing. "So / did too tell the man. Only he said we had to take

off our necklaces first because of something—a door we

couldn't go through—I couldn't understand, but I did it.

Mommy, I know I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, or do

what they say, but it was all on fire in there!"

 

"You did just fine, Ellie." Sandy gathered her child

 

206               Esther M. Friesner

 

closer to her and twined the long hair through her fingers as if

it were the most precious gold.

 

"Anyway, the man brought us down through this purple

door, and there were these unicorns waiting—real unicorns,

Mommy, honest! I'm not telling stories! So we rode on them,

and mine was silver with a lemon mane, just like My Pretty

Pony, only it kind of smelled, and we came to this castle and

the queen came out—Mommy she is so beautiful. She's even

prettier than Barbie and the Rockers. And the man started talk-

ing to her, about us, and she looked mad at him, but right then

these other men jumped out of nowhere, honest! And there was

an awful big fight, and lights flashing, and smoke, and they

killed the s'mander dead, and there were real swords, and then

they put chains on the man who brought us, and they took him

away.'' She paused and seemed to be thinking something over.

"The queen looked kind of unhappy when they did that. But

then she took us inside, and we got new clothes, and the guys

who beat up the other man came back and one of them told

Loris to watch us—"

 

The elf-maid curtsied. " 'Keep them out of my sight'

were Lord Syndovar's exact orders. That was my pleasure."

 

"—and Jeffy was supposed to be the queen's slave or

something—"

 

"I'm a page, not a slave." Jeify snorted. "Boy, you

don't know anything, Ellie." Full of self-righteousness, he in-

formed Sandy, "She didn't even curtsy to Queen Bantrobel.

And she bit someone."

 

Tears were trickling down Sandy's face as she smiled.

"Don't bite elves, Eleanora; you never know where they've

been. Just wait till I get you home." She laughed deep in her

throat and rocked her daughter like a baby. "Oh, just you wait

until I get you home again!"

 

"I've been in a dungeon," Ellie countered, wriggling out

of Sandy's arms. She sounded proud of the fact.

 

"When our plot was discovered and word of your ap-

proach came. Lord Syndovar had them imprisoned, yes," Lo-

ris said. "My lady, don't look so pale. It is not the sort of

dungeon you imagine, with spiders and rats. Really, it was no

worse than a one-star Miami motel."

 

"But to lock children away!" Sandy was aghast.

 

Loris agreed. "Lord Syndovar should only grow like an

onion, with his head in the ground. I fear that the dungeon

where he has placed your friends is not as wholesome. Prince

Cassiodoron no sooner carried you out of the feasting hall than

 

ELF DEFENSE                207

 

he had his men reel them down from the rafters and march

them away. Queen Bantrobel made some small objection, but

he ignored her."

 

"I named him warlord and gave him his war," Cass said

grimly. "My mother is no longer worth his while. I expect he

thinks that once he's won the battle, he can take care of me

too, as he and his minions turned on my father."

 

"Let him have a miesse meshina," Loris said.

 

Sandy caught at the elf-maid's sleeve. "Where did you

learn to talk like that? On the surface?"

 

Loris turned bashful. "Some. But mostly from Leo."

 

"A nice Jewish boy, huh? My mother would love you."

 

"Well ... no. He's a dybbuk. But he's a very nice dyb-

buk, and he knows right where to go for the best kosher pas-

trami in Flatbush." She batted her eyelashes coyly. "That's

why I joined the prince's supporters at court; the moderates.

We know we're not the only ones living in the magic web of

this land, and we don't think the answer is war. You should

only know how many wars it would take! If Lord Syndovar

found out there's more than Jungies and Heads and Stone Gi-

ants out there, and that I was keeping company with one of

them—"

 

"He'd plotz," Sandy finished for her.

 

"Let him plotz. " Loris waved her hand. "Only first,

he'd kill me, and I'd rather skip that."

 

"So would we all." Cass sprang from the bed. "And so

we will once we're together again. Did you have any trouble

bringing the little ones here from their cell?"

 

"It was unguarded, with a simple spell on the lock. When

I had them out, I took the hidden route to your room. Lord

Syndovar wouldn't waste men on watching the children's cell,

but where the lady Amanda and the other two are . . ."

 

"If we're lucky, the guards there are also Lord Syndo-

var's men, and he'll have rallied them to make preparations

for tomorrow." Cass glanced out at the starless dark, framed

in the arches of his bedroom windows. "We have half the

hours of the night. That should be enough to reunite our party

and—" He paused. A look of apprehension, bright and short

as summer lightning, flashed across his face.

 

"And save your father from the maze." Sandy linked

her fingers with his, holding Ellie with her other hand. "We're

with you, Cass. This time you won't have to enter it alone."

 

He tried to look confident, but the effort was not enough.

 

208 Esther M. Friesner

 

"Mortals may stand together in the walls of everbright," he

said, "but every elf who enters the battle maze, goes alone."

 

Cass's prediction as to the disposition of dungeon guards

proved right. The more picturesque cells were on the second-

from-lowest level of the palace, reached by tower stairs that

corkscrewed down into the foundations via a route ill-traveled.

Torches burned beside those cell doors where there were pris-

oners—in this case, only two. A single guard minded these,

none too attentively. The rest of the corridor lay in darkness.

 

"The guards bring their own lanterns to reach their

posts," Loris explained to Sandy as they hung far back in the

stairwell shadows and peered down the hall. "That, or they

conjure up palm glows. We don't need as much as you mortals

do to see by."

 

"I can't see anything!" Ellie whined, trying to squirm

past her mother.

 

The guard heard her, and pricked up his ears exactly like

a fox. Loris clicked her tongue.                     ,.

 

"A shayne oytser. Now we'll have to act quickly." She

spoke some words into her hand and a puff of dandelion light

formed there. Holding it well in front of her, she sashayed

down the corridor, hips swinging.

 

The ruse was straight out of the annals of Grade-B

swashbuckler movies. Sandy could almost taste the popcorn as

Loris distracted the guard while Cass neutralized him. The only

difference was that instead of sneaking up with a sock full of

sand, the elf-prince turned invisible, strolled up to his mark,

and laid a sleep-spell on him. A second conjuring opened the

cell doors before the guard hit the floor.

 

"Daddy! Daddy!"

 

"Mama! Mama!" This time Ellie wasn't the only one

running into a parent's embrace. Jeffy forgot all about the dig-

nity of his page's lively as he rushed to his mother's arms.

Cesare ambled out of Lionel's cell and washed.

 

"Well," Sandy said to Cass. "That was easy. I'm al-

most disappointed."

 

"She doesn't like easy?" Loris regarded her prince and

cocked her head at the mortal. "She wants harder?" She turned

to Sandy. "Lady, have I got a maze for you!"

 

"I don't like this," Sandy said, holding the sword up

awkwardly in front of her as she took the measure of the tow-

ering walls of everbright.

 

ELF DEFENSE                209

 

»»

 

*

 

« •

 

<j

 

"Now she doesn't like it." Loris sighed. "There's no

pleasing some people, my lord prince."

 

The battle maze grew on a hilltop within sight of the

palace, yet far from the main land and water routes linking the

elfin high court with the rest of Elfhame Ultramar. It was a

sensible arrangement, if what Cass said of the strange plant's

magic-draining properties was correct. Though an elf had to be

flanked by the crimson hedges before he lost his powers tem-

porarily, most of the Pair Folk preferred knowing that the bat-

tle maze was a good, safe distance away from their daily

doings.

 

"No one comes here who doesn't have to," Cass said.

