“I know,” he said, “but even among my folk, there are those who simply have the talent. I was one, but Ailith…she’ll be much more.”
His eyes went distant.
“For her blood,” he said, in stunned astonishment, “she could be a Master Swordsman.”
So few men truly cared to learn the sword, counting on their numbers more than skill. It was skill, though, that had saved Dorovan’s race.
Just at the thought, at the responsibility of it, his breath caught.
“Like Elon of Aerilann?” Delae asked, startled.
Slowly, he nodded. “Like him. Like his true-friend, Colath.”
Bright shadow to Elon of Aerilann’s dark, with Colath at his side the two elves were legendary for their sword work, Delae knew. Dorovan had mentioned Elon before. Now as advisor to the High King, the new Council and teamed with the human wizard Jareth, they were a force to be reckoned with.
“That good?” Delae said, a little awed.
He nodded.
Slowly he rolled her over onto her back. Even now with silver threaded thickly through the rich fire of her hair, she was lovely to his eyes, he thought as he pierced her. Her eyes and her smile widened as she sighed with pleasure. She wrapped her legs around him as he pressed deep into her.
“I love the feel of you, Delae,” he breathed, stroking into her, shifting his hips to feel every inch.
“Do you?” she whispered, her body shifting to take him.
She wasn’t questioning, wasn’t searching for validation - she simply echoed the emotion in him. She smiled as she always did when he filled her, her body arching as pleasure rushed through her as his own ecstasy emptied into her.
“I love this,” she sighed, trembling.
As did he. She was a delight and a joy to him.
Steel clashed and rang through the forest, the sound oddly musical, especially when done this way, moving from the forms to sparring. It was pure pleasure for Dorovan to do this with Ailith, especially to watch the laughter in her eyes, to see the delight she took in the movement of sword against sword. She had grown, and not just in age, but in skills. It was such a pleasure to watch.
“Watch,” Dorovan cautioned in Elvish and she rolled her eyes, not in consternation, but at herself.
“Forgot,” she said, in the same tongue. “I don’t get to spar with anyone the likes of you much, Dorovan.”
“Hmmm,” he said, amused. “It’s a problem. Don’t get careless Ailith. Ah and your grandmother told me to tell you that you’d best come up to visit her, too.”
There was a hesitation in Ailith’s next stroke that was uncommon in her.
“Speak,” he said, fairly certain he knew what it was that troubled her, “there is nothing you cannot ask me, Ailith.”
“You love Delae,” she said.
He nodded. “More than my life.”
It was no more than the truth, if it came to that.
A breath went out of her. “But it’s not a soul-bond.”
“No,” he said, stepping back and away.
It was too serious a discussion for sparring.
“If I could have that with Delae, I would,” he said with a sigh, “but I can’t.”
He did wish it.
With a nod, Ailith put up her sword, too, to come sit beside him on the rock.
“Because she’s not Elf?”
Dorovan took a breath and shook his head. “No. I can’t explain it. I know what I have with Delae is a true bond, just not a soul-bond although I love her deeply. So it’s not that. With a soul-bond, it’s…different… In what way I don’t know, as I haven’t found mine, it just isn’t. But know this, I love Delae deeply and her company stands in place of that bond.”
“I know,” Ailith said, clearly more at ease.
“And I love you too, little one,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead in a rare show of affection.
She was growing so fast, as all children did, Elf or man. In a way, it pained him. He wished to keep her young, keep her safe. It would be hard to watch her grow old and die as he watched Delae age.
“Thanks, Dorovan,” she said, “I love you, too.”
“I know,” he said, mimicking her tone.
She smiled.
“Forms?” he said and she jumped down from the stone.
They took up position side by side, moving nearly as one, smoothly, from guard to attack, from parry to thrust, in the rhythm of the forms.
Chapter Twelve
Riding to Delae’s homestead, Dorovan had felt an odd…presentiment…a shadow of sorts. Although some Elves had stronger magic, Dorovan knew he had only such as all Elves were born with, the strength and resilience of his body, the empathy of their race, the ability to create Elven lights in the darkness, and a trace of Healing. His own truest magic was in his skill with his swords, in his ability to pass those skills on to others. Like Ailith.
He had no ability to foresee…and yet…
Now he delighted in Delae’s body, in the pleasure she took from him and what he took from her, in her quick responsiveness, in the way her body trembled and quivered. He loved the taste and the feel of her.
The feel of his long silky hair brushing over her stomach as his mouth did wonderful things to her drove all thought from Delae’s mind as heat built within her and her breath came short. Her body went limp, twitching helplessly at the touch of his tongue, his warm mouth on her.
Her hands fell away as her body quivered.
Dorovan surged up, impaling her on him and she cried out, locking around him as she trembled wildly, her body closing around him, stroking him. With a cry of his own he poured into her, shuddering, his body rigid as he emptied himself into her.
It had been true when Ailith had asked it and it was true now. If he could have had a soul-bond with Delae, no matter what race she was, he would have.
Curling around her, he drew her body close to his. So precious to him, this life.
“Ailith is troubled,” Delae said.
