Daran, High King of all Men and First of the Three.
Looking at her, Daran wondered, How had it come to this?
He had nothing but distaste for this mission but little choice.
This woman, this young woman. How old was she? Mid-twenties perhaps.
He remembered her too well from Colbreath and his reluctant admiration of her there.
So young, too young and too calm, too still for it, under these circumstances.
If what they suspected was true, though, that explained it.
Some were afraid of her. He wasn’t, not yet. But she was a risk he dared not take.
Otherling. If it was true then she had power, a great deal of power, as he’d seen that day on the plain, when she’d raised the dragon.
The power it had taken to do such a thing…concerned…him.
Judging by what he’d seen, by the power it had taken to do what she’d done, she was as powerful and as dangerous as the wizard they’d just fought.
There were those who searched for a name, for the one who helped make her. There were some who wanted it. Daran didn’t care. He didn’t matter.
Only this one did.
Like so many others, she bore the marks of this war on her face. It was too pinched, too thin, her eyes too steady and too knowing in too young a face. There had been too much blood on her hands, she’d seen too much horror. As he knew. This confinement and the reasons for it wouldn’t have improved upon it.
She was comely enough now that he looked at her, although she wasn’t comely enough to turn a head for looks alone. That steady gaze from steel-blue eyes showed courage and strength, of which he already had reason to know she had in plenty. Sun-lightened hair in tousled waves was bound back with a leather thong. Of her Dwarven heritage she showed only a sturdiness of frame, of her Elven an odd thread of grace, but outwardly in all else she was of the race of Man. And therefore his problem. Or so it seemed. His also by being graced First of the Three.
It didn’t matter and couldn’t matter. None of it mattered, nothing mattered but the Alliance.
There would be some who would try to use her to destroy that Alliance. That was inevitable. It was already happening.
She had power. Power he didn’t, couldn’t. control. Nor could Avila. Although that one hadn’t admitted it openly, he’d seen it in the avid glitter of her eyes.
Neither of them had any hold over her.
By all accounts only Elon did.
That Daran couldn’t allow. Nor had Avila been pleased with the notion.
Not that any of them had any choice in it now. Not with what had been set in motion.
As much as he knew Elon hated the thought Daran knew he could control even Elon to some extent. Elon would do much to bring peace for his people. So long as that was something Elon wanted and Daran controlled that, Daran controlled Elon. However much that proud Elf bucked in his traces.
This chit upset that balance of power. All he had to do see it was to look at Avila.
More, as the heir to a lesser King – disowned or not – there were those who could and would rally around her, try to raise her up. Perhaps even offer her as High Queen. A few of the lesser Kings would like that notion.
That made her dangerous. Too dangerous.
“This much I can do,” he said to her, abruptly. “I can offer you exile. To the Borderlands. If I recommend it, the others will follow. Take it. It’s better than death at the hands of the Dwarves.”
For a moment Ailith went still and her heart as well, frozen in her chest.
The offer surprised her, stunned her.
Exile. Banishment to the borderlands like any common thief or murderer. Sent out into those barren lands to survive among the creatures there however she could.
The creatures and the wizards she’d fought for so long and so recently.
She was astonished Daran offered even so much.
Elon. What would this do to him? Her heart twisted, ached. That pain, that grief burned in her chest as if seared by acid. Scalding.
She remembered what Talesin had said.
Were they truly soul-bonded, she and Elon? What would exile do to him? Would it at least offer him hope?
At least it wasn’t death.
She closed her eyes and her breath caught. It was beyond her to reply.
Narrow-eyed, Daran watched her but that serene face showed nothing until she closed her eyes and shuttered away whatever feelings she did have behind them. He didn’t want to see it anyway. It was easier if he didn’t.
“It’s better,” he said to her silence, pacing away to stand by the fire, “than what may be. Were it left to the Dwarves it would be your head. They remember the last Otherling too well. The Elves haven’t yet made known what their thoughts are, they’re not a blood-thirsty race but there are those among even them who would wish for your end. They’re unsettled by the idea of another Otherling.”
Death. More than an end to her life, it would be the end of all hope for Elon.
There wouldn’t even be the promise of a reunion in the Summerlands if she lost her life to a Dwarven axe.
She was afraid. More afraid than she’d been on any battlefield. It seemed she couldn’t breathe, as if the air in here had grown too thick and close.
Exile or death. Daran offered her exile and life, if she could survive in the borderlands. A chance and life for herself and hope, perhaps, for both her and Elon.
“Why?” she asked, and watched Daran cautiously.
Was it hope she felt or dread? She couldn’t tell.
He turned to look at her, frowning slightly. “Why, what?”
What had she to lose by challenging him now? Her life? Of what moment was that now? Little. Exile or death. It kept echoing in her mind. Exile to the borderlands, to survive as best she could among the creatures there.
Raising her chin, she looked at him.
“Why should I do this? Why should I do this for you? I should like to know. You wish me to accept it. How can I, without quarrel or explanation?”