His voice cracked slightly every time he looked at the waiting

maze. "Everbright does its own guard work."

 

"I'll bet they couldn't post a guard here if they wanted

to," Sandy said. "They're all busy elsewhere. The palace

forecourt was teeming with troops."

 

"Like fleas on a bitch," Cesare remarked.

 

"I didn't think we were going to get past them," Lionel

said. He too held a sword, carrying it well away from the heavy

folds of his> hooded cloak. "Some of them looked like they

could peer right inside my hood and know I wasn't elfin."

 

"We can thank Davina for getting us through," Amanda

said. Jeffy hung close against her side, but he managed to smile

shyly at the Welsh au pair.

 

"It was no great thing I did." Davina's modest dis-

claimer was overturned immediately by the Prince of Elfhame

Ultramar himself.

 

"No great thing! I never saw anything like it. With your

hood down, no less, you marched right up to the men at the

gate and convinced them that we were all of us in Lord Syn-

dovar's secret service!"

 

"Well, he looks the part of one who'd have his spies."

Davina cast a nervous glance back toward the palace. "And if

tomorrow he wars against the native spirits of this place, what's

to stop him from someday wishing for all the surface territory

too? He has no respect for mortals. He'd seize the sun from

our eyes and think it no less than his due. I only claimed we

were bound for the surface, and that was the truth. That we

were Lord Syndovar's agents ... the Bard himself took lib-

erties with the truth at times."

 

"But with your hood down!" Cass seemed unable to get

over it: "Looking every bit as mortal as you are!"

 

"If we're spying on the surface dwellers, we must look

 

210 Esther M. Priesner

 

like them." Davina dimpled under the elfin prince's admira-

tion. She touched the children's hair fondly. "The guards even

complimented us on how well we'd disguised our dwarven as-

sistants."

 

Ellie became indignant. "I am not a dwarf!"

"You're a gonif, is what you are," Loris said. "And I

 

want your word of honor that you'll stay close to me when we

 

go into the maze."

 

Sandy dropped her sword. "We're not taking the chil-

dren in there?"

 

"We must." Cass was staring at the clusters of shining

leaves, each shaped like a star, and the gleaming black twigs

from which they grew. "We can't leave them out here, in case

someone should happen to pass this way. Loris and Davina can

mind them—"

 

"And I," Cesare volunteered. "That is, if they can show

some respect for a cavaliere's tail. It is not a pull-toy, eh?"

Ellie looked innocent.

 

"/'// mind Ellie." Sandy took hold of her daughter's

hand decisively. "I don't know why you gave me that sword

anyhow, Cass. I've got maybe half an idea of how to use it."

 

"To be frank"—Lionel looked at his own sword

askance—"the same goes for me. If I had to fight with it,

maybe I could do it right, but I don't know. It's been years."

 

Cass picked up the fallen blade and put it back in Sandy's

hand with a determined look to match her own. "This sword

is iron; iron from the Old Land, from the time of the first

forgings. It's even older than Hecate's cursed hedging. Age

holds magic. Whatever you meet inside there, this will be the

one substance that may save you."

 

She tried pushing it back at him. "Then you carry it as

a spare. We'll all stick close to you. That's the only logical

way: you know the maze." •

 

Cass looked as if he wanted to say something, but

changed his mind before the words could come. Firmly he

closed Sandy's fingers around the leather-wrapped hilt of the

sword. "Then carry this to humor me, and let us go in."

 

The space between the walls of everbright was wide

enough for two people to go abreast. Cass led, with Lionel

beside him. Amanda followed, holding Jeffy by the hand, with

Sandy and Ellie coming after them, but the children soon paired

themselves off, leaving their mothers to go ahead. Loris and

Davina came last, keeping a watchful eye on the little ones.

 

ELF DEFENSE                211

 

The cat trotted from one end of the line to the other as it suited

his whim.                                                 '

 

No one spoke. The children whispered together at first,

until the pervasive stillness made their smallest sound come

loud enough to frighten them into silence. The growing walls

went straight for a long while, then jagged left, taking the party

into a section of the maze where the night of Elfhame Ultramar

above seemed even darker, and the heart hungered for even a

memory of the stars.

 

There was a squared-off barricade of everbright at the

next clearing, dividing the path in two. "This way." Cass

signed for them to follow him by the right-hand branch. They

all did, though the barrier hedge made it narrower going and

they had to fall into single file. Sandy slung her long skirts

over one arm as Amanda took a sharp left on the path in front

of her.

 

Sandy did the same, and stared at a solid wall of leaves.

"Children, I think we took a wrong—"

 

She turned. No one was behind her. No one and nothing

but another solid wall of everbright. The way to left and right

lay open, but a moment ago it had been thick hedge. She bent

her head back, calling everyone by name, stretching her neck

as she tried ineffectively to look over the top of the labyrinth's

walls. All she could see was dusky sky. •

 

"Damn." She sat down with her back to one wall. Grass

yew between the everbright hedges, grass so ordinary that it

taunted her, magic-stranded. She plucked a blade and chewed

the end.

 

The starry red leaves rustled just around the comer. At

once she was on her feet, racing toward the sound, calling out,

"Lionel! Ellie! Cass! Lionel, it's me, wait! Lionel!"

 

She ran headlong, unseeing, into strong, open arms. "My

lady, and have you forgotten my name at last?"

 

"Rimmon ..." Her knees gave way as she met his eyes.

His hold on her tightened, keeping her on her feet until she

was able to stand unassisted. His fingers brushed the blood-

stone pendant on her neck.

 

"Not forgotten. As I have never forgotten you." His

breath was warm, bearing memories that woke into fire under

her skin. It flowed between her parted lips, and the bloodstone

token kindled its own blaze when their bodies pressed close.

 

Abruptly, she pushed him away, arms stiff, every nerve

in her body raw. "You aren't—you can't be here. Rimmon,

this isn't real!"

 

212 Esther M Friesner

 

"How real was I when we were lovers in lost Khwarema,

my lady? A ghostly lover, a world of phantoms My land lay

on another plane than this, yet by the power of the everbnght

I can come to you here, be as real as you could want me, be

bound to you by flesh and spirit as long as you desire."

 

"No." Sandy put as much space between them as the

walls allowed.

 

"No?" His look implied that he thought she must be

playing games with him. He tried to embrace her a second

time. The iron sword thrust between them. He shied away from

the old, cold metal.

 

"I did love you, Rimmon." She tried to keep the tears

from choking her words. "If you really are Rimmon, if you're

not just an illusion."

 

"I will understand?" He was an elf of another world,

another dimension of existence, a more delicately formed ex-

ample of the breed. His brows were finer, and they could ex-

press such nuances of feeling that Cassiodoron looked like a

barbarian beside him. "I do." He folded his hands across his

chest. "Tell him I remember his valor, and that I envy him his

love," He did not need to name the name.

 

Sandy clutched one hand over the other on the sword's

hilt until her knuckles hurt. "You are Rimmon. You really are.

But I don't know how it can be."

 

He pointed at the bloodstone in its milky setting, being

careful not to move too suddenly, or gesture too near the sword.

"You have always had the power to call my spirit back to you,

my lady. This place drinks the magic of the living, but it pours

that power into the hands of the dead, and death crosses all

dimensions. Through that gift I gave you years ago, it called

to me. Because it is not of this plane, these plants have no

power over it. You hold all the magic I ever commanded in

my life in that little token."

 

"Rimmon, I don't want it. I don't need—"

 

The elf smiled. "You don't. You have magic of your

own. But keep mine anyway. You never know." He bowed,

and became a twiriing spiral of mist that encircled Sandy's

neck as it fed into the glow of the bloodstone.

