The Coming Storm

by Valerie Douglas

  “I’ve summoned all the lesser Kings – the ones who’ve already arrived, others will join us on the march – and my generals, when I received word you’d arrived,” Daran said, as the page returned with the High King’s Crown carefully balanced on a velvet pillow.

  Elon was relieved to see it was the smaller of the two crowns, yet still heavily encrusted with jewels.

  Settling the crown on his head, Daran said to the boy, “Send to the cooks, tell them we’re ready. There will be food and drink shortly, Elon.”

  One of the guards brushed back the tent flaps. “Lord Effron of the Lakes.”

  A heartlands Kingdom, Elon knew, from the plains north of Doncerric. He was surprised they could muster any levees at all.

  He was the first. One by one, Kings and Queens and their staff trickled in, each announced formally as they entered.

  As one, the generals arrived, arranged according to rank and position – a bad sign. It had taken time but Elon had learned that such things would lurk in the background, a hidden undercurrent that would drown all debate and logic as each fought for primacy, for points and power.

  The time wasted by such protocol was foolish – but necessary in the society of men.

  Were it not for the example of Jareth, a few others and now Ailith, he would have thought it true of all of them.

  He didn’t miss the poorly concealed glances of both dismay and distrust as they noted his presence. He was well used to it. The looks given to Colath were less readable and more difficult to comprehend.

  At his shoulder, Colath shifted slightly.

  Geric.

  A single glance passed between Elon and Geric.

  That one, however, said nothing, his brown eyes still, blank and muddy, unreadable.

  Nor could Elon himself speak, without proof and without danger to Ailith.

  Who controlled Geric now? Or, with the soul gone and built of Tolan’s example, had some new entity come to rest within the remains?

  There was no answer to that, only time would tell.

  By the time the meeting truly began, darkness had settled, the tent was crowded and the depth of the difficulty Daran faced and Elon now accepted, was apparent.

  It took nearly all his powers of persuasion and a delicate balancing of tact and diplomacy against Elven honor to simply handle Daran himself, much less some of these others. Prickly and sometimes more than a little impatient, there were no few times when Daran had to bring his own considerable wiles to bear to circumvent the effect of his own words, where Elon couldn’t. Nor did Elon miss the calculating look in those black eyes as Daran manipulated one against another. Among these folk, with their obfuscations and elaborations, his own directness caused no little resentment as well. It couldn’t be helped. Changes had to be made.

  As currently laid out, resources were wasted or weighted too heavily to one side or another. Reorganization was necessary.

  As the weight of even this small crown bore down and seemed to tighten around his brow, Daran was glad, now, that he hadn’t brought the formal State Crown – as much of a masterpiece of the jeweler’s art that it was. He blessed his own wisdom in commissioning both, this one a cut down version of the other.

  Or was it the endless futile yammering that caused his head to ache?

  Could no one agree on anything?

  Not even those few Kings he’d counted on for their sense seemed to show any this day.

  Time and again Daran looked at that impassive Elven face and wished it showed a breath of the frustration he himself felt but, as always, it gave away nothing. The dark eyes were still, either focused on the speaker or on the map, letting the endless words and debate roll over and past him. In a way, that was frustrating in and of itself. Whatever thoughts or emotions went on behind those enigmatic Elven eyes, nothing showed.

  It was impossible not to respect that Elven sense of honor but Daran was High King of all Men, First of the Three. Deep within him there was a small burning resentment at how much he had to rely on that sense of honor, on Elon’s impeccable reputation for integrity and for the eloquence that even now bent more than a few to the path Daran wanted and needed them to follow.

  Hard as it was, Daran swallowed it. If it hadn’t been for Elon’s assistance, there would be no Agreement and no legacy. And Daran wanted that legacy. He wanted to be guaranteed his place in history, to be remembered for all time as one of the great High Kings, if not the greatest.