It wasn’t often anymore that he was challenged. This one had done it before. Nothing much daunted her but then after time spent around Elon, nothing much would.
Daran raised an eyebrow and looked at her more carefully.
Resolution, yes, it was there in her eyes.
Something more than mere curiosity.
A life of exile in the borderlands or a Dwarven axe to the throat? Either choice would be bitter enough.
As little as he liked it, in a way he was the petitioner here.
He needed her consent, her cooperation. This plan had been set in motion very carefully, for many reasons.
“Fair enough. Because you must,” he said, shortly. “For the Kingdoms. Because if you don’t, Elon will suffer. His involvement in your cause already raises questions that cannot bear answers. Jareth will suffer as well.”
By all reports she had strong ties to each.
Just how strong and of what nature? he wondered. A threat to them might convince her to accept.
Those piercing eyes, the color of good steel, met his evenly.
“What matters that to you?” she asked plainly. “You care little for either of them. It’s well known that you have no love for wizards so Jareth’s fate is of no matter to you. As for Elon, there are few who would challenge his integrity, he’s so well known for it. He’s served you faithfully and well and you repay him like this?”
For a moment Daran’s temper flared. What gave this slip of a woman the right to question him? He who was High King of all men and First of the Three? It was a fault he’d long struggled to control. He thrust the anger back as he had so many times before.
What right?
Her life, her hopes, her dreams. What fault had she committed to be condemned to this fate? Her birth, which wasn’t of her choosing. For a single act of courage? A moment, short seconds that bought precious time that may have turned the tide of the battle, of the war? That may have spel
led the difference between victory and defeat?
May have? It had.
He owed her this much.
“Personally, you’re right,” he said, as he stalked across the room to the fire to stare into the flames. “I have little feeling for either, in truth. However, I need Elon. The one thing we share, that we care deeply about, is this Alliance. I’ve given my life to it and bid farewell to my wife for it. It’s been bought and paid for in sacrifice and struggle. No more does Man and Elf quarrel over land and boundaries or Dwarves craft their swords and axes for Man and Elf both to use against the other. That Alliance has held for years now, longer than you’ve been alive. In the end, it’s been forged in blood and war. Now it threatens to shatter, to be torn apart. And for what? The fate of one person.”
He paused to contain himself again, to rein in the bitter anger and frustrated rage.
“I don’t care for the fact of your blood. Old taboos, prohibitions and bans matter little to me, they’re empty tradition. I could care less. Is any of it true? I was there on the plain and I saw the dragon. Real or illusion, it’s impossible to deny. To the Dwarves, that tradition and the ban against the mingling of blood are sacred. It’s Law to them, though, engraved in stone. Some of the Elves, too, hold that prohibition against the mingling of blood dear. Elon’s own people. You know as well as I the old stories you learned at your nursemaid’s knee. Our own old tales. That and the fear. They fear you. I can’t blame them for that nor should you. Wild magic. You gave them reason enough that day on the plain, whatever your intentions.”
And hope as well but that wasn’t something to speak of at this time.
It was the power they feared, power enough to raise a dragon into the sky.
Power that was held in the hands of this young woman, for all that she didn’t look especially threatening.
That was deceptive.
She was as powerful as the wizard they’d faced on the plains.
If even half of what he heard was true, even without that power, with only her swords in her hands she was deadly. She’d stood beside Elon, had fought equal to equal with one Daran knew to be a master swordsman.
That power, though, had raised a dragon. What else could she do with it?
“The Dwarves know what you are now. They want your head and only partly for fear. Their Law demands your life. In truth, I think they only wish you to be gone. No one really remembers yet that their blood ran in your father’s veins and they don’t want anyone to recall it. They’re ashamed. They’re ashamed that one of their blood has done what he did, broken honor, turned traitor. Even if their Laws didn’t demand so harsh a fate for what you are, they would want it for that and that only.”
“Otherling. Even among the Elves, there are some who share that. As much as they treasure children, some among them wouldn’t have suffered you to live.”
“Many among our people feel much the same. You have three great black marks against you. Not the least of which is that you look like us and yet you are not. The chance that led to the mixing of blood and blood taints you.”
“Again, that’s the least of it. You betrayed your father. For the greater good, perhaps, but some among our people see only the betrayal. You betrayed your own blood, the blood of your father. As he betrayed his crown and his people.”
“Greater still than that, though, is that you have Power. Great power. Not a wizards power such as they could understand but Otherling magic, wild magic. That frightens them. They hear whispers among the Dwarves and they repeat the old tales of what your like has done. That they remember. They fear what they don’t know.”
In truth it frightened him. For all that the dragon he’d seen had been beautiful, for all that it had done no harm, the power to create such a thing awed him. He didn’t like to be awed.
He was suddenly tired. Weary beyond his years. Whether it was the distaste for this mission, or the long overdue weight of the past months and years on his shoulders, he didn’t know.