 

"Be careful here," Cass whispered. "Warn the chil-

dren."

 

"Why?" Lionel whispered back. "Do^you see some-

thing?"

 

The elf-prince gestured with his swoid, but all Lionel

 

ELF DEFENSE                213

 

could see was an unexpected widening in the maze. In the

center of a grassy square grew a dainty little pear tree, its

branches heavy with blushing fruit.

 

"Remind them not to touch ii. One bite consigns them

to Elfhame Ultramar forever."

 

Lionel nodded and looked over his shoulder to pass the

word. Spindly black twigs scraped his nose and a handful of

red leaves fell to the grass.

 

"Cass!"

 

"So it changes already." The elfin prince was not sur-

prised. "Yes, it must, with Loris and me inside there's double

magic to feed it, and Davina has the Sight."

 

"You knew this was going to happen?" Lionel grabbed

Cass's arm. "That we'd all be separated in here?"

 

Cass gave him a flinty stare until he removed his hand,

then replied: "We had to come inside; all of us. There was no

choice, so why should I have worried you any sooner? I do

admit, I expected to be cut off from everyone. If I have to be

lost in here with a companion, I'd pick someone else."

 

Lionel could meet flint with flint. "I know. You made it

plain enough. And Sandy's made her answer plain too, hasn't

 

she?"

 

"Perhaps I've been asking the wrong person." Cass

looked at the pear tree. "If you would take a bite of that fruit,

Lionel, I would make you the equal of any of my companions.

You would have every gift my favor could bestow, never grow-

ing old. Death would come as a dream, long deferred, and until

you chose the final sleep you would live a life that few mortal

men can imagine. Have you ever looked closely at Loris, Li-

onel? At my mother? Where have you seen such beauty in the

upper lands? That could be yours too, without games or bar-

gainings. You would find our women more generous than yours

in matters of love."

 

He picked a pear and offered it. "One bite."

Lionel tossed it over the everbright wall. "No thanks."

"You too? As stubborn as she is, after all I would give

you? You could both stay on here below, you know, and your

child."

 

"So you could give Sandy back to me when you finished

with her?" Lionel patted Cass on the back. "We're out of the

classroom now, Taylor, but here's some extracurricular advice:

 

never equate a woman with a library book.

 

"What is the problem with you people?" Cass stamped

 

214 Esther M. Priesner

 

his foot. It came down hard on a brindled cat's tail sticking

out from under one of the hedges.

 

' 'Mrrrrow!'' Cesare shot straight up in the air, shrieking,

tail fluffed out like an electrified squirrel's. He narrowly

avoided having Lionel slice him in two with a wild sword

swing. He landed cursing all lead-footed elves and adminis-

tered a tender licking to his injured appendage.

 

"Problem!" he spat between lic.ks. "It is you who have

the problem, my lord, not being able to see the solution when

it is right before your eyes. You want this man's wife? You

won't get her with pears and promises. You have a blade in

your hand—as does he, so it will seem a fair fight. Use it!"

 

"Uhhhh . . ." Cass eyed his sword, then Lionel. "If

Sandy ever found out I killed him—"

 

"Blame his death on the maze, fool! It is more than well

supplied with horrors enough to kill a man. Have you forgotten

about the pit near the labyrinth's heart? I'll dare wager that

Lord Syndovar has not stocked it with bunnies. Dio! Am I the

only pragmatist here?" Cesare tucke'd down one last wayward

wisp of fur, then told Lionel: "I do not baar you any grudge,

signior. This is merely an intellectual exercise. For all I care,

you may try your skill at tossing my master into that pit, tit

for tat. It will discourage him from courting your lady, I guar-

antee."

 

"I'll pass. Sandy does her own discouraging."

 

The cat's skeptical glance treated elf and man with equal

scorn. "Then swear brotherhood and be damned." He showed

them his hindquarters and stalked into the bushes.

 

Cass and Lionel stared after him, then at each other, then

they burst into injudicious laughter that shook the scarlet leaves

around them. They were still laughing when they clasped hands

and took Cesare's last recommendation.

 

"Maybe you should find someone your own age," Lio-

nel suggested.

 

"Know any nice seven-hundred-thirty-nine-year-olds?"

 

"Of course they're lost," Loris said, trying to calm Da-

vina. "They're children. They're supposed to do whatever will

upset the nearest grown-up the most. Don't worry, we'll find

them. I've heard it said that all paths in the battle maze lead

to its center at last."

 

"Heard? You don't know?"

 

"This is my first time inside. Elfin women don't have to

 

ELF DEFENSE                215

 

pass the maze unless we insist we want to be fighters. There

aren't too many of us who choose that way."

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because, faygeleh, while the men are potchking around

with swords, we ladies are perfecting our magic. One good

spell can do the work of a hundred spears, and with less schlep-

ping too."                               ^

 

"Dear God! We can't just hope you heard correctly. We

have to find them!" She bolted down a side passage without

waiting to see if Loris was coming.

 

Loris was not. The black branches interwove across the

gap in the hedge almost the instant Davina went through. The

elf-maid shrugged and took a newly opened alternate route.

 

Davina ran down the alleyways of everbright. "Jeffy!

Ellie! Children, where are you?" She passed the open square

where the pear tree grew and prayed that the little ones would

not be tempted by any similar snares that might lie in their

paths. Her dramatic training got good use in the battle maze's

many twinings. She could shout their names and run at the

same time without getting short of breath.

 

Eventually, though, she stopped. She was back in the

small court of the pear tree. The fruit could not lure her, but

the trunk could. She rested her back against it and closed her

eyes for just a moment.

 

Loud cawing woke her. Two fat crows sat in the

branches, pecking at the fruit. She laughed at them as they

hopped from limb to limb, their harsh cries playing counter-

point to her delight.

 

Laughter and cawing died in a sharp hiss louder than any

serpent's. The crows flew away, leaving the Welsh girl to face

the gardener's dragon.

 

Eye to eye with the beast, Davina realized the truth of

the old elfin saying: there is no such thing as a little dragon.

Like every adult in the party, she had been issued a sword. It

lay beside her on the grass, but as she groped for it, the dragon

slammed its paw down atop her hand.

 

She screamed for the balcony standees.

 

"Not with the flat, not with the flat, not with the—oh,

shit." Cass's shouted instructions had about as much effect as

his disgusted curse. Lionel's sword was already on the down-

swing, and he wasn't trained enough to turn it in midarc against

the force of momentum.

 

Hitting a dragonling on the head with the flat of a blade

only puts it in a foul mood. A seasoned swordsman might have

 

216 Esther M. Priesner

 

had time to get in a second blow, using the blade's edge as

radical reptilian mood therapy, but Lionel was strictly amateur.

 

On the other hand, the dragonling was professional right

to the core. All business, coldly efficient, it smacked the sword

out of Lionel's hands with its tail. The everbnght hedge parted

to let the blade whirl past, then closed over with a Venus fly-

trap's curt snap.

 

Noxious smoke and a few wafers of flame rose from the

dragonling's nostrils. It lost interest in Davina. Lionel had

earned its undivided attention.

 

"Cass . . ." He knew he was too old for his voice to

squeak like that. He edged to one side, and the beast tracked

him; to the other, the same. He knew what would happen if he

started to run, but he knew he was going to do it anyway.

"Cass, please help ..."

