The siren house stood situated among the deeper wooded banks of the River Leith, and was glamoured to appear as a crumbling abandoned mill to avoid attracting human attention. As a precautionary measure, the area was ensconced in siren enchantment which drove any unwary humans to drown themselves in the cold waters. On certain occasions, those unfortunates might be taken as light meals by some of the many visitors to the establishment.
The royal page found his way inside, and clapped his ears closed to avoid exposure to the seductive music which seemed to be emanating from all sides. Having visited the place on numerous occasions, he followed the long corridor which sloped steeply downwards. At the end of it, he reached an enormous hall with a glass domed ceiling. The walls opposite the entrance were made completely of glass and through them, he could see into the dark green expanse of the river's depths. There were frequent flashes of silver as fishes swam by. An impressive gold fountain in the shape of a demon water horse occupied the middle of the hall. Streams of water gushed from the open mouth of the kelpie and collected in the pool surrounding it. A number of beautiful green-haired mer-women perched on the edge of the fountain pool, splashing their gleaming tails and watching him with interest as he passed.
He proceeded into a separate gallery where he knew the inner chambers to be located. A series of closed doors guarded the elite clients' privacy. The brownie timidly made his approach to a particular door adorned with shells and seaweed. Slipping off his cap to mop his sweating forehead, he knocked. In the absence of an answer, he decided to wait awhile before trying again. Fresh in his mind was the incident of being pounced upon by two ferocious mer-women whom he had once disturbed with their favourite patron, Lord Sreng. Hitching up his courage once more, he raised his tiny fist for a second knock. But before he could, the door was opened inward and a woman carelessly draped in a thin white coverlet stepped out. She seemed to be looking about for the source of the interruption; and only after the outside mer-women had alerted her, did she direct her attention down at the small brownie. He immediately sprang into his formal pose and declared, "I come directly at the command of His Majesty, King Bres to deliver a message to Lord Sreng!"
The woman listened with a glint of amusement, then opened the door wider and gestured for him to go inside. He was met with the sight of Lord Sreng stretched naked amidst a jumbled mass of cushions and blankets, with his hands clasped behind his head. Two more green headed females stirred to emerge on his either side. The royal page blushed furiously, kept his eyes glued to the carpet and said, "His Majesty commands your presence at the earliest, My Lord!"
Sreng stretched himself luxuriously and replied, "Tell His Majesty, I will come."
"Yes, My Lord." And the royal page was gone with a pop.
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King Bres shifted restlessly in his seat, listening to his Lord Uncle's rationale for scrapping the brilliant plan that he had concocted to move against the Bethmooran twins. He longed to throw a tantrum in his uncle's face, but there was something familiarly dangerous about him at the moment. He maintained an impersonal, hard demeanour that an unwitting observer would take for calm. However, Bres could feel the cold rage emanating from his uncle, something he had not seen happen in a thousand years. It was perhaps this that made Bres all the more anxious about the current situation.
"We must have all three crown pieces in our possession before we can kill the princess. I agree that it's easier to capture her rather than Nuada, but she guards only one of the pieces. Killing her would mean killing the prince; and there's no point to it unless we have all three pieces in our hands. He has been too obsessed with the crown himself, to give it up so easily. Besides, he will know where we have hidden the princess; that cursed connection of theirs! No! This is not the time to be concerned with the twins. We need to address the matter of the new pawn that has entered into the field. This 'forest child'! Who is she?! Is it the same woman who controlled the forest elemental which the prince let loose within the human city? We need to find her and learn of her powers. Powers that seem more potent than what I command," Alpheus finished, raising his stony electric blue eyes.
Bres gave a low grunt in return.
"You have done well in summoning Sreng for the task. Tell him of the news that Kowannoula brought to us last evening, and ask him to investigate the woman. Do not tell him of the prophecy."
"Should I have him kill her when he finds her?"
