The Coming Storm

by Valerie Douglas

It was somewhat of an ease to his mind to know that even stopping on his way Talesin would be there by now. The wards would be strengthened, the Hunters and Woodsmen would be girding up, as well as any and all of the blooded adults.

  The surviving Hunters and Woodsmen here, even the wounded who could still ride, formed up on each side of the procession for protection, chivying the refugees along.

  Gwillim rode up on a roan, waving at Ailith to keep her seat on Smoke.

  “No, Ailith, he’ll be more use to you than me still.”

  A horse cart came up beside them.

  “Hai, Ailith,” Danalae said, with a tired smile of greeting. She was a striking woman rather than a pretty one, with piercing dark eyes and close-cropped short hair.

  “Hai to yourself,” Ailith answered.

  Two bright young faces popped up from the back of the cart to wave at her.

  She smiled.

  “Goodness, Danian, you must’ve grown a foot since last I saw you. You’ll be taller than your papa soon.”

  The boy grinned, showing gaps in his smile but the circles under his eyes were evidence of too many frightened, sleepless nights for a small boy. His sister was more shy.

  “Shall we?” Gwillim said, as the last of the villagers passed them by.

  Nodding, Danalae shook up the horse and the little two-wheeled cart trundled away.

  They went as well, the long string of wagons and carts stretching ahead of them as they rode alongside it.

  The pace was hard but not so hard as to leave the refugees with nothing to spare. If it came down to it, Elon wanted to be sure there was enough in reserve to make a run for it if need be. It was a delicate balance to maintain. How hard to push yet leave strength remaining? Elon glanced at the sun worriedly. It was lowering fast.

  “We’ll make it, Elon,” Gwillim said, with a grin, eyeing the sky as well. “Just.”

  That eased his worry only a little.

  Ahead of him Colath and the others rode out a little to watch for surprises. Bow in hand, Jalila scouted along the length of the line, standing in her stirrups to see better but staying within close enough range of the train that she could return to it swiftly. Jareth rode in the middle of the string, so he could go forward or back as needed. Too many times of late Elon had found himself surprised, this time he wasn’t taking any chances.

  He glanced around for Ailith.

  She and Gwillim chivied along a laggard at the back of the line, then prodded or coaxed those at the rear to keep the pace a little better. He saw her lean down to make faces at a cranky child to get it to laugh before turning in answer to someone else’s call.

  These were her people, those she’d been born and bred to rule and serve. Watching her bully some, coax others, listen intently to their fears, doubts and hopes, he had no doubt she would be good at it or that she loved this land and these, her people.

  That they in turn loved her it was clear, voices called to her constantly, or hands were raised in greeting.

  In the west the sun lowered to become a brilliant orange ball that sank toward the horizon, just beginning to set as they neared the next village. There was no doubt these folk, too, had seen hard nights. Battered but intact, the gate still held but the walls showed evidence of hard wear, scratching and tearing.

  There was a shout as they were spotted and the great gates slowly swung open.

  Gwillim rode ahead to find his people stationed here.

  Inside, there was less damage but sign that something had gotten through. Carts full of stones trundled past, rushed to a far wall. The damage there was hidden behind one of the cottages.

  Scanning their rear, Elon signaled to the others to join him to guard the stragglers against the possibility of an early attack.

  “Firbolgs tore down the back wall, a kobold got in and some boggarts and boggins. They’ve got a lot of dead. They’re trying to get the wall finished before the sun sets,” Gwillim said, as he rode up on his return.

  “We’ll set elf lights above so we can see what comes, you should warn folks about them. We’ll all take places along the walls, Jareth will go where he’s most needed.”

  Gwillim nodded. “Someone’s bringing food around, this might be the last chance we get to eat before morning.”

  As the sun settled below the horizon, an awed young woman brought Elon a bowl of thick stew and a slice of bread. They didn’t see many of their folk in this region. She looked up at him with huge eyes before she hurried away.