Daran sighed. “As for Jareth, he is of no moment. Wizards do what wizards do and I could care less. I leave it to them and Avila. Elon… Elon matters. You think I don’t care. Personally, no. Politically, yes. Even among our people his integrity is well known. One day he’ll sit among the Three, of that I have no doubt. His people respect him. As do the Dwarves, were it not for this. For you.
So, one day he’ll sit among the Three. If the Alliance survives this. If he does, he’ll lead the Elves. Of that, too, I have no doubt.
But.
There will be a shadow. It will undermine him. Someday he could be among the Three and long may he reign if it’s so but not so long as that shadow remains. That shadow will be you. There will be misgivings and doubt, even among his own people.
That does matter. I’ve worked too hard and struggled too long to give it up. I would see him sit in my seat and take my place. I won’t see this Alliance sundered.”
His legacy required it. Too often in the past these peace ventures had failed and history had marked those failures. What Daran left behind him would last. He would assure that at any cost.
Ailith listened, watching Daran’s face.
Before her eyes he seemed to age, the toil and struggle bowing his shoulders. He straightened his back, stretched it as if to relieve it of a monstrous weight.
He believed this. Daran High King.
She knew the truth of much of it, had seen it already. Fear in the eyes of some, unease in others. Truths can be many things. She hadn’t betrayed her father. Some might see it that way but she hadn’t.
Not even the man who resembled her father but hadn’t been.
She ached for the memory. Was the rest also true? She didn’t know.
Daran set his black eyes to her, resolute once again.
“Don’t count on their aid,” Daran said. He wouldn’t have her harbor false hopes. “Either Elon or Jareth. They’ve been called away. Far away. It was too great a risk that either would take up your banner.”
It made sense now. That’s what the summons had been about.
First Colath, then Elon and Jareth. All called away.
Ailith had never felt so alone since the days she’d first guessed her father wasn’t her father.
Closing her eyes briefly, she looked upon the stars that shone internally and eternally in the soaring vault of her soul and she could see those two, but distant.
It didn’t take even that much.
Elon.
She could feel him through the bond. The incomplete soul-bond. She felt it now and always, as she felt the vow she’d made to him and the words she’d said to Talesin that day in the garden.
Endure.
Slowly, she let out a breath, opened her eyes again to look upon DaranHigh King.
His eyes met hers.
“Good,” he said, “you know it, then, to be true.”
He’d seen it in her face. A slip.
Again, she nodded. There was little to say.
He took a sharp deep breath.
“I won’t ask for your answer now. Consider it. Listen, on the morrow. Listen and look. Watch what people do and listen to what they say as you pass among them. Listen to the whispers. Then decide.”
With that he turned and walked to the door.
Exile.
The thought made her cold. It wasn’t death. There would perhaps be some hope.
For herself?
Her heart quailed at the thought. Alone in the borderlands.
But for Elon?
“My Lord, if you recommend it,” Ailith asked, “how certain are you the Council will follow?”
With his hand on the handle of the door Daran turned to look at her.
The two lamps he’d lit cast only a little illumination, the fire was down to embers.
Her eyes gleamed, reflecting the light like polished steel. Her face was still, set, her eyes steady.
It came to him, then, that if what they thought was true then she was caged here only by her ow
n will.
Did she have the magic to escape if she chose? He didn’t know. Yet she didn’t. And if she did? What then? A fugitive and hunted throughout the Kingdoms. Where would she go? What would she do? What choice had she?
None.
They’d made sure of it.
For a moment her gaze lowered, then she looked at him once more. “Can you promise it?”
“Aye, I can do that,” he said.
It was what he had worked so hard for, to have that kind of power. The power of life and death.
Her voice was soft.
“Well enough,” she said, on scarcely more than a sigh. “I’ll consider what you said.”
It was all he could ask for, all he would get.
He rapped upon the door.
It opened and closed behind him.
Ailith stared after him, her arms wrapped around herself.
Exile. Banishment.
To the borderlands, as with any common criminal. To that place where all the fell things lived that she had fought for so long.
Alone.
She couldn’t weep, though she could wish it.
Elon. Her heart beat slow and hard.
She grieved, alone, for what might have been, and held it close as much as she could, that she not share it with him, or with Colath.
With darkness close and only the light of the moon to guide him Jored rode hard, pushing the gelding as hard as he dared. It wouldn’t do to founder the beast and fail in his self-appointed mission. His mission. There was no other to do it.
It was madness. It was.
What they planned was madness, too, though. He knew nothing of the affairs of the mighty, he was only a poor soldier but it was still madness. Despair drove him to risk himself and his horse by driving them both hard through the night with only the moon to guide him. One false step and his fate might be a broken neck.
Yet, what else had he fought for but this?
Standing on the battlefield with the butt of his pike ground into the earth and his sword in its sheath but ready.
What else had he fought for but her and those around him?
The young boy beside him, Corwin, his face and eyes nearly wild with fear.
Before them the enemy, the likes of such he’d never seen.
The sound of their approach was the sound of thunder but it was their aspect that chilled his bones.
The Coming Storm Page 71