"No! Ask him to bring her to me alive. I first need to test her, to determine if she can be of any use to us. Also command him to stay away from Prince Nuada."
"Yes, Lord Uncle."
As if on cue, a guard appeared in the doorway to announce, "Your Majesty, Lord Sreng has arrived!"
"Send him in!"
Sreng entered the king's private chamber and with his most charming smile, bowed to Bres. "You wished to see me, Your Majesty?"
Bres fastened his attention to Sreng's appearance; to his attire of a sky blue tunic, over which he wore silvered elven armour. The Fomorian motif of a lotus with two snakes twined around its base was etched in the centre of his breastplate. A sharpened scythe in a bronze sheath hung at his waist. The long braid of his midnight blue hair was slung over one shoulder.
Bres was instantly revived at the sight of the handsome faoladh. It was a pity that he would be sending him so far away from him because of that loathsome Bethmooran prince.
"I did. I am in need of your services."
"Of course, Your Majesty. Are the dwarves on the Aberdeen coast fomenting revolt, again? I'm near bored of wolfing down their young," Sreng answered, with an unconscious licking of his front teeth.
Bres almost smacked his lips at the sight.
Lord Alpheus coughed, wishing to introduce the subject of most urgency. "No. It is something more important."
"Ah yes. Uncle's right. I need you to go to the city of New York in the country of America in the New World," Bres revealed.
"Shall I spy on Prince Nuada? I heard he has come out of exile, massacred a hall full of humans to attain a piece of the Golden Crown, and then did murder King Balor."
"You've already heard? How?!" Bres was openly impressed. Lord Alpheus remained stoic, giving nothing away.
"It is worthwhile," replied Sreng, "to spend time at the siren house on Leith...much news floats in via the oceans."
Lord Alpheus again cleared his throat. Taking his cue, Bres launched into the recitation of his commands.
"You are to avoid Prince Nuada for the present. We...that is...I am interested in the latest rumour that has come to me. Nuada supposedly unleashed a forest elemental to cause havoc in a populous human city. It is however, curious that the forest god was afterwards shrunk; minimized by an apparent human woman. Kowannoula claims to have himself seen this event, but it sounds too incredible to be true. I also suspect that she might be linked, or familiar with Prince Nuada. Find the truth of the matter immediately! And if it be as reported, find me the woman. Use force as necessary, but do not kill her, as she might prove useful to us."
Sreng took a moment to digest the stream of new information.
"I have acquired these for you," said Lord Alpheus, handing a velvet drawstring pouch to Sreng.
From the pouch, Sreng removed five walnut sized balls of gold, each covered with rune etchings. He smiled darkly, realizing that each globe contained a gwyllgi. Those giant Welsh demonic hounds which had been captured and imprisoned by the sorcery of Alpheus. Over years long past, Sreng had been training them to obey his commands, but he had never been allowed to take them outside the dungeons. The full gravity of his mission was beginning to dawn.
"And do confirm the death of the old King Balor, and the circumstances," added Lord Alpheus.
Sreng nodded and assured, "I will carry out your commands at the earliest."
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Sreng stood impatiently at the mouth of a crumbling archway somewhere in the veiled tunnels of old Edinburgh. An ancient, shrivelled troll woman adjusted her thick spectacles on her ugly nose as she searched among thick reams of parchment, to find the right map that would lead her customer to the gates of New York City in the New World. As warden of the Drifting Gates in the city of Edinburgh, it was she who manoeuvred the magical portals that could transport a fae to any above ground point in the world. To reach underground and underwater locations, one had to seek out Frigga, the hag who lived on the wild moors of the Shetland island.
"Here we are, dearie!" cooed the troll. "Step into the doorway."