  Colath had far more of a problem. It was something in the look of him that had always drawn the eyes of the people of men, especially their women. More than a few of those eyed him with alarming interest. It wasn’t the first time he’d faced such attentions but it never grew more comfortable.

  Most dispersed when Ailith, seeing his predicament, signaled to Jalila and the two of them settled to each side of him to keep him company while they ate.

  Those who couldn’t fight were gathered in the largest secure building in the village. Men and women with young children, old people and the more seriously wounded. The lesser wounded who could still fight were on the walls.

  A shout and then another. Tossing his bowl away, Elon ran. So did the others.

  The weakened wall was under assault. Firbolgs and an ogre come under the uncertain light of the gloaming.

  Jalila had her bow out and one firbolg was down.

  There was a thundering bang. The gate.

  “Colath, Jareth,” Elon shouted.

  Hearing the sound, Colath had already turned, his bow in hand to race toward the embattled gate.

  Jareth, too, was on his way, close on Colath’s heels.

  It had begun in earnest. Five elf-lights lit the growing darkness. Elon needed to see. Gwillim waved him over from the flat top of one of the cottages. The height was low enough. Moving at speed, Elon leaped, long legs and Elven strength carrying him up to land lightly on the low roof.

  Looking down enviously, Gwillim said, “I had to use a barrel.”

  He shook his head then turned and gestured. His expression was grim.

  From the rooftop Elon could clearly see most of the area around the walls. At least five ogres, dozens of firbolg and a moving mass of dark bodies that could be almost anything. Boggarts, boggins, kobolds all swarmed and climbed over each other to get to the wall. The ogres pounded the stones with both monstrous fists, trying to batter the walls down. Elon could hear the thuds. He could feel them. The gate, too, was under steady assault.

  Jareth was there, giving aid to Colath. There was a flash of a mage-bolt.

  Another shout and Elon turned. The weak spot in the wall was giving way. Ailith was at a run to give Jalila some help. A boggin scrambled over the wall. He saw it race toward Ailith. His heart was in his throat as he leaped from the building and drew his swords.

  Without a pause, Ailith spun as gracefully as a dancer, both hands on her longsword, and cut the thing in half without missing so much as a step as she continued to run. It was very nicely done, beautiful to watch if it hadn’t been so deadly dangerous.

  More boggins and boggarts came over the walls and in places he could almost see the walls bow under the assault.

  Another stone tumbled out of the damaged wall even as he drew near. Ailith and Jalila both fired arrows into mass below but the walls still shook. Elon took out a boggart with an arrow as it scrambled to the top of the wall, then turned to put an arrow through another as it came over in another place.

  Gwillim caught up. He shouted, “If the walls go…”

  He didn’t need to say more.

  Hearing him, Ailith turned her head, sighted along the wall. This wasn’t the only place where it was under attack. She could see one crack beneath the assault of the ogres even as she watched. Beside her, the weakened wall crumbled a little more as firbolg tore at it, trying to dislodge the stones.

  Ondelak’s voice echoed in her mind. Dwarves know stone. You know stone through your father.

  A bo
ggin clawed at her and she leaned back sharply out of reach before she put an arrow through its eye.

  Someone cried out as a firbolg tumbled over the barrier.

  Gwillim sprinted to help.

  Elon looked around. There was no defensible place if the walls came down. They would be fighting them in the square and between the cottages. That didn’t favor the defenders.

  Beneath her, Ailith could feel the stones grind against each other. If the walls fell…

  She looked back at Elon, saw him assess the situation.

  “Elon?” she called, over the cacophony of shouts and cries, growls and roars.

  He looked up.

  “If the walls go?”

  Their eyes met. The answer was there. There was no need for him to say it, she could see it in the concern in his dark eyes. He stepped up beside her, took out a firbolg that got too close with a quick shot.

  Earth and stone, she could feel it against her hip. She felt it shudder, grow more weak.

  If the walls fell…

  Before her was a mass of creatures. Behind her a building full of children and the wounded. Gwillim’s children among them. Elon here and Jalila. Colath and Jareth at the gate. The people that fought beside her. She pulled on her bow, let fly. Another.

