by Lee Dunning
Thanks to W’rath’s earlier psionic attack, not much else lived to cause them trouble. The Sky Elf, Lady Swiftbrook, had taken charge of the casters, and they had turned their attention to the pulsing sore of a portal, which continued to spew out devils, even as others of their ilk fell to the weapons of the First Born.
The Sky Elves and several First Born had begun to tap their magical talent, engulfing the portal in a kaleidoscope of power. Like any pure-blood Shadow Elf, Raven had never had any affinity for magic. Now that Linden was a part of her she felt its pull. It suddenly felt natural and made sense to her.
She noticed W’rath scrutinizing her. “I think I can cast magic,” she whispered to him.
“And you’re thinking you should help them,” he finished for her.
“Every little bit …”
W’rath shook his head. “Believe me when I tell you this: No matter your good intentions, the minute the others notice you casting, they’ll see you as an enemy, no better than these devils.”
“Because of Umbral,” she sighed.
W’rath chuckled. “Don’t despair, lass. You can still put your new gift to work—we’ll just have to be circumspect. Help me so I can stand with the casters. I’m going to augment their power in order to overload that gateway. Without your assistance what I plan to do will most likely kill me.”
W’rath smiled at Raven’s look of alarm. “Don’t worry, you’re strong, and with your power we’ll get through this. You can already feel the tug of the magic. Don’t resist it. However, once you start to see it flow from you, impose your will upon it. Most casters do this through chants and rituals, but in truth you can apply what you know of psionics to the same end. The magic doesn’t care about the method used. It just needs direction.”
Raven’s eyes narrowed. “You seem to know an awful lot about such things.”
W’rath gave a weak shrug. “Many of our people make a study of magic despite our inability to use it. We often have to fight against it, and it helps to understand its workings and its limits.”
“I didn’t know it had any limits.”
“So you do know more than you let on, clever child. You are so very right. The limits lie with the individual using it. Most people find that channeling power in a certain manner suits them. Your friend …”
“Linden.”
“My pardon. Linden, as a First Born, most likely had an easier time with fire magic, or perhaps earth magic. It’s all the same magic, it’s just how it manifests for that person. Lady Swiftbrook likes lightning.”
“So does that mean I’ll have an affinity for fire like Linden?”
“Possibly, but I doubt it. He’s opened the door for you, but yours is the dominant personality in your relationship. The magic shall most likely manifest more in line with your character. This spot will do nicely.”
So what now? Raven mused. All around them raw energy made the air vibrate. It felt alive to her, far more real than it ever had. The elves around her staggered, their clothing soaked in sweat, their hair clinging to them in dank tendrils. They couldn’t continue slinging magic much longer. They’d start collapsing from exhaustion and then the First Born would find themselves on their own, trying to fight back the horde attempting to breach the doorway.
“What do I need to do?”
“Why, my dear, whatever comes natural to you.”
“That’s not any help!”
W’rath winked at her. “I have the utmost faith in you. When the time comes, you’ll know exactly what to do.”
With that he went from sagging, nearly limp invalid, to a great, bristling pillar of energy. She almost lost her grip on him, so shocking his transformation. His eyes flared into blinding spheres of light and his mouth twisted into a rictus of determination. Gods! Did I look like that?
The other elves fell back, some nearly losing their concentration, but the group magic held and then strengthened as the searing energy of the small Shadow Elf male melded with it. A roar of excitement went up from the First Born as the portal shuddered. The devils went into a frenzy, but the First Born threw themselves into the fray with renewed vigor.
Raven felt W’rath’s skin grow hot. She hissed as her hands blistered from the radiant heat. Surely that signaled it was time for her to do her part, but what exactly did that mean? Panic threatened to rise in her again. This day had been too much. Too much pain. Too much loss. Linden had given everything as had so many others. And now—this strange newcomer. When he’d entered her mind, she had felt darkness and anger and a terrible past. Yet he had entrusted his life to her, to use a power newly born to her.
