Falconfar 01-Dark Lord Read online

"How did you...?" he blurted, gesturing almost helplessly at her.

  Her eyes grew larger, and fear came back into her face.

  "Have you forgotten everything, lord?" she whispered. "Your blood healed me, just as it healed you. You have that power. The wizards have lusted after it for as long as Falconaar can remember."

  Rod frowned. "Falconaar? And my blood heals— why? Because I’m 'Lord Archwizard?' Or the 'Dark Lord?'"

  Taeauna closed her eyes, sighed so hard she started to tremble again, and then opened them and said patiently, like a teacher instructing a child, "Your writings change Falconfar, and every sage and wizard knows it. We Aumrarr, whom you created, know it. There have been other writers, many others, before you, but their creations are now but dim shadows before the fire of your pen. Thousands upon thousands of people in this, your world, visit Falconfar in their dreams, and their dreaming gives us strength, too, but it is the scribes of this world that anchor and shape us, and you are the strongest of them all. So strong that we Falconaar, the people of Falconfar, call you the Lord Archwizard, where none have been so named before you."

  Rod stared at her, and then looked across the room at the bookshelves he couldn't quite see in the gloom, picturing the row of seven books there, with their familiar, vivid covers, and... and he looked back at Taeauna, at this slender, blood-covered and very real woman kneeling in his bedroom, and forced himself to say, "You called me Dark Lord, too. What's this 'evil' I've done?"

  "The rise of the Dark Helms," she whispered, sounding suddenly scared again. As if she expected him to hit her. "Ever more monsters, and the drifting spells that twist hares and stags and cattle into things of claws and fangs that come for us. 'Tis said you've gone mad, mad with power, or that the wizards have struck at your mind with their spells. Even the stones sprout fangs, so men dare not climb seeking mushrooms in the caves anymore."

  The Mouths of Stone. More Holdoncorp mischief, like the Dark Helms. Almost all the monsters would be their work, too. In his books, a monster was met, fought, and killed. Only in the computer games did beasts sprout in endless numbers, springing up to menace no matter how fervently players slew them.

  Rod looked toward the door and said something rude, spitting out the words slowly and deliberately. The room that held his computer—and the Holdoncorp games—was down a hallway beyond the door.

  He'd hated what Holdoncorp had done to Falconfar, hated it enough to reverse and lessen some of their misdeeds in his later books, but their relentless rush to turn his quaint, cozy little world of forests and castles into a few enclaves of desperate knights trying to hold off Hitlerian hosts of marching Dark Helms had soured him on the whole world. Besides his dreams and the odd entry in his notebook, these days he seldom thought or wrote about Falconfar. He'd gone back to the grim-jawed thrillers of spies and missiles and gunfire in the night that sold so head-shakingly well, and...

  "Lord?" that soft, purring voice came again, hesitantly. "I came seeking you because we need you. Falconfar needs you. If you turn me away now, the darkness will soon drown us all."

  Rod stared almost helplessly at the woman kneeling before him in her slashed and bloody armor. "I... Taeauna, I'm having a hard time believing any of this. I mean..."

  He waved empty hands, clawing the air as if he could snatch some sort of answer out of it, but didn't really expect to. Then he started to say more, but knew not what, and settled for shaking his head in helpless dismissal.

  Falconfar darkening, just like the real world around him. Society ever grimmer, lawsuits and terrorism and pollution, dire warnings of oil and everything else running out...

  Falconfar had been his dream of what he wanted to see. What his dreams showed him, over and over again, bright and beautiful. Glorious skies of magnificent dawns and sunsets above fairytale castles that crowned grassy heights among vast, rolling forests, dragons flying lazily by at a safe distance...

  He stared at the woman on her knees before him. Those emerald eyes, grave and anxious, never left him.

  Taeauna, she'd called herself. Taeauna of the Aumrarr. She was slender, graceful, and probably taller than he was if she stood up, even without her wings. He'd felt her weight, her touch, even had her blood on him. Right now—he glanced down—it was drying, dark and sticky, on his legs and his underwear. He could smell her. She was real. Falconfar was real.

  And suddenly, Rod Everlar very much wanted to see those castles, bright in the morning. And gold at sunset, as soft purple dusk stole in over battlements, and torches and lanterns were lit.

