Beyond World’s End Mercedes Lackey and Rosemary Edghill This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2001 by Mercedes Lackey & Rosemary Edghill All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. A Baen Books Original Baen Publishing Enterprises P.O. Box 1403 Riverdale, NY 10471 www.baen.com ISBN: 0-671-31955-8 Cover art by Stephen Hickman First printing, January 2001 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lackey, Mercedes. Beyond world’s end / by Mercedes Lackey & Rosemary Edghill. p. cm. ISBN 0-671-31955-8 1. Bards and bardism—Fiction. 2. Psychotropic drugs—Fiction. 3. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction. 4. Magicians—Fiction. I. Edghill, Rosemary. II. Title. PS3562.A246 B49 2001 813’.54—dc21 00-046736 Distributed by Simon & Schuster 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH Printed in the United States of America DEDICATION To all the folks at the Arlington Pak-Mail, John Giardi, Amy Bombardieri, Stephanie Cole, and the divine Murphy (woof!), for last-minute copies, shipping, and cold wet noses far beyond the call of duty. And to my esteemed co-authoress, who is as fond of elves as I am. —Rosemary Edghill ALSO IN THIS SERIES Bedlam’s Bard by Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon The Chrome Borne Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon The Otherworld Mercedes Lackey, Mark Shepherd & Holly Lisle “By a knight of ghosts and shadows I summoned am to tourney Ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end Methinks it is no journey.” —Tom O’ Bedlam (traditional) ONE: THE PARTING OF FRIENDS “Are you sure you really want to do this?” Beth asked Eric for roughly the five hundredth time in the past month. As a long-time stranger to big cities, it was hard for Eric to believe that there was anywhere in New York City where she could have been heard without shouting, but this strange little tree-shaded court was somehow as quiet as a desert canyon miles outside of Los Angeles—and just about as hot. It was September, but there was no hint of fall in the air, and the leaves on the slender maples growing in their squares of earth allocated in the sidewalk were still green. Today was one of the shimmering-hot days that persisted well into October here, and the stone of the buildings surrounding them seemed to hold and reflect back every degree of heat. The buildings also shut most of the traffic noise out, making a private oasis in the heart of the city. Beth and Kory—and their motorcycles-cum-elvensteeds—were the only creatures on the street besides Eric. Eric looked up at the old apartment building that was going to be his home for the next year or so, and nodded. “I’m sure,” he replied firmly. “Things couldn’t go on the way they have been—and none of us wanted them to.” Then he grinned. “Besides, you aren’t going to be that far away by Underhill standards. And I’m a fully functional Bard now, remember? I can come visit you any time I want to—or any time you guys are getting stir-crazy.” Beth looked as if she might want to argue that point for a moment; then, instead of saying anything, she just sighed. “You certainly aren’t the same Eric Banyon anymore,” she admitted. “You not only have feck, but you know what machine to buy your clues from,” she said, grinning proudly. “And I brought my own roll of quarters to put in the machine,” Eric shot back, grinning. Earlier this morning, the three of them had packed up the last of their stuff from the friend’s place they’d been crashing at between Faire weekends. The Sterling Forest RenFaire ran every year from July to September at a site about an hour north of New York City. There was even a Nexus there, Elfhame Everforest, the only one on the East Coast, tucked away in the State Park that surrounded the Fairesite. The three of them had been working the Faire together, just like old times. Only this time it was a farewell performance, and they’d all known it. It had added a certain sweetness to the music. But all good things must come to an end. He put down his two bags to hug her. “No worries, pretty lady. I’ll be fine. The kids at Juilliard are already calling me ‘old man,’ and taking bets on who’s going to win the confrontations between me and the administration. Odds are in my favor, by the way.” Classes started on Monday, but he’d already been up to the school several times, for Registration and Orientation. It hadn’t changed much in all the years he’d been away—schools had a lot in common with Underhill in that respect. Beth traded places with Kory, who was not at all ashamed to bestow as hearty a hug on Eric as Beth had. “You do know the way Underhill, if you need to come,” Korendil appealed. There was an unspoken plea in the elf’s emerald-green