Exile's Gamble_The Chronicles of Shadow_Book II

by Lee Dunning

  Jump forward ten thousand years and the Shadow Elf prince, reinvented as Lord W’rath, found himself short on allies and soldiers. He still had good instincts, though. It was well and good to save someone’s life, but that gratitude could actually turn to resentment over time if the one saved continually felt overshadowed. Turn it around and remake the victim into a hero worthy of respect and you could find yourself with the beginnings of a new ally base.

  Raven had seen it work right in front of her. Kela and Foxfire too felt short on allies and smarted over the lack of respect shown their people by the other elves. Overhearing W’rath’s words to Foxfire had stirred something in Kela. Of all the elves, the Wood Elves were the most clannish. They never forgot a slight or a wrongdoing. They also never forgot a kind gesture.

  When the others turned away, W’rath immediately volunteered to help fight against the humans. In the end, the presence of demons brought the rest of the elves to the battlefield, but then they failed to evacuate those trapped behind enemy lines when things fell apart. Again, W’rath proved himself by pulling Foxfire from the flames, nearly killing himself in the process. Now, he extended his hand in friendship and uttered an oath of loyalty based on equality. By the time Kela finished spreading the word, every Wood Elf who could hold a weapon would willingly follow W’rath into the flames of the Nine Hells.

  Raven shut her eyes, mind buzzing with what felt like a shift in the cosmos. A few weeks earlier, the days plodded along, pulling the oblivious people of First Home along toward a slow death. Then a hidden enemy rose. Though their intent was murder, they had inadvertently freed W’rath, the catalyst needed to bring new life to the elves.

  Within her, Linden shuddered, unconvinced. She understood. Born on First Home, a place smothered by rules, Linden couldn’t help but see W’rath as an element of chaos he couldn’t bring himself to trust. He’d grown up in a world of light and structure. As a child of an Exile city, Raven knew true chaos.

  She didn’t want to hurt Linden but she did want him to understand her. She opened up a memory to him. She’d seen a mind-castrated boy beheaded because a girl from a visiting household insisted he’d somehow compelled her to feel attraction for him. The boy’s mother had killed him in order to save her family’s honor. Logic said the spike in the boy’s head, the third eye, kept him from having any ability much beyond breathing. The girl simply couldn’t accept responsibility for her lust.

  “I couldn’t stop it,” Raven said to the empty hallway as if Linden stood across from her. “I was just a child—tiny like Seismis. Gods, Mother, why would you make your little girl watch something like that?” A warmth suffused her—Linden’s attempt to comfort her. She let it wrap around her like a blanket.

  The sound of someone approaching brought Raven back to the present. Linden’s presence retreated and she hastily wiped at her eyes. Lady Sera appeared around a corner Raven would have sworn hadn’t existed a second ago. She winked at Raven. “He didn’t escape, did he?”

  “I don’t think he has the energy even if he wanted to,” Raven said. She opened W’rath’s bedroom door for the healer. All of her ruminating left Raven uncomfortable about facing W’rath again. She trailed behind Lady Sera, once again wishing she could unlearn W’rath’s true identity. How exactly did one go about pretending she didn’t know her mentor was a demigod?

  W’rath’s still, ashen form, overwhelmed by the oversized bed, acted as a slap, clearing Raven’s thinking. A towering figure out of history he might be but right now, a goblin with a sharp stick held more threat. The energy he’d shown earlier had evaporated—probably the second Foxfire had left the room.

  Lady Sera sat on the edge of the bed and Raven slipped over to the other side. “Are you finished causing trouble?” Lady Sera asked. The furrow in her brow belied the lightness of her words.

  “Am I not the picture of innocence?” W’rath replied. His voice shook with the effort needed to speak. Raven forced a knuckle between her teeth and bit hard to keep the child’s whimper from escaping her throat.

  Despite the lack of violence and sickness First Home experienced, Lady Sera showed herself as one accustomed to dealing with the gravely afflicted. Her forehead now smooth, she kept her serenity in the face of W’rath’s distressing condition. “Keep it up, Councilor,” she said. She pushed her nose right up against his. “I’m onto you.”

