by Lee Dunning
“Does anyone else realize you’re this cynical?”
Chalice Renoir’s laugh sounded weary. “Only my wife. If you should ever speak of this to anyone I shall soundly deny it.”
“A liar too?”
“I too am just a man, Councilor. Only kings are infallible, and apparently some less so than others.”
On the dais, the queen quietly regarded those around her with the serene confidence of one who knows she had done the right thing. She seemed to glow. Of course, the Sky Elves flanking her were the more likely source of the luminous aura. The two had raised magical shields in order to keep the hysterical nobility from rushing the dais. “So, what’s next, Chalice?”
“Well, let’s see, Councilor … have you ever attended a wedding?”
Epilogue
Raven sat, rigid, alert for any signs of distress from the small figure stretched out before her. The regeneration of her body burned almost as painfully as the fire acid had, yet she barely noticed it. It was just an annoying itch compared to the pain she felt looking upon W’rath’s comatose body.
Light streamed in from tall, narrow windows, illuminating the sky blue walls and the white decorative molding. Living flowers filled the hall with color and a subtle scent. Even the occasional bird flitted by, adding its song to the overall serenity of the scene. The House of Healing. Designed to fill all who entered with calm and a sense of wellbeing. None of it reached Raven.
“You really should get some rest,” someone said. Raven ignored the voice. Just one of the healers again. Lady Snowdancer, her distracted mind supplied.
Lady Snowdancer had flitted in and out throughout the day to check on Raven and W’rath, and she always said the same thing. This time, the healer sighed, but didn’t go away. She bent over W’rath’s bed and gently adjusted the quilted blue comforter draped over him. She pulled it down a little lower, just below his shoulders, so it would look less like a decapitated head perched upon the plump pillow. She settled down on the cushioned bench next to Raven, and gently shifted the robe the Shadow Elf wore, so she could examine Raven’s leg.
“Very impressive.” The healer ran her hands over the newly-formed flesh. “You heal as quickly as a First Born. With your size, I have to wonder if you have a First Born parent.”
“No,” Raven said, speaking for the first time since she’d heard about W’rath. “My parents are both Shadow Elves.”
“It’s okay if one of them was; I’m not one of those who fears the second coming of Umbral will smite me.”
Raven leveled her gaze at Lady Snowdancer. “My mother is a middle class merchant, specializing in slaves captured from raids made upon rival cities. She acquired my father during one of those raids. I can’t vouch for the purity of my father’s ancestry, but I can tell you my mother comes from a long line of very average Shadow Elf stock.”
The healer’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “I didn’t mean anything. I was just curious.”
Seeing the girl’s face, Raven felt a wave of shame come over her. “Gods!” she groaned, dragging a newly healed hand down her face. “I’m the one who should apologize. I’ve acted like an ass since I woke up. You’ve been nothing but kind.”
“Easy there,” Lady Snowdancer said, capturing Raven’s hand. “It wasn’t too many hours ago this hand was nothing more than bare bone. I’ve never seen such horrific wounds before. I’d heard of acid fire, but I’d never seen what it does to a person. You’re lucky it mostly landed on your leg and hands. If it had gotten on your head or torso …” She shuddered.
Raven knew exactly what would have happened. An ability to regenerate would have done her no good if the acid fire had gotten to vital organs like the brain or heart. She’d be dead, and perhaps someone else would sit gazing despondently at her body, eaten up with guilt and fear.
The healer seemed to have a sense of where Raven’s thoughts traveled. “I know it’s easy to want to take blame for what happened, but you mustn’t. Word spreads quickly, and by every account I’ve heard, you left a field covered in enemy corpses. Without magic, you had no way to fend off the fire acid.”
The ordeal came back to Raven in flashes of light and pain. She remembered W’rath calling her name. It had struck her as so odd, him using her name, instead of calling her lass. She had paused more because of that than the sense of urgency in his voice. Then her world had turned into a blur of terror and agony.
She had no idea what had happened to the human mage she’d carried, and at the moment didn’t much care. She should, of course. He, more than the conflict between Oblund and the Wood Elves, had brought them to the battlefield. The mage might provide the key they needed to solve the mystery of who stood behind the attack on Second Home. However, the immediacy of what lay in front of her made it difficult to focus on that aspect.
Presumably, W’rath had pulled her from the acid fire. Her memories provided no answers, but by then everyone else had succumbed to the smoke, so she assumed W’rath had come to her aid. She couldn’t explain how he had neutralized the acid eating away her flesh, though. It just didn’t seem like the sort of thing a psion could manage.
Seeing that Raven wasn’t going to reply, Lady Snowdancer decided to try taking Raven’s mind off her troubles with some good old-fashioned gossip. “Lord K’hul is taking a lot of heat for failing to get help to you in time.”
“He’s a First Born, he can handle heat,” Raven said.
The girl chuckled at Raven’s poor joke, and leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s a rumor that Councilors Foxfire, Kela and Swiftbrook plan to put forth a request for a vote of confidence against him. They’re furious,” the healer whispered.
That brought some focus back to Raven’s eyes. It hadn’t occurred to her anyone would actually stand up to a direct descendant of the First. “How does that work, exactly?”