 

Cass stared and stared at the dragonling. The nightmare

was on him again. He was a million miles away from the ugly

creature and the man it meant to kill. This was only a puppet

play. It was all happening inside his head—it couldn't be real,

such a blood-touched tenor. He was the Prince of Elfhame

Ultramar, trained from childhood by the finest warrior in the

shadow realms. Lord Syndovar. He had no magic here, but

nothing could take his blade skill from him. Could it? It had

to be a bad dream. He was only a coward in his dreams; only

in his dreams where he couldn't move, couldn't raise his sword,

couldn't even speak.                                "^

 

"Cass ..." When the dragonling's attention shifted

from her, Davina crawled away as furtively as she could, not

daring to take her blade with her. Still on her knees, she reached

up and touched Cass's sword arm. "Cass, you have to help

him."

 

"Perche fa?" Cesare nudged his shoulder against the

elf-prince's leg. "Elegant, my master. Play this out well, and

you'll have her—the one you desire—after a suitable period of

mourning for her husband, naturally."

 

"Cass!" It was Lionel's last call before he broke and

ran. The dragonling snorted happily. It hunkered down, dug in •

at the blocks, and went for him with a roar.

 

That roar was the starter's gun that snapped Cass out of

it. "Lionel! I'm coming!" He ran right into the everbright that

sprang up to bar the way behind the dragonling. Davina crashed

into him from the back.

 

He whirled on her, grabbing her wrist. "Quick! You have

 

ELF DEFENSE                217

 

the Sight! Which path will take us to them?" He held Davina

so tightly that she cried out in pain.

 

"Not in here! I haven't the Sight in here!"

 

The lower vocabulary of a Godwin Academy day boy got

a full workout. "He can't run forever. I have no way of know-

ing which is the shortest way. If we take the wrong turning

and the dragon catches him first—Davina, what can we do?"

 

"You'd want to help him? I thought that Mrs. Wal-

ters—"

 

He saw himself in her eyes, himself as he must have

looked to all me mortals he had come to care about: fair to see

on the surface, but empty inside. Empty of everything but

greed, desire, self.

 

"I don't want Mrs. Walters anymore. And she never

wanted me." He only wanted that vision of himself wiped

away. "But I do love her, Davina. I love her as I love Amanda

and Jeffy and—because I love her that way, I can't let Lionel

die."

 

The Welsh giri fetched her sword from under the pear

tree, held it like a cricket bat, and said simply, "Stand back,

Your Highness." Up went the iron blade.

 

Black twigs and red leaves flew every which way. She

put everything she had behind each stroke, and she had plenty.

 

"Grave a Dio, someone practical at last!" Cesare ex-

tolled her efforts.

 

"Woodchopping was the one exercise would ever help

me slim," she remarked as the hedge collapsed under her

blows. "Of course I couldn't find anywhere to do this in Lon-

don, which was why I did put on a bit more flesh than was

flattering."

 

She and Cass stepped through the gap. The leafy wall on

the other side leaned in toward them for a second, exhibited

the first vegetable double-take tropism in history, and tore its

interwoven branches apart getting out of their way. So did every

other everybright hedge they approached until there was a clear

line of sight broken open for them that did not stop until it

intercepted Lionel and the dragonling.

 

"My lady, you are magnificent!" Cass kissed her lustily

before plunging past. He raced through the frightened maze

and came to Lionel's aid just in time.

 

Just in time indeed. The hunt had ended in another clear-

ing. No pear tree bloomed there, but a pit whose lip was blasted

and bare. An awful roaring echoed up from its depths, and a

stink of stale blood hung over it. On the brink, Lionel was

 

218 Esther M. Friesner

 

doing his edge-away-edge-back dance while the dragonling

watched him with the canny calculation of a prime sheepdog.

It made a few false lunges, to test him. When he didn't tumble

backward into the pit under a feigned attack, the beast began

to build up a head of internal steam for the real thing.

 

Whether it meant to barbecue Lionel where he stood or

coax him over the edge with a fiery blast, the dragonling never

got to demonstrate. Light and deadly, Cassiodoron struck with

the proper edge of the blade and split the creature's skull.

Something like lava gushed out. Lionel took a step backward

to avoid it, and it was only Cass's reflexes that saved him from

going into the pit ex post facto.

 

Man and elf staggered a safe distance away, leaning on

each other. Lionel was pouring out his undying thanks all over

Cass's modest denials when a look at Davina shut him up. He

had often seen her mooning over the elfin prince in Godwin's

Comers, but this was something different. It wasn't the adu-

lation normally aimed at someone up on a pedestal—that just-

sit-there-pretty-and-let-me-look-at-you-with-myrtongue-hang-

ing-out gaze. What was it?

 

Whatever it was, the elf-prince was giving her just the

same sort of look in exchange.

 

"He could be ugly," Cesare said.

 

"What?" Lionel was the only one who seemed to hear

the cat. Cass and Davina had wandered back toward the pit.

The roars and stench from down below weren't there for them.

 

"I said, he could be ugly, and still she would see him as

she sees him now. That is how he sees her as well. They have

learned to use their eyes at last, those two." His whiskers

twitched. "Have a care, signior! You are smiling as if you had

just escaped a Frank Capra movie festival."    «

 

"I am n—hey! Where are they?" The pit and the dead

dragonling were still there, but Cass and Davina had vanished.

 

"Who knows?" Cesare was unconcerned. "All paths

lead to the heart of the maze. We shall meet again. Come with

me, my friend, it is not far now. Ah! Mind the pit. We must

pass very close to the edge, and Lord Syndovar has outdone

himself this time. A gorgogriff."

 

"A what?"

 

"Part gorgon, part griffin. If you fall into the pit, it rends

you and eats you, but if you only peep over the rim, its eyes

turn you to stone. Then it eats you."

 

"That's horrible!"

 

"On the contrary. The griffin is part bird, and what better

 

ELF DEFENSE                219

 

way for it to get gravel for its craw than to manufacture it

itself?"

 

Lionel looked narrowly at the cat. "How would you

know what's in the pit unless you looked? And if you looked,

why haven't you turned to s(one?"

 

"I could say, cats are the exceptions to all rules. I could

say, I overheard it in the palace. I could say"—Cesare showed

his pearly fangs—"that I am lying in my teeth. Why don't you

see for yourself what's down there?"

 

Lionel didn't move. The cat yawned. "Trust is a won-

derful thing, signior. So is wisdom. Elfhame Ultramar is not

paradise, but it does have a balanced ecology. Fools are always

at the bottom of the food chain."

 

Lionel concentrated on keeping his own balance as the

tomcat led him around the edge of the gorgogrifFs pit and

through the opening in the hedge.

 

"Kelerison?" Amanda touched the elf-king's battered

cheek. His eyes remained closed. She knelt beside him in the

heart of the battle maze and pulled a tuft of grass to hold near

his nostrils. It stirred with his breath and a knot untied itself

from around her heart. She touched his face again, gently.

"Kelerison?"

 

His eyes opened slowly. She could see the doubt he must

feel on seeing her. "I'm here," she said. "Yes, I am."

 

"The boy." His voice was husky. He tried to reach for

her, but the iron fetters were short. His wrists were bound

together, and his ankles, with a length of chain that linked

upper manacles to lower, and to a thick collar.

 

"He's with us. I could forgive you for many things, Kel-

erison—for killing Jeff, for persecuting me—but not for that;

 

not for stealing my son."

 

He closed his eyes. She noted how cracked and dry his

lips were, and she fought away the pang she felt for him. Her

past was full of too many days and nights of loving him. That

was over—things had changed in the present—but the past never

could be changed.

 

"I didn't want to. For the sake of peace . . . They will

deal only with the pledge that my heirs will not stir up the war

again after I am dead. They demanded to meet with father and

son together."