  This war he suddenly found himself in the midst of – and which he had his own doubts about – could ruin that legacy. He would swallow anything, ignore anything, to keep that legacy alive. To do that, he must be seen as a leader. To do that, he must win this war. To do that, he had to rely on Elon of Aerilann, however much he both admired and resented him.

  Someday the Annals of the Kingdoms would record these days as the golden years of the reign of Daran, High King and First of the Three, he would make sure of it.

  Jareth and Jalila caught up to Ailith, falling in on either side of her between her and the two guards before she’d gone more than a hundred paces. Gratitude nearly overwhelmed her.

  “Gwillim used to say that only a fool volunteered. You would think I was the only foolish one in this place,” she said. She sighed as she looked from one to the other. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

  She had lieutenants now, that would help.

  The Commander’s tent was huge, more like a pavilion than a tent. Not as large as Daran’s it was, however, much brighter – brilliant slices of orange and lemon yellow. At least it was made of light Elven-silk but it was still sizable all the same. It might as well have had big targets painted on it. It was far too big for a disposable commander in the vanguard. She was under no illusions. Shaking her head in dismay she waved her warrant from Daran at the guards to get her passage inside despite their reluctance.

  Once inside, she understood their hesitation. The commander was in bed. A real bed. Full size. With a real straw and feather mattress. No wonder they couldn’t move. It would take an hour to take the thing apart.

  Going into battle like this? No wonder his people wouldn’t follow him.

  He wasn’t alone, he was quite naked and preoccupied with the doxy in his bed.

  Oblivious to intrusion, he waved at the guards distractedly. “Go away.”

  “You’re relieved of command,” Ailith said, sharply.

  “I what?” The young dandy in the bed turned and goggled at her.

  “Relieved of command. Orders of the High King. Get up, get dressed and get out. If you’re not out by the time I return, Daran High King will know why.”

  She gestured. Turning on her heel, she walked back outside as Jareth tried to restrain laughter.

  Looking at the two guards she said, “You heard?”

  They nodded.

  “Whatever he needs, just get him out.”

  Don’t ask, just give orders and expect they’ll be carried out. If they aren’t, demand to know why. Such had been father’s advice from long ago. From the time when he’d still been himself. Her heart twisted.

  Ailith snapped orders.

  The Hunters and Woodsmen appeared even as she directed the removal of the huge tent to replace it with a far more reasonable one and one to each side of it for Jareth and Jalila. All three took up about the same space as the first. Yet there was still room within hers for a small meeting space separate from the sleeping area.

  She looked over the Hunters and Woodsmen and their horses, then nodded greeting.

  “You’re attached to me now, by High King Daran’s orders. To all of you I’m Ailith of Riverford. I served with Gwillim. This army need scouts and you’re the best for the job. All of you know the kind of borderlands creatures you’ve hunted for years. You’re looking for them but this time looking only and looking for numbers of them. You’re our eyes. No contact, none, simply see and report back as quickly as you can. No heroes. If we have no eyes ahead of us, the army can’t see.”

>   She gestured behind her. “Those behind you, they now depend on you. Any questions?”

  Heads shook. “Good. Daybreak tomorrow I’ll need your officers. Remember, your job isn’t to get killed. See and report directly back to me or to Jalila. Get some rest while you can, we may not get much of it from this point forward.”

  Daylight had settled into twilight. Already campfires were lit and the air was fragrant with wood smoke and cooking stew. Her stomach was too tight for food yet.

  By that time the men and women of the company were formed up. More or less. It was more than a little ragged around the edges. That would improve.

  “My name is Ailith,” she shouted from astride Smoke. “I’m now your company commander. I understand you are the slowest company of this entire army.”

  Mouths dropped.

  No platitudes or homilies nor buying their cooperation with unearned approval.

  “I would like to see that disproved.”

