Exile's Gamble_The Chronicles of Shadow_Book II

by Lee Dunning

  Historian retrieved his spectacles, certain his eyes played tricks on him. The optics didn’t help. Though they allowed him to see distances clearly, no sprawling, spoke-shaped structure materialized. A few disintegrating walls poked up from the remains of a shattered floor but little else endured to show House of Laughing Waters ever existed.

  The elf switched his attention to the gathering of folk in the field. He recognized Lady Sera immediately. Next to her stood the largest Shadow Elf he had ever seen. She was shy a few inches of Lady Sera but that still put her close to seven feet tall. She had the broad shoulders and narrow hips of a First Born. Even the dust-covered kimono she wore couldn’t hide the sharp sculpted muscles of her upper body. She had to be the female Exile First Home had adopted. Supposedly, she went by the very unelven-sounding name Raven. A breeze drew her hair from what proved to be a lovely face. No doubt, her beauty had fooled people into believing her benign. Historian’s lip curled in disgust. Idiots.

  He pulled his attention away from Raven and studied the rest of the scene. He doubted a female Shadow Elf had set off his purple crystal. Lady Sera knelt and started fussing with another figure who lay on a spread blanket. The figure sat up and Historian hissed—a male Shadow Elf. What had to be the second Exile, made an imperious gesture, clearly arguing with Lady Sera.

  So, this was the infamous Lord W’rath. Historian shot a glance toward his crystals. All except the blue one had quieted. The destruction of so great a magical structure as House of Laughing Waters would keep it in its alarm state for several days. The purple had gone dormant but that only meant the Exile no longer drew on his terrible mind-powers to tear apart the world around him.

  Historian squinted. Even his optics didn’t allow him to see Lord W’rath’s face clearly. He flipped his little brush around and tapped on the orb’s surface with the handle. “Closer,” he ordered the crystal ball. The scene zoomed in to the spot Historian indicated with the brush. Lord W’rath’s face filled the view. Historian sucked his breath in horror. That nose! The creature clearly possessed the distinctive hawk-like nose and chiseled chin of a K’hul—features which Historian lacked thanks to a combination of his father’s weak seed and foolish fascination with Sky Elf females. Jealousy soured his gut. How unfair that some inbred Exile should possess the noble features which should rightfully belong to a true son of the K’hul line like himself.

  Historian couldn’t imagine how even his idiot nephew could miss the Shadow Elf’s obvious K’hul blood. Umbral K’hul might no longer exist to plague the elves but the First had other children, some of whom had obviously escaped to the mainland to spawn new generations of monsters. Historian had helped raise his nephew to suspect all things Shadow Elf, especially those of the male variety. The young Warleader had a perfect chance during the battle with King Oblund to rid them of the Shadow Elf. Historian studied Lord W’rath and wondered aloud, “How did my nephew fail to finish you off when he had the chance?”

  With no answer coming, Historian huffed and determined to send another message to Castle Teres demanding his nephew return at once to First Home to see to his duties. He’d already sent three missives, yet his nephew continued to waste his time trying to negotiate the politics of humans. While he did, their true enemy laid waste to First Home. Historian considered including his revelations concerning Lord W’rath’s bloodline in the missive but immediately discarded the idea. If his nephew was too blind to notice, he wasn’t about to point it out. Historian had learned long ago the power of secrets. He’d have to part with some of them soon but he’d keep this one to himself, hoarding it like a dragon would a precious gem.

  In the meantime, he had other matters to occupy his attention. Historian shook out the folded cloth and draped it back over his crystal ball. He dropped the brush into his pocket and strolled over to where his collection of sharp instruments glittered. The elf smiled down at the little sprite. Its pair of exposed hearts fluttered in panic, its pupils so dilated the fae appeared to stare up at the elf from the Abyss itself. Historian held up one of his scalpels for the sprite to see. “So, now where were we?”

  “I apologize for destroying your place of healing,” W’rath said from his bed in the Shadow Elves’ home, House of Memories. It was apparent now his earlier difficulty in speaking had less to do with having his face buried in Raven’s cleavage, and more to do with his own poor condition. He’d started to bleed again from his ears and nose. Just a few drops, but troubling all the same.