  The wall shivered. It couldn’t fall. It couldn’t. The wall shook and she put out a hand to steady herself. Don’t fall.

  Something answered. A surge of energy. Something from deep within the earth. Power. An answer to her wish. She knew stone.

  It flowed through her, that bright surge of power, poured through her and out again, to soak into the battered walls.

  Ailith’s head pounded in rhythm to the thundering assault of the ogres.

  Elon felt it like a delicate brush of spring air over his skin. A breath of magic, soft, with a sense of freshly turned earth and the sharp tang of metal against stone.

  The stones of the wall groaned and creaked. He felt them lock in place, stone against stone, unmoving and unmovable.

  He felt Ailith quiver. Wincing visibly she turned and fired an arrow into the mass of creatures below. He took a quick look back along the wall. The rocks in the wall didn’t shake, though the pounding went on.

  The walls were holding.

  Again, she trembled. He leaned against her to give her support. She didn’t stop firing, nor did he but he could feel the strain in her.

  Mage-light flashed behind him, lit up the night luridly. He glanced back to be sure Colath and Jareth were well. Some of the things had gotten over the walls but the Hunters and Woodsmen took the creatures down even as they crossed.

  Throughout the long night, through assault after assault, the walls held. Above the pounding came shouts of alarm, the cry of wounded, the yelp and whine and howls of the creatures of the borderlands. Below them, some of those creatures turned on each other, attacked the wounded or vented their frustrations on each other, reverted to their true nature. Elf and mage lights were a constant glow against which torchlight flickered uncertainly in the hands of runners as they brought supplies, more arrows for the archers, or pots of pitch to pour over the walls and set aflame to drive the things back.

  The first light of dawn touched the sky.

  As suddenly as the attack had started, it stopped, as the creatures withdrew once more into the shadows.

  Ailith sagged wearily against him.

  On her the other side, Jalila set her bow down.

  “I’ll need to fletch more arrows,” she said, tiredly, “I had to ask one of the Hunters for more. They don’t shoot as straight as mine.”

  “The walls held, for a wonder,” Gwillim said, amazed, from behind them, “I thought for sure we were going to lose them. Surely this part. There’s no dead. That’s a blessing. A few wounded but otherwise, we did well.”

  Carefully, Elon stepped down from the wall and reached a hand up to Ailith. Her eyes were pain fogged, her face as pale as milk. With a deep sigh, she reached out to take it. Her hand trembled in his as he helped her step down.

  Ailith let out a long, unsteady breath.

  He looked down at her. “The walls held.”

  “Yes.”

  It was all Ailith could bring herself to say.

  Her legs trembled and she feared they wouldn’t hold her. There was a pounding in her temples that kept the rhythm the ogres had set. It felt as if her head were a very large drum being pounded on by a very cranky child.

  “You should start getting these people ready to leave,” Elon suggested. “It’s a long journey to Raven’s Nest.”

  Gwillim looked at him.

  A wall started to crumble, they all heard it go.

  Another.

  Jalila jumped down and stepped quickly away. That wall, too, began to fall. All around them people stared as rocks broke away and, one by one, the walls crumpled.

  With a glance around him, Gwillim nodded thoughtfully. “I’d better get these folks moving.”

  Walking slowly, tired themselves, Colath and Jareth joined them. Both were unhurt.

  It took only one look for Jareth to see it.

  “I thought I felt someone using magic. It had to be Ailith. The walls? You held the walls all night?” he asked incredulously. He took a closer look. “And you used it too much for too long. It’s a wonder you’re still standing. It’s a wonder I am.”

  His own head throbbed from the mage-bolts he’d been firing.

  She looked up at him blearily.

  “I can’t do mage-bolts,” she said, carefully, “but I can do walls. They are stone. I know stone through my father’s people.”

  Elon took a breath, the depth of her pain evident in the tightness of her lips and narrowing of her eyes.