  He didn't much want to see Dark Helms, or meet an angry dragon or wizard, but wasn't he a wizard, by Taeauna's reckoning? Couldn't he change things with a wave of his hand?

  Christ, he must be going crazy.

  He shook his head again, turning away, but those castles wouldn't go out of his mind.

  Falconfar.

  What if it was real?

  Rod realized his heart was leaping with eager excitement, like when he was young and looked forward to Christmases and camps... and girls. Before he'd discovered just how cruel real women could be.

  "Taeauna," he began slowly, starting to turn around again. And swallowing.

  He wanted to see Falconfar for himself more than he'd ever wanted anything before.

  And he was suddenly afraid this was a dream, and he'd turn and find his bedroom dark and empty, with no blood and no Taeauna. And he'd still be alone.

  As alone as he'd been for so many years now, with his family and close friends all dead, losing himself in his writing, laughter and companionship something glimpsed only in books and romantic movies.

  Green eyes caught and held his, and snared his breath as well.

  Almost angrily he looked away from her, at the bed. Still swimming in blood. Christ, he'd be in trouble if anyone got in here and saw that.

  So much blood. He shook his head and peered more closely at Taeauna. Her severed wings, of course, were still missing. "You're sure you're healed? Completely?"

  She shrugged, and it was the easy movement of one who feels no great pain. "I feel well enough, lord. Your blood is pure power."

  Rod smiled incredulously. "Will it work on me, too?"

  "In Falconfar, any wounds that befall you will swiftly heal," the Aumrarr replied, leaning forward with her eyes shining in sudden hope, "but in this world, the swords of the Dark Helms can slay you easily."

  As if her words had been a signal, there came a deafening clash of cymbals.

  Rod was staggering dazedly back before he realized that the ringing shriek had been made by his bedroom window, bursting into the room in a shattering spray of shards, driven by a thrusting black-bladed sword!

  Taeauna ducked under its point as swiftly as a striking snake, to snatch her dagger from the bed.

  Rod shouted wordless fear as more windows broke somewhere down the hall. Black-helmed knights were hacking at his window frame, trying to chop the muntins aside so they would have room enough to climb in.

  "They mean to slay us both, lord!" Taeauna shouted from beside the bed. "We must hie to Falconfar!"

  Rod gaped at her. His taxes were due, and on Monday his editor was sure to call, and...

  "I can't!" he started to shout, as there came a splintering crash from the far end of the house, and Taeauna bounded up from the floor, shattered armor clanging. A forest of black blades reached vainly for her amid snarls of anger, and gauntleted fists beat at the windowsill.

  "Lord, we must, or we'll die!" She clutched his upper arms fiercely, her fingers like claws, and those emerald eyes blazed into his. "Falconfar needs you!"

  Booted feet were thundering, far down the hall. Rod looked helplessly at the doorway, and then at a Dark Helm trying to climb through his missing window, armored shoulders splintering and gouging a way through the frame, and shouted, "How?"

  Taeauna's smile was like a flame. "Open a dream-gate, as we did to get me here! Think of one place in Falconfar just as hard as you can. See it, dwell on what
you see and feel and smell, and keep on doing that, no matter what the Dark Helms do!"

  And she whirled away from him to snatch a bookshelf too heavy for him to budge away from the wall, and flung it to the floor. It crashed down, books spilling in a thunderous wave, just as the first Dark Helm raced through the doorway. Tripping on the flood of toppled books, the black knight staggered and stumbled, and Taeauna was on him like a pouncing cat, driving her dagger through the slit in his visor and wrenching his sword out of one massive gauntlet almost in one motion.

  Rod's bed cracked under the hard-booted landing of the first Dark Helm through the window. Taeauna whirled around, her gaze like green flames, and shouted, "Close your eyes, lord! Watch not me, but see Falconfar!"

  There was a second black knight in the hall, and a third, but Rod shut his eyes and thought of his favorite castle, thrusting up into the morning sky atop its grassy hill. The one with the great gnarled trees shading the winding lane that led up to it, to where tall, silver-armored knights with long war-horns in their hands stood guard in the sunlight, gazing out over a peaceful valley...