Nodding, worried himself, Dorovan said, “You are, too.”
“There’s a darkness…” Delae said.
Startled, he rose on an elbow to look down at her. “Yes. You feel it, too?”
“It’s growing,” she said and shivered.
Dorovan nodded, pulling her close, wishing he could protect her - could protect all of them from what was coming.
“I think even Geric senses it, he’s been acting very strange lately,” she said, curling into the warmth of Dorovan’s long, strong body, running her hands over the muscles of his chest.
Dorovan cradled her against him, wishing he could bring her with him to Talaena where she would be safer, but he couldn’t.
“I gave Ailith the swords,” he said and smiled. “I wish you could have seen her face, Delae.”
The timing had just been wrong, Delae unable to return to the homestead before Ailith had to leave.
Knowing Ailith had the swords was an ease to Delae’s fears. And to her heart.
Named swords.
Rare even among the Elves, as close to unbreakable as Elven magic could make them, they were made with Elven steel, on an Elven forge with Elven magic, usually by the teacher for the student - for an exceptional student and keyed to student and student alone. To be wielded only by them.
Dorovan had told Delae what he intended to do. It was dangerous in a way for him to forge them, dangerous too in giving Ailith Named swords - swords that were bound only to her, forged by him with his own hands - but Dorovan had felt driven to do it, as was true with all Named swords.
Perhaps this had been why.
With a sigh, Delae smiled and said, “I wish I could too but I’m sure she’ll show them to me when I see her next.”
Not that Dorovan hadn’t shown her the swords already, both long and short - and they’d been incredible pieces of art, steel become sculpture and weaponry, beautiful and deadly - but that hadn’t been the point.
They’d both felt stron
gly that now was the time to give them to Ailith. Whatever was coming, they wanted to give Ailith the best chance they could to survive.
Worriedly, restless and heartsick, Dorovan drew Delae close, holding her tightly.
The Alliance and the Agreement had brought them peace for a time, but something loomed over all of them.
Chapter Thirteen
The pounding on the door to the homestead in the night reminded Delae dimly of a fateful night so long before. The night she’d met Dorovan for the first time. She scrambled from her bed, still caught up in the dream-memory as she threw on her robe before running down the hall in her bare feet.
She could almost hear Dorovan chiding from behind her, although he wasn’t there. “Put your shoes on, Delae.”
Her lips curved in half a smile at the memory.
A familiar voice, muffled by the door, with panic and fear running just beneath the calm, cried, “Delae. Wake up. Delae. Hurry.”
Ailith?
Snatching up a lantern, Delae lit it from a twig in the fire and hurried to the door.
“Delae,” the voice shouted. “It’s Ailith. Hurry.”
Ailith? At this hour? And with fear in her voice? What in the world?
Delae wrenched the door opened, to see her granddaughter’s pale face there.
“Ailith,” Delae said, bewildered and half awake as Ailith darted inside. “What are you doing here?”
“Get dressed, Delae,” Ailith begged. “Hurry, there’s no time. I’ll explain as you dress. Quickly, please.”
The urgency and fear got through as Delae looked at her granddaughter’s frightened face and nodded. She hurried into her bedroom, Ailith at her heels.
In that moment Delae knew that the time they’d feared had come.
Darkness was just settling over the Enclave as Dorovan rode into it, the magic of the Veil a soft familiar brush of warmth over his skin, the trees closing around him welcomingly. A sense of urgency had drawn him from Delae’s homestead. To his astonishment, he found every elf-light in the Enclave lit as if all the stars of the sky had been trapped within the Vale. Although there was no clamor, there was a sense of tension riding the empathy, threaded with alarm and concern.
The relief in the First’s voice as Dorovan reached the center of the Enclave was clear.
“Dorovan, you’ve returned! Can you ride out with the Hunters?”
“Of course. What’s happened?” he demanded.
The First shook his head. “None of us have seen anything like it. Salamanders and ogres have come out of the mountains, the Hunters are hard pressed, and we need every sword we can find. Half the upper mountain is ablaze. And you know how many it takes to take an ogre.”
“Are there supplies already among those in the east?”
The First nodded. “Yes.”
Dorovan turned Charis’s head east and leaned into him.
To his shock, it was far worse than what he’d sensed through the empathy. In all his years, not since his childhood during the wizard wars had he seen anything like it. He’d never seen so many ogres. The Hunters took turns racing past them, firing arrows into the massive creatures, while others dodged the fiery breath and whirling eyes of the lizard-like salamanders.
By the time they’d either killed the creatures or driven them off, he’d been exhausted and tumbled into his bedroll.
The rest he sought eluded him. It was a restless terrible night, fraught with pain. The dream sucked at him, drew him down into darkness. It was terrible, that dream, murky and thick, shot through with nightmare images of terrible creatures such as he’d fought that day.
It wasn’t a dream. He felt Delae call and reached for her, closed his arms around her in the dream as horrific images battered at him, as she fought her fear and terror alone, fought for the ones she loved. And for him.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. It was a prayer. She’d been alone for so long.
“No,” he swore, “never.”
If he’d had magic enough he’d have willed himself there to her or willed her to him, to where she would be safe.
