There was grief in her voice and sorrow, tiredness and the satisfaction of doing what needed to be done.
“We held,” he agreed. “I believe the tide of the battle has turned.”
“Good, I’m tired and I ache and I don’t want to fight again tomorrow.”
He dropped to one knee to touch hers, to lean close and say softly. “If I Healed this, do you think any would notice?”
Smiling a little, leaning her head close to his conspiratorially, she replied, “I can leave the bandage on so no one will notice. It will make you and Colath a little easier, too, I think.”
“It will. More for you than for us,” he said, and placing his hands around her thigh just over the wound.
He found he needed to touch her, to know she was truly well. A second only, a brief merging, to Heal it and the other cuts and bruises.
“We’ll need to find time, soon, for forms.” He missed her presence at his side.
It was too hard to stay, so hard to go.
“I would like that very much,” she said softly.
So much. She wanted him to stay longer and knew he couldn’t. To stop at a commander’s tent to offer a word wouldn’t be amiss. To stay too long would cause talk. There was enough of that already, but she missed the time with him, and with Colath.
The pain eased. His hands were very warm on her leg, the pain faded but not the warmth.
“Soon, Ailith,” he said.
He was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
Sighing, Ailith stretched out slowly on the cot. Even Elven Healing couldn’t soothe all the strains of battle. For a long time sleep wouldn’t come, there was only the memory of the warmth of Elon’s hands and the comfort of his presence. She missed Colath’s steadiness. All during the battle, Elon and Colath had ever been in the back of her mind. Something inside her ached for the lack of them.
Drifting off, she slipped into a uneasy, restless doze, hovering at the very edge of consciousness.
A sibilant whisper that was so like a language that she should know but couldn’t quite hear, couldn’t quite understand, the words only beginning to make sense, filtered through her half-formed dreams. A chill shivered under her skin. It made no sense and yet she thought it should make sense. When she tried to understand, though, it wouldn’t come. She needed to understand, though. It was important.
Mornith, Mornith planned something… Planned, plotted. Mornith, who stood in the Door to the South…
She woke with a start.
Mornith was in the South. The unprotected South. A bolt of cold fear shot through her.
Elon had to know. There was nothing for it.
She ran.
His tent, his and Colath’s. Borrowed, like hers. A little larger as befitted his station. There was a guard in front of it in light of his status as Councilor and Advisor to the High King. No one but her and a very few others knew who had truly directed this battle. Elon had been very good about staying in the background.
Used to her sudden arrivals the guard announced her, calling inside so they would know she was coming.
Ailith? Elon looked at Colath in consternation. The battle was over.
They were both up, throwing shirts on over hastily donned trews as the guard threw the flap back.
“Ailith,” Elon said, “what is it?”
Forcing herself to concentrate, she said only, “Mornith is in the South.”
It was all she needed to say.
Elon stared at her and went still, half in and half out of the shirt. How could he have forgotten? The Door to the South. A chill went down his back. With all else going on, he’d forgotten.
Colath froze as understanding dawned.
“What happened?” Elon said.
“Dreaming true,” she said, quietly. “None of Tolan’s nasty little tricks, only that odd whisper. That sound like a language I should know but don’t. I think Tolan may have acted almost like a translator in a way, though he didn’t know it. When those images came I’d heard it often enough to get some of the sense of it without him. Mornith is in the South.”
Elon’s eyes were still and dark as he considered it. “He knows now or will soon know he’s lost here. This wave has been broken. Until now he’s been careful not to reveal his hand in this openly. Now he may have no choice. King Olend is beset and requesting aid. Now I understand why. I told Daran he should send it.”
The moment he’d said not to leave the south undefended, his foresight had been tingling. His foresight warning him that this might be the result?
Had Daran sent the aid?
He pulled his shirt on the rest of the way and settled it neatly.
“Wait here, I must speak with the King.” He didn’t know yet what he would say to him.
He strode out.
There wasn’t much between Olend’s desert kingdom of Marakis and Doncerric, the High King’s city, only plains and the marshy delta of the great river. From it the central plain spread northward reaching from the deserts to the east to the foothills of the mountains to the west to create the heartland.
Among men the city of Doncerric held a place of special honor and not just as the home of the new Council. It was also the seat of the High King of all men and of the Kings that ruled them. It was a symbol of what was to them the long years of peace.
The south held significance to the Elves and Dwarves as well. Just to the north of Doncerric was Alatheriann, the oldest, largest and most populous of all the Enclaves. As well, one of the largest Dwarven Caverns lay beyond it to the north and west. To the east, just north of Marakis was Talaena, the smallest of the Elven Enclaves. And the one in most immediate jeopardy.
If Mornith wished to conquer and control all of the Kingdoms, that was the place to do it. He had held that in reserve, trying first for stealth.
Had all this been a feint, drawing them north and leaving the south undefended? Or had it now become one?
A guard announced him. A strained and weary aide hastened back to awaken the King, while a young page sat up to rub at his eyes tiredly.
Wearing nothing more than an Elven-silk robe which he hurriedly tied around himself, Daran stepped out.