  Lady Sera daubed at the blood with a damp cloth. “It’s quite all right. I’ve wanted to remodel for some time anyway.” She winced as the memory of the entire southeast hall sagging, taking every room along its length down with it, popped into her mind. Once Raven had recovered, at least enough she could travel of her own accord, Lady Sera had enlisted the help of a couple of the soldiers to help carry Lord W’rath to safety. The sheets from his bed became an impromptu stretcher, and all of them trudged out into the flower-filled fields surrounding House of Laughing Waters. There they stood, along with a gathering of soldiers, mages, and healers, to watch as a building, which had stood for over four thousand years, turned to dust.

  “I’ve never lost control like that before,” W’rath said.

  Lady Sera caught the almost tremulous dismay in his words. It wasn’t the first time the healer had run into a patient confronted by their limits, but somehow this felt different. Though she did her best to respect her patient’s privacy, the nature of her magic had revealed Lord W’rath had lived many thousands of years. He couldn’t have lived that long without having his teeth kicked in a time or two. She glanced at Raven, but found no help there. All previous humor had fled the girl’s expression and something bordering on panic fluttered in her eyes. Concern and curiosity burned in the healer, but instinctively she knew the Shadow Elves would respond to her prying with evasion or silence. She understood. Lady Sera had her own secrets, not the least the additional gaps she’d discovered in her memory. She started to fuss with W’rath’s blankets to hide the shaking of her hands. “I wouldn’t let it bother you too much,” she said, pleased her voice didn’t betray her inner turmoil. “Both Lady Raven and Lady Swiftbrook have told me you don’t normally sleep, so unfettered dreaming is foreign to you. Some terrible nightmare simply set you off— understandable considering what the lot of you survived on the battlefield. You didn’t do yourself any favors with your fit, though. I fear you won’t fully recover unless I put you entirely under with magic.”

  A long pause followed before Lord W’rath answered. When he at last spoke, Lady Sera understood the greatest of understatements issued from his lips. “I don’t much care for the sound of that.”

  Lady Sera armored herself with her years of experience in coping with the many difficult personalities of First Home. “Of course you don’t,” she said. “I’ve had to deal with all of you damned heroes for most of my life, and I know relying on others plays havoc with your enormous egos.”

  Lady Raven sucked in a startled gasp, but only stony silence emanated from Lord W’rath. He gazed at Lady Sera through narrowed eyes, the glow of red the only sign she held his attention. She’d always found Shadow Elf eyes unnerving, but his truly burned with the heat of Father Earth. She squared her shoulders as if going into battle. “The plain truth is, if you don’t want to live one step away from your current condition for the rest of your life, you must shut down that very busy brain of yours and allow me to take care of you.”

  More silence, but Lady Sera sensed he considered her words. His pride and distrust warred with his desire to be whole. Lady Raven brushed the healer as she approached the bed and pulled back her robe. “The acid fire ate away most of my right side,” she said, in response to W’rath’s raised eyebrows. “Lady Sera and her people picked the clinging mess off of me so I could heal. They kept me in a coma too until the worst passed. Please trust her.”

  The pinched set to Lord W’rath’s face eased and then smoothed.

  I’l
l be damned—he has a soft spot for her. On her word, he’s going to put himself in my hands. Lady Sera dropped her eyes and let him work up to it. Nothing good would come of him noticing the triumph and amusement she struggled to hide.

  “As you wish, lass,” W’rath said. “You have a clearer heart than I—you see the good in people.” His attention shifted to Lady Sera. “You have my permission to cast your spell, lady—be swift though, before my good sense returns.”

  Raven cocked her head, raising her hand. “Hold on, we have visitors,” she said. Several more seconds passed before Lady Sera could hear the tread of boots and soft slippers. The Shadow Elfess had remarkable hearing. Several more seconds passed before a trio of folk burst into the room.