Sreng took his place as instructed and watched the woman chanting over what looked like a complicated combination of a star chart and nautical map. Soon, runes on the map glowed red and lifted off the surface of the parchment. They hung in mid-air like strangely glowing neon letters before drifting up to the top of the archway. Sreng's eyes followed the runes' progress until they had collected to float above his head. In the next moment, he felt a tug around his mid-torso and was pulled away, his feet leaving the ground as he plunged through a maddening whirlwind of shapes and colours. He was about to close his eyes to shut out the chaos, when he felt his feet slam down on a solid surface. He stumbled forward on impact, and opened his eyes to the sight of the flat concrete on which he had landed. A cacophony of blaring noises and bright swirling colours surrounded him. Bombarded by the medley of sights, sounds and ceaseless streams of pedestrians, Lord Sreng found himself standing in the centre of Times Square, New York City!
The street ahead was lined with a series of corporate buildings and theatres, hung with massive lit billboards flashing competing vistas of blinding colours. Innumerable people thronged the streets, along with a continuously honking gridlock of personal cars and yellow cabs. This was definitely nothing like the quiet streets of Edinburgh city.
As he stepped forward into the mass of humans, he received many appreciative glances from all around him. Smirking, he checked his distorted glamoured reflection in the windows of a shiny black limousine. He now appeared wearing a grey trench coat over a crisp black suit which had been copied from a billboard advertisement of something called the 'Westwood Winter Collection'. His hair was glamoured to look tied in a simple ponytail; he loathed his appearance in short hair.
He came across a large electronics store which displayed rows of televisions in its front window. The same news item video footage was being broadcast on all screens. Sreng intently watched the scene of what he knew to be a massive tree god, as it wreaked serious destruction of structures, and human fatalities. Also shown was the running form of a large red demonic man, armed with a gun. It showed too, a related scene of a dark haired woman standing in defence of the red demon, surrounded by a throng of angry humans. He watched her burst unharmed into flames and the crowd recoiling away. He made note of the logo of the B.P.R.D on the woman's apparel. Next, a blue man-creature had appeared. The series of scenes ended; the screens then filled with only the image of a single suited human, reading from a script.
He left the store, and wending his way through the masses, he found what he was looking for and turned into a darkened alley. There, a wizened homeless man was sitting on a mass of rags, snuggling a purring cat and holding it close to his mouth as if about to kiss it. Instead his jaws opened unnaturally wide and he pushed in the cat and chomped on it with a look of great relish, his eyes closing in pleasure.
"Good dinner, aye, mate?" Sreng hailed, reaching the man's side.
The man jumped, caught off guard by Sreng, who swiped away his glamour with a flourish of his hands. The male fraggelwump continued to stare at his military attire and wolfish mannerisms.
"What d'ya want?" he asked suspiciously.
"Point me to the nearest entrance that will admit me to the Troll Market."
The fraggelwump pointed to a manhole a few feet away and said, "Follow the signs and it'll lead you along to the market."
Without another word or thanks, Sreng strode to the manhole, lifted off the iron cover and dropped down through it. He followed the winding and branching tunnels easily, since they were lit by green orbs that floated above his head, lightly bumping on the ceiling. If one knew where to look and what to look for, one would find travelling through fae tunnels a rather simple expedition; much easier than navigating human built streets. And so, within a reasonable period of walking, Sreng found the centre of a very busy market place.
The Troll Market of New York City was well known for its mighty assortment of fae citizens who came from all around the world to trade there. He stood awhile, studying the appearance of creatures that he had only heard of or seen in paintings. He found himself staring lustily at two ladies dressed in richly decorated kimonos which exposed much of their voluptuous bosoms. Their faces were covered by elaborately painted masks, and their lustrous black hair flowed down their backs. Seeming to notice his appreciation, they raised their masks to reveal not humanoid features, but fish heads. "Yokais of Japan!" Sreng thought to himself. To avoid unwanted social contact, he quickly darted through the crowd and walked the streets to find likely fellows who might spill the gossip wafting through the city's fae community.
Locating a group of burly red nosed dwarves, he made his approach and said, "Which of you lads can point me to the best tavern in the market? Free pints as reward!" He sealed the offer with a hearty wink. The dwarves eagerly took up his invitation and led the way through the haggling mass.
