THE CHOOSING

by PhyllisAnn Welsh

  The Sea Elves might be preparing for the fight of their lives with their cousins, the Night Elves, but Rendolin knew deep within himself that this was where he should be. Where Korrene and he were needed to spearhead the god’s plan of a new silvan race.

  With Mac Lir’s help, he would find Captain Feenix and the attack would go forward. They would be successful, and his children would be free to run and play on this pristine beach. This House would shelter and comfort unnumbered elves in the future, just as it had in the past.

  However, it would not come to pass without Rendolin doing his duty. He would prepare himself for tonight. He had a growing sense that this evening he would finally make contact, and Feenix would be well. Tonight, some of the answers would be made known to him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Feenix came awake without moving a muscle. Years of military experience, coupled with surviving on the streets of Port Marcus, allowed her to clear her mind of any residual dream. She didn’t know what small noise woke her from her exhausted sleep, but her killer instincts were all active and screaming for attention.

  She opened her eyes and peered around the dark room.

  The small cot on the other side of the room was empty, as was the stool beside her bed. She was alone. Had it been the closing of the door that had alerted her? She didn’t think so, and she remained still as she sent her senses questing into the room.

  Her ears detected nothing; her eyes caught no movement; her reflexes did not tell her to move quickly. Except for a faint trace of rosemary overlaying the constant musty smell of mold permeating everything in Cragimore, all was as it should be.

  Yet she knew something important had disturbed her sleep.

  Slowly, as if moving in her sleep, she turned to her side to get a more complete view of the room. She sucked in a breath to keep a moan of pain from escaping, but that too would be part of a sleeping woman’s act.

  “Feenix, can you hear me?”

  She stopped breathing, listening hard to the voice that seemed to come from within her head. She could almost taste the rosemary herb at the back of her throat. Was she dreaming?

  “Feenix, wake up. We must talk.”

  “By Mac Lir’s beard, who are you?”

  Her whispered question barely carried to the foot of the bed. If the person was in the room, they could not hear the words.

  “The god be praised,” the voice answered. “You can hear me.”

  Feenix sat up and looked around the room.

  “I hear you, but where are you? Rendolin? Is that you? How did you get here? Where’s the army? Are you attacking? How in Mac Lir’s blue ocean did you find me? And why are you talking in my brain?”

  Her questions tumbled out of her like coins from a sliced pouch. She didn’t know how Rendolin Hiloris, High Priest of Mac Lir, was able to speak to her from seemingly inside her head, but he was, and she wanted to know what had taken him so long to find her.

  “Hold, Feenix! Be still, woman! By Mac Lir’s ears, you don’t need to yell!”

  “Yell? You sorry excuse for a high priest,” she whispered into the night, “I’ll yell! Why didn’t you leave my gear on the beach like we agreed? Do you know that, thanks to you, I’ve been made a slave of the Night Elves? I’ve been whipped and insulted and didn’t even have a dull knife on me to prevent it. When I get out of here, elf, I’m going to kill you and your brother for this!”

  “You are what?” Rendolin’s voice asked inside her head. She barely had time to register the elf’s surprise before he continued. “This could not be better, captain! You are in a position to learn our enemies’ secrets from within!”

  “What are you talking about? Get me the hell out of here! Now! And you better explain real fast why you can talk to me and not even be here. I suppose it’s one of your filthy magic spells, isn’t it? Why is it you elfin types all think you can cast spells on me whenever you want?”

  In her agitation, she had thrown the covers from her and had begun to pace the room.

  “Calm yourself, Feenix. The spell is tenuous at best, and all your distress is distracting me. Silence, and listen to me.”

  She threw herself down on the edge of the bed and muttered, “This better be good, elf. I’m getting tired of being the object of elfin spells. When I get done with this war, I’m going to find a sorcerer who will get me some spell protection!”

