“How much longer will he keep us?” Colath asked as he joined him.
Elon let out a sigh with a shake of his head, as much frustration as he would allow himself to show.
“I don’t know. This is Daran High King, First among the Three and I would guess he wishes to show me he doesn’t dance to the whim of an Elf, no matter that he is Councilor, or Advisor, or First among equals, only one among many.”
He’d hoped Daran wouldn’t.
These games and whims were so much a part of power for some men. What purpose did they serve? None, except to delay what should be done.
But Daran did love them.
There was a knock at the door. Colath went to answer it and returned, lifting an eyebrow.
“Daran High King requests your presence.”
At last.
Elon dressed carefully, knowing such things mattered to men. Even to the heavy chain of his office as Councilor.
Men didn’t know how little Elves or Dwarves liked chains, how little they liked the implication of the restriction of freedom. It bound him to his office rather than freed him to serve it. It also served as a bitter reminder of other chains, made not of the softer metals like gold but of colder ones like iron and placed on his people by men. He’d tried to explain it to Daran and others, but none among those folk truly understood, they who’d never worn chains or knew those that had. He’d resigned himself to accept it but he was never comfortable with it.
He stood outside Daran’s Great Hall and awaited entrance.
His presence was announced.
As he entered Daran waved away his retinue, the small gathering of secretaries and ministers that fluttered around him like moths to a flame.
There was much about Daran that reminded Elon of a hunting bird, an eagle or a hawk. It was in the look of him, from his high bridged, arched nose to his glittering, deep-set, sharp black eyes to his short black hair, touched with gray, that had been brushed back from his forehead and confined with his Court Crown. Tall for his race, he was nearly of a height with Elon. Staring back with those black eyes, he waved the secretaries and ministers further away and gestured Elon to join him on the balcony over the gardens below.
Leaning on the balcony wall, propped on his arms, Daran looked out over the gardens restlessly.
Elon was wary of this mood.
“I hear,” Daran said, “ you’ve been traveling the north of late.”
“Have you?” Elon said, carefully. “I don’t deny it. I ‘d been hearing some disturbing tales of late. I wished to investigate.”
“What have you found?” Daran asked, looking out to sea.
For Daran this kind of talk was like a game of horses and hounds, moving pieces on the board against a master player. Although he rarely won against Elon, he liked the challenge of it, and it made his occasional victories all the sweeter.
“You are Daran High King, you must have heard some of it,” Elon answered. “There have been raids and forays all along the north and elsewhere by creatures of the borderland.”
Daran said nothing, merely waited. Sometimes silence gained more than speech. It was certainly true among his own people. Often Daran had only to wait silently and soon enough someone would speak, if only to fill the silence.
This was a game Elon wouldn’t play. He spoke sharply. “Speak plainly, Daran.”
Turning Daran looked at him with angry black eyes. “One of the Council, one of my Advisors, goes wandering my borders and I know nothing of it.”
Calmly, Elon said, “By your own Agreement those aren’t your borders but the borders of all races, Men, Elf and Dwarf. More plainly, though, I wouldn’t come to you with supposition but with knowledge, to serve the Three and the Council.”
Inwardly, though, Elon was angry. Daran forgot the terms of his own Agreement, the one he’d helped to write, the one he’d signed. Daran needed reminding sometimes that he served at the will of all the races, not merely his own. It was a frequent error of Daran’s, to think himself High King of all. He was only one of the Three who did rule, equally. First in name only. The Elves and the Dwarves ran their own lands as they saw fit. An equal number of all the races sat on the Council. The laws of men affected men, the Laws of the Council affected all.
It was also personal. Daran had named him Advisor to him not the Council. Their agreement that he would serve so didn’t mean he was at Daran’s beck and call, nor that he had to answer to him, and, knowing Daran, he’d made that clear at the beginning. Now Daran was angry Elon hadn’t sent word of his actions.
Checked, Daran thought, mildly irritated, on two counts. He must now step back.
This was important or Elon might well have walked out by now. He’d done it before to prove he wouldn’t be brought to heel like some tame dog. How important was this to him?
“I’ve had complaints,” Daran said, more mildly, reining in his frustration.
Elon went still. “Have you? Of what and by whom?”
“King Geric.”
“What of him?” Elon asked.
This was dangerous territory. What had Geric complained of? This was Tolan’s doing, of that Elon was sure.
“It seems you’ve been wandering his lands without his leave.”
Taking a breath, Elon shook his head. “The last I knew, the Agreement doesn’t prohibit me from wandering where I choose. I’m a Councilor and your advisor, which gives me certain rights, so long as I don’t abuse them. I don’t need his warrant to cross his lands any more than any other traveler, as long as I break no laws. So far as I know I’ve broken none.”
“He says you have his daughter and Heir.” There, state it baldly and see what he says, Daran thought..
“I don’t have Lady Ailith. The last I heard she was of her majority and free to go where she pleases. As for King Geric, where once he was a good King it would serve him better if he turned his eyes to his people, he doesn’t serve them well any longer. His people have suffered more from these raids than any I know and I have reason to know it. Lady Ailith feels differently than her father, wishing to serve her people and the people of the Kingdoms better. As I’ve witnessed, and others. She shepherded those people her father abandoned at the risk of her own life to save them from such predations. Only to find herself and those very same people in more dire straits, when Raven’s Nest was attacked in force by goblins and trolls.”