  W’rath managed to raise an eyebrow in skepticism. “Let us get this over with, lady,” he said.

  Raven pressed forward, her earlier concerns replaced by a sudden need to speak one last time to the elf who had put himself in this condition in order to save her. “I’ll stay by you the entire time,” she said, instantly feeling foolish at her mothering tone.

  “Lass,” he whispered, “you have much more important business to attend to than guarding this pitiful shell of mine.”

  So quiet even Raven hadn’t heard her, Lady Swiftbrook slid into the room, face stern. She had changed out of her gown and donned her armor. The gleaming chain shone the same silver as her hair. “Not even the traitor himself will get past me,” she said.

  “Somehow I doubt that will prove a problem, madam,” W’rath said.

  Raven nearly choked. She shoved her knuckle back into her mouth, this time to keep from giggling like a crazy person.

  Then to Raven’s relief, Lady Sera started her casting. Ambient sounds dropped away as though a bubble enveloped them. The scent of lavender tickled her nose. W’rath instinctively fought the magic, but in his weakened condition, the battle ended almost immediately. He seemed to collapse further into the softness of the bed, and his eyelids stuttered shut. He grew as still as a stone. Lady Sera continued to chant, weaving complex patterns with her elegant hands. The room’s temperature plummeted. The smell of rain replaced the lavender.

  “It is done,” Lady Sera announced at last. “I wove three spells together—one to keep him just on the edge of life, another to keep him from needing sustenance, and a third to slow the rest of his bodily functions. The rest is up to him. The brain is so delicate I don’t dare use any magic to boost his healing.”

  “How long?” Lady Swiftbrook asked.

  “A month—two at the most,” Lady Sera said. “Any other body part wouldn’t require so much care. A brain, though, cannot heal properly if the patient stays conscious. Psions have an even harder time recovering since their minds are so busy. And this fellow has proven to have an even more lively brain than most.”

  “Hmph,” Lady Swiftbrook sniffed. She dragged a chair over to the bed and settled into it, ready to fulfill her vow to W’rath. “He really does look like an innocent in this state.”

  “Innocent enough to speak with unicorns?” Raven asked before she could stop herself. Damn Linden!

  “I’m never going to live that down,” Lady Swiftbrook said, scowling.

  “What’s this about unicorns?” Lady Sera asked.

  “I’m sure Councilor Raven will enjoy telling you all about it.” Lady Swiftbrook’s shoulders slumped.

  Raven chuckled and rose. Lady Sera followed suit, and as one, they exited the room. Halfway to the downstairs Lady Sera burst out laughing, loud enough Raven expected the sound carried to W’rath’s room. She had no doubt Lady Swiftbrook’s pale face had gone quite pink.

  Chapter 3

  K’hul cast weary eyes in Kiat’s direction as the diviner gingerly crept into the War Leader’s temporary quarters. K’hul slumped in one of the room’s crudely carved chairs, his only companion a bowl of late season apples occupying a rough-hewn table, which would have served as kindling back on First Home. Not even a threadbare rug lent color or warmth to the drafty room. The only light came from four lopsided, iron candelabras. The fireplace hadn’t seen a fire or even a good cleaning in years.

  The First Born had heard rumors W’rath didn’t sleep, but rested via meditation. K’hul lacked that sort of talent. Four long days without sleep left him more ill-tempered than usual. He didn’t trust the human’s security
and the terrible attack on Second Home still haunted his dreams. As a result, his mind kept wandering to thoughts of his spacious bed, safe behind the rainbow wall protecting the elves’ home.

  He wouldn’t admit to his fears to anyone, not even the nervous mage fidgeting before him. K’hul considered himself a predator and predators could ill-afford to show such weakness. Still, he needed rest. He’d have to devise some excuse to return home soon. “Yes, what is it?” he asked, finally acknowledging Kiat’s arrival.

  “Lady Swiftbrook left for First Home,” Kiat reported. He took a step back as if anticipating an unpleasant reaction on K’hul’s part. When the First Born merely frowned, he continued. “Apparently, there was an incident involving Lord W’rath, and she wished to check on his condition and the … damage.”