"You're not from here, are you? You wear the mark of King Bres," remarked an older dwarf, staring pointedly at the insignia on his armour.
"Aye."
"Come to see if it's all true, eh?" asked another. "The market's been in an uproar ever since Prince Nuada came out of his exile. Slew old King Balor. He'd been looking dreadful for centuries, prol'ly did him a favour if yeh ask me."
They had reached a pub with dirt streaked windows and a lopsided wooden sign advertising the name of 'Troll's Toes' hung from a hook over the door. The party found themselves a free table and one of the dwarves ordered a round of strong ale.
Sreng allowed the party to finish their second round of drinks before probing further.
"Why did Prince Nuada commit this slaying?" Sreng asked the bleary eyed dwarf on his right.
"The king ordered him to death after he'd let loose crates of tooth-faeries upon some humans and killed 'em all. Took out all the vulture guards on his own, and that too being weaponless and all."
"Is it true he unleashed a forest god?"
"Ye-hic!-ss. Made the poor humans squeal in terror and run for their lives."
"Did you see the woman who made it shrink away?"
"Naw. I only heard that it disappeared on its own. Though there was a woman with the prince few days back, in the market."
"A woman? A human woman?"
"Yah! Dreadful looking, with emerald green eyes and filthy hair. Odega, over there, lashed the poor thing with his whip," the dwarf said, pointing out a large ram-headed fellow who was drinking from a bucket-sized tankard.
Leaving the dwarves with their pints, he went up to the ominously featured Odega.
"Awrite, friend," Sreng greeted.
"Who're you?"
Sreng ignored the question and instead asked, "I heard tell you struck a human that was in company with Prince Nuada. True?"
Annoyed at the intrusion, Odega focused harder on the wolf man. "Whipped her," he corrected. "Yeah...why?"
"Have you used your whip thereafter?"
"No...why?"
"I would examine it."
"Huh?"
"Show me your whip. I won't run off with it," Sreng promised, grinning.
Odega shrugged, detached the whip from his belt and passed it to Sreng; who took the coiled leather and brought it up close against his nostrils. He inhaled a deep whiff and made his analysis - mostly tanned alligator hide with strong hints of herbal and floral scent. He breathed in the strange aroma once more, memorising it.
Handing the whip back, he asked, "Where was the last place you saw her?"
"Near Master Romeran's dwelling. I saw the prince taking her there."
Sreng left the pub immediately. He did not bother to pay for his or the dwarves' drinks. Questioning some fae traders along the way, he found them willing to take him outside Romeran's respectable looking residence. Once there, he gathered handfuls of dirt to investigate. His unerring wolf senses detected the scent he was seeking out. He narrowed his eyes as he discovered the path of the scent leading away from the place and back into the market. He followed the track, as it would most definitely lead him to the mysterious woman whom Prince Nuada had deemed valuable enough to keep alive. She had to be the one sought by his king
The scent trailed into a tunnel, and he followed until he came upon an exit which led him to the edge of a wood. Bending close to the ground, he searched again for the scent which directed him along a dark path leading into the woods. He kept every sense heightened to pick up on possible threats.
He found the smell of the mysterious woman strongest near a clearing, as if she had remained there for some time and had bled on the very spot. It was odd to see this patch of cleared land among the cluster of trees standing around it. Sensing magic and concealment in the vacant innocence of the place, he dipped his hand into the folds of his sash and withdrew a glittering, powdery substance. Chanting under his breath, he threw the powder into the air. A gust of wind carried the glittering particles higher, but as they dispersed into a scattering, they seemed to collide with some invisible barrier, and with each contact, a tiny spark ignited.
Sreng understood the significance of this occurrence. This was a protected fae dwelling, and he would not be able to enter it without the owner's permission. He lightly sprang up onto a sturdy branch of a well placed tree and prepared himself to spy, and wait.
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