The Coming Storm

by Valerie Douglas

  “Your crown, milady?”

  She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Thank you, Jareth.”

  Jalila gave a shake of her head.

  “Come here,” she said and straightened Ailith’s hair before Ailith settled the circlet over it.

  Where, Jalila thought in amusement, was the regal woman from Westin’s hall?

  That one reappeared once the gates and Crag’s Head’s Hunters were in view. As one the Hunters bowed to her and took them to the castle.

  Queen Esbet was indeed a formidable woman. Not tall but powerfully built, with iron gray hair pulled back tightly beneath a silver circlet she clearly wore every day. Her eyes were dark brown, long and narrow. She received them in her office, the Great Hall reserved for more formal occasions it appeared. Her expression was tired and more than a little worn. Lines had been engraved deeply around her eyes and along the sides of her mouth.

  Their warning was received with a fair amount of consternation and more than a little concern.

  “A few of my homesteads have come under attack,” she said, her eyes now gravely worried. “You say the creatures of the borderlands attacked Raven’s Nest in force?”

  Ailith nodded, thinking of the town spread out like a skirt below the castle.

  Most were like it, towns growing out around the castle of the reigning King or Queen. Raven’s Nest’s walls had been built mainly to keep out the occasional raid of trolls and goblins and wolves. Its isolation had required it. The town below had but one wall and had spread far beyond it. From its height and strength that wall had been built to keep out the occasional bands of raiders and thieves, trolls or goblins that sprang up now and then. The primary purpose of the Guard here and the garrison further north and west had been to catch such, by Daran’s decree. Neither Guard nor wall nor garrison were prepared for such an attack as had occurred at Raven’s Nest. Only high castle walls offered protection enough.

  Esbet saw that clearly, her face paling. “I can’t shelter all that live in the town below in the castle, there isn’t room enough. You say you think such an attack could occur here?”

  With a nod, Ailith said, “Yes, we’ve reason to believe it could. There have been signs all across the northern borders, invasions of creatures not native to that region. A salamander attacked one of my easternmost villages, far north of its range, setting several buildings afire before it was stopped.”

  “We’ve seen manticores in both the west and east as well,” Jalila added.

  Her memory of that trip with Colath was sharp. The death of Iric had affected her deeply. If he hadn’t been up behind her, it would have been she who died that day. Truly died, with no passage to the Summerlands for her, only another circle of life.

  “Here in the north but more to the west.”

  Manticores were more creatures of legend than anything to be accepted as fact. Jalila was Elf, though. Esbet never thought to question it.

  “I’ve had a number of homesteads report small attacks, my Hunters and Woodsmen are hard-pressed. I’ve had to conscript men out of the villages and sentence a few to service with them. One of my northernmost homesteads was found empty of everything living.”

  For a moment she was silent and then she nodded. “Take your ease here, rooms will be made for you. If you’ll forgive me, it seems I have much to do. Do you know when?”

  Ailith shook her head. “Not for certain. Only that the walls must be up or strengthened before the snow flies in earnest.”

  She could almost see that sturdy woman’s heart quail at the thought, as Esbet got to her feet and summoned a servant to escort them to their rooms. The Queen was shouting for pages, her voice echoing, as they walked down the hall to their rooms.

  They left the next morning, early.

  Ailith glanced back once at the castle before it went out of view. It nestled up against a mountain, a pretty scene on such a bright and beautiful fall morning. The leaves were turning brilliant shades of gold, amber and scarlet, the colors making it appear the mountains were on fire. She hoped the illusion was only that.

  “They’re so vulnerable,” she said, looking at the village below.

  Esbet had sent out her Hunters and Woodsmen to call in all who would to come. The workmen on the walls were evidence of her other orders. Anyone not bringing in the harvest was set to work. The dungeons and jails had been emptied, the taverns as well. If they had leisure to drink, they had time to work.

  From their vantage point she could see the men and women who’d been conscripted to work on the walls. They were hard at work.