He had said to simply allow it to flow, not resist its pull, and so, she willed herself to relinquish her reign on it. It proved easier than she’d expected, and it poured from her like life blood. But it spilled away without direction, wasted and she snarled in frustration. She had to guide it, mold it to her need. But how?
The others around her had practiced their craft for centuries. She had only sensed she could touch magic less than an hour ago. Gods! Linden, how did you shape your magic?
In response to her need, the magic pulled in, warmed her and took on the appearance of embers. She felt its structure, its ability to both protect and destroy. Of the two, protection most closely resembled what she wanted, but it wouldn’t provide the healing she needed to channel. I need life. Life is wild and growing.
The embers shimmered and reformed into green leaves. The air around the two filled with the scent of moist earth and plants. Yes!
She wrapped her arms around the quickly-fading male. From deep in her chest, Raven pulled upon her will and directed it at the magic and her target. Live! A great rush like a river filled Raven’s ears. The scent of evergreen grew impossibly strong.
With a triumphant roar, W’rath came alive in her arms and a massive surge of power erupted from him. Everyone, elves and devils alike, were thrown to the ground. The pulsating portal shattered into a million motes of light, the screams of those trapped on either side echoing through the air. Ears and noses bled, and consciousness was ripped from every soul in the glade.
Chapter 4
Raven woke to the cry of seagulls. She’d only heard them once before, when she had traveled to the coast to watch Elven ships leaving the mainland for the winter. How she’d ached to board one of those vessels. The seagull’s cries had seemed to echo her need.
She opened her eyes and blinked back tears brought on by the intense sunlight. So bright.
“You don’t do anything by half measures do you, lass?” came a now familiar voice.
Raven pushed herself up. She sat on the deck of a ship. Someone had found a cloak and draped it over her. She pulled it close, it’s crimson fabric reminiscent of the butterflies that had swarmed about her … when? It felt like a lifetime ago. How had they even arrived on this ship? “What do you mean?” she said to W’rath.
“You pushed nearly your entire life force into me.”
Raven leaned back against a crate and shut her eyes. She did feel weak. Her arms trembled from the little bit of effort she’d expended to sit up. “I panicked. You were dying and I had no idea what to do. You didn’t exactly give me much in the way of instructions.”
“I can teach you how to fight, how to sneak, how to slit throats or to target a kidney, but handling your gift,” he said, eyeing those moving about the ship, choosing his words carefully, “is a personal affair. You own it now. You’re a healer. A protector. You’re the first paladin of our people.”
Raven gave a bitter laugh. “Paladins represent a god. I think I’m the only elf who believes in gods.”
W’rath made a face. “Gods. There are no gods. Mind you, I find this ancestor worship most elves embrace just as ridiculous.”
Raven’s eyes widened. She’d been scorned for her belief system before, but she’d never heard anyone so bluntly disparage the practice of venerating the first elves. Emulating the honorable manner in which the First conducted himself
remained first among the tenants taught to young surface born elves. Even the Exiles spoke of the First and his contemporaries in hushed tones. Only Umbral did they dare curse openly. They blamed him for all of their woes. And the males of their people suffered for his sins. “How can you call me a paladin if you yourself don’t believe in anything?”
“A paladin doesn’t have to represent a god,” W’rath said. “She can champion an ideal—help restore her people’s pride.” He pulled out a collar, like the one she'd seen on the Shadow Elf male, from some hidden spot in his kilt, and placed it between them.
Tentatively, Raven touched the hated thing. She could sense the magic within it. It’s malignancy conjured up the image of the male’s panicked face as he’d raced to his doom. She turned her attention back to W’rath and tried to read his motives, but her empathic abilities were gone, burned out by her brief, fiery, psionic overload. She hadn’t realized how much she relied on her talent to guide her when dealing with others, so it came as a surprise when she saw his inscrutable expression suddenly transform into one of true fear.