  “A little less than a month ago Raven’s Nest was nearly destroyed by goblins and trolls. Some of you may have heard. I was there and I was fighting. Tomorrow we march. We march up there,” she gestured with her sword first in one direction then the other, “to protect those down there.”

  “Families. Your families, so they don’t suffer the fate that some of those at Raven’s Nest did. If you don’t believe that’s worth fighting for, go home, wait for them to come and face them alone. Otherwise, tomorrow, we march.”

  She gestured backward. “I want them, the rest of the army…to chase you. Tomorrow at dawn I want every man and woman among you to prove to me and to them that you don’t really want your families to be dinner for trolls. I want you to show them you aren’t the slowest company here but the fastest. I think you can do it. So prove it. Get some food and some rest so you’re ready in the morning. Here is the trick to killing a troll. Stick them with the pointy end.”

  There were a few nervous chuckles.

  “Good night.”

  Watching, Jareth nodded. It was the right tone to take.

  She went to her tent.

  “Rousing speech, Ailith,” Jareth said, amused, as he followed her.

  Jalila stood beside him, her arms crossed, shaking her head at Jareth’s comment.

  With a sigh, Ailith said, “We’ll need to see if it works. Can you find me a map?”

  She was bone-tired but she didn’t dare stop moving, or she’d fall asleep.

  Jareth gestured. One appeared on the table. They were precious and rare, laboriously hand-copied.

  Looking at it, then at him, she said, “Do I need to know?”

  Seeing the twinkle in his eye she decided she didn’t, and waved it away.

  “Jareth, Jalila, you’re my seconds. I want both of you riding alongside me tomorrow when we roust them before dawn. I want them used to seeing you and taking orders from you. Otherwise, go get some sleep. That won’t be plentiful sometime soon.”

  This needed to be done. Jalila went to her, handclasp to handclasp as she would have done among her own and let the empathy say what couldn’t be said in words.

  Ailith closed her eyes and simply absorbed it. With a slightly shaken sigh, she nodded, gratefully. Tentatively, Jareth laid a hand on her shoulder.

  She let out a breath and let go.

  Eyeing her intently, Jalila stepped away. For now, it would have to be enough.

  Ailith stopped them before they left the tent. “Oh and lest I forget sometime later to tell you. Thank you. Both of you.”

  A quick smile from Jareth, a nod from Jalila and they were gone. She was alone for the first time in months. For now, she wouldn’t think about any of it, only about what needed to be done next. It was a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, simply moving forward.

  They’d found her a small table to use as a desk and now she spread the map out on it.

  How far and how fast could she push them? She wouldn’t truly know until the morrow. What places could she use as a gauge for how far they’d traveled? What terrain might slow them down? She marked those points in her mind.

  Ailith was still pouring over the map by the light of a candle when Elon slipped silently inside. At first she didn’t notice him, so intent was she, her hands pushed up in her hair and propping up her head.

  For a moment, he simply observed her. Those remarkable eyes were lowered, focused. It was so like her. She did nothing by halves, his Ailith.

  His heart twisted.

  Then she sensed him and looked up.

  Her eyes lightened at the sight of him and she smiled.

  “Ala, Elon,” she said, “You’ve chosen good ground.”

  There was a serious look in his stern dark eyes. Colath wasn’t with him.

  “Why did you do this?” he asked.

  He needed to know.

  Taking a breath, Ailith stood, brushing her hair back from her face with both hands. Idly, she rubbed the heel of her hand over the ache in her chest at the sight of him and at the reason why she’d chosen to do this.

  “It’s all I know, Elon,” she said, simply. “I have nothing of my family left now. Not even a home. There’s you, you and Colath. Jareth and Jalila. You’re all I have. You’ve seen it and I’ve seen it, that black wave. If he wins he would have you in chains. All of you. I’ve seen you in chains once. I won’t see it again. There are all these people here and to the north, while Aerilann and Lothliann are still not yet behind us. The Dwarven Caverns at Colbreath. Elon, in my mind the high country gets darker and darker. They’re all my people, those of this Alliance, all my blood. I need to help and I want to help. It has to be done and I know how to do it. I hope.”