  “It’s all we can do,” Jareth said.

  It was little comfort.

  The Commander of the Garrison, another one such as Belac, was inclined to scoff.

  It wasn’t surprising, really. They’d been at peace for a hundred years or so. After the wizard wars it had taken some time to recover before men felt the need to do battle once again among themselves, they’d lost much of their taste for killing during that awful time. It wasn’t until most of the survivors of that war had grown old or died before men found their quarrels with each other reason enough to do battle once again.

  The Elves and the Dwarves had left them to it, save for those times when Men had pushed their boundaries and they’d been forced to fight back.

  King Faelen, then, had set himself to take the lands of men in hand, through negotiation and treaty, or now and again at the point of a sword. So it was that a High King was named, that one being Faelen, and he’d set the first treaties between the lesser Kingdoms, the contracts and the standing army, to which all the lesser Kings would send men. He set the forms for deciding a successor, that being largely the ability to convince a majority of the lesser Kings to grant one among them the power to rule over the rest in convocation. The fractious squabbles between the lesser Kings had, however, taxed Faelen until his death. Unfortunately, he hadn’t felt the need to stop their incursions on the other races, for it lessened the need to attack their own.

  High King Warric had taken the throne and barely held it in the face of defiance from two of his lesser Kings. Even then, though, for much of the time there had been peace of a kind.

  Now Daran sat on that throne and say what you would of him, he was a King to be reckoned with. Not a man of cool temper, but he’d held it long enough and he was still a King of vision.

  Peace had held for many years. The purpose of the garrisons were now more a caution than a need, lest any lesser King think he might raise an army of his own. In addition, they also served the purpose of keeping bandits down and lent aid to the Hunters and Woodsmen in dealing with the raids by goblins or trolls.

  Or they had.

  It was quickly apparent this Commander didn’t feel the need. The garrison had the feel of men and women with little to do but endless drilling, to a purpose they didn’t understand.

  They left unsatisfied, neither Ailith nor Jareth able to convince him. This time there was no handy second in command. Jalila he’d largely ignored. He made no secret of the fact he had no love for Elves, although he was too well-bred to say as much, but he certainly hadn’t had a problem eying her.

  “They’ll be slaughtered,” Jareth said, in disgust as they rode away.

  Jalila shook her head. “How does a man like that get command?”

  With a sigh, Ailith said, “Daran High King needs to buy the good will of some of his lesser Kings. To do so he offers their extra sons and daughters, the ones who can’t be used to set alliances among each other or that aren’t suited to other tasks, to such positions as gainful employment. It’s necessary to keep the peace among them.”

  It was incomprehensible to Jalila.

  Hers was a long-lived but not terribly fertile race. She hoped to find a soul-bond soon, one with whom she could have true sharing but that hadn’t yet come. An alliance though, had given her a son. He rode among the Hunters with his father’s Enclave. It had been hard, though, not to wish she could have born him to a soul-bonded partne
r. She still hoped to find that one and have at least one child with him as well.

  To have so many children one didn’t know what to do with them made little sense.

  “We’ve done what we came to do,” Ailith said, “We’ve warned them, it’s all we can do.”

  “Well,” Jareth said, “we’ve a long ride ahead between here and the next and at least one night to spend in the open. There’s no inn I know of, nor a town big enough for one between here and there. That’s why the garrison is here at all, to give protection and provide shelter to travelers.”

  He didn’t mention it hadn’t been offered.

  Nor had Ailith pressed it. She wasn’t inclined to force Jalila to endure the man’s sly glances. He may not have liked Elves in one way but there was something predatory about the way he looked at the tall golden-skinned Elf. Ailith had seen such a look before, had it directed at her a time or two by those who hadn’t known who she was. If Jalila had seen it, she didn’t know what it was or what it meant. Her people had no equivalent.

  “Sleeping in the open? We’ve done it before,” Jalila said, with a shrug. “We can again.”

