Looking out from where she stood at the bottom of the stair, she was still fairly high above the slope below.
In the field below were the quarters of the Hunters and Woodsmen. Their horses were loose in the pasture, hemmed in on two sides by the back walls of the castle and by the river behind it. On the third side a loose line of rope was set between the quarters and the hill, a picket for tying the horses while they were being saddled and a fence of sorts to keep them from roving.
A few folk wandered around, clear sign that some of the Hunters and Woodsmen were back to claim what rest they could.
The rope she had added was still here, knotted in places for a better grip. A bight went around one of the remaining stanchions for the stair, keeping the rope from dangling and blowing. Tossing it over the side, she shimmied down it as she hadn’t done in a few years. Old habits held, though.
A few of the horses eyed her curiously, some warily while one or two followed. Sometimes she brought treats for them when she came but she hadn’t dared to duck into the kitchen for some on her way.
“Hai, Ailith, oh fair daughter of Riverford, thou jewel of this kingdom, the rose for which all men pine,” a voice called.
Giving Gwillim a look askance, she said, with a smile, “And you are a flatterer and a scoundrel, as all know, so don’t think your sweet-talk will cozen me.”
With hand to heart he said, earnestly, “Who, I? To one so fair? Oh, my lady, were I not a married man...”
She rolled her eyes but she was grinning. The rest of the men standing about were smiling and one or two raised their hands in greeting, which she returned. In truth, although she knew it wasn’t true, it was sweet to hear all the same. Especially these days, when kind voices were few.
“How are you, Gwillim?” she said, eyeing him.
Gwillim had sharp, sun-narrowed gray-green eyes surrounded by a spray of sun-squint wrinkles, the result of long days in the sun and saddle. Nearly as tall and thin as an Elf, he had a sharp-edged face. He looked more tired than she’d ever seen him, even after that last troll-hunt some years back. He looked worn at the edges.
“Well enough,” he said. “Are you going to ride out with us, Ailith? We could use another experienced hand.”
She’d ridden out with them from the age she’d been old enough to sit in a saddle for a length of time. Her father had been explicit in his orders. They were to teach her everything, as if she were any other recruit. No coddling. So, Gwillim and the Hunters had taught her to track, what the difference was between a boggart and a boggin, how to keep her eyes slightly averted when she thought she might tracking a rare basilisk come north and the herbs and medicines that would heal the bites of all sorts of creatures. She’d been along for that troll hunt and stood guard along with the others. As had her father, then.
Twisting her head a little, Ailith pulled her hair out of the horse’s mouth. Smoke had come up behind her, as was his wont, to nibble at it.
“Leave off,” Gwillim said and pushed at the horse’s nose, “will you?”
Smoke took a step back and snorted, shaking his head.
With a sigh, Ailith shook her head. “I don’t know that I’m free to leave right now.”
It was the most ambiguous phrase she could think of, outside of sounding critical of her father. Which as his daughter she could not.
Gwillim gave her a sharp look but made no comment, instead he said with a sigh of resignation, “I’ll have to start conscripting out of the villages then. There must be one or two with visions of adventure and heroism foolish enough to want to come with us. I’ve no time to train them, though, but at least they take a watch. Once the foolishness wears off and the reality sets in fear will keep them awake. At least that way one or two of my men can get some rest.”
“Is it so bad, then?” she asked.
He looked away, as unwilling as she to criticize her father. Once he’d loved her father well, respecting his judgment. It was hard to see the changes.
Gently, she said, “I’ve heard we have new guards.”
He sighed. “You know then.”
“Yes.”
Not criticism, merely acceptance.
Smoke had waited until they were distracted to nibble at her hair. Twisting her head, she pulled it out of his mouth again.
“Leave off, you great silly beast,” Gwillim said, shoving the horse’s nose away and shaking his finger at it in mock anger. “You see, this is why the Elves didn’t keep you, you keep acting like a silly damn horse. Willful stubborn animal.”
The fondness in his voice took all the sting from it.