 

"Jeffy isn't your son!"

 

"But Cassiodoron is. If I took your son, you would fol-

low me, and then he would follow you. He always did. You

 

 

 

 

220 Esther M. Friesner

 

stole him from me first, Amanda." Tears tracked through the

grime of the elfin king's face. ' 'You stole him . . . after I drove

him out. Every time we meet, I drive him further away, and

further." He tried to wet his lips with a dry tongue. "I should

have told them that I have no son at all. How can I lie to them?

They see through lies. But is it a lie? Do I still have a son?

There should be love between a son and a father. The Powers

witness, I still love my own father, over miles, over centu-

ries!" His voice broke. It was very small when he said, "And

I still love my son."

 

She dried his tears with a comer of her sleeve. "He loves

you too, Kelerison."

 

The King of Elfhame Ultramar only shook his head.

 

"He does," said a second voice, and Sandy was at his

side, across from Amanda. Together they helped him to sit up.

"He brought us here to rescue you."

 

Kelerison's sight was blurred, yet one by one he made

out the figures of a mortal man and woman standing nearby,

also two mortal children in the care of an elf-woman. Though

her hood was up, covering her face entirely, he marked her by

the special grace with which she bore herself. Only one face

was missing, the one he most needed to see.

 

"If I could believe . . . Not just for me, for all our folk.

They want peace as much as we do, but—"

 

"Who wants peace. Father?" And Cassiodoron was

there, cupping his father's face in his hands with the greatest

care. More tears slipped between his fingers as Kelerison rec-

ognized his son. "No, please, don't cry, talk to me. Who wants

peace?"

 

"Cassiodoron, then you are—you did—" The elf-king

could barely speak, between tears and joy. He won back self-

control and said, "The Jun-ge-oh. The—we were wrong to call

them Jungles, savages. A mistake, it was all a mistake. My

brother thought he shot a squirrel. He killed one of their peo-

ple. They are so small! What would we have done if some

stranger invaded our homeland, killed our folk without prov-

ocation? They fought back. We countered. All the killing . . .

mistakes, mistakes. Finally I learned. All the time I was away

from the high court, Cassiodoron, did you think I was pursuing

pleasures in the mortal world?"

 

Cass nodded, and the elf-king gave a sad laugh. "I'll

wager your mother thought the same. If she only knew! I looked

forward to the day that I could share the truth with both of you.

I was trying to approach the Jun-ge-oh. It took a long time. I

 

ELF DEFENSE                221

 

neglected many things: you, my son; my beloved Bantrobel;

 

you too, isn't that so, Amanda?"

 

"You were gone ... so much " Amanda smoothed back

the hair from his brow. "I could understand how your queen

must have felt when you brought me to Elfhame Ultramar."

 

"So you grew lonely, and you found one of your own to

ease the loneliness, just as she did. I was a fine peacemaker. Trying

on one front to work things out with the Jung-ge^oh, on the other

hunting you across the surface world as if you were a beast. Pride

is the undoing of the elvenkmd." He slumped with weariness as

he added, "And through it all, trying to keep my dealings with the

Jun-ge-oh a secret from Lord Syndovar. He hated them too much

to ever consider peace. I couldn't blame him, but I couldn't let

him ruin our chance to set things right in this land. Well ... he

found out, and this is what he makes of a peacemaker."

 

They were all still when he finished speaking. Lionel

took a place beside Sandy and, with a muttered excuse to Kel-

erison, began to examine the elfin lord's bonds. "Will these

open if I touch them with my sword?" he asked Cass.

 

"They are all iron of the same forging. Neither has the

greater magic."

 

Lionel held up one finger. "Magic's not the question in this

maze. There's a time for spells"—he fumbled in the pocket of his

jeans and brought out a familiar object—"and there's a time for

calling out the Swiss army. What do you think. Sandy? Corkscrew,

hole punch, or nail file be the best for picking a lock?"

 

The rock that struck the jackknife from his hand was

small, but the one that stretched him out full length in the grass

was a little bigger.

 

"Remain where you are," said Lord Syndovar.

 

Chapter Twenty-one:

 

Trial

 

S ^lUfs's alone," Sandy whispered. Her fingers stole

d around the hilt of her sword. She did not dare to

look at Lionel. This was no time for blind rage.

 

222 Esther M. Friesner

 

"He is," Cass confirmed. "I sense no others nearby,

but—" He tilted his head to one side, listening. "No; too far

off. I must be mistaken. Only Lord Syndovar, and his pride.

That is his miscalculation."

 

"My prince, you are not the only one with a hunter's

ears." Lord Syndovar snapped a twig of everbright and let the

thick red sap drip into his palm. "I am alone. My men need

their rest for tomorrow, and in this maze, I need no help to

take care of you. Do you think you can rush me, Cassiodoron,

overwhelm me with your numbers? With these? Children! Fe-

males! You are the only warrior in the lot.''

 

"Care to prove your point?" Sandy tucked her skirts

back, ready to move.

 

Lord Snydovar stepped away from the hedges. He left

his sling and a sack of throwing stones discarded^among the

roots. In one hand he carried a sword, with the other he drew

an iron dart from his belt. He held the latter high so all of them

might see it.

 

"A venomed tip. My prince, you have seen my speed on

the training field. Tell your friends whether or not I can sink

this barb deep in your father's eye before they can reach me."

He smiled as Amanda hesitantly moved to shield Kelerison.

"He killed your mate, as I overheard you claim.'and still you

would protect him?"

 

"Even a murderer is given a fair trial where I come

from," she replied.                          ,

 

"And your noble sentiments are not at all colored by the

fact that our king was once your bedmate too. Is that so?"

 

Kelerison tried to push Amanda away from between him-

self and Lord Syndovar. "Don't provoke him, Amanda. Don't

endanger yourself for me. If there's payment due for your lov-

er's death—"

 

"I will thank you to tend your own debts and keep out

of mine, my liege. I can pay them or not, as I like." Lord

Syndovar plucked a small, flat, gaudily wrapped packet from

his belt and presented it to Amanda with a courtly flourish.

 

Kelerison watched impotently as she undid the paper,

discovering the man's wallet inside. Dried seaweed crackled

when she opened the billfold and saw her own photo in one

plastic sleeve, Jeff Taylor's driver's license in another.

 

"I wouldn't have you die in the dark, my lady," Lord

Syndovar said, above her muted weeping.

 

"No!" Cass protested. "When we ran away from the

 

ELF DEFENSE                223

 

clinic where Jeffy was born, I summoned a vision. I saw my

father and Jeff Taylor meet. I saw the sword—"

 

"And did you have the stomach to witness the actual

slaying? No?" Lord Syndovar was enjoying himself. "How

delicate of you. Almost as delicate as your royal father, when

at the last moment he suffered the mortal to live."

 

Amanda blinked her teays away. "Kelerison . . . you

didn't kill him?"

 

"I thought I would," the elf-king said. "I came intend-

ing to do it. But when we met, and when I saw that he loved

you enough to defy his own death for your sake, I couldn't.

Not in the face of that love."

 

"Better a homed brow than bloody hands, eh?" Lord

Syndovar chuckled. "No idea at all of what real honor means.

Fortunately, I was there to look after the prestige of the throne—

your father's most trusted lieutenant, I followed all his comings

and goings. Well, nearly all. I wasn't so chary over one mor-

tal's death as he. It took but a moment." He ran his thumb up

and down the iron dart.

 

Amanda hugged Kelerison close as she sobbed out old

grief and young joy at his innocence.

