The Coming Storm

by Valerie Douglas

  As suddenly as they’d come they were gone, running in that odd lope away from the village. Moving with purpose.

  Gwillim let out a harsh breath.

  He hadn’t wanted to say it then but he’d doubted.

  Elon was an Elf, one of a race not known for lies or exaggeration. That he knew. Gwillim had been impressed with him. He’d trained at Aerilann itself, he respected him..

  Too, Gwillim had known Ailith all her life and had never known her to lie.

  Still, it had been a wild tale. He’d been a Hunter for most of his life and had met a clever orc or two, some sly kobolds and both goblins and trolls that were as nearly smart as men. But. They’d never been led except by their own. Never truly been directed.

  Out in the darkness more drows appeared, moved past the village, the sound of their odd loping run clear, like a hollow drumbeat.

  Gwillim’s eyes followed their path.

  “They’re following Elon, Ailith and the others.”

  A village full of prey and they had turned aside? To follow the path Ailith and Elon had tread only this morning as if shot by an arrow?

  He didn’t doubt any more.

  Both Danalae and Maret knew the tale, he’d told them both once they’d arrived and been properly greeted. Not about Ailith, not about what they said she was. That, he kept to himself. He didn’t like keeping things from Danalae but it wasn’t his secret and he couldn’t ask her to hold it.

  “We can’t warn them,” Maret said.

  Shaking his head, his heart sinking, Gwillim said, “No. A horse couldn’t outrun drows and you’d have to go around them. Nor will I send a one to try. They’d as like to turn on any that followed and leave Elon and them still none the wiser.”

  He looked around at the thick mud walls of the village. Suddenly they seemed quite fragile.

  With a signal to his men, he called them to join him. They grouped around him.

  “Come morning, two of you each ride out to find the other bands. No one goes alone. Find Hunters and Woodsmen both. I’m calling them all in. Tell them to choose a village with defendable walls or ones that can be made defensible. Bring everyone in that will come. Make preparations for siege but also for escape. Set watches, torches and pitch, firewood.”

  No one objected. None of them had missed what had happened.

  A village full of prey and the drows had scorned it. Reluctantly but they had done it. There was no argument.

  “For now, I want a watch set up at vantage points in the village. A clear view. Two men each. The remainder, rest while you may.”

  They spread out, looking for vantage points and choosing the watches.

  Gwillim, Danalae and Maret went inside.

  Everyone there was silent, watching.

  “Drows,” he said.

  There were gasps, then silence again.

  He began giving orders.

  Already, Colath was sweating lightly. It felt good, though, after so many weeks in the saddle to move around on two feet. To have his muscles move and shift in directions and ways they hadn’t in a while.

  Swords chimed as Ailith matched his stroke. They were only sparring, at half-strength and half-speed, a test of each other’s skill. Like bells ringing, one blade against the other. There was little danger in it despite the fact that neither used blunted weapons, Colath knew himself too skilled for that, and Ailith was proving to be equally so. They’d begun with the forms, moving side by side through the patterns and positions like dancers.

  The group had stopped early to set camp.

  It had begun when Colath had teased Ailith about whether she knew how to use the great thing that hung on her back. He knew she knew how to use the shortsword, certainly well enough to fight boggarts and firbolgs.

  “Well enough,” she answered, with a hint of challenge in her voice, and a hint of question. “Although I’ve no way to judge. The one that taught me seemed to think well enough of it.”

  Her eyes sparkled now, enjoying the challenge he set for her.

  It was one for him as well, he discovered, she was quite good. In fact, she was very good. Her size was deceptive and she was surprisingly strong, matching him blow for blow. Testing her skill he could see why the swords had been gifted to her. Named swords were precious things, not to be given lightly. It took special skill in the forging, skill in magic that was bound into the blade to strengthen it and a swordsmanship not all possessed. He’d had a suspicion they’d been given as solace to offset deficiencies, a gift of affection, not a reward for talent or diligent effort. That would have been a violation of all that Named swords were meant to be, however unlikely it might have that an Elf would have done so. Given the circumstances, however, it hadn’t been that unlikely an assumption. It was a suspicion he knew Elon shared.

  They’d been wrong.

  Swords met, parried, rang.

  Jareth sat on a rock and lit a pipe downwind of Elon and the others, settling back against the stone behind him. It was a good place to camp. Clearly it had been used before this for the same purpose. A fire ring had already been laid and a small amount of tinder and kindling thrust into a jumble of rocks to stay dry. At his back was a slab of rock that thrust out of the earth, with more spread out on either side like wings. It blocked the wind and gave them stone at their back, which was always good.

  From here he could see for some distance in the direction from which they’d come. The hills rolled smoothly with few trees but many of these large stones breaking through the thin earth. It was stony but not barren. The grass grew brilliantly green and there were scatterings of thin, scrubby bushes. Where there were trees they grew in groves.

  It was a pretty enough view as the sun settled.

  Travel packs had been emptied and the waxed clothes that provided cover against the wind and dew had been stretched out on poles to keep the weather off their heads. Blankets had been laid where there were few stones – he smiled, remembering Jalila teasing him once more about his bad choices – and the fire laid.