“You see,” he said, “it’s not the markings on them the Elves don’t have a care for, it’s that it shows the horse is a throwback to its forebears in one way or another. Smoke here, he was named for those odd patterns in his hide but also for his tendency to just blow in the wind. He’s got all the endurance and long life of an Elven horse but…” and here he pushed the horse’s nose away from her hair again, “he’s stubborn, willful and just plain foolish at times.”
“Let it go,” Ailith said, grinning. “I don’t mind, really and it needs cutting. Not that he’s really eating it, he just lips at it.”
“He’s getting horse slobber all over you.”
“Oh and me in my finery?” she said, with a laugh. “It won’t do any harm. I’ll duck my head in the river and wash it out. No harm done. I like it that he seems to like me.”
“And that’s the other thing,” Gwillim complained but without rancor, “the only person he’s supposed to like is me.”
“Jealous, are you?”
“Oh, aren’t you just feeling like you’re special?” he said, with a grin, “Although to be honest he does seem to have somewhat more of a fondness for you than any other.”
“That’s just because I bring him treats now and again.”
“That, too.” He sobered. “It’s bad out there, Ailith. I don’t know what’s going on, truly I don’t. It seems as if all we do is run in circles to no effect. My people are tired. Random boggins and boggarts. The last week it was an ogre. We found the trail but only caught glimpses of it. We cut it off before it got too close to settled land and then chased it all around the country up there until finally it went back to the borderlands where it belongs. There was a gremlin the other day. While they’re mostly a nuisance in the main, they can and do kill the cats and rat-catcher dogs that keep vermin out of the barns. So, we have to find them. The Woodsmen have lent me some of their people but they have their own problems. With boggins and boggarts, ogres and gremlins loose in the upper hills, the bears, mountain cats, wolves and foxes have been driven down into the farmlands. We’ve lost two head of cattle, a fair number of wool sheep, dozens of chickens and such.”
“I wish I could help, I truly do. I’ll ask but I don’t know that I can offer any hope.”
“What’s happened to your father?” he blurted finally, in exasperation and weariness. “He isn’t the man I used to know.”
“I don’t know, Gwillim,” she said, in a quiet voice, “I really don’t know. I don’t know who he is any more.”
“Tread lightly around him these days,” Gwillim cautioned worriedly. “He’s become a man of uncertain temper. He threatened to unseat Caradoc when he protested those new guards. I don’t know him anymore, either.”
“I already do, I’ve seen his temper.”
He looked at her.
There was little either of them could do. Geric was King.
Smoke nibbled at her hair again. She stroked his nose, seeking some comfort.
Above them the castle towered. Few windows looked out this way. With the river at its back, the castle had little need of defense from this side. The river ran too high and fast this far north and east of the lowland heartlands. The gray walls loomed, uninviting and forbidding.
“I should go back,” she said, halfheartedly.
She should prepare for another silent dinner. With Tolan, her brooding father and
her ghostlike mother. Perhaps she could sneak a meal from the kitchens. She couldn’t do it too often but she suspected the cooks would be sympathetic. She didn’t want to cause them trouble, however.
He hesitated. “If you have need…”
She shook her head and smiled crookedly. “It hasn’t gotten so dire yet.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, his sharp eyes on her.
She couldn’t answer that.
Smoke followed her to the river, nearly sending her into it when he nudged her as she rinsed the ends of her hair. She splashed him, which startled him into backing up a bit, to look at her warily. First through one eye, then the other. Scooping a handful of water up, she tossed it at him. He hopped back a step, ears up, head bobbing. Another splash. He danced out of the way. She grinned. Waving goodbye to Gwillim she turned for the castle and the rope dangling from the bottom stair.
Jareth was perched in his usual place on the rail, a scroll in his hand. The one thing he could be certain of when visiting the Elves was something new to read, like this simple tale, or to learn something new. Although much of their history was oral, kept by bards in astonishingly detailed exhibitions of memory, Elves also had their own writing, an amazingly complex, graceful flowing script he was only beginning to learn – hence the simple story. He glanced up from his reading as someone came through the door.