“Well, if the vote goes against Lord K’hul, he’s supposed to step down from the High Council. Over the years, others have lost their seats, but none belonged to the K’hul family. It’s hard to imagine them following through with such a severe sanction. But maybe it won’t matter. The worst has already happened to the Voice of the First.”
“Really? What could be worse than the shame of losing his family’s seat on the High Council?”
The healer got an evil glint in her eye, and made a show of scanning the room as to ensure no one eavesdropped. “Supposedly, Lady Swiftbrook banned him from her bed, and told him to never darken the door of her estate again.”
Raven’s eyes widened. She hadn’t known the two for all that long, even so it seemed obvious they had been together for quite some time. Reflexively, she turned to W’rath expecting a sarcastic observation, couched in an overly polite phrase. The sight of his still form brought reality crashing back on her. How trivial the split between two lovers, in light of W’rath’s condition.
Raven’s face filled with worry and Lady Snowdancer sagged in defeat. “Right then,” she said, rising. “I’m going to go have something made up for you to eat.” Raven didn’t respond. The healer shook her head and made her way from the room.
Once again Raven relived those terrible moments on the battlefield. Flashes of possible memories teased her. A voice she didn’t know, spoke a terrible language, so foul it threatened to drive her mad. She couldn’t understand a word of it, and yet the very sound of it had burned her as much as the terrible magic eating her body.
She tried to force herself to remember more, but everything grew so vague and disjointed, she wondered if any of it was real, or simply a fabrication of her pain-addled mind. Frustrated, she turned her attention back to W’rath. Until now, she hadn’t realized how animated and alive his face normally was. He lay quiet and placid, devoid of any expression. No slight quirk pulled at his lips. No amused, cocked eyebrow danced along his forehead.
His hair fell loose about him. That combined with his relaxed face made him appear, well, young, she decided. No elf ever looked old, but somethi
ng about W’rath spoke of a long life—a very eventful life. In his current condition, all those years and experiences held no sway over his face. She gazed upon a shell without the force of personality that made him a person.
She squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of despair took her. She had tried to send her life force into him as she had done at Second Home, but couldn’t get the magic to cooperate. Perhaps her injuries prevented her from molding the flow of magic, or maybe she lacked the discipline to focus. Regardless, she had failed him.
When she opened her eyes again, her vision blurred with tears. There above the bed hung an impressive painting of the First. She wiped her face angrily, ashamed of her weakness, even if her only witness was an effigy.
The First continued to gaze off to some unknowable future, paying no heed to Raven’s tears. Strong features made up his stern face. It wasn’t a typically beautiful Elven face. The cleft chin and the aquiline nose made him distinctive. The strong, high cheekbones added more angles to an already complex face. It made her wonder if his looks were yet another lie, like so much of what the elves had come to believe.
Her gaze dropped from the painting back to W’rath, and she felt her heart stutter in her chest. Mouth gaping, she stared at one and then the other.
Raven clamped a hand over her mouth, certain a strangled cry would escape her throat, and bring someone running. She had to get control of herself. But the crazy thought that had blossomed in her mind wouldn’t go away. Don’t be an idiot. Think this through.
She went back over everything that had occurred up until now. Their enemies had attacked Second Home by using remotely opened doorways to the Abyss and the Nine Hells. W’rath had conveniently shown up at the same time. He could have stepped through the doorway from the Abyss just as easily as the demons had.
She recalled his appearance from then; matted hair and nothing more than a leather kilt and crude boots for clothing. He’d lived rough for some time, far rougher than a cave near Second Home explained.
And he was old—certainly older than any other elf she’d ever met. His shockingly poor near sight attested to a good many years spent looking afar rather than at books.
He also knew things beyond the norm for an average elf. He could read ancient Elvish, a language only the most dedicated scholars and practitioners of magic studied. His grasp of the past didn’t mesh exactly with any book she’d read. His clarity of events, like the battle against the ice giants, spoke of a closer tie to them than the mere reciting of things learned. It seemed unlikely an Exile city would teach the stories in such a manner. While the Exiles were originally made up of Umbral supporters, after thousands of years of endured misery, love had turned to hate, leading to the deplorable treatment of all males among the Exiles.
And then, there was his personality. She’d never met a male Shadow Elf even remotely as aggressive and sure of himself as W’rath. Even her father, an elf working against the established female dominated society of the Exile world, had conducted himself in a quiet, soft spoken manner. She couldn’t remember him ever meeting her gaze directly. Perhaps it had been an act to sell his role, but she doubted it. He’d obviously wanted for her to join his little group of revolutionaries, but when it came down to it, his people had bowed to her wishes and escorted her to the surface world. She couldn’t for a second imagine W’rath giving in to the demands of a little girl.
The image of W’rath standing in front of the statue of Lady Stormchaser came unbidden to her mind. She remembered the glitter of tears in his eyes. At the time, it had seemed out of character, but in light of this revelation …
She stood so abruptly, the heavy marble bench toppled over. It hit the floor with a solid thunk, and sent the seat cushions tumbling across the room. Lady Stormchaser had known! No wonder House of Memories had welcomed them. It explained why she’d left Shadow’s Edge in the office for W’rath to find, and why he recognized it instantly. Linden’s knowledge of weaponry helped her now. Amryth Earthfire forged it for a small elf. W’rath was unusually short, even for one of their race. The weapon suited him perfectly, as if made especial for him.