  Ailith had been watching the lights in her mind, had found Elon and Colath still making their way south. Now she looked backward for signs of gray and this time she found them. She went cold. They were near the Rift. The trackers had picked up their trail. Theirs and Elon and Colath’s.

  She watched, stiffening in the saddle.

  “Ailith?” Jalila said.

  Holding up a hand, she closed her eyes, the easier to concentrate. The trackers stayed where they were for a time, and then with sinking heart she watched them as they split, a group turning north and another going south.

  “We push the pace,” Ailith said. “The trackers are on us. And on Elon and Colath.”

  There was no way to warn them but she knew from her dream of them they were being cautious. She hoped it was enough to keep them safe.

  Jareth swore softly. “I don’t want to be caught out in the open with them on our trail but I don’t think we’re going to be able to avoid it.”

  How close and how fast? Ailith followed the distant figures in her mind, trying to estimate distances. They were still some distance behind and hadn’t reached Crag’s Head.

  “We’ll take the chance,” she said, finally. “Try to find a good spot with good cover. They’re not that close that we need fear them on our heels. It does us no good to be tired when we might need the strength. I’ll keep watch for them. If they draw closer, we can make the decision then.”

  Jalila nodded. “It’s better not to be tired.”

  They found a decent place to camp, sheltered enough that they dared make a fire.

  As they moved higher into the mountains and further north the nights had grown colder. Around them the trees shed their leaves in earnest, so the ground was now carpeted in gold and scarlet.

  It took three tries before Jalila finally took Jareth’s bedding in hand to find him a decent spot to sleep.

  Fire was a risk but it was also a weapon. Boggins and boggarts feared it, though it could attract them as Jalila knew from that nightmarish expedition to the borderlands.

  She woke them late.

  Something sniffed around the camp. It was too great a risk to leave Ailith and Jareth sleep when she couldn’t determine what it was. It was large but not a bear. There was little wildlife to be seen hereabouts, not even the squirrels that should have been out gathering their nuts at this time of year. It was probably a boggin but it also might not be. Jalila took no chances.

  They sat quietly for a while, the three of them, listening with their weapons in hand but eventually it went away. Since she was awake, Ailith scanned their back trail. The gray lights were there but still. Why, she wasn’t sure. Sleeping? She wished she could warn Elon and Colath. She found them in her internal heavens but not their trackers. Those were lost among the myriad lights that clustered in the heartlands. It worried her and ate at her.

  “Did you find them?” Jalila asked.

  For a moment Ailith didn’t know which them Jalila referred to.

  “The trackers?” Ailith replied. “Yes, they’re still. Maybe they still need sleep, too.”

  Jalila shook her head. That wasn’t what she’d asked. “You watch. I know you watch.”

  “Yes, them as well,” Ailith admitted. “They’re moving south at good speed. Jalila, I can’t find the trackers that follow them.”

  “You worry.”

  Jareth said, to reassure her, “Elon isn’t going to be taken by surprise easily, nor will Colath.”

  She sighed and nodded. “I know but I still wish I could warn them. I know the trackers have their trail. As much as I know Elon and Colath are more than capable and they’ll be careful, I also know trackers took Talesin.”

  That was something Jareth hadn’t known.

  Jalila went still, too. “I didn’t know. I would have said not to worry. Now I know why you do.”

  “That and I haven’t dreamed true.”

  That surprised Jareth, though he kept his silence.

  “It worries me as well that I can’t see what Tolan plots and plans. I know he does, he must still and I fear that as well.” She shook her head. “I can’t do nothing about either. Jalila, why don’t you sleep? I can take my watch now that I’m awake.”

  “Or we can go,” Jalila suggested. “With trackers on the trail? Sooner done, sooner south. We’ll all feel better for it. Perhaps at this next place we can rest our heads behind walls where trackers fear to tread.”

  Jareth nodded. “I don’t think any of us will sleep much now tonight anyway.”