“Ala, Colath,” he said, in surprise.
Intent on the reports from Doncerric, Elon looked up.
They’d only returned yesterday but their people healed quickly. He looked more closely. Colath was himself, but he’d changed. It was subtle but it was there. He was a little thinner, the hollows of his cheeks a little more pronounced. It was something in the eyes. He’d lost one of his people and it had marked him. As it must mark all who led. Elon knew something of it, for it had been his loss as well. For Colath, though, it was the first.
“Ala, Colath,” he said, his eyes on his true-friend and aide.
Looking in those eyes, Colath saw the understanding and something within him eased. He had no fear of condemnation, that was a thing for men, it was the shared knowing. The understanding of loss in them.
Jareth saw it, that look, and settled back to his usual spot perched on the rail with his back against the wall.
“So,” Elon said. “Tell me.”
Taking a breath, Colath nodded. “As you’ve guessed, no doubt, it’s worse than we thought. What once we took for the edge of the borderlands is gone. All manner of creature roam the highlands now. At first, it was alarming but I miscalculated the speed with which they’re moving eastward and we found ourselves behind the advance. I sent no warning through the bond, Elon, for fear of no way to warn you what you might be riding into.”
Elon sighed and nodded. Now he understood. It had been a wise decision, as he could expect from Colath.
“You make it sound as if it’s a war,” Jareth commented.
With a nod, Colath said, “It seemed so and it was best to think of it that way.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, his customary position whether he was keeping his thoughts to himself or sharing them, Elon listened. It wasn’t yet time to share his concerns but that time was drawing very near.
“To the south it hasn’t yet become as serious, which may have deceived me. To the north was another matter. It took us far longer to make our way north than I had expected. There was sign of many borderland creatures. Add a manticore, or something like it, to the list of creatures to beware of, Elon.”
“Manticore,” Elon said, surprised.
“Or something very like that creature from tales. Catlike and large. We took it for a solitary male, once we saw what seemed to be females hunting in a pride. They’re very hard to kill, Elon.”
The memory twisted at him but he wasn’t yet ready to speak of it.
“Thick skinned, with a ridge of thicker skin around their face and neck. It would take a good shot to get an arrow behind that ridge to the throat. Or in the eye. At the jointure of leg and body there seems to be a weak spot as well. To cripple it.”
He paused for a moment then shook off the memory and continued.
“Making our way back, with so small a party, ogres ahead of us, unknown and unpleasant surprises waiting, slowed our pace. Boggarts surprised us in camp, crippling one of the horses. Once they screamed, we had little choice but to make a run for it or every predator, large and small, would come looking for their share.”
For a moment, he stopped.
Elon waited, signaling Jareth to silence.
He would let him tell it in his own time. This would haunt him, else. Like a small wound, festering and growing rancid.
“The ogres we barely avoided and an orc gave chase but we managed to shake them,” he said.
He was as still as it was possible for an Elf to be, his expression so dispassionate it might have been carved from stone. Jareth could see the look in his eyes, though and it stunned him silent.
Once more Colath looked to Elon, saw the patient understanding there and nodded.
“It was the manticores, a pride of them. The horses did their best and we rode with weapons bared. Jalila, Alic and I were putting arrows into the air as fast as we could draw them – more to discourage than to do any harm. They were quick. One leaped from behind and took Iric. His back broke from the impact and it was already savaging him as he went down but he managed to thrust his sword into that joint between chest and leg. Then they all closed in.”
He stopped, paused, girded himself.
“Jalila managed to get an arrow into him before they fell on him. One good clean shot.”
Elon gave him another moment and then said, “He would have welcomed it, I think.”
Looking away into the distance, Colath said, “Yes,” on a long sigh, then continued. “His sacrifice gave us the chance to escape.”
“I underestimated the danger,” Elon said. “Always, always, we’re one step behind. You did well, Colath.”
“What do you mean,” Jareth asked, “we’re one step behind?”