Shocked, Daran’s head whipped around, his eyes sharp.
Lifting an eyebrow, Elon said, “That’s what I came to tell you, Daran. You would have had word of it two days ago if you hadn’t kept me waiting.”
“Trolls and goblins? In force?”
That was unheard of.
Yet this was Elon, with his Elven Honor and his precious integrity. Elon didn’t, wouldn’t lie. That Daran knew to be true.
“I was there,” Elon said. “The town is in ruins. We had to fire parts of it to save the whole. There are hundreds of dead and more wounded. I have the warrant of King Westin to speak to you on his behalf. I have also the sworn word of Captain Catra of your own garrison there. Daran, I have reason to believe Raven’s Nest won’t be the last you hear of such.”
Daran was silent but this time Elon knew it wasn’t gamesmanship. He was stunned.
For all his plotting and planning, for all his schemes and his games, Daran meant to be a good King. Which was why Elon served him at all. Something as dire as the attack on Raven’s Nest would be a mark against him, a failure on his part. For all his faults, Daran truly strove to serve his people well. If for no other reason, he did it for his legacy, that he be remembered as a great King and not merely a good one. That legacy, that place in history, mattered deeply to him.
“Tell me,” Daran said, finally. An attack, in force, by goblins and trolls. Daran couldn’t imagine it.
“All the signs that were present in Riverford, all the signs that were present in Raven’s Nest, I, or those I have sent, have found are present all through the north.”
; Shocked, Daran said, “Everywhere?”
“All through the north. We’ve seen creatures even we thought were a thing of myth and story. Manticores, for one. You know the tales of those. They’re real. The Hunters and Woodsmen are stretched far beyond their limits. They can’t defend the borders. Not any longer. Not against these numbers.”
Daran was silent.
Finally, Daran said, “Olend complains as well.”
Olend.
In the South.
The Door to the South is open. Somehow Elon wasn’t surprised. It chilled him, though, and he Saw again that dark figure waiting in the Doorway.
“Then send him help, Daran. We run out of time. Call the Three.”
As much as he would have preferred it, there wasn’t time to call the Council as a whole to plead his case and gain their support as well. It would take weeks to summon all the Councilors back from their various domains.
Daran looked at him. There was more. He knew Elon well enough to see that despite his Elven impassivity but Elon wouldn’t speak of it here. There was a tension in him, if you knew how to look. He didn’t doubt what Elon said. Leaving aside the known veracity of Elves, Elon alone of all his advisors spoke plainly with him. His integrity had never been brought into question and wasn’t now. Geric had never been a complainer, he’d been a solid, stolid King who stayed quietly in his Kingdom and ruled it well. This querulous complaint from him was as much proof of Elon’s assertion as it was unlike that King. As Elon had said, Geric’s daughter and named Heir was of age to make her own decisions and go her own way until she must take her Crown and throne. To complain to the High King of such things was foolish.
That, however, wasn’t to the point. The attack on Raven’s Nest was. The complaints he’d been hearing all along the borders, that was. It meshed with Elon’s statements and gave Daran a sinking feeling low in his stomach.
“I’ll call them. We’ll meet in the morning.”
Elon’s heart sank. Another day. There was no point protesting, though, and he knew it. Whether Daran wished to be a good King or no, pressing him would only make him contrary. He could become obstructive simply out of pique and to prove he could. Besides, he didn’t know how close the other two were to the city.
Bowing, he acceded to the High King’s wishes.
It chafed at him, though. He wanted, needed, to go north. Ailith, Jareth and Jalila were up there alone. Doing what needed to be done, warning the folk up there at risk of their lives. To stay in this house sleeping in a soft bed seemed to belie what they did, the chances they took.
The snow fell in thick heavy flakes. It was early, this snow. Not that uncommon in at this time of year in these parts. The garrison commander had wanted them to stay but the trackers were on the trail again and Ailith knew they drew close. The safety of the walls was an illusion, she knew, it could also be a trap for them if they stayed. The trackers had only to wait for them to emerge. They must go out sooner or later to finish the mission or to meet Elon and Colath. An attack could be set against the garrison. If Tolan wanted her that badly it was likely, as they’d seen.
She could only hope the snow would help cover their tracks and slow their pursuers.
Fortunately, the Commander had loaned them warmer clothing, none of which they had. None of them had been prepared for this kind of weather so soon and they hadn’t yet brought or bought any.
It was the beginning of winter in the mountains and only the beginning. More snow would follow to smother the north in white and close the passes. Tolan had to know what they were doing, would he push the time forward again? The snow would also slow them. A week, more or less, to finish and the trackers were closing.
“How close?” Jareth asked, as they rode out.
“A day. Less,” she said. “I’m hoping the snow will slow them more than it does us. We dare not stay in the garrison or they would just wait us out.”