“Oh, my gods,” she whispered, and wished with all her heart the curse of First Home would take this knowledge from her. She couldn’t banish her realizations, though. She had no idea how she would live with this secret. Umbral K’hul, the greatest hero and the most reviled villain in Elven history, lay dying three feet away from her, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
Dramatis Personæ
First Born
The First: First elf believed to rise out of the lava of the newborn world of Alassea. The largest and the strongest of the elves of his day and the first in a long line of war leaders going by the K'hul family name.
Lord K'hul: The most recent First Born of the K'hul family to take the High Council seat set aside for the eldest of the line, along with the title, "The Voice of the First".
Lady Arien Culnámo: Councilor chosen by Lady Swiftbrook because of her willingness to make her own decisions rather than follow the will of the "Voice of the First".
Linden: Young First born soldier. Under the age of one hundred, he has not taken on a surname.
Amryth Earthfire: Famous weaponsmith who lived during the time of the First. Is purported to have made Umbral's sword, Shadow's Edge.
Sky Elves
Lady Uruviel Stormchaser: First in the Stormchaser line, friend of Umbral and creator of the first written language of the elves.
Lady Miriel Stormchaser: Member of the High Council, accomplished diviner, and most recent occupant of the property known as "House of Memories".
Lady Swiftbrook: Member of the High Council. Adept in the use of lightning-based magic.
Lady Sera: A healer.
Lord Kiat Icewind: Powerful diviner chosen by Lord K'hul to fill a vacancy on the High Council.
Wood Elves
Foxfire: City raised Wood Elf with a mysterious past. Bard and reluctant member of the High Council.
Kela: Curt and generally ill-tempered. Member of the High Council.
Shadow Elves
Umbral: Half First Born son of the First. Powerful psion and mediocre magic user. Banished for attempting to kill his father.
Lord W'rath: Older and wiser Umbral K'hul, recently returned from the Abyss to make his way in modern elven society under an assumed name. Member of the High Council.
Lady Raven: Former resident of an Exile city, who relocated to the surface world. Newly made member of the High Council.
Ryld: Young Shadow Elf male from First Home.
Caeldan: Young Shadow Elf male from First Home. Ryld's twin brother.
Seismis: Young Shadow Elf male from First Home. Jumpy and in constant agitation.
Seer: Young Shadow Elf female from First Home. Can see distant current events with her single psionic ability.
Reaper: Female Shadow Elf warrior. Former member of the High Council.
T'sane: Male Shadow Elf psion. Former member of the High Council.
Humans
King Oblund III: Ruler of Teresland.
Chalice Ungren Renoir: Priest of the Duality.
Queen Cherish: Wife of Oblund III.
King Luccan: Ruler of Renlin. Cousin to Oblund III
People, Places and Other Things of Consequence
Ruaz'Daem: Demon lord of the Abyss killed by Umbral.
Baez: Demon and former major domo to Ruaz'Daem.
Tassilia: City State of mercenary mages.
House of Memories: Ancestral home to the Stormchaser family.
Allasea: The elven name for the world.
Shadow's Edge: Name of Umbral's personal weapon.
Acknowledgements
A great number of folks helped me put this book together. If you think it sucks, please don't blame them, they did what they could with the material presented to them. S.J. Smith worked very hard to slap me and my manuscript into shape. Jakiblue, Daniel White, Robert Dunning, Lisa Douglas, and Roger Joh
nson all did me the kindness of beta reading my story and pointing out numerous issues. Jaki deserves an extra round of applause for putting me in touch with S.J. and convincing her to make time in her schedule to edit my work. In addition to reading my book, Daniel put up with my many many questions about formatting ebooks, and provided me with the information I needed to work with fonts. I'd also like to thank Dr. Lois Roma-Deeley and her class for working with me to improve some especially awkward sections. She is the reason the unicorn is named Stone, and I think it suits him perfectly.
I would be remiss if I did not thank the talented and generous artists who provided the Photoshop brushes I used to make my map. StarRaven over at DeviantArt provided "Sketchy Cartography Brushes", which I used to make my mountains and trees. sdwhaven, also at DeviantArt created the brushes that I used to make the compass rose on the map. They are listed as "Compass Rose Photoshop Brushes" in case you wish to hunt them down.
About the Author
Lee Dunning has written stories in one form or another since grade school. Lured into the realm of fantasy by her mother who read "The Last Unicorn" to her, Lee has never escaped the pull of magical worlds and mystic creatures. Her sixth grade teacher, Dixie Gaisford, introduced her to the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, and from this came Lee's obsession with elves. Introduction to Dungeons and Dragons in high school ended any hope that Lee would escape and live a normal, boring life spent in the pursuit of a six-digit pay check and an early grave. Today she lives in the hellish desert with four siamese and one horrified orange tabby. The Pacific Northwest is calling and she hopes to relocate there soon.