 

Lord Syndovar grew irritable at this display. "My lady,

if you don't move out of my way . . . Hm, never mind. Failing

that target, there are others." He looked meaningfully at the

children. Their hooded caretaker took them under the folds of

her cape, but the dart had a tip long and sharp enough to make

that a useless gesture.

 

"Put your weapons down."

 

They looked to Cass for a sign. Attack? Obey? Reluc-

tantly, he motioned for them to do as Lord Syndovar ordered.

There was no other way. One by one they placed the iron

swords at the elf-lord's feet. When it was Cass's turn. Lord

Syndovar stopped him.

 

"Not yours, my prince. You will need it. I do not intend

to leave this maze full of unfinished business."

 

"A challenge, my lord?" Cass faced up to him boldly.

 

"Tomorrow, when we ride against your father's precious

new allies, the legions of Elfhame Ultramar will be led by both

warlord and king."

 

The meaning of his words left Cass livid. "And you

called my friends traitors!"

 

"If I did not rid our realm of you and your sire's rule

when I might, then I would be a traitor indeed. You and he are

of the same feeble stock. Cowardice does not come into the

 

224               Esther M. Friesner

 

blood from nowhere. Peace! You would abase all elvenkind

before those buckskinned vermin, Kelerison? As you abased

yourself before that mortal man? You would have us treat them

as equals? Next you'd have us pacting for coexistence with

rats! You have forfeited the right to rule. Elfhame Ultramar

needs a strong lord over it, one who knows how to deal with

any race that defies us."

 

"You have no vision, Syndovar," Kelerison said weakly.

"You never did have any imagination. Try to destroy the Jun-

ge-oh, and you will destroy our own race with them."

 

"If we die, we die as warriors." His eyes flashed at

Cass. "Let us see if your son can do th<? same." He intoned

the formal words of challenge: "By moondark and starcrown,

by blood dance and deathsong, I call you to combat, Cassio-

doron. Prince of Elfhame Ultramar. If life must be taken, let

it be so. Let no man of the elfin blood come between us in this

battle."

 

"Let no man of the elfin blood come between us in this

battle." Cass repeated the ritual words of acceptance. "Name

the ground."

 

"Within this maze—I would match swords with you, not

magic—beside the pit." Lord Syndovar cast a scornful look at

the others. ' 'Now there only remains for you to name the weap-

ons—which should be obvious—and the .fudge. A fine lot you

have to choose from."

 

"I choose empty hands," Cass replied. "And Sandy "

 

"Empty hands?" Lord Syndovar frowned as Cass threw

down his sword. Grudgingly, he did the same.

 

"Judge? Me?" Lord Syndovar's astonishment was noth-

ing compared to Sandy's. "I don't know anything about this!

I have to see how Lionel—"

 

"He lives." Lord Syndovar's lip curled. "I did not

choose his death, for the moment. There will be time to arrange

that afterward."

 

Davina turned Lionel over carefully, examined the lump

already forming on the side of his head, and lifted his eyelid.

"He is alive. Sandy, and he'll be coming around soon. Go

with them. I'll tend to him. Go, for all of us."

 

"Empty hands ..." Lord Syndovar mused. "And a

mortal female to judge us. A woman of law, though; why not?

You have acquired curious ways on the surface, my prince.

When I take the rule of this land, I shall put an end to all

contact with mortals. It sets too many things on ear."

 

"And of course my mother will second your every de-

 

ELF DEFENSE                225

 

cision. What justification do you plan to give her for having

killed her husband and her son—if you can?"

 

The elfin lord had a wry smile. "She will need to hear

few justifications in a prison cell. I have not found Bantrobel

to be quite tractable enough to suit me, lately. From the time

my men and I subdued her mate, she has been strangely hard

to discipline. I tire of being opposed."

 

"You, imprison Bantrobel?" Kelerison managed to

laugh. "She's the one you should fear to match magics with,

not my son."

 

"You too had greater powers than I, Your Majesty."

Lord Syndovar made an ironic reverence to the manacled king.

"I will manage Bantrobel."

 

In accordance with the traditions of elfin combat, only

the opponents and their judge would go to the battleground.

Cass adjured each one of his party by name, even the children,

even the still-unconscious Lionel, making an oath of noninter-

vention on their behalf.

 

"Do you think mortals can be honor-bound?" Lord Syn-

dovar sneered at the proceedings. "I place greater faith in their

weakness than in their word. What can females and children

do? Only the male might have been some danger to me, and I

have seen to him. As for your sole elfin ally—another female."

He hardly glanced at the caped elf-woman.

 

"Loris will not interfere. I've already put her name to

the oath."

 

"Then why do we wait?" He was impatient to leave the

maze heart, eager to lead the way back to the gorgogrilfs pit.

"My sword is down, and this"—he shoved the iron dart back

into his belt—"comes with me only as surety of your friends

honoring the battle's verdict."

 

Cass paused, looked at Davina. She came to him and

embraced the elfin prince with all the warmth of recent love.

"I will say God be with you, my dearest," she said, "but not

good-bye." She pressed her cheek to his. "I wish I had some

token of mine for you to wear."

 

"I cany all the proof I need of your love in my heart,

sweet lady. But here." He took a plain silver ring from his

finger. "Wear this for me."

 

Sandy thought she heard Lord Syndovar growl the elfin

version of "Ugh, mush." He spoke sharply to Cass in their

own language, and the lovers broke from one another.

 

The everbright seemed to be in a cooperative mood. One

turn and a short straightaway brought them to the clearing where

 

226 Esther M. Friesner

 

the pit lay. Sandy's stomach lurched at the sight of the dead

dragonling beside it. She gave Cass a nervous look, wondering

whether his dracophobia carried over to fear of dead ones too.

She was mildly surprised to see him look right at it without a

qualm.

 

"Well, what do I do?" she asked.

 

"As judge, you must give the signal to begin," Lord

Syndovar told her. He flexed his hands. She saw how much

larger they were than Cass's, how battle hardened. Even empty,

they were a formidable weapon.

 

What the hell was Cass doing, calling for bare-hand

combat? Sword against sword, he 'd have had a fighting chance!

 

She motioned for Cass to come to her. Lord Syndovar

raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "To say good luck to him

before I start being the impartial judge, do you mind?" Sandy

snarled.

 

"Be my guest, lady."

 

Sandy jerked Cass aside and hissed in his ear, "Are you

out of your mind, fighting him this way? What are the odds

against him ripping you in two?"

 

Cass gave her a know-it-all stare. "Better than if I'd

matched blades with the one who taught me every trick I know

with the sword. But fighting him empty-handed, I have the

advantage of the unexpected and—"

 

"And?"

 

"I saw Rocky Three and every Bruce Lee movie ever

made three times each, that's all!"

 

"Yi." Sandy slapped her forehead and Lord Syndovar

decided that it was as good a starting signal as any. He leaped

for Cassiodoron.

 

Sandy jumped out of the way as the two elves went down

in a dust-raising tussle. It looked like the worst of every sixth-

grade recess playground fight. The Marquis of Queensberry

was an unknown entity in Elfhame Ultramar, but from the gen-

eral moral tone of the struggle, the Pair Polk received World

Wrestling Federation broadcasts just fine.

 

"No biting! No biting!" she shouted at the knot of arms

and legs as it rolled by. "Bare hands only!"

 

Cass was the smaller and sprier of the two. He slithered

out of Lord Syndovar's grasp and scrambled back onto his feet.

Then, while his foe was getting up, he hollered, "Heeeeee-

yah!'' and tried a flying kick.