  There were crashes, and the loud skirl and clang of steel ringing on steel very close by. Rod heard Taeauna grunt with effort, and then there was a ringing crash, the clanging thud of someone in armor falling heavily, and the skitter of glass sliding underfoot.

  He was just about to open his eyes, expecting a black blade to come racing at him, when the Aumrarr laughed merrily just beside his ear, and cried, "For Falconfar!"

  Blue-edged silver fire suddenly flickered around him, and the scene of the castle seemed to rush up larger and brighter before him. "Hollowtree Keep!" Taeauna said delightedly.."Lord, take us there!"

  And her arms were around him, a sharp edge of armor clawing at Rod's bare shoulder and the blood-and-sweat scent of Taeauna all around him. The light at the edges of his vision was more blue than silver now, and a hurrying wind was roaring through leaves. Trying to ignore everything else, Rod peered hard at the castle gates—where the knights were now standing up, and looking in his direction.

  Suddenly he was stumbling and staggering, barefoot in the dusty lane, stubbing his foot on a tree root and almost falling, with Taeauna laughingly holding him up. The wind in his face smelled of cow dung and green, growing things, and the bright knell of a war-horn rose into the air.

  And behind him, where it was darker, half a dozen black blades crashed together in the empty air of Rod Everlar's bedroom, where he and Taeauna had been standing moments before.

  THE WIND MADE him shiver, and Rod abruptly realized he was standing almost naked in the land of his dreams. Falconfar!

  His dream world.

  Alive and vivid and sun-dappled, on all sides, with tree-cloaked hills rolling away to the horizons—and rising into purple mountains, back that way—and woods like he'd always thought Sherwood Forest must look like right beside him, across the lane... the lane that led up to a castle that was towering up into the sky, just over there.

  He stared around at rustling leaves and dancing boughs. The dark and mighty trees stood on both sides of the lane, just ahead, and between them the rutted lane ran up from his bare feet, around a snake-like pair of bends, to the castle gates.

  Taeauna laughed lightly beside him, and then said earnestly, "Thank you, lord. Oh, thank you!"

  Rod gave her an uneasy smile and let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding until then. "Uh..."

  She was taller than him. And slender, long-limbed. Graceful, too, despite her hacked and shattered armor. Bone-white skin visible here and there, where her war-plate had fallen away, sleek curves that... that... God, she was beautiful. Long, tangled night-black hair, those bright emerald eyes, lips like...

  "Uh..." Rod began again. Like what? I'm supposed to be a writer, to have the words ready for...

  Oh, shit. Staring at Taeauna, he waved one hand helplessly to indicate his near-nakedness, and with the other pointed urgently at the two knights, and at another man in armor who'd appeared out of the castle and was now peering their way.

  Taeauna had seen them, too. She turned quickly to Rod. "Please be guided by me, lord." Her voice was low. "Keep silent, give no one your name or the titles I've addressed you by, and pretend you remember nothing of who you are or where you're from."

  Rod gave her a rueful smile. "That won't be hard."

  Those glorious emerald eyes were serious. "I'm very pleased that you chose Hollowtree—this is a good place—but all of Falconfar is dangerous these days, goodman."

  "Ah. I've stopped being a lord?"

  "Yes. If anyone asks if you're a wizard, do or say nothing that could be taken for agreement, nor familiarity with magic. Just act dazed."

  "How will I understand anyth—"

  Taeauna made a sharp chopping motion with her hand that clearly meant "be silent!" Rod obliged.

  Hastening down the lane were four men: the stout armored warrior who'd stepped out between the two guards, and three bowmen in ragged clothes of what looked like soft, well-worn hides sewn together. The knight in the middle drew his sword as he strode around the first bend, and the archers readied arrows and spread out to either side of him.

  Taeauna sheathed her dagger and stood waiting for them, head held high. As the knight approached, slowing warily after his boots slipped twice on moss-covered cobbles, she gently spread her hands wide in front of her, palms out to show they were empty. The archers raised their bows but kept their shafts aimed off into the trees.

  All of them were peering keenly at Taeauna and at Rod—especially at Rod, covered in blood and wearing only his boxers.

  "You are come to Hollowtree in strange array," the knight said flatly as he came to a halt three paces away. He was a stout, hard-faced man with an air of importance and a belt bristling with silver-hilted daggers.