  Donkellen Castle rose above the trees, surrounded by mountains. It was an impressive sight, with its myriad towers both large and small. The sky was overcast and grim, though, promising rain. They’d had so many fine days it was a wonder they hadn’t had to deal with it before. At least they might spend it under a roof. With the way the wind blew it promised to be a dousing, and cold. The lights of the castle promised warmth.

  It wasn’t until they passed through the trees that they had a good view of the town in tiers below it, draping the mountainside. Houses clung to the hillsides or perched atop cliffs. This place had natural defenses that Crag’s Head hadn’t.

  The gates of the town were open, surprisingly. The few homesteads they’d passed had had their gates closed and barred.

  With the imminent rain, the streets were nearly empty of all but those with the most urgent business. Folk hurried from one place to another but otherwise it was quiet. Few looked at them and those that did looked quickly away.

  They rode up to the castle gates unremarked and unrestricted. Here, too, the gates stood open in welcome.

  Ailith, the borrowed circlet from Raven’s Nest settled upon her brow and in full royal mode, was bowed to deeply by the guardsmen at the gate.

  “I crave audience with King Gerard,” she said.

  “Gerard no longer rules here, ‘tis Braeden who is King now,” the Guard said.

  Surprised, Jareth bit back a comment but he was frowning.

  Ailith saw him start and gave him a look but shook her head slightly as the guard waved them through. Her eyes went up and he saw the murder hole above. There were listeners. He nodded and waited until they reached the courtyard.

  In a quick aside, he said, “Gerard was hale and hearty when last I saw him, his heir would have been Gerd, his second son. His first became a scholar. This one was his third.”

  “Jareth,” Jalila said.

  While he’d been speaking, she’d been looking around. What few folk there were in the courtyard had an odd, uneasy look to them. There was a nagging sense of familiarity about this place. An odd sense that she’d done this before. It reminded her very much of their visit to Riverford.

  He looked at her, followed her eyes.

  The stablehands that came out to take their horses had a familiar frightened air.

  “Ailith,” he sa
id, urgently.

  She’d noticed it, too, felt the quality of the tension in the air but no sense of the source of their anxiety. Having been part of it, she’d never seen it from outside.

  “I know,” she said, quietly, and then to the stablegirl who held her horse. “Don’t stable them, child. We won’t be here long.”

  Patting Laes, Jalila bade him, “Stay.”

  Given the instruction, the Elven-bred wouldn’t move until she returned.

  Jareth said, “Should we be here at all?”

  Taking a deep breath, Ailith said, “We need to know for certain. Right now we have no more information than you did at Riverford.”

  She didn’t like doing it, but she left her longsword with Smoke. One didn’t bear such arms into the presence of a lesser King. Her shortsword was decorative enough to be passable. Her heart pounded.

  There were eyes on her, she could feel it.

  “Be ready to leave, and quickly, on my word,” she said, quickly, as the chatelaine came forward to greet them.

  The man bowed and went to take her name into the Great Hall. Those doors opened only briefly and just widely enough to let him pass and the voices within out. A glimpse was all they could catch of those on the dais, and of the new King.

  Young, like Ailith he was barely past his majority, somewhere in his mid-twenties, but unlike her he seemed strangely unformed. Old enough to rule, though, as she was.

  Beside him on the Queen’s throne was a woman of extraordinary beauty.

  In a way, she had the same striking appearance that Elves had, their confidence but more languid. Raven-haired and blue-eyed, she had skin like fresh milk touched with roses. Her voice carried, soft and musical but oddly uninflected. Too even, too smooth. Not sing-song but there was a flatness to it that sent chills through Ailith.

  One glimpse of the Queen was enough. Jareth felt a sudden sharp tug of pure unadulterated lust that shot straight to his groin. The intensity of it shocked him to his core, his mind nearly going blank. The need was instantaneous, something he’d never felt.

  He shuddered.

  From the corner of her eye Ailith saw Jareth visibly sway. She turned, alarmed. From the darkness of the hallway a dark figure flung itself at Jalila.