“My Lord High King Daran,” Elon said, “did you send aid to Olend?”
Caught off guard, not quite awake, Daran looked at him in surprise. There was something in Elon’s voice that kept him from making a sharp comment.
Instead he nodded and said, “I sent him a company.”
A company? A hundred men. Elon closed his eyes for a moment. A hundred men only. Not nearly enough if what they suspected was true. Elon’s heart sank.
“Did you leave the southern garrisons or are they here?”
“You suggested I not leave the South undefended so I left them, and with the levees of the lesser Kings it seemed we had enough,” Daran said, getting a sense of Elon’s urgency.
But still.
“We’ve won.”
Elon took a breath. “We’ve won here. This isn’t undirected, Daran. There must be a hand in this somewhere, these creatures haven’t enough intelligence or a reason to join common cause. I don’t think this was a feint but I do believe he may have held another plan in reserve in case it failed. I would’ve done so if I were him. It has. He must know it or he’ll know it soon. He must move now and must reveal himself.”
Had that been the plan all along? To send the ravaging horde through, undirected, so he could send his army through from the South to rescue or conquer a desolated and beaten population? That part of the Kingdoms, so far from the borderlands, was as unaccustomed to hardship of any kind any more than the central plains. The outer Kingdoms, Enclaves and Caverns had always stood as buffer to the others, especially in these more peaceful times.
The Hunters and Woodsmen of Alatheriann were few and rarely had need to do more than chase an occasional boggin or boggart back into the mountains. Even Talaena Enclave, the smallest, tucked in its pocket of mountains just above Marakis, was now at ris
k although their Hunters were hardier and more plentiful, and there were the mountains that nearly surrounded them.
It was the northern and outermost Kingdoms that were most accustomed to such things.
Suddenly all the pieces of this mosaic fell into place one by one and Elon could see it.
How long had Mornith been planning this, laying the pieces against each other, weighing the risks, the advantages, where best to strike and how?
Talesin had said they’d banished him but not where. At a guess to the deserts of the South, and that location had proved fortuitous.
It didn’t take long for Daran to comprehend the import of his words.
Doncerric was lightly defended and only by the city guard, who were more accustomed to searching those at the gates and rousting drunks. With the army to defend it, there had never been need for more.
If there was a move in the South, the King’s city could be, would be taken, and thus the seat of his power with it.
His city.
Daran looked at Elon. “What do you suggest?”
There was nothing for it. Before and during the battle Elon had seen the efficacy of Daran’s generals or lack thereof. These were peacetime generals, peacetime Kings, used to debating endlessly about what and how this or that should be done, more likely to discuss than direct. Of the lesser Kings, much the same was true. How much of that was the work of a Tolan or those like him, Elon didn’t know. Among those lesser Kings most had never touched a sword for purpose, leaving such things to their Guard, to the Hunters and Woodsmen.
How many of those Kings had been suborned? He didn’t know which among them he could trust.
Now Elon understood another reason why Mornith had chosen Geric, that practical and independent lesser King, to ensorcel. It must have been part of his plan all along. Take out the strong, the capable. It had been sheer luck, that bane of his people, that Mornith had chosen Riverford and by extension it’s heir.
Yet, he couldn’t tell Daran of that. There was no proof.
Once again Elon needed people he could rely on. He needed people who would know what needed to be done and would simply do it.
There were only four people he knew for certain he could trust, who would know what needed to be done and who would get it done and quickly. The ones he, himself, depended on most. But, to lead…
He was thinking and speaking as quickly as he could, his Foresight prodding him urgently but also not giving the High King the chance to object or scheme.
“Call up all the Hunters and Woodsmen remaining, we need a strike force that can move swiftly, something to send Olend to help hold Marakis until we can get the army moving again. We’ll need to leave a detachment here to clean up and prevent these here from reorganizing to strike at our rear. For now, start the rearward companies moving south, as they are the both the closest and the freshest.”
With Aerilann and Lothliann so close he hadn’t needed to do this yet, because this strike through the heartlands had been aimed more at the lands of men. He’d known he could call them up and would have had help at hand quickly if it had been needed.
Until now, Elon had been reluctant to do it, to risk those lives without dire need.
In balance, men were plentiful and replaced themselves far more quickly, while his long-lived people were few. It would take longer for his people to recover from such losses and they would feel each loss through the empathy in a way that men didn’t. Men didn’t have that empathic connection among themselves.
It was hard to look at it that way, as if those lives of men were less valuable when they weren’t. There were just more of them. It was a truth, though, if an uncomfortable one.
If this had been the plan all along, then Mornith was coming from the South in force. Talaena and Alatheriann were vulnerable. The Elves there would be unprepared, forced to defend themselves with little preparation or none if Mornith moved fast enough.
So, too, would the Dwarves.
“Call up my people and the Dwarves, as we both also have large and vulnerable populations in the south,” he said.
It pained him to do it. It couldn’t matter, too much was once again was at stake.