 

Lord Syndovar took one small pace back and intercepted

Cass's ankle en passant. He dangled the elf-prince upside-down

 

ELF DEFENSE                227

 

a moment,'then primly said, "Empty-hand combat also means

no feet, my lord." He dropped Cass on his head to make the

point stick.

 

Cass was only slightly stunned, but that sufficed. Lord

Syndovar threw himself on top of the younger elf, flipped him

onto his belly, and yanked his head back by the hair. One arm

hooked around Cass's throat and squeezed. The elf-prince

thrashed and gurgled, then pushed up with his hands on the

grass for all he was worth. Without a clear weight advantage,

Lord Syndovar lost his seat on Cass's back when his victim

bucked that way. As soon as he was free, Cass nimbly coun-

tered with an elbow jab to Lord Syndovar's temple. The elder

elf reeled.

 

Again! Hit him like that again right n—oh, no, Cass!

Why won't you learn ?

 

"Yah!" The number-one member of the Bruce Lee Fan

Club (Elfhame Ultramar chapter) tried a karate chop. They

always worked so well in the movies.

 

They worked less efficiently when there was a dead dra-

gonling cluttering up the battleground. Cass hit a smear of still-

smoking brain matter and skidded, the chop going wild. Lord

Syndovar ducked in under Cass's flailing arm and executed a

perfect hip throw without ever having seen Deadly Apprentices

of the Venomous Fists. Cass slammed down on his back with

his feet hanging over the lip of the gorgogriff's lair.

 

A scream crawled to the top of Sandy's throat. She held

it back, afraid that if Cass still had a chance to escape, she

might distract him. It was a thin hope. Lord Syndovar did move

as quickly as he claimed. Between one thought and another he

tugged Cass up, had both the prince's arms pinioned behind

him, and by wrists and hair forced him to lean far over the

edge of the pit.

 

"Your time as judge is almost done, my lady," he called

to Sandy. "I can give you one last matter to decide in this

battle, though. Shall I fling him to the beast as he is, or shall

I compel him to gaze into the monster's eyes first? Shall he die

as torn flesh or broken stone?"

 

Something cold touched Sandy right above the heart. She

screamed as an alien hand snapped the bloodstone pendant from

her neck. All Lord Syndovar's attention was on his captive,

taunting the elf-prince with the choice of deaths awaiting him

below. He heard the scream and laughed, not knowing its true

cause.

 

"Give its magic to me!" the hooded elf-woman whis-

 

228 Esther M. Friesner

 

pered, thrusting the bloodstone into Sandy's face. "Now! At

once! Release its power into my hands, or else it will do as

little to save him as an ordinary stone."

 

Sandy peered into the darkness of the updrawn hood and

saw Egyptian eyes. She seized the elf-woman's hands, pressed

the bloodstone to her lips, and said, "Serve her, Rimmon, and

be free."

 

Without more delay, the elf-woman dropped the blood-

stone into the pocket of Lord Syndovar's discarded sling and

loosed it swift and true. Sandy's spirit flew with it in the sev-

. eral small eternities it took for the stone to reach its mark. In

midnight, it opened bright wings that cut the lines bounding

time and space, severed the limits between worlds. Kneeling

on a ray of light, the elfin archer Rimmon launched one final

arrow from his bow. Then he was archer and arrow and stone,

and the force of all three stuck Lord Syndovar.

 

He spun with the impact, throwing Cass safely away from

the pit, onto the grass. The bloodstone was a scarlet stain at

his throat as he and it fell into the depths. There was a glad,

anticipatory roaring from below, an oddly dull crash, and si-

lence.

 

Cesare snaked through the everbright roots and contem-

plated the prospect in the abyss. "Porca Madonna! He must

have caught the monster's eye while he was still falling."

 

"What do you see down there?" Sandy asked, keeping

her distance.

 

"A gorgogriff with a smashed head and a statue of Lord

Syndovar." Cesare flicked his tail. "An excellent likeness.

You would think these stupid beasts would turn their victims

to talc, but no, it must be marble! No wonder they're an en-

dangered species. I say: survival first, artistic integrity sec-

ond."

 

"I couldn't have said it better myself," said Queen Ban-

trobel, drawing back her hood.

 

' 'Mother!'' That was the last fully coherent sentence Cass

addressed to her for several minutes. He followed it with dis-

jointed accusations of ruined family honor, flagrant oath break-

ing, shameless disregard for the rules of elfin combat, and

thanks for having saved his life.

 

His mother pointed out quite rightly that the formal call

to battle only forbade men of the elfin blood from butting in,

that it wasn't her fault if they all thought she was Loris, and

that therefore since her right name hadn't been mentioned in

 

ELF DEFENSE                229

 

the oath-taking ceremony, she'd been free to meddle all she

liked.

 

"I saw Lord Syndovar heading for the maze and I knew

what he was up to. Hmph! One eentsy fling and he thinks he

owns me and the throne and the right to try murdering my

husband! I wanted a word with him"—her eyes glittered nas-

tily—"but the first person I found in the maze was Loris. I sent

her right straight out and back to the palace to muster my

personal troops. They should be taking care of Lord Syndo-

var's war-happy bunch about now. Of course I did borrow her

cloak, and I will give it back, and I'm so pleased to know your

father isn't completely mortal-mad, Cassiodoron, and—did I

forget anything?"

 

"Not a thing," Sandy said. "Your Majesty, you have

the makings of an excellent lawyer.''

 

"I hope that's a compliment," the Queen of Elfhame

Ultramar replied.

 

Lord Syndovar's statue was hauled out of the pit and

given prominent display in the palace forecourt. It was marble,

as Cesare observed, with the exception of a small bloodstone

in a flower-carved setting that had melded itself into the elf-

lord's breastbone.

 

"We could chisel it out," Cass offered. He and Sandy

were alone. The others were busy helping convert part of the

dismantled army's baggage train into wagons to take them all

to the nearest gateway to the surface.

 

"Let him be." She sighed. "It's only a bit of stone

now."

 

"But it was a gift of love from—"

 

"When will we come out into our world?" She changed

the topic brusquely. "I mean, I know time is different down

here. Will it be months since we entered Elfhame Ultramar?

Years?"

 

"Days. Two weeks, at the most. That's why we're send-

ing you up by a different gate than the one you came down.

Time is just as warped as space down here. Pick the right

gateway to go up by, and you travel in any direction you like

through time and space, with respect to surface reality. It's all

relative," he concluded sententiously.

 

"What pointy ears you've got. Dr. Einstein."

 

Cass beamed at her and gave her a hug that was pure

friendship. "I shall miss you, dear lady! I wish I were going

back to the surface world with you, and to Godwin's Comers,

 

230 Esther M. Friesner

 

and to my place at the academy. You know, I was hoping

to make it into Yale in a couple of years, maybe get an

MBA..."

 

"No one's stopping you. Your father's throne is secure,

there won't be any war with the Jun-ge-oh—why not come back

with us?" Slyly she added, "Davina would be pleased."

 

Something large and friable hit a wall inside the palace.

The sound of voices raised in unfriendly debate came from an

upper windew. Sandy couldn't understand a word they were

saying, but the uproar turned several elfin heads in the court-

yard. Cass blushed.

 

"Mother has almost forgiven Father for his mortal dal-

lyings," he said. "And he has almost forgiven her for Lord

Syndovar. Someone has to referee, or they'll turn to hurling

spells at each other next, and that would be disastrous. Oh

Sandy, you have no idea how much I wish I could go back

with you and Davina and Jeffy and Amanda!" He looked at

the window, very much the philosophical young man, just as

three books and an eavesdropping karker came flying out. "I

guess it's impossible to have everything you want, even when

you do know magic."