  Rod stared back at him. So they spoke English here. Well of course they would, if his dreams shaped things...

  "Indeed, Warsword Lhauntur," Taeauna replied. "Yet we mean no harm to any here, and crave but a night's rest. Unlooked-for magic, not of our weaving, has delivered us out of desperate battle against Dark Helms."

  The warsword gave her a sharp look. "You know me?"

  Taeauna smiled a little bitterly. "We toasted each other in yon garden last summertide, Lhauntur. I had wings then."

  Lhauntur frowned. "Brae... no. Taeauna?"

  The Aumrarr nodded. "Taeauna am I. Or what is left of her."

  "And this?"

  "A man who came out of the fray to fight beside me... with a hayfork. Where he left his clothes, I've no idea, and know not even his naming. Worse than that, though he seems calm enough, pleasant company even, he knows not his own life nor remembrances. Are any healers guesting in Hollowtree, perchance?"

  The warsword shook his head, his frowning gaze never leaving Rod. Though he appeared to make no signal, three arrows were suddenly aimed at Rod's head, riding straining bowstrings.

  Rod swallowed, tried to smile, and decided it was safer to look at Taeauna than anywhere else. Pleasanter, too.

  "Lord wizard!" the knight snapped suddenly, raising his sword, and Rod opened his mouth to answer without thinking. In front of his nose, Taeauna stiffened.

  Oh, shit.

  Quickly he asked, "Where?"

  He turned his head to look behind him first, heart icy as he waited for the hiss of arrows that would slay him.

  None came, so he swung around again to look at the warsword. "A wizard?"

  Lhauntur sighed, and almost seemed on the verge of smiling. "As artful as a lad caught chewing in the pantry. Down, please, goodman! And keep your hands stretched out flat!"

  Rod stared at him.

  "You," the warsword snapped, and his mouth definitely crooked into a smile this time. An unpleasant smile.

  Rod went down to his knees and then slid onto his belly, keeping his arms spread. The heels of his palms skidded away from him until his chin was resting on the moss. His boxers, now stiff with Taeauna's
blood, scratched him as he moved.

  The archers hastened forward, and Lhauntur's sword flashed a warning as he advanced on Taeauna.

  "You understand our caution?"

  "Of course," she replied calmly as she stepped back. Then pointed leather boots were treading firmly on Rod's hands, and men who smelled of rank sweat and forest earth were kneeling over him, fumbling at their pouches. A length of crude cord that looked more like an old root or a knotted length of horse's tail was produced, and Rod's wrists were quickly and snugly knotted together. Then calloused fingers took hold of Rod's armpits and hauled him to his feet.

  He found himself looking into Warsword Lhauntur's cool brown eyes—down the shining length of the man's short, broad, and deadly looking sword.

  "I'll gag you if I hear even the first sound of what might be a spell, wizard," the knight promised calmly. "And if I find you've been working at that cord, I'll personally break your thumbs and your forefingers." Then Lhauntur smiled and with the same ironic tone that Rod favored when dealing with publicists, added, "So be welcome in Hollowtree Keep."

  Rod gave him an empty smile, and then turned to Taeauna and asked innocently, "Lady, are these bad men?"

  Emerald eyes widened ere Taeauna said soothingly, "No, goodman. I've been well treated here in the past. Just do as they say." She reached out a finger to his chin, as if to guide him into looking straight into her eyes, and gave him a silent look that said as clearly as if she'd shouted it: "Don't overdo it, Dark Lord."

  "Yes," Rod told her, trying to sound vague and yet contented. "Yes, of course."

  Only the emerald eye that was farthest from the four Hollowtree men rolled derisively, a feat that left Rod staring at Taeauna in fascination. How did she do that?

  Probably because I once dreamed Aumrarr could, he reminded himself ruefully, as the warsword made a curt gesture with his sword and they all started to trudge along the lane up to the castle.

  THE MAP WASN'T a sheet of weathered parchment at all, but a table covered with faintly evil-smelling mud that had been painstakingly shaped into what was presumably a miniature duplicate of the landscape of Falconfar. Every inch of the terrain close to Rod bore overlapping thumbprints; it had obviously been worked and reworked with care. Large green stains undoubtedly denoted forests, and tiny slivers of wood had been whittled into castles and thrust into place atop hills.