  As part of Ailith’s lessons in archery Jalila had set her to hit a few birds. As she’d said then, they might as well get some dinner out of it. It had taken a few tries and more than a few missed birds but in the end they’d gained a grouse and a pheasant. Both had been cleaned, spitted and put over the fire to roast. With travel bread and some wild carrots and onions it would be a good meal.

  It certainly smelled good from where he sat, the aroma tantalizing.

  Now he, Elon and Jalila watched as Colath and Ailith sparred. With edged swords.

  For himself, Jareth knew was only a fair swordsman. He could defend himself with one against most men if need be and magic didn’t suit the purpose.

  There were rules to such things.

  One didn’t blast a man with mage-bolts who came at you with a sword. The reason was simple. You could disarm a man with a sword. Mage bolts killed. In any event, Jareth could hold a sword well enough but not well enough for this. He watched the two of them move through the forms and exercises and acknowledged without envy or concern that Ailith was more than a match for him.

  This he couldn’t have done. Not without the danger of costing Colath a few fingers. He didn’t know if Elon could Heal such things, though, and he wasn’t about to find out. It was, however, fascinating to watch.

  Whoever had taught her, Elon thought, had done well. Ailith moved like a dancer, as light on her feet as a leaf on the breeze. There were any number of Elves who could have done it. The use of a sword was something all their people learned as children, advancing according to level of skill. No Elven child couldn’t defend his or her self, though, they were too rare, too precious and too few to leave with no defense.

  History had taught his people many harsh lessons.

  There had been a time when the creatures of the borderlands had run freely throughout the land and the knowledge of how to use a sword and bow had been a dire necessity. As well, there had been times when they’d fought either or both
Dwarves and Men, to defend their land or people.

  Even in these more peaceful times, it was still a good skill to know. Not only to fight those things from the borderlands but occasionally those of the race of Men. Some few hated and feared his people and they’d been known to express it with violence. Although Daran had forbidden it and the Agreement declared it unlawful, few Elves passed through the lands of men alone and none unarmed.

  He put those grim thoughts aside. He enjoyed watching this.

  Colath of course, was always a pleasure.

  A master swordsman, he was quite skilled with a blade. Not surprising as Elon himself had taught him. It was how they’d become friends.

  Once again, though, Ailith surprised him.

  A good teacher could make even a poor swordsman better but never good. Jareth, for example, would always be only passable with a blade. To his credit, unlike some of his folk, he acknowledged it with neither rancor nor jealousy. Even the best instruction couldn’t make up for lack of talent. For example, with a bow Ailith could stand with most Elves without shame. Even so she would never be as good as Jalila. She knew, however, that she could be better and had sought instruction without discomfort. That stood to her credit.

  As a swordsman, though, she did have talent, a great deal of talent. He understood now why she’d been gifted with those swords.

  He and Colath sparred often but it had been long since Elon had been truly challenged by another. He and Colath knew each other too well.

  For a moment he considered it then he nodded and signaled to Colath.

  This Jalila hadn’t seen in some time. She sat up straighter. Her skills with a sword were more than good enough but still not enough to provide a challenge to the likes of either Colath or Elon. The bow was her weapon. This then promised to be interesting.

  Across from her, Jareth leaned forward to prop one elbow on his knee, pipe to mouth, to watch closely as well.

  Colath had wondered how long it would take. The lack of a true challenge had plagued them both, who knew each other so well.

  “Oh ho, Elon,” he said as he stepped back. “It’s been some time since you have had anyone as worthy to spar with.”

  Giving him a level look, Elon bowed his head. “A challenge would be welcome.”

  Warily, Ailith looked from one to the other of them. She caught her breath at Elon’s words and tried not to grin as excitement replaced caution.

  Colath gave her a warning glance but there was a lightness to it, too, a joy.

  “I’ll warn you, Ailith. Elon is a master swordsman among our people, he taught me. Prepare to be tested.”

  A little apprehension flickered inside her, but with it was more than a little excitement and a rush of anticipation. Ailith’s heart leaped at the challenge.

  Elon stepped before her, his dark eyes intent. He raised his sword in salute to her.

  With a smile she matched the gesture.

  He allowed himself a small smile.

  It began.

  Strike and counter, their swords flashed and rang. He had reach but she was quick and as surefooted as a cat. They circled, probed, their swords met and clashed. There were moves she clearly didn’t know but she countered quickly despite it, her blue eyes bright, watching. She catalogued each in her mind and filed it away. Elon could almost see her mind work.

  Faster. Her eyes widened but so did her smile, turning brilliant, her eyes alight.

  It was a pleasure and joy for Elon. It had been a long time since any but Colath had tested him this way. Her size and quickness added a subtle difference he hadn’t expected. That she was enjoying it as much as he did as well only added to Elon’s satisfaction.

  Colath took a stand next to Jareth. His pale eyes, though, were on the two sparring. He tilted his head at Jareth.

  “Do you hear it, Jareth?”

  Puzzled, his eyes intent on the two in the center of the camp, Jareth asked, “Hear what?”

  “Listen,” Colath said and closed his eyes.

  Cocking his head, Jareth listened.