Let go, she thought…
In that last moment he could See it - Delae mounted on her horse at the edge of the precipice, her chin lifting as her brilliant hair, streaked with silver, flagged in the breeze. The first light of dawn touched it, turned it to flame one last time.
There was no chance he could reach her in time. None. His heart cried out.
Let go…the thought whispered through him.
No, Delae.
I love you, but I must…
To save them all, to save Ailith, she must. Dorovan knew it, sensed the truth of it run through her.
And so he did.
And so she did, consigning herself to the void. He felt her fall, her hair streaming like a comet around her as she released her terrified horse. It bolted away from the terrible creatures that stood before it and they tumbled into the darkness…
His heart reached for her, sent the words. I love you, Delae.
A mental caress. I love you, too, Dorovan.
It broke his heart.
He felt the impact. Pain exploded through him, drove him up out of sleep, sent him to his knees in the darkness by his bedroll, his hand clutched to his chest. With the shattering of her body, the bond between them shattered, too. He felt her die, felt her spirit take wing, in search of the Summerlands. He bowed over the pain. Friend-of-my-heart. He lost a piece of his own that night and there was no one he could tell.
Delae.
She was gone. Forever.
And he hadn’t been able to help her. Couldn’t save her.
What had happened?
With the bond between them broken, he feared he might never know.
She’d always been so brave…and she had been still…to the very end.
Chapter Fourteen
Time, Dorovan found, didn’t ease the pain of losing a bond, any bond. Delae. Gone she might be - his visits to her and her homestead at an end but he still talked to her, to Delae, feeling her bright spirit alive around him. He knew she’d moved on, passed into the Summerlands but still he talked to her. After so long with her, he didn’t know how to be without her. The bond was broken and there was an emptiness where she once had been.
The loneliness was nearly crushing. Having not felt it for so long and then having it return was nearly more than he could bear.
Especially in these days.
They were beset. Every Enclave faced creatures from the borderland in such numbers as no one could in memory recall ever having faced before.
He rode to exhaustion and fought the same way.
So, he talked to her in his thoughts.
There were those in the Enclave who sensed through the empathy that he was in pain and tried to ease it but he could speak to none of them. There would be too many questions. Some wouldn’t understand - he couldn’t tell them he’d loved her, had loved Delae, one of the race of men. That she’d been a friend-of-his-heart, a true bond and he’d lost her.
In the darkest hours, sometimes though - there is occasionally a light. Her name was Marantha, a Hunter from Alatheriann come to aid them. Something about her lightened him and eased his heart, something that called to him, although he resisted it until one night he dreamed.
Delae looked at him with exasperation and love. “Isn’t this what you waited for so long? Would you deny yourself what you gave me, all those years? This is what I wished for you. I love you, I will always love you. But she will love you, Dorovan, always, as I could not and cannot. Go to her, Dorovan. Go on…”
Pain, grief and sorrow pierced him sharply, the loneliness nearly unbearable. The dream shook him out of sleep, drew him to his feet and sent him questing.
He found Marantha by one of the pools, clearly as unable to sleep as he. She turned to look at him.
In the way of their people she was beautiful to him, her spirit warm. Her hair, as dark and as glossy as a raven’s wing, ran as straight as a
waterfall down her back and shoulders. Her eyes were large and beautiful, as green as new leaves, her skin tawny. She was tall, nearly of a height with him. She could lay her head on his shoulder.
“There is no one else I have spoken to of this but I had a friend-of-my-heart,” Dorovan said abruptly, without preamble. “She was a woman of men. I have never known anyone with so much courage. I lost her.”
If Marantha was his soul-bond, she would understand.
“How long?” Marantha asked, feeling the open wound within him, holding out her hand.
The grief in his eyes tore at her, the pain in him so deep. His words surprised her and the content more, but that loss explained so much.
“Months,” he said, “as men measure it.”
Shocked, pained, she whispered, “Oh, Dorovan.”
That was too long for any to bear such pain alone.
He looked into her emerald eyes as their hands touched, heard the words Marantha offered him and knew this time he could say them. He could speak the truth.
“Tell me,” Marantha said.
And so he did. He told her of Delae, of her fierce courage, of her bright spirit, of her deep and abiding love, of sweet Selah and of Ailith.
When he was finished he looked at her, emptied, and felt his heart at ease for the first time in what seemed an age.
“I hadn’t magic enough to save her,” he said, “there should have been some way.”
Marantha’s fingers slipped between his, in the way of their people, to share his grief and sorrow, to give ease - as Delae had done once long ago, all unknowing. Marantha’s eyes were luminous in the darkness.
In wonder, he reached out to touch her face, seeing strength in her eyes, purpose, joy and more than a touch of courage - to have not fled in the face of what he’d said. He’d loved a woman of man…in the face of all the proscriptions against it. Somewhere in the Summerlands, he knew Delae watched. Her courage had carried to her granddaughter…and that child was the stuff of which legends would be made.
Marantha looked at him. “Come,” she said, gently.
He went.
Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries Boxed Set (The Coming Storm) Page 9