  Her face was calm, as still as any one of their folk but he could hear it in her voice. All that had been taken from her. She’d lost everything now, everything except who she was and what she could do. Rootless, with no place to belong, no place to call her home. Except the Kingdoms.

  In a terrible way, he understood.

  “You do. Ailith, I’m sorry for what’s been done to you.”

  He wished he could take her in his arms and hold her as he had the night Tolan had wounded her so badly by showing her how a soul-eater felt. This, in a way, was somewhat the same. They had taken her identity. But as much as he longed to give her comfort, he couldn’t. There were those who’d seen him come and the light of the candle would show on the thin walls of the tent what was done here. That would do neither of them any good.

  She could hear in his voice and see the compassion and understanding in his stern, dark eyes. Once before, she’d leaned against him, seeking and giving comfort but now she couldn’t. She wished the candle wasn’t lit. Elven sight would have been enough.

  But it was.

  The bond between them hummed.

  “I know, I do know, Elon,” she said softly.

  He didn’t want to go but he must. “Get some sleep, Ailith.”

  The candle went out as he walked away. Too late.

  Before dawn Ailith was up with Jareth and Jalila and all the long day, pushing, cajoling, shouting and berating, but she got her people to move. By the end of the day she knew a number of their names and they’d opened a distance between themselves and the rest of the army. The other companies were forced to try to close the gap or show they were lagging.

  Deliberately, she rushed her people into setting up camp, getting campfires and tents set up in quick-time, making it a race.

  Once some of her people caught on to what she wanted, they got into the spirit of it.

  By the time the other companies arrived, her own people were lounging comfortably around their campfires. The smell of cooking stew filled the air. Ailith had ordered extra rations and spirits sent around.

  As they watched the others straggle in, staggering around to set up, her people got it and started to laugh.

  Jibes rang out hot and heavy, full of mirth and good fun.

  If she couldn’t smile as easily, Ailith did still smile a little
and there was no small amount of satisfaction in knowing they had done it.

  The next morning, her people were up before dawn – not grumbling but moving with a will. Extra rations and the chance to beat the others were incentive enough.

  Grumbling himself, Jareth looked at Ailith astride Smoke and nodded. If Daran wanted his people to move, she would make them move. And they would like it. He wouldn’t, he hated mornings.

  Each day she made it a race to get to Colbreath before the other companies did.

  The closer they got, the more refugees they saw, ragged, frightened people, those still capable of fleeing before the wave in the north. Families. A steady flow.

  If food and spirits had been incentive before, seeing those desperate folk became a different spur.

  Mirth faded to be replaced by grim determination.

  The exodus was cresting. The scout’s reports confirmed it. As did reports from those who fled, and the survivors of the towns, villages and kingdoms that had fallen or were falling. What their wounds didn’t say, their eyes did. They were lucky to be alive. More and more refugees every day, their eyes shocked and stunned, bodies battered and bruised as they rode past the army.

  Ailith saw Elon and Colath only at meetings in the High King’s tent with the other company commanders, yet she dared not make much of it when she was there. Nor could they, although she would see the light spark in Elon’s eyes when she arrived and the warmth in Colath’s gaze. That separation pained her more than she dared to examine. She felt the absence of their company keenly. Only the presence of Jareth and Jalila and their friendship made the separation any easier.

  That and work.

  The northernmost garrison fell. She knew it, through the stars in her mind. Her scouts didn’t see it, they hadn’t been able to get that close. Although they all reported sightings they still reported nothing like the numbers she feared but she knew that would soon end. The mountains were dark in places where there had always been light Mountainhold, though, still held. For some reason it mattered to her that the doughty old Queen still survived.

  She let Elon know, in a too formal meeting in the tent he and Colath shared.