The gnome paused at my chair for a moment, long enough to squeeze my shoulder in sympathy, and then joined the quintet on the lowest level. Oberis inclined his head to the Keeper and looked up to survey the levels above him.
Oberis obviously felt that everyone who was coming was there, as he killed the lights in the uppermost level with a gesture of his hand. All of the electric lights dimmed, and sparks flew from the balefire to light rows of candles on the edge of each level. After a moment, the balefire and the candles provided the only light in the Hall.
“We are gathered here, in this place that stands outside the world, to honor and remember two of our own,” Oberis said softly, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall.
“Dave and Elena Cunningham served me loyally and well for years,” he continued. “It was in this service that they fell. While investigating reports of a vampire cabal in our city, we were betrayed, and Dave and Elena, along with several others, were led into a trap. A devious combination of old and new was used to attack them with cold iron, killing them before they even knew they were under attack.”
The fae lord let silence hang in the Hall for a long time before finally speaking again.
“They died in my service, and there are obligations to be paid,” he said, facing the Cunninghams’ parents. “Any service you would ask,” he told them, his voice even softer than before. “Any Boon I can give. Ask what you will, and it will be done.”
The Cunninghams nodded, bowing slightly in acknowledgement of the debt. Mr. Cunningham stepped forward, cleared his throat and began a clearly prepared speech, reciting memorized words.
“Our children believed from a young age that the gentry had a duty, a responsibility, to help maintain order in our world,” he said slowly. “While no parent believes their child to be truly perfect, Dave and Elena certainly tried their hardest to live up to that belief. All their lives, they were there for those in need, choosing service over themselves.
“Both of them sacrificed so much,” he said sadly. “Neither had much in terms of relationships; few lovers or friends could compete with their steadfast devotion to duty. But they made a difference. Here, and elsewhere where they went on their business, people are alive who otherwise would be dead.
“They spent their lives protecting others, and died doing what they chose to do,” he finished, choking on his tears. His wife didn’t say anything, simply quietly weeping.
Eric stepped forward, glancing around the levels above him and those watching from there.
“We ask anyone with memories of Dave and Elena to share them,” he told the crowd quietly. This was tradition. We saw too many of the realities behind humanity’s myths to really believe in an afterlife. All that remains of us once we pass on is the memories we leave behind.
One of the shifters stepped to the balcony before any of the fae moved, and Eric gestured to him to speak.
“I will never forget the day I met Elena,” the shifter began, his voice rough with emotion. “A rogue hippogriff had just wiped out a small human farm, and I was hunting it through the Rocky Mountains. It surprised me, and I crashed my van. I was wounded and alone, and the beast was hunting me. I thought I was dead, and then Elena arrived. She’d been hunting the same creature, and her timing was perfect. I’d have died that day without her.”
The shifter sat back down, and one of the fae stepped forward, with a story of a fight with vampires in Winnipeg, where he’d stood shoulder to shoulder with Dave.
The stories that followed all had much the same theme. The process made the sibling’s fathers comments about their choice of lifestyle clear—all of them were of people being saved, battles being fought. No stories of jokes, or pranks, or lovers. Just of them as protectors and warriors. That was the life they’d chosen.
Eventually, even those stories died off, leaving only silence. Eric waited a few more moments, to be sure no one else was going to speak up, and then turned to the balefire.
“We commit the bodies of our friends to the eternal fires of the hearth, which shall never go out,” he said loudly. “Let the smoke join the air of the world, let the ashes join the earth of the world, let the fire raise them up and may the water know them. Let them return to the world that birthed them.”
The Keeper nodded to Oberis, who gestured. Slowly, the two stone biers lifted up, carried by his power to the balefire at the heart of the hall. The biers slid into the flame and lowered, the flame wrapping around them and slowly igniting the wrappings around the bodies.
The wrappings were soaked in herbs and spices, obviously, as the scent that came from the burning flesh wasn’t the burnt-pork smell I remembered from the night of the explosion but a mixed scent of woodsmoke and what was probably sage.
The balefire of a faerie hall was hotter than a natural flame, and the bodies of our fallen were consumed quickly. When the last of the scent of sage and slight tinge of burnt pork faded into the clean woodsmoke smell of the fire, Oberis faced the north side of the hall—where the Enforcers sat.
“There is one last thing we must address today,” he said harshly, his voice loud and no longer soft. “Dave and Elena died at the hands of a vampire cabal. The prevention of the arrival of these creatures in our city was part of what was promised as the guarantees for which we conceded authority to the Magus MacDonald under the Covenants of this city.
“Yet a cabal is here,” he continued. “Dave and Elena are the only inhumans we know to have fallen to them, but we know of many human deaths we can attribute to their actions. We know how they arrived. We must assume that, like all feeders, they are hostile to us.
“What we do not know is how this came to pass,” Oberis said grimly, and I didn’t envy Percy having that stone gaze turned on him. “Our Covenants say that the Magus will prevent this. Our Covenants say that the Magus will investigate and destroy any vampire incursion into the city.
“But the cabal is here, and MacDonald has not acted,” he concluded. “Humans are dying, and he has not acted. Our people”—he gestured to the balefire—“have died, and he has not acted. So, we have acted ourselves.”
“And yet, despite the Magus’s lack of action, when investigations into these vampires by an ally of ours—by a signatory to the Covenants—clashed with his Enforcers’ daily operations, those Enforcers murdered Alpha Tarvers, Speaker for the Clans, in cold blood.
“This is not acceptable,” Oberis snarled, and the temperature in the room dropped. Despite the fire in the center of the Hall, and the candles throughout, I shivered at the sudden chill.
“I, like Tarvers Tenerim, signed the Covenants with Magus MacDonald,” Oberis continued coldly. “And I know what was agreed to.”
“So, Enforcer Percy Harrington,” he said, addressing the senior Enforcer, “I have a message for you to bear to your master. As of now, he is on notice that he has violated the Covenants.”
The room was silent. The balefire burned with an occasional pop, but I don’t think the rest of us were even breathing. I know I was holding my breath as I waited for Oberis to continue.
“He has, per the Covenants, five days to respond to this notice,” he finally said. “If we do not see some action by him against the vampires, and some response to the cold-blooded murder of Alpha Tarvers by Enforcers, I will approach the High Court for sanction upon him.”
I swallowed, remembering Niamh’s warning that Oberis would find the High Court unresponsive to his calls for some time. Did he forget so readily what he’d done? Was ordering a man who had aided and helped him beaten to the edge of death such a minor thing to him that he didn’t realize it would cause a clash between him and the High Court?