With a glance at Colath for confirmation, he said, “Don’t you feel it, Jareth? Think. All along our borders we are beset. Not by warriors, no, but beset all the same. Doesn’t it feel as if those borders are being tested? As an enemy will test it to see where the weaknesses are and when?”
Come to think of it, that was true. Jareth nodded slowly.
“What enemy? Who would do this? We have no enemies, we’re at peace with ourselves.”
Elon shook his head. “That I don’t know and it troubles me. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that’s what’s happening.”
He took a deep breath, calming himself.
“Colath, are you ready to travel?”
Surprised, Jareth stared at him but Colath nodded.
“As well as I might be. The Healers have mended Chai as well.”
“Good.”
With a wave of his hand a runner appeared. He gave instructions and the runner went off at a trot.
“Where are you going, Elon?” Jareth asked, bewildered.
“We,” Elon said. “We are going. First, to the Collegium, to get you assigned to me officially. Then, to test this wild supposition of mine.”
Jareth rolled his eyes. “Wild supposition, Elon? Not possible.”
“I thank you for that, my friend,” Elon said, in response, his eyes solemn, “but if we were to take this to Daran, your High King and those of the Council?”
He thought of the heartlands, of all the people going about their business, his shock and surprise at their laughter and lightheartedness after days in the highlands. On the fringes. Elon had a great deal of influence in some ways. In others… Daran, High King, was no man’s friend. He was a King. If Elon went to him with what he had now, he wouldn’t get far.
Deep in the heartlands, no one believed anything was truly wrong. In some ways, the exhausted Hunters and Woodsmen were doing their job too well.
“Wild suppo
sition would be mild,” he said, bitterly, understanding all too well. “They wouldn’t believe it. I’ve been in the heartland. They don’t know what goes on out here.”
“So, we journey. We try to find proof enough to convince.”
There was something more but Elon didn’t speak of it yet. That odd presentiment of time running away from them.
It didn’t take long to prepare. Summoned by the runner, Jalila joined them, her bow slung across her shoulders. She was the best archer in Aerilann, bar none. Elon didn’t know what they might face but it was better to be prepared. He’d already underestimated once, he wouldn’t do so again. There were none who could match him with a sword, save Colath. Jareth had his magic. With Jalila they’d have a master bowman.
There was that about Elves, Jareth reflected as they rode through the Veil and into the world outside the Enclave, which was vastly different from men. Even a lesser King would take several days of planning, if not weeks for some, before he or she could leave their lands. Daran would at least take weeks if not a month or more.
Elon’s Second, Sareth, had arrived in response to his request, he’d briefed her and they’d left. In that short conversation Elon had suggested she work to strengthen the Veil, had passed on the warnings about the new threat of the manticores and suggested they bring those of the local village of men into the buffer zone of the Enclave if things became dire enough to warrant it. Other than that, all the affairs of the Enclave were in her hands.
Travel bread, water, spare clothing and a travel pack were all set on the horses and they were off. Such things were always kept on hand in case of need. They belonged to no one and everyone. That was the way of Elves.
They stayed on guard while still within the range of the Enclave, with weapons at hand but there was no incident.
A day and slightly more of steady riding brought them to the hill overlooking the Collegium.
Once Jareth had seen this place as home, this sprawling complex of buildings great and small. Every wizard was guaranteed a place here. The predominant race was that of men, partly because of their prolific nature but partly because both Elves and Dwarves were magical in and of themselves. Neither of those races were prone to disease of any kind, both were long-lived and could would heal over time from wounds that would kill most men. All Elves could make the little balls of light that were referred to as elf-lights. Dwarves could make dwarf-lights, using small stones. Many had another talent as well, like Elon with his foresight and Healing. Most could set wards. Dwarves had their Lore Masters, the most magically talented of their people, as a different caste. Those races taught their own but wizard magic was different and mostly found among men. Occasionally, though, there were those like Talesin who was Elf and wizard, or Grig, who’d been Dwarf and wizard.
The Coming Storm Page 10