 

"But not," Sandy said, "when you know me."

 

t ^Hyy ommy, we're going to be late!" Ellie jumped up

JIWland down in the doorway and nearly upset the

monstrous philodendron that Peggy Seymour had sent over as

an office-warming present. She had already done in the straw-

berry begonia from Cee-Cee Godwin, and Sandy sometimes

asked herself how long it would be before Dwight Haines's

gift aquarium would also succumb to Hurricane Eleanora.

 

"All right, all right, I just want to read this letter from

Davina. It's been months since we heard from—"

 

"Now, Mommy! Jeffy said they were leaving right at

noon, and I bet it's almost that now!"

 

Sandy pointed at the clock on the mantelpiece above her

office's false fireplace. "It's not even eleven," she said, "and

you know they'll wait for us." But she knew Ellie would give

her no peace until they were out of the office and on the way

over to the Taylor house.

 

Not the Taylor house for long, she thought as she tucked

Davina's letter into her pocket and switched on the answering

machine. Her law practice was picking up, and soon she would

have to interview secretaries, but in the meantime the machine

let her postpone that responsibility. Not after today.

 

It was glorious May weather. Daffodils stood in their

trumpeting rows before the house where Sandy had rented of-

fice space, and the freshly lipsticked heads of tulips. All of

Godwin's Comers was splashed with flowers. The lilac arbor

in Amanda's yard didn't need any magical help to bloom on a

day like this. A few supernumerary Winged Ones sat in the

shade of the blossoms, bored and sulking.

 

Amanda was lashing the last suitcase to the roof of her

car when Sandy and Ellie strolled up. Jeffy let out a squeal and

dragged Ellie off to some hidden comer of the garden while

their mothers made their farewells.

 

"Write, okay?" Sandy said. "Or call. California isn't

the end of the universe."

 

231

 

Esther M. Priesner

 

232

 

"You know I will."

 

"The check clear?"

 

Amanda's nose crinkled. "The world would be in pretty

bad shape if the King of Elfhame Ultramar were a poor credit

risk. Anyway, if his checks bounce, I know where he lives."

She smiled back at the old house.

 

"I still can't picture you out in the Silicon Valley."

 

"We need a change of scene, and it was a good offer.

I'm only a secretary, 'but there's 'on-the-job training for ad-

vancement."

 

"At least the weather's better. And California isn't sup-

posed to be too freaky."

 

"Yes, the San Andreas trolls speak of it highly."

 

Jeffy and Ellie had to be called seven times before they

appeared, swearing that they hadn't heard a thing. It took

Amanda repeated tries to get her son settled and seat-belted

into the car. He and Ellie both wore the hard, tight faces of

children who were dying to be very grown up about this. When

the car drove away, Ellie collapsed into Sandy's bosom.

 

It was only after an emergency visit to the local ice cream

vendor that she recovered enough to tell her mother about her

engagement. "Jeffy said he's going to come back from Cali-

fornia to marry me when he's big, and I can't get married until

then, and he gave me this so I could remember all that." A

dented iron locket shaped like a round snuff box dangled from

the gold chain around Ellie's neck.

 

"That's nice, dear," Sandy said, not really looking at it.

Now that her daughter was somewhat consoled, she took the

time to read Davina's letter.

 

. . . and about time! I never thought I was as thick as

that, Sandy, but for so many months to go by and me without

the slightest idea! I have been on a slimming program, true,

and that sometimes will upset the natural cycle of things, so

perhaps I oughtn 't tax myself too strictly for stupidity. Too, I

have always tended to carry extra ballast, if I may say so my-

self.

 

Will you believe what made me realize my situation at the

last? It was that mix of purple dust and ashes I scooped up from

the gateway we passed, ft never served me any use but as a

souvenir, yet one fine night I found myself sipping tea and pour-

ing one teaspoonful after another of the stuff into my cup and

drinking it down. What do you suppose my mother and da will

say when f tell them? "How did you know, Davina?" "Oh, by

 

ELF DEFENSE                233

 

the craving I had for a taste of Elfliame Ultramar!'' Did you

ever think a girl would find that out from a handful of pixie dust

in her tea? At least this way is kinder to the rabbits.

 

Otherwise I am in fine fettle, and hope you are the same.

I have just obtained a role on the BBC—some low-budget sci-fi

effort of theirs, but it is paid work. My "condition" won't be

noticeable to others for some time yet. I appear to be coming

along at a quarter the rate of a normal pregnancy—the/other's

longevity at work even now, I suppose. My physician says he's

not seen another case like it. Wait until he sees the birth!

 

Sandy paid the check in a daze. She didn't know whether

to be more shocked by Davina's news or by the Welsh giri's

bumptious Girl Guide optimism in the face of her condition, as

she put it. Something had to be done. With Ellie in tow. Sandy

marched down the main street of Godwin's Comers, eyes

sweeping to right and left, searching for the folk who would

have to do it.

 

They were just going up the steps of another of the house-

to-offices conversions when she found them. Queen Bantrobel

looked charming in her madras skirt and Peter Pan-collared

white blouse. She waved happily at Sandy, standing on tiptoe

in her Maine trotters.

 

"I do hope there hasn't been any trouble seeing dear

Amanda off?" she inquired when Sandy and Ellie joined them

on the old Victorian mansion's porch. Sandy could only shake

her head.

 

"With the closing, then?" Kelerison's hand darted inside

his seersucker jacket. "Any additional costs? I'll write you a

check."

 

Cass kept his'mouth shut and smiling, the epitome of the

well-bred Godwin Academy student, waiting for a direct ques-

tion before speaking when in the presence of his elders.

 

"It's nothing about the house. You can move in tomor-

row, Your Maj—Mr. and Mrs. Keller." Old habits held on.

 

"Now you know we're Tom and Banty to you, Sandra

dear," the elf-queen chided. "Well then, if you'll excuse us,

we do have a group appointment with Dr. Proudfoot now, and

then we have to get Cass back to the academy at"—Bantrobel

checked her Rolex—"two sharp. Must run. Ciao. " She and her

husband breezed through the door.

 

Cass lingered a bit longer. "Cesare said to thank you for

the lox you sent him, and—is there something you wanted to

see me about?"

 

"Oh, nothing that won't keep." She waved for him to

follow his parents. It wouldn't do to keep Godwin's Corners'

 

234               Esther M. Priesner

 

foremost family therapist waiting. She would figure out the most

tactful way to tell Prince Cassiodoron about the facts of trans-

atlantic child support later. At a quarter the normal rate of fetal

development, there was time enough.

 

The elf-prince paused in the doorway. "They're assimi-

lating nicely, aren't they? Mother's even talking about joining

the DAR."

 

"They're a credit to the community," Sandy dead-

panned.

 

"What was that all about. Mommy?" Ellie asked as they

walked back toward Sandy's office. It was the same question

she'd been asking at intervals for the past three blocks, getting

no answer.

 

Sandy stopped, held her daughter by the shoulders, and

dropped to her eye level. "Ellie, I want you to promise me

something right now. I'm your mommy, and I love you. I want

what's best for you, and the best life you can have is the sim-     <

plest, believe me. So never, never, never more have anything

in your whole life to do with magic, okay?"

 

"Okay." Ellie looked dubious, but she laid her hand on

the iron locket and squeezed it. "I promise," she said. "No

magic for me. Never, never, never."

 

From inside the iron cell came a muffled flutter of wings,

the scrape of tiny hooves, and a soft, small neigh that sounded

like laughter.