  It took a moment and then he caught it, what it was Colath meant.

  It was like music, the four swords, longswords and shortswords ringing against each other like point and counterpoint, a unique harmony all their own, almost as if each sword had a tone and when they struck they made a kind of melody. Watching them, he could see it, too, in their faces, in their bodies, as they moved like dancers around each other, circled, moved out and around with grace, their movements fluid.

  It was both beautiful and awesome to watch.

  “The music of the swords. When it’s good, it’s like this,” Colath said, his voice deeply content, “it’s like making music. It’s the only thing I regret in sparring, that you can only hear this while standing outside of it. A part of you can hear it but the rest is focused on strike, guard and parry. On sword against sword.”

  Faster.

  They two had the measure of each other now and so could test skill against speed.

  It had been long and long since Elon had proved himself against anyone so talented.

  He lost himself in it, wholly involved in steel against steel. He’d needed this escape and it was clear Ailith had as well, as she matched him stroke for stroke.

  As good as Colath had been for Ailith sparring against Elon was incredible. It was both exhilarating and intoxicating. Even sparring with Dorovan hadn’t been anything like this. It was glorious.

  Against Colath it had been like play, serious play but play nevertheless.

  This, this was magic, balance and harmony, all in one. Thrilling. It had been some time since she’d sparred with Dorovan but it had never been like this. Without a doubt she knew now that Dorovan was a gifted swordsman and an excellent teacher but even he would have been tested here. Colath would have matched Dorovan by more than a little. Never had she thought to be challenged by even one truly good swordsmaster and now she’d sparred with two.

  It was a kind of ecstasy, almost a delirium. Incredible, glorious.

  She was getting tired, though. Tired people made mistakes and a mistake here would have serious consequences.

  As much as Ailith didn’t want it to end, it must.

  She looked up into Elon’s dark eyes to see in them the same pleasure, the same joy she knew was in hers, and smiled with contentment.

  Elon caught her glance.

  With a little regret, he nodded acknowledgment of both the pleasure and the end of this little idyll.

  The heaviness that had weighed on him for some time was gone. It would return but for the moment he was relieved of it. This was only a momentary respite. There was a satisfaction in knowing it could be repeated and not just with Colath.

  She was tiring though and wise enough to know it.

  So was he.

  Both stepped back nearly simultaneously.

  For a moment Elon was still as he looked at her and then he nodded. Slowly.

  “You’re very nearly Colath’s equal and will be very soon. Not long after, you’ll be an equal for me. With some work, some experience. But you will. I look forward to it.”

  For a moment, Ailith stood and stared at him, stunned. Had he said what she thought he had said?

  “As will I,” she said, exhilarated, amazed, and exhausted.

  Jareth broke the spell.

  “If you two are hungry, and you must be after that, there’s food.”

  One more time, one last time, they looked at each other, taking each other’s measure.

  Elon saluted her, sheathed his sword and gestured her to precede him.

  With a grin, she gave him a little bow before she sheathed her own sword and turned toward the fire.

  Everyone picked from the spits, it was simpler.

  The weight settled on Elon’s shoulders once again. It was time to return to more important matters.

  “What have we to expect tomorrow, Ailith?”

  “The Gorge and the Bridge,” she said, looking at him evenly.
“Jareth, how is your head for heights?”

  He sighed in resignation.

  Colath smiled a little. “He’s never been above the second level at Aerilann.”

  “They sway, those trees,” Jareth complained. “I can feel it.”

  Giving all of them a quizzical look, Ailith shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “They live among the trees, Ailith, the Elves do,” Jareth said but he smiled with obvious joy and contentment.

  “You would be amazed, Ailith, to see an Enclave. It’s magic. They’re incredibly beautiful. Nothing like our stone and brick monstrosities or the blocks of the cottages in a village. Instead they have colonnaded galleries that surround the base of each tree, with tiered balconies above them. Vine-wrapped bridges span between them like lacework. More vines of all kinds drape everywhere, flowers and grapes dangle within reach. When a breeze blows, drifts of petals waft across the vale to dance like scented snowflakes.”

  He smiled and the beauty of that smile in his plain face made Ailith’s heart wrench.

  It surprised Elon that Jareth spoke so eloquently of his home. He knew Jareth loved Aerilann but Jareth spoke so rarely and even more rarely so glibly. Jareth tended more to plain speech, clear and direct. It said much that Elon hadn’t known how much Jareth loved to visit his Enclave, not only to see him and Colath but for the love of Aerilann itself. It shouldn’t have, it had that effect, his home.

  Colath teased with gentle good humor, “Jareth, you’ve become a bard.”

  Abashed, Jareth looked away.

  “No fear, my friend,” Colath added, “I shall not tell. I don’t know that Aerilann has ever had a greater compliment. He’s right, though, Ailith. It’s beautiful beyond most measures but perhaps I’m biased as it’s my home. Jareth, however, has never seen half its beauty and look what it’s done to him. To truly see it, you must go up among the trees. From above it astounds even me sometimes. Jareth, however, has a problem.”

  “He can’t bear heights,” Jareth interrupted. “I’ll manage. Somehow.”