  “At last! Damned house was playing with us,” Lady Swiftbrook fumed. She, Foxfire and Kela froze, suddenly aware they’d barged in unannounced to W’rath’s sick room. “You’re awake,” Lady Swiftbrook said, wincing at her declaration of the obvious.

  “I am. And you are still running about wearing inappropriate clothing,” W’rath said with a fond smile. He nodded as best he could toward the gown Lady Swiftbrook had hiked up to her knees. The Sky Elf released her death grip on her skirts and started to laugh, but it turned into a choke and she quickly put a long hand to her mouth to fight back tears.

  “Madam, please, you barely know me. This emotional display, while touching, is unwarranted.”

  “Foolish squirrel,” she said, going for exasperated and failing. “All of us have worried non-stop about the both of you. When we received word House of Laughing Waters collapsed …”

  W’rath grimaced. “I am embarrassed to admit, I am the cause of House of Laughing Waters’ untimely death.”

  Lady Sera injected a tsking sound. “You cannot hold yourself responsible for what happened. If anything, I’m to blame for not anticipating the possibility a powerful psion might lose control while unconscious and injured. Let us chalk it up to a lesson learned.”

  W’rath tried to push himself up in bed. He made little progress and sputtered indignantly when Raven tried to assist him. “I’ve turned into an invalid,” he groused, waving Raven off. With strength born of ego, he finally managed to gain a sitting position.

  Kela nodded her approval and Foxfire rolled his eyes. “What?” Kela said, catching him in mid roll. “It’s good to do for one’s self. Too often we take the easy way.”

  “Accepting help from friends isn’t admitting weakness,” Foxfire countered.

  Kela shrugged. “Okay, you have a point.” She pretended not to notice when Foxfire staggered back, clutching his chest in exaggerated shock. She turned back to W’rath. “Don’t let your pride get in the way of common sense,” she said as serious as death. Her voice had taken on a haughty lilt, which sounded suspiciously similar to Lady Swiftbrook. She shook a finger at him for emphasis and Lady Sera admired how the Wood Elf managed to keep her face straight the entire time. Lady Swiftbrook scowled.

  W’rath chuckled. “I am pleased to see all of you well after our ordeal. I fear, ego or no, I still have some recovery to do and Lady Sera wishes to ensure I completely heal—this time without any possibility of property damage.”

  Lady Sera briefly explained her intentions for Lord W’rath. Her words sobered the little group considerably. Lady Sera knew what they were thinking. It didn’t surprise her the Wood Elves mistrusted the use of such extreme measures almost as much as W’rath did. Less reliant on magic than other elves, they disliked the idea of how vulnerable such a spell made the patient.

  That Lady Swiftbrook grew as pensive as the others, surprised her. The Sky Elf councilor had enough magical training she had to know this strategy had the greatest chance of healing W'rath. Of course, knowing her former lover had much to do with Lord W’rath’s current condition probably didn’t help. “The risk is small compared to the expected benefits,” Lady Sera said. “I’ve never lost anyone permanently to a healing coma.” She silently willed Kela to refrain from speaking the word she knew had popped into all of their heads.

  “Yet,” Kela said.

  There it was. Lady Sera’s right eye pinched shut as though she’d bitten into something particularly sour. She wrapped her fingers tightly around the seat of her chair so she wouldn’t reach out and strangle Kela. Sweet ancestors preserve me from blunt-speaking Wood Elves.

  To Lady Sera’s surprise, Lord W’rath spoke up in defense of her proposed procedure. “As I am now, I cannot function. Indeed, I’ve already proved I pose a danger to those around me. Lady Sera believes my greatest chance of recovery involves taking my brain down to the least amount of activity possible, and I cannot fault her logic. If you want to ensure a broken arm heals more quickly, you immobilize it. I shall follow her recommended treatment.

  “That being said, before we move forward, I would like to speak with Lord Foxfire alone.”

  That’s an odd request. Lady Sera and the others stared at Foxfire. He shrugged, baffled as much as everyone else. The healer relinquished her grip on the chair and filed out with the rest. She paused at the doorway and peered back over her shoulder. “No running off,” she said.

  Lord W’rath merely gave her one of his enigmatic smiles.