eyes. “Do not allow pride to keep you from seeking your friends if you need help.” Eric shook his shaggy head; haircuts had not been a priority either Underhill or at the Faire, and he didn’t want to do anything about the length of his mane just yet. “Believe me, Elfhame Everforest is the first place I’ll head for if I get into trouble,” he promised. “Now, you two—go! If you don’t make some tracks, you won’t reach Sterling Forest before sunset, elvensteeds or no elvensteeds, and this is going to be your last Renfaire gig before the baby comes. I think I can manage to move my last two bags into an apartment without help—and take care of myself once I’ve settled in.” They’d been staying with Bonnie and Kit up in Inwood—a comic book writer and a Witch that Beth knew from years ago—while Eric and Beth made the many purchases necessary to turn a rented apartment into a home—and waited the several weeks for delivery of the furniture! Eric wasn’t displeased to have the transition time: living Underhill for an extended period made returning to the World Above a distinct shock. And no place else, in Underhill or the World Above, was quite like New York City. It made even the Chaos Lands seem quiet. Beth paused to hug him once more. “You know, I think you can,” she admitted, looking just a little tearful. “And maybe that’s the scariest part of all. You don’t need us anymore.” There wasn’t any reply he could make to that statement—there was enough truth in it to sting—so Eric didn’t bother to try. Instead, he picked up his bags and moved away from the curb, walking backwards, as Kory and Beth mounted their sleek, exotic motorcycles. A third bike already resided in the tiny parking lot behind the building, and Eric had no fear that anyone was going to steal it. For one thing, they wouldn’t be able to find a starter or a place to hotwire it. For another, she wouldn’t let them. Lady Day was an elvensteed, and could take any form she chose. Eric didn’t really ride her, she carried him; he could go to sleep while riding her and she would get him safely to his destination no matter what the conditions were. She could take any shape he wanted her to—he’d heard that there were even elves in other Elfhames that had elvensteeds the shape of racing cars, though frankly Eric would believe that when he saw it. His mind was already running ahead, into his future here. He preferred her as a motorcycle, and Lady Day preferred to take that form, but as soon as the weather turned, she was going to have to take on the form of a little econobox car, unless he intended to take the subway across town to Juilliard. She wasn’t looking forward to that, and frankly, neither was he, but that was the price he paid for returning to Juilliard—East Coast winters. Maybe I can have her clone a Kia, a Neon or a sporty little Isuzu 4x4 instead. That wouldn’t be too out-of-keeping with my cover story, Eric thought hopefully. It had been so long since he’d had to worry about money at all that he wasn’t too sure he remembered the gory details. I can always say I put the bike in storage for the winter. Nobody at Juilliard is likely to know enough about cars to wonder how I can keep a maintenance hog fuelled and running! Eric paused at the front door of the building for a last look back. Beth and Kory had donned their helmets, and “started” the bikes, thus making further conversation a moot point. The elvensteeds not only knew enough to counterfeit the roar of powerful motorcycle engines, they seemed to enjoy doing so. The two riders, anonymous now in their matching helmets and leathers, pulled neat little reversal moves that got them going in the right direction on the street with an appropriate amount of tire spin and smoke. They waved, and Eric tucked one bag under his arm and freed up a hand to wave back. He kept waving as they roared out of sight. That didn’t take long in the city; they were out of sight as soon as they turned the corner. He evened his load again, and walked soberly up to the door of the building. Home. Sweet home? Well, home is what you make it, I guess. This is as good as any. And a lot better than some. Good thing I’m not on a starving student’s budget. He could have had any apartment in any building in the city, of course: as an adult student, Eric didn’t have the same residence restrictions that the minors and first-year students did at Juilliard, and a fellow with a safety-deposit box full of gold Krugerrands could pretty much afford whatever he wanted. But he’d gone out walking one day when he and Beth and Kory first arrived here, and found the old building as if he’d been drawn to it. It’d had a name once—most old New York apartment buildings were named—but tim...
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