She peered over her shoulder where his gaze fell. Lady Swiftbrook stood there conversing with an enormous First Born clad in red and gold plate mail. He had turned to regard the two Shadow Elves. Raven didn’t think she’d ever seen a face less likely to smile.
She turned back to W’rath. In the few seconds since she’d altered her attention, his mask had returned. He seemed completely at ease, but Raven knew she hadn’t imagined the fear on his face. “Do you know him?” she asked.
“No,” he replied, appearing for all the world as calm and confident as ever. “He simply … reminds me of someone. But that was a long time ago and this chap is actually much smaller.”
“Smaller?” Raven asked, incredulous. The armored First Born had to be close to eight feet tall. She’d read the very earliest First Born had reached nearly ten feet in height, but she’d assumed the author had exaggerated in order to add to the ancient elves’ mystique. Now she wasn’t so sure. And just how old did that make W’rath?
W’rath’s eyebrows arched, and even before she heard the creak of armor and the groan of the deck, she knew the First Born approached. “My Lady says she owes you her life,” said a voice reminiscent of a newly awakened volcano. What should have been the lead-in to a statement of gratitude, sounded full of suspicion and threat.
“It was my pleasure to be of service,” W’rath replied, rising to his feet. Just the hint of a smile played across his lips. Raven thought she heard a snarl from the First Born. Now, even more, she missed her empathy. She had little experience with males beyond the pitiful creatures from her home city. Some sort of sparring match had ignited, and she couldn’t follow it.
“Oh, by the First!” Lady Swiftbrook snapped, apparently more familiar with males than Raven. “K’hul, would you rather the demons had torn me apart? And you, little imp, don’t think my gratitude extends so far I won’t have you tossed overboard and dragged behind the ship. It might—just might—get some of that filth off of you. Ancestors know it won’t get rid of your self-satisfied smirk.”
Neither male responded, their gazes fixed upon one another, postures stiff with territorial challenge. Lady Swiftbrook threw her hands up in exasperation. “To the Nine Hells with the both of you. You can puff yourselves up and compare cock size all you want. I shall help Lady Raven find something more suitable than a cloak to wear.”
That seemed to get W’rath’s attention, and he offered Raven a hand up. She accepted, grateful for the strength of his grip as her legs refused to stop shaking, and not just from her exhaustion. K’hul was the family name of the First. She swayed and Lady Swiftbrook steadied her. “Slowly,” she said, the heat gone from her words.
W’rath gave her a wink and released her hand, allowing the Sky Elf to turn Raven around so she faced the one Lady Swiftbrook had inadvertently identified as a descendant of the First. “Hmmph,” he said. “The heroine who slew a devil lord. Tell me, what happened to your clothes, lady?”
“Lost in the fight,” Raven said. The strength of her voice surprised her. From his deepening scowl, K’hul had expected to intimidate her. He had, but she wouldn’t let him see that. You can’t compare to what I’ve already faced this day.
He broke eye contact first, but disguised it as a stiff bow and a not so gracious side step to allow the two females passage. “Find her something to wear quickly,” he muttered. “She’s distracting the crew.”
With the two females gone, K’hul drew himself up, attempting to appear even larger. He had to be young. No one of any maturity would behave so. W’rath smirked, only too happy to teach the lad a lesson or two. “I’ll concede you are the more puffed up,” he said. “However, I believe I have the second half of our competition wrapped up.”
“Ridiculous.”
“If you doubt me, we can call the ladies back and let them judge.”
K’hul actually blushed and turned away. “I’ll have you know I am a direct descendant of the First. I’m his grandson—tenth generation.”
Lovely. I have a half nephew. Let’s have a family reunion.
When W’rath didn’t respond K’hul swung back around. “Since you’re an ignorant savage, I’ll explain to you what that means. It means I shall ascend to the High Council since my father perished today fighting hell spawn.”
“Hmmm. Being an ignorant savage, I might have my facts wrong, but I thought council positions were awarded based on merit and not a hereditary right.”