  “I do something wrong?” Foxfire asked.

  “Probably,” W’rath said, “but you’ll have to consult Lady Kela concerning such matters. I’m more interested in what you did right.” He let Foxfire absorb his words for a few moments before continuing. If anything, the lad looked more worried.

  As much as he enjoyed watching the younger elf squirm, it went counter to the reason he’d asked to speak to Foxfire. “At ease, lad. I merely wish to let you know how much I appreciate what you did back on the battlefield. With all that’s going on, I feared I might miss the opportunity express my gratitude.”

  Foxfire burst out laughing. He made an unlovely snorting sound before gaining control of himself. “You have got to be shitting me,” he said.

  W’rath raised a puzzled eyebrow. Foxfire utilized some of the oddest euphemisms. At first, he’d thought the Wood Elf had picked up his collection of strange words and phrases during his travels among the humans, but even the ranting Oblund hadn’t used anything similar. “If I understand you right, I am most assuredly not jesting. Sit, lad. I joke about many things, but not this.”

  Foxfire dropped into the chair recently vacated by Lady Sera. His furrowed brow betrayed his confusion. “I didn’t do anything.”

  W’rath shook his head. “Truly? You do yourself an injustice.”

  “You’re the one who saved me. I couldn’t even fight. I practically pissed myself out there,” Foxfire said.

  W’rath had never had much ability as an empath, but even so, Foxfire’s shame washed over him, causing him to suck in his breath through clenched teeth. He clutched at the arm of Foxfire’s chair and pulled himself forward so the bard couldn’t avoid his gaze. “I know you felt out of your element,” he said. “You have many skills, but they lie far removed from those of a soldier. That is why your actions on the battlefield mean so much. I sent you from the field to deliver our intelligence. You did your job. You were safe. You had no reason to come back for us. But you did. When no one else came to help us—you did.”

  “I couldn’t fight.” Foxfire sounded close to tears.

  “Yet, despite everything, your concern for us drew you back to the last place you ever wanted to revisit. That tells me everything I need to know of your character. I thank you, and I swear to you that if you ever have need of my talents you shall have them.”

  Kela skipped back from the door where she’d listened in on the conversation between Foxfire and W’rath. The door swung open and Foxfire staggered out, eyes wide and stunned, but with a lift to his shoulders Raven hadn’t noticed before. Kela grabbed him up in a fierce hug. “You eavesdropped,” Foxfire said, not sounding particularly upset.

  “Of course I did,” Kela said, her voice a low growl full of pride. “All of our people will hear of this. Th
ey will know of your courage and they will know of W’rath’s words to you.”

  Almost glowing with embarrassment and pleasure, Foxfire allowed Kela to drag him from the hall. Raven crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall, watching them go. She hadn’t needed to press up against the door to listen in on W’rath and Foxfire. Her keen ears made it difficult to avoid hearing every word. Of course, she could have gone back down to the entry with Lady Swiftbrook and Lady Sera to gawk at the statue of Umbral some more, but in the end her curiosity dictated she stay put and accidently overhear W’rath’s words to Foxfire.

  W’rath’s skill at manipulation impressed Raven. Not that she doubted his sincerity, but surviving alongside him these last few days, she’d learned nearly everything he did and said was intended to garner a specific reaction from those around him.

  What she knew of Umbral helped her piece together an understanding of him. Despite all the negative things the history books said, most admitted those under his direct command felt a fierce loyalty toward him. Even if Umbral already knew how he wished to proceed in a given situation, he held back his thoughts and solicited ideas from his soldiers. Sometimes he modified or changed his strategy based on their input. When they came up with the same plan he already intended to use, he gave them credit. Regardless, he built them up, made them an important part of the process—well beyond what their rank among the rest of the army might imply.

  At that point, the books usually suggested the soldiers under Umbral’s command had more pride than sense but Raven ignored the editorializing and instead focused on more telling information. She could point to incident after incident when small groups of Shadow Elf parties found themselves cut off from the bulk of the army, with no hope of reinforcements, only to survive because leadership rose up from within their ranks and allowed them to survive against terrific odds.