  She could feel him take a mental breath to calm himself. She had watched him cast spells long enough to know he was taking cleansing breaths which would allow him to deepen the spell. She wondered briefly who was monitoring his body while he was in the trance, but his voice broke into her thoughts.

  “First, where are you? Answer slowly and quietly. You do not need to speak aloud for me to hear you while we are linked.”

  “I don’t like all this spell casting, priesthood stuff, Rendolin, and well you know it! Just get me out of here.”

  “Answer the question, captain. That is an order.”

  Damn. Since he put it that way, she would have to obey. She was, after all, the captain of his personal guard. Even if he was ten leagues or more away, as a mercenary she had pledged her sword and service to him. His people depended upon her leadership skills, and Rendolin and his brother Thelorin were counting on her to lead their army against the Night Elves.

  But more than that, he paid her bills.

  “I was captured on the beach when I came ashore after the Change. I’m a prisoner in Cragimore.”

  She could feel his excitement, and the control he used to dampen his distraction.

  “Can you tell me where the entrance to Cragimore lies?”

  “No. The prince cast a spell on me. He also blindfolded me so I wouldn’t be able to see. Of course, if I had my weapons, he would be dead right now.”

  “Peace, woman. What prince?”

  She felt herself blush in the darkness of the room. Fool woman, she thought, why should she blush at the mere mention of his name?

  “Apparently, my captor isn’t just some common elfin scum. His name is L’Garn and he claims to be the Prince of the House of Meedrion.”

  “Meedrion?”

  She felt his shock.

  “The House of Meedrion. That’s what he said. Does it have some significance?”

  Rendolin’s voice was quiet, and she was beginning to think she had lost contact with him before he spoke again.

  “Feenix, are you able to move around, or do they hold you prisoner in a cell or chained somewhere?”

  “For now, I’m free to move around the room, but I don’t know about the rest of the place. I have a disgusting metal collar around my neck, but they haven’t chained me to the wall again. I was whipped, as I said, and have been sick. Apparently a fever set in. How long have I been in this hole?”

  “A fever. Yes, I detected some infection and knew something was wrong. The reason it took so long to establish a link with you is because you were unconscious. And, too, the communion spell is not as effective when combined with a Transit Healing.”

  “I don’t need all that magic mumbo jumbo, Rendolin! Just tell me how long I’ve been here!” Feenix didn’t know if she could hold on to her temper much longer. She wished the High Priest would just answer her questions without all the extra commentary.

  “You have been gone for three days. Not counting the day you returned to the beach.”

  That confirmed what L’Garn had told her. She was surprised at herself for being pleased that the elf-man hadn’t lied.

  That didn’t mean he could be trusted, she reminded herself, so don’t get all misty and weak in the knees.

  “What of the war?” she resumed her interrogation of the Sea Elf. “We are supposed to attack within the week. You have to get me out of here so I can lead the army.”

  “Even if you escaped today, you are too weakened to lead the army against the Night Elves. No, Captain Feenix. It is best you stay there. Mac Lir had you captured for a grand purpose, I am sure.”

  Sh
e jumped up from the bed and stormed across the room, ignoring the pain in her back.

  “Do you mean to tell me that god arranged this little side trip? I might have known! Were you in on the plans, too, elf? Is that why my gear wasn’t on the beach for me?” She was so angry she forgot she didn’t need to speak out loud.

  “Peace, Feenix. The spell is wavering.”

  “I don’t give a damn about your blasted spell! Get me out of here! They plan to turn me into a household slave! Can you see me scrubbing floors or serving food to some demon scum of an elf?”

  “I can not hold it much longer...do what you can to survive...”

  The fragrance of rosemary was dwindling along with Rendolin’s words.

  “I will contact you again soon. In the meantime, Feenix, learn all you can about our enemy’s stronghold. The god knows best. With you in the Night Elves’ camp, we...”

  Rendolin’s voice faded away, and she was left standing in the middle of the dark room with nothing but her impotent fury and a feeling of deep loss.