“Who more worthy than blood of the First?”
“Oh, I don’t know …” W’rath began.
“I fought at the Eastern Glade as well,” K’hul interrupted. “I rallied the warriors when my father and Councilor Scald perished. I shall be offered a seat.”
Unless, of course, you and that armor of yours topple overboard and sink like a stone. “Then I suppose congratulations are in order,” W’rath said, bowing gracefully. “On behalf of Councilor Raven and myself, allow me to welcome you to the High Council.”
So startled by W’rath’s graciousness, K’hul started to return the bow before the rest of the Shadow Elf’s words sunk in. “Wha—what? What!”
“Ah, I’m sorry, I assumed you knew,” W’rath said, all innocence. “Since Lady Swiftbrook was the only councilor present at Second Home to survive the attack, she exercised her right to appoint two worthy individuals to the posts left vacant by the untimely demise of the Shadow Elf councilors.”
“That’s impossible! You’re Exiles—you’re not even citizens of the Elven Nation!”
K’hul’s shouts drew attention from the mostly Sky Elf crew. W’rath smiled at them apologetically. “For heroic actions in service to the Elven Nation, we have been granted that honor,” he said, quietly, in his most maddeningly pleasant voice.
“A councilor can’t grant that honor without the approval of others. It requires at least three witnesses.”
“Try fifty.”
K’hul glared at the Sky Elf approaching them. W’rath hadn’t caught the fellow’s name, but recognized him as one of those Raven had rescued. He had rallied the others to stand with their savior. “We all swear to the heroism of Lady Raven and Lord W’rath,” he said. “Without them, all of us, even you, Lord K’hul, would have perished.”
Without another word, the Sky Elf walked purposely to the containment collar and picked it up from deck where it lay. He carried it to the side of the ship and hurled it as far as he could. It hit the ocean with a quiet splash and disappeared. A great cheer went up from the crew.
Raven stirred, rousing herself. The heat from the bath made it difficult to stay awake. Lady Swiftbrook entered the room, a bundle of clothing in her arms. K’hul’s angry, incredulous bellows echoed off the walls. “Well, the halfling is out of the bag,” the Sky Elf said.
A few seconds later cheers replaced K’hul’s tantrum. “What is going on?” Raven asked. The curious commotion had wakened her fully, and she strained to he
ar more clearly.
“If I had to guess, I’d say Lord W’rath accidently let slip that I named you and him to the High Council. I expected K’hul to react … loudly.”
“Gods!” Raven gasped. “I don’t know that I blame him. Isn’t it rash to appoint two strange Exiles to such important positions?”
“Definitely,” Lady Swiftbrook said. “I have no doubts concerning your honor and goodness, but I saw your transformation, so I know I’ve appointed a child to the council. As for W’rath … I don’t want to imagine where he popped up from. No one would have allowed him through the gates of the city looking like something an owlbear coughed up. That means he had to have wandered in after the fighting started. He’s a smartass and too clever by half. Indeed, I expect to regret ever having met him.
“However, as you will soon see, regardless of these concerns, you two are not only the best, but the only choices for filling the vacancies on the High Council.”
“That’s unsettling.”
“You’ve no idea. Ancestors, I have no idea. It’s been years since we’ve seen any Shadow Elves aside from T’sane or Reaper. The two wouldn’t allow any of the other Shadow Elves to mingle with the rest of us. As much as I tried to work with T’sane and Reaper, I couldn’t convince them they didn’t carry the taint of the Traitor. They refused to fight for the rights of those they represented since they felt all of them bore the stain of Umbral’s legacy.
“Despite your youth and W’rath’s guile, I believe you two could be the best thing to happen to the Shadow Elves in quite some time. I can only hope you won’t despise the rest of us when you see what your people have been reduced to.”
“Do you lobotomize your males?” Raven said, her eyes haunted.
“Lo …? Ancestors! No, of course not! We have the suppression collars to control their powers. That’s barbaric enough.”