Lavere froze, then ever so slowly, ever so reluctantly, lowered his weapon.
“Do they speak of human sacrifice?” Cort demanded.
“Only the kind that you would die for,” Gar reassured him.
Cort relaxed a little, for Desiree was a woman he would die for indeed. He looked back into her eyes…
And was lost. He gazed into violet pools, felt all go dark about him save their glow, felt them envelop him, felt himself floating adrift in their coolness …
“Come back!” Gar commanded, and all at once the woman’s eyes were only eyes, he was aware of her face around those eyes again, and saw the Fair Folk behind her amid their glowing lights—but all dimly; only she seemed bright.
Dirk’s voice came to him distantly: “There’s some of this spell you can’t break.”
“Yes,” Gar agreed, “but that’s entirely natural.”
“He has the weirding way!” exclaimed another man of the Fair Folk. “He must be of our blood!”
“I can’t be,” Gar returned, “for I’m from a different world than yours. But I am a wizard, and so is my friend, though he’s a wizard of another kind, from yet another world.”
“That’s overstating the case,” Dirk objected. “Not if you know the words for our weapons and voice,” another Fair Man said, thin-lipped. “All the more reason to slay them out of hand, Aldor,” Lavere said bitterly, his gaze still on Cort.
“No, Lavere,” said Desiree, eyes all but devouring the lieutenant. “There is too much strange about them, too much we must learn of what they know. My lord duke, bring them in to question.”
“Yes, bring them in,” the sepulchral voice commanded. “We can always slay them there.”
The Fair Folk men stepped downhill to surround the companions, weapons trained on them.
“Our horses,” Gar reminded.
“Let them wander,” Lavere replied. “If you are fortunate, they will still be near in the morning. If you are even more fortunate, you may come forth to join them.”
“Enter!” the sepulchral voice commanded, and the Fair Folk stood aside from the still-glowing doorway.
Gar and Dirk hesitated, but Cort, gaze still rapt on his fairy, said, “You must always do what the Fair Folk command.”
“You must indeed,” she agreed, her voice throaty. She lifted a hand to touch his cheek, and his own hand darted to catch hers, but the featherlight palm was already gone, leaving a print behind that seemed to burn with gentle fire.
“I never argue with laser rifles,” Dirk said. “Especially when they’re pointed at me,” Gar agreed. “All right, then. Thank you, Fair Folk. We’ll be your guests for the night.”
“I just hope it’s a short one,” Dirk said, and followed Gar into the hill.
Cort was almost unaware of their going; he only went with his fairy, by her side, gaze still joined with hers, the blood in his veins singing with hope and desire.
Metal grated on metal. He whirled, hand on his sword, but only saw the door closing—though how strangely it closed! A huge, curved panel slid down from above while another slid upward from below, both flattening as they went until they met in a straight line with a metallic clash.
The touch that stung his blood was light on his hand, and he turned to gaze into Desiree’s face again. “There are many strange and wonderful things in this hill,” she said, her eyes mischievous. “You must not draw your sword at each new encounter.”
“If you say it, lady.” Cort took his hand away. “Only speak to me, and I will notice nothing else.” She laughed, a sound like a springtime brook. “How gallant, sir! Where did you gain such a silver tongue?”
Cort wondered about that, himself. He’d never been much of a man for the ladies before—but then, this wasn’t flirting. He meant every word.
The oldest of the Fair Folk, a man, took a medallion from about his neck and hung it on a velvetlined circular pad, as though it were a diamond on a tray. They were in a vestibule, magical in its decoration. The walls were smoothly curved and intricately patterned in the light of the floating lamps. The floor was carpeted, no design, but thicker and softer than any Cort had ever seen. The chamber was about eight feet square with an eight-foot ceiling.
Something whined behind him. Cort glanced back, marveling as metal spun outward to form a circular door opposite the outer portal. He smiled, the wonder of it all heightening the euphoria he felt as he glanced back at Desiree. She returned his smile, then followed the others through the door and on into the Hill, which meant Cort did, too, behind Dirk and Gar.
The Fair Folk men had to stoop as they came through the inner portal. Desiree followed the rest of the band through the inner door. Cort stepped through, too, and heard the whining again. Turning, he saw metal sliding in from the sides, making the doorway smaller and smaller, like the pupil of an eye in bright light. He shook his head in amazement, then turned to follow Desiree, and stepped into Fairyland indeed. Cort looked about him and caught his breath.
They were surrounded by marble buildings, none more than a story tall, with green grass forming broad lawns about them. The stone was pastel in its swirling patterns, and each house’s walls were pierced with broad windows glinting with glass. Cort had never known panes could be made so large, for not a single window was subdivided. The doorways were intricately carved, the panels bulging in bas-relief sculptures.
Gar and Dirk were tossing meaningless phrases at one another.
“How old is that style of hatch?” Dirk asked. “Iris doors went out of use three hundred years ago,” Gar said, “though my family archives said they were very popular for two centuries before that. I’m amazed it still works.”
“You know too much,” Lavere said sternly, but the duke commanded, his voice no longer sepulchral, “Let them speak. We must know how much they know.”
Dazed, Cort looked about him as they strolled down the street that led from the plaza. Now that his eyes were accustomed to it, he could see that the light really wasn’t as bright as it had seemed at first, but was soft and rosy, from lamps that rose from the roofs of all the houses. Garlands of flowers grew from the lawns, the roofs, the windows, the vines that climbed the corners of the dwellings. The air was warm, and sweet with the perfume of many blossoms. It invited a man to relax, to rest, to dally in love …
His gaze strayed to Desiree again. With a start, he saw she was watching him with a smile of amusement. “What think you of our hill, sir?”
“Wondrous,” Cort told her, “and everywhere beautiful—but nothing so beautiful as yourself.” She lowered her gaze demurely. “I think you praise me overmuch.”
“I speak only truth,” Cort breathed.
She looked up at him, a calculating, weighing gaze, but with a smile that was inviting nonetheless. Then she tossed her head and turned away. “Come, sir! We must attend the duke!”
They went on down the lane, and Cort wondered where the rest of the people were. But he followed Gar and Dirk steadily, even though they were making more of their meaningless noises.
“A domed city,” Dirk was saying, “left over from the colony days. Didn’t the history say the first colonists lived in domes while they were Terraforming the planet?”
“It did,” Gar confirmed. “Apparently not all of them felt the urge for the great outdoors.”
Dirk eyed one of the lamps at the top corner of a house. “Lighted by electricity, and I’ll bet there’s a nuclear generator busily breeding more reaction mass for itself. I hope it’s far underground.”
“It must be,” Gar said, “or the people would show a lot more mutation than they have.”
“Everything we’re seeing could be explained by genetic drift and good nutrition,” Dirk agreed. “I’ll bet each house has a vegetable garden and robots to till it, and the lamp’s emit imitation sunlight while the people sleep.”