  How dare they leave her here alone? Didn’t they know who she was? They couldn’t possibly win the war without her. She had to escape as soon as she could. She needed a plan.

  Without any warning, her body betrayed her with a wave of exhaustion that almost buckled her legs beneath her. She caught herself on the side of the table, knocking over the delicate crystal goblet. She watched in dismay as it rolled off the edge and smashed into hundreds of glistening shards against the stone floor. A feeling of dread blossomed inside her stomach.

  She had watched L’Garn handle the glass with respect and care for the past few days. He had never said anything about it, but his very actions told her it was a possession he valued highly. She hated the thought of him finding it smashed into so many pieces on the floor.

  She looked around her as if to find something to clean up the mess in clear sight. Nothing. By the god’s right toe, what was she to do now?

  Another wave of weariness washed over her, draining her like a day-long battle in the hot sun. All thoughts of escape, Rendolin, and future plans were replaced by the desperate need to climb back into bed and sleep. But first, she had to do something about the glass all over the floor.

  She sank to her knees and began picking up the largest pieces of crystal. It wasn’t an easy task since the goblet had shattered into tiny pieces. The largest was about the size of her finger. And where was she going to stash the tell-tale evidence if she did manage to pick all the pieces up?

  “Mac Lir,” she grumbled as she worked, “I’ll bet you’re laughing your miserable beard off while I stumble around getting into more and more trouble! It was a sorry day for me when you saved my life!”

  She swept the floor with the side of her palm, gently brushing the pieces into a tidy pile. Tiny slivers of glass pricked her skin, but she ignored the discomfort. She had to finish this task before she dropped from tiredness.

  How could these people live without any decent light, she wanted to know? Didn’t they believe in candles, or torches? How was a person expected to see what they were doing in the dark? The only reason she was doing as well as she was at finding the glass was because the floor had that strange stuff along the walls that gave off a faint glow. She sure wished she had a good torch right about now.

  “What have you done?”

  Lala’s screech startled Feenix so badly, she jumped and sliced her palm open on one of the larger pieces of glass.

  “Don’t scream like that,” she yelled at the old slave. “You almost scared me witless! Now look what I’ve done,” she said as she held up her hand and blood ran down her wrist. “I just get to feeling better over one set of wounds, and you go and give me a whole new batch!”

  She tried to get up from her kneeling position on the floor, but found she had no strength left to do more than wilt against the leg of the table.

  “You foolish human,” the slave fussed as she dabbed at Feenix’s hand. The cut wasn’t very serious, but all the little bits of glass slivers in the side of her hand, combined with the new cut, caused her to suck in her breath in pain.

  “How did you manage to do this? What are you doing out of bed?” Lala asked in a stern tone, as she picked slivers from Feenix’s hand. “You should be sleeping.”

  “By the god’s left toe, don’t fuss,” Feenix ordered weakly. “Help me get back to bed and I’ll gladly go to sleep.”

  The old slave helped the warrior woman back to bed, tucked her in, and then proceeded to clean up the broken glass.

  “His highness will not be pleased at this, oh, no he will not,” she mumbled as she swept up the mess. “And who will be to blame, I ask? Lala, that is who,” she answered for herself.

  Feenix barely heard the elf as she worked. Her thoughts were on Rendolin and the god leaving her in the hands of the enemy, and how she was going to get herself out of this latest bit of trouble. The last thing she remembered before drifting off to sleep was L’Garn entering, speaking quietly with Lala and then smoothing the blanket across Feenix’s shoulders.

  Why would he do that?

  But her weary brain refused to find an answer before succumbing to sleep.

  ~*~

  When she awoke again, Lala was waiting for her, along with two other female slaves. Together, the three of them convinced Feenix it would be in her best interest to cooperate with them. She ate in silence, pondering Rendolin’s words and trying to decide the best course of action for her.