  Around them an organized chaos reigned as folk scrambled to secure their possessions, to find carts or wagons of any kind to carry them, or passage on one that had space to spare. There was no one to notice.

  “Hold still,” Elon said and cupped her temples in his hand, pushing his fingers through her thick, soft curls to massage gently.

  Carefully, he extended Healing, felt it sink into and merge with that which was Ailith, to find the pain and the seemingly bottomless exhaustion that plagued her. She’d worn herself down nearly to the dregs. He shook his head.

  Ailith felt it, the sweet music of Elon’s Healing restoring harmony within her, the pain easing as she felt Elon’s soothing touch.

  It felt wonderful. She let out a long sigh.

  “Thank you.”

  Still holding her head between his palms, he tilted it up so she must look at him.

  Firmly, he looked into those steel-blue eyes. “The next time, ask.”

  “Yes, Elon,” she said, obediently but her mouth twitched and her eyes twinkled. She sobered a little. “Just let the next time not be soon.”

  “Agreed,” he said, allowing himself a small smile as he released her. “We should rest while we can. We have another long day ahead.”

  It was.

  For one thing, the line of refugees was now longer.

  There were surprisingly few complaints. The sight of the walls coming down had dampened some of the elation these people had felt at surviving the night.

  Gwillim rode up beside him shortly after midday.

  He tilted his head at Ailith, riding scout on the other side. “She did it, didn’t she? Held up the walls.”

  Eyeing him cautiously, Elon said nothing.

  “Elon, have no fear of me, I’ll say nothing. I watched her grow from child to woman. Never once did I doubt she’d be as good a ruler as her father was, or better, before this. He was a good man, was Geric. Before. She never liked the trappings but she knew her duty and never failed in it. Rode with my people or did circuit in her father’s place. Knew when to follow orders and knew when to give them. I’d have followed her then and I’ll follow her now.”

  Elon nodded.

  “If those walls hadn’t held,” Gwillim added, “it’s likely none of us would have survive
d. That’s all I’ll say about that. No one else knows or even guesses. Some few think it might have been the wizard. The rest all think it was simple luck and I won’t change their minds. I have to say, at least, there was one wonder. No trolls and no goblins. We’ve had our fair share of both over the years and I haven’t seen a one. That I don’t understand but I’m grateful for it.”

  With a tip of his head, he rode on.

  That was a worry Elon was relieved to let go.

  A wrong word from Gwillim would have been all it took for the talk to begin. If those stories reached the wrong ears… Even the thought made him uneasy. He let it go as Gwillim seemed content to.

  At the end of each day they crowded behind the walls of the next village, early or late, at night they fought. It was a weary and increasingly threadbare cortege that wended its way northward, seeking haven as they went. More joined them at each small village. In one a stubborn few elected to stay behind, despite all attempts at persuasion or coercion. In a way Elon understood it all too well, even knowing what their fate would be.

  These weren’t Elves and had neither the skill at battle or the magic to defend themselves. They had made their choice though and he couldn’t bring himself to deny them that.

  His only concern now was the state of the pass into Raven’s Nest lands. If Tolan or Geric knew what they were about there might be trouble there.

  As Gwillim would say, for a wonder there was nothing. All was quiet in the pass. The long train of refugees made it through unmolested. Yet, something troubled him.

  Colath rode up beside him. “You’ve noticed it as well? The silence?”

  That was it. “Yes. It’s too quiet. I mislike it.”

  “As do I,” Colath said. “The last time I heard such silence was up by the borderlands in the spring.”

  “That doesn’t bode well.”

  With a shake of his head, Colath said, “No, it didn’t then and I fear it doesn’t now.”

  Ailith dropped back to join them as well. She looked at each of them. So they had noticed it, too, the oppressive silence.

  “You hear it. Or rather, you don’t hear it. It’s too quiet.”

  Both nodded.

  “It’s as well we don’t have far to go. We should ride ahead to secure passage through into Raven’s Nest.”