“Put Ailith in charge of the strike force with orders to raise the garrisons. Her company took much of the brunt of the charge yesterday so her command is essentially gone, freeing her for this. The remainder we can distribute among the other companies to fill out their ranks. We can spare her. She’s proven she can do what needs to be done and I know if I tell her a thing she’ll do it.”
Daran gave it thought.
There was no doubt that this Ailith Elon depended on so much was young in both face and age, but she seemed far older than her years. She’d met his gaze and his words directly, gave him no more or less than what he’d needed. Geric’s mixed blood was well known but if he didn’t know better he’d have sworn she was Halfling Elf instead. Perhaps it was this friendship she had with Elon? Some of his behavior rubbing off on her?
At least part of him wondered what the relationship was between them. What was it that held this Elf who he now knew to be far older than he’d ever considered to this young, disinherited heir to a lesser King’s throne?
In any case there was no doubt she was competent, she’d met his challenge and done exactly as she said she would without flinching.
Elon valued competence. That was likely it.
So, too, did Daran.
And, she mattered to Elon. It was a hold Daran wouldn’t willingly surrender.
It was only more proof, too, that Geric had changed and for the worse. His daughter had proven herself a better heir than many, if not all, of the heirs of the inner Kingdoms. The only reason he could think of for the estrangement was that she’d somehow challenged Geric in some way and lost. It also reminded him that some of his most competent people had suddenly become witless. Witness Geric. As independent as the Riverford’s lords were said to be he scarcely seemed to care about this war or the threat to his lands not that far to the south.
He’d watched the girl in battle. When the horde had come over the rise she hadn’t flinched, staying calm and controlled. With a bow she was nearly as good as an Elf and they were legendary.
Loath as he was to admit it, he’d found himself watching her frequently, comparing her to the other two commanders at the front. Where they’d stood back shouting orders to be carried out by others, she’d been in the thick of it, urging her people on and laying about her with her sword and a will.
What he needed to do was to get this strike force of Elon’s to the South in the event that his fears were valid. He also needed someone blunt enough and forceful enough to get the commanders of those garrisons to do what needed to be done. As close as both were to Doncerric it hadn’t seemed to matter much who filled those positions. Both positions had been prized for their closeness to Marakis and Doncerric and their distance from any real danger. Now that had changed.
Well, she was certainly blunt enough. He had had complaints about it already, that for one of her position now she was only too frank. Mostly from those who had the least right to speak on it.
This would get her away from that as well.
Only now could he regret he’d given the commands of those garrisons to the ones that now held them. Both positions had been granted to help buy his crown. They’d been at peace for so many years, the only reason he’d even kept the garrisons in place at all was the example of his predecessor. It also served to give standing to the extra sons and daughters of the lesser Kings and those who couldn’t find suitable employment in other trades. Now he would pay for it.
It was insane. He was about to put the fate of his Kingdom into the hands of a young woman barely past her majority. It irritated him but he had no choice.
“All right. I’ll give her warrant to take command of those garrisons as well, if she needs it. Neither one of those commanders is worth their salt. A recommendation as well to Olend so he takes her seriously.”
> Elon didn’t think that would be necessary.
Olend, he knew.
In the past, Marakis alone among the Kingdoms had never been an enemy to the Elves who occupied a small portion of their northern border. Their philosophy had been the enemy of my enemy is my ally. And so they had been. Olend had long been a friend of the Elves. Through Jareth and his connection to Olend’s Queen Itan, another wizard, that friendship had only grown stronger and more personal. That one would know the value of what he was being sent.
He said nothing of that to Daran, however.
It was a wonder that Mornith hadn’t suborned Olend, considering the man that he was. Itan though, was a wizard. As much as these agents of Mornith seemed to move so unmolested and unremarked, bringing something like a soul-eater around Itan wouldn’t have been possible. She would have known it for what it was instantly and raised the alarm. She was a wise and canny woman some decades older than Olend. Mornith wouldn’t have dared to chance it.
“What else?” Daran said, “Oh yes, a warrant to call up the Elves and Dwarves. I’ll grant you have the authority to raise up your own people but the Dwarves may not be so willing.”
“That thing on the hill would have convinced them of their peril, that and the attack on their Cavern in the North,” Elon pointed out. He wondered how they fared there. “I’ll speak with the Lore Masters here, the Dwarves have their own manner of passing such things on. I’ll send Colath to Alatheriann. Our people will follow him. They’ll know that he speaks for me.”
Jalila he would send to call up their people at Aerilann as he needed Colath in the south as soon as possible. He’d send Jareth with Ailith. That would leave him with no one here at his back but there was no help for it, he couldn’t leave. Someone had to keep the army organized and Daran was too much of a peacetime king, he negotiated where he needed to command. There was little doubt Daran was shrewd in the manner of the politics of his people. War was another thing, though. Somehow he would get them moving South as quickly as they could, a matter of weeks only.
A secretary had been busily scribbling in the background and now handed Daran the warrants and orders needed. Elon took his leave of the King and sent one of the Guards to alert Jareth and Jalila that they were needed, asking them to join him in his tent.
The Coming Storm Page 57