  Clearly, she was in no state to fight her way free of Cragimore, even if she happened upon a sword. And, too, now that she had time to ponder Rendolin’s plan, the idea to gather as much information about the inside of the enemy’s camp and its workings, if possible, was a wise and sound one. Perhaps it was the best thing all around to go along with Lala and her master, just to get a feel of the place.

  While Feenix ate, Lala used the time to begin teaching her some of the things she needed to know in order to survive life as a slave to the Night Elves.

  “Whenever a Night Elf gives you an order, you are to obey, quickly and without question. Once you have worked off the loss of Prince L’Garn’s goblet, you will be allowed one half night to yourself to use how you will, as long as you remain within the slave compound.”

  “Was the goblet special?” she asked, remembering the way he had touched it.

  “It was a gift from his mother, and priceless.”

  Why should she feel so bad about breaking her captor’s goblet? She covered her embarrassment, ignoring the subject of the broken cup with her usual bombastic nature.

  “How thoughtful of them to give us a half day all to ourselves.”

  “You will do well to keep that sarcastic tongue in your head, Teela. And we count time by nights here in Cragimore, not days.”

  “My name is Feenix.” She was beginning to lose her patience with the old slave and this sorry excuse for breakfast. “What is this stuff I’m eating?” She grimaced as she spooned an unappetizing globule back into the bowl. “And what in the god’s blue ocean are those chunky green things?”

  “That is korsh. You will become used to it after eating it every night for breakfast.”

  “Korsh?” She took a tentative whiff and stirred the gray-brown mass once. “What’s it got in it? It looks like something a raw recruit would puke up his first trip to a tavern. And it smells like wet dog hair.”

  Lala finished straightening the bed and made a disapproving face before answering the warrior woman. “It is full of things that will keep you healthy and strong. That is all you need know.”

  “I need to know more than that, if you expect me to eat this slop every day.” Feenix pushed the bowl away.

  “You will soon wish you had eaten everything, Teela. But I see you are the type that will have to learn from experience. So be it. As I was saying,” Lala continued as she tidied around the room, “you are not allowed outside the compound, unless you are under orders from a master. Also, if you wish to keep
that long hair,” Lala warned her, “you will be wise to keep it in a braid.”

  Since Feenix usually kept her hair in a long plait down her back anyway, she made no comment. Why argue with someone when they wanted you to do something you normally did?

  She was more interested in finding out the lay of the land, so to speak. How could she get Lala to tell her what she needed to know? Like, how could she get out of this dark hole and where were the weapons kept...and when would L’Garn make another appearance?

  “So, what is the first thing we’re doing today? Am I going to the kitchens to learn how to cook, or to the laundry to wash these lovely garments?” She spread the hem of her gray gown out with both hands, as if to display the glories of the garment. The movement sent a dull ache through her back, but the pain was bearable this day.

  The two young slaves that had come in with Lala looked at Feenix as if she had just uttered the vilest sacrilege. One actually looked behind her as if she expected to be hit for merely being in the same room with Feenix.

  “You will soon lose that biting tongue, Teela, if you survive the caverns.” Lala’s voice was reprimanding, but Feenix thought she heard a trace of something else in the elf’s voice. Could it be that the head slave was not as tame and obedient as she would have them all believe?

  “Well, if it isn’t to be the kitchen or laundry,” she said with a saucy grin, “why don’t you take me outside so we can pick some flowers for the prince’s dinner table?”

  One of the young slaves actually threw her hands over her head and hid her face in her elbows. By the god’s left toe, these females were pitiful excuses for the sex. Where was their pride, their backbone?

  “You will cease speaking such nonsense, Teela, or I will be forced to punish you.”

  “You don’t have the nerve for it, Lala,” Feenix told her, looking the old elf in the eyes. Again she noticed the odd coloration and depth of expression in Lala’s gaze. Why did they seem so strange?

  “Are you asking for another whipping, Teela?”