They passed through a town full of people who looked up at the softly falling snow. There was something in their expressions that caught at her. It took a moment for her to realize what it was. Dismay. They’d left it too long, the snow had them caught now. They had to leave, and soon, or stay.
It was nearly dark when they reached the next Kingdom and they were nearly frozen with cold. Their welcome, however, was a good deal warmer than they wanted. If the Hunters and Woodsmen hadn’t moved so quickly, they might not have suspected a thing. It was the speed with which they moved to intercept – despite the warm hails – that warned her. To push their horses so hard through the deepening snow was cruel. No proper Hunter or Woodsmen would treat their mount that way, not when their very lives depended so much on them.
“Go!” she shouted. “Ride.”
They leaned into their horses. The flight of arrows from the pursuing Hunters fell short.
It was the one thing she’d feared, that they’d be forced out into the night in the snow. There was nothing for it now. They lost their pursuers as much because the taller and bigger Elven-bred horses could make their way through the drifts better as because of their alertness.
Now night gathered and they risked losing sight of the road in the drifting snow. Elf lights were no help when everything was buried under a mantel of white. It all looked the same. Ailith could go by dead reckoning, follow the lights in her head but who knew what the terrain was like between one place and another? Roads didn’t always go straight, there were mountains and ravines in the way, and those ravines more difficult to see. Jareth wouldn’t remember each twist in a road.
What now? Her hands and her feet were numb, Jalila looked as uncomfortable as an Elf would allow herself to look and Jareth appeared as miserable as they both were. In the blowing and drifting snow it was hard to see. The lights in her mind said people and warmth were too far away.
Ailith looked up at the mountain that stretched above them. She knew rocks and stone. This would stretch her magic in ways she hadn’t yet tried.
She peered through the blowing snow, seeking as much through sense as sight.
There.
A cave, her instincts told her it would be large enough for them and the horses.
“Follow,” she called.
The mouth of the cave as just a darkness against the white. Above it was perched a high cornice of snow. Had it been snowing long enough to make that a danger? Perhaps. Higher on the mountain, it almost certainly had.
Even so, they couldn’t take the chance. Jareth tossed a mage-bolt through the entrance. Within something yowled. He tossed another.
Ailith watched the cornice, willed it to hold. If it came down they would have a much bigger problem. Avalanche. It would sweep them before it down the mountain.
She looked at Jalila and Jareth, drew her swords as Jalila took up her bow and sent an elf-light ahead.
With a nod, Jareth covered them as they darted inside the cave.
Boggins, a few of them. Most were dead but one of them came at her. Her reflexes were a little slowed by the cold but it was stunned by the mage-bolt as well. She cut it down.
They dragged the bodies of the dead boggins out and brought the horses inside the cave to keep them warm.
Another outing, ducking under trees for deadfall, to find enough wood for a fire with the help of the leaves and whatnot the boggins had dragged inside as nests for tinder. There was no fodder for the horses, though. The garrison commander had been kind enough to supply them with travel bread and dried meat.
Between the heat of the fire, the horses and their own bodies, they got warm enough to stop shivering.
“I miscalculated,” Ailith said. “Badly.”
“No,” Jareth said, “you were right. We would have been trapped in the garrison. You had no way of knowing Hightower had fallen.”
It was little consolation.
Ailith scanned their back trail. The trackers had slowed, almost stopped. So had the Hunters and Woodsmen from Hightower.
Jalila asked, “Where are the trackers?”
<
br /> “They’ve stopped, a few hours behind us.”
“Good, we can get some rest, then,” Jareth said. “We’ll get warm, get a little sleep, then we’ll be ready to head out again once it gets light enough to see. I’ll take the first watch.”
They curled up on the floor, she and Jalila, with their blankets wrapped tightly around them. Warmth had taken the stiffness from their hands but all of them were exhausted.
Darkness claimed her.
Ailith slept. And dreamed.
She hated this place, the firelight and the bloody walls. The relentless pull.
The iron door creaked open.
Tolan’s voice. “Welcome, little Ailith.”
This time he was waiting as if he’d deliberately called her. He smiled, his bland face melted and reformed, his sharp teeth gleamed. The Door wasn’t open and the doors weren’t open. They were there, waiting, but not open.
“Oh, I’ve been so anticipating this. You have vexed me, you have. You’ve frustrated and thwarted me, so you must be punished. I will have them and I will have you. Oh yes, I will have them and I will have you. They will break and they will bleed and you will break and you will bleed. Oh yes, oh yes.”
There was a pause.
“But it seems I’ll have you first.”
Ailith went cold at his words. Her stomach dropped.
There was a satisfaction to what he said, a certainty that alarmed her. Suddenly she knew she’d more than miscalculated.
The trackers had been driving them, her, like sheep, pushing them further and further until they’d finally reached too far.
How long had she been asleep?
Her heart pounded as Tolan started to laugh.
“Oh, yes, I will have them and I will have you. But I’ll have you first.”
He was trying to hold her here, hold her in sleep.
Frantically, she reached for the bonds to Elon and Colath and pulled.
She was awake.
Deep in sleep, far too far to the south, Elon felt that sudden sharp tug through the bond and was awake in an instant.
The Coming Storm Page 48