  A strange mixture of ire and relief burgeoned in K’hul’s chest. “Damage?”

  “From what I could gather he had some sort of seizure and lost control of his powers. He survived, but he reduced House of Laughing Waters to a pile of rubble.” Kiat shook his head and K’hul saw something flicker in his expression. Fear? Probably.

  K’hul rolled his eyes. “A suppression collar would have prevented that,” he said. “Was anyone injured?” He tried to keep a note of hope from creeping into his voice. With as much trouble as the little shit had caused K’hul, was it too much to ask that W’rath had finally done something to taint himself in the eyes of those who started to gather at his side.

  “A few,” Kiat said. “One of the Shadow Elf children suffered a broken wrist. Lady Raven’s back was broken but she heals remarkably fast. They had to unbury a healer after a wall collapsed but he’ll recover. Assuming my sources didn’t exaggerate the extent of the damage, we’re lucky no one died.”

  “Damn,” K’hul muttered, ignoring the flash of confusion and distress on Kiat’s too-pretty face. “So, is Lady Swiftbrook returning here now she’s confirmed her precious psion survived?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kiat said. He inched back a bit more toward the door. “If I had to guess, she took advantage of the situation to escape this place. Like the rest of us, she finds the humans maddening. No less than a dozen of their so-called diplomats have approached her, seeking to marry her to one of their country’s noble sons.”

  “What an offensive practice,” K’hul said, his exhaustion lending a snarl to his words. “When they’re not trying to lure me into an arrangement involving one of their puny, lumpy women, they’re asking me about her. As if she were chattel I could hand out like a prize. I can’t blame her for distancing herself from this farce.”

  Kiat’s posture went from rigid to something more like his usual slouch. K’hul raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t realized just how tense the mage had grown. “What?” he asked.

  “Um, nothing.”

  K’hul scowled. W’rath’s words about Kiat serving as his toady came back to him. He’d never give the Shadow Elf the satisfaction of admitting he’d recruited Kiat because the Sky Elf was … pliable. What he hadn’t counted on was Kiat’s complete lack of spine. It amazed K’hul that Kiat could walk upright. Well, mostly. K’hul tried again. “When I asked you to join the High Council, I hoped I could count on you as one who understood the importance of the old families. Loyalty isn’t much good if you’re too frightened to tell me what’s on your mind. If you have something to say, say it.”

  Kiat’s grey eyes drifted wistfully toward the door and freedom but finally he answered. “I thought you would bear more animosity toward Lady Swiftbrook,” he said.

  Of course, Kiat referred to more than her flight from the mainland back to First Home. She was one of the council members pushing for a Vote-of-Confidence concerning K’hul’s actions on the battlefield. No doubt, word had also gotten around she’d banned him from her bed and made clear he was no longer welcome to call her by her given name. Relegated to using her family name like some casual acquaintance, his insides twisted with shame.

  K’hul’s instinct urged him to lash out and give voice to his sense of betrayal, but if he did, Kiat would bolt. K’hul might find himself completely without allies. He dug his nails into his palm and prepared to appear suitably contrite. “I am angry,” he said, “but mostly at myself. I failed in my duty, and allowed something, which had no bearing on the battle to distract me. I showed myself to be as green and immature as my father always claimed.”

  By the First, his lady’s accusations sounded even worse when uttered by his own throat. He hadn’t thought that possible. However, painful as they were to speak, the words had the desired effect.

  Kiat’s face grew less pinched and his eyes squinted up with sympathy. He stopped edging his way to the exit and settled into the chair opposite K’hul. “Those aren’t the words of an immature person.”

  K’hul found himself warming to his role. “Words mean little without the actions to back them. I will regain her affections, but I’ll have to prove myself worthy of them. In the meantime, I’ll put up with her misguided trust in the Exile. Eventually, he’ll show his true nature, and I’ll—we’ll be rid of his infuriating smugness.”

  Apparently emboldened by K’hul’s uncharacteristic openness, Kiat continued to inadvertently poke at the First Born’s open wounds. “What about Lady Kela’s call for a Vote-of-Confidence?”

  For a moment, K’hul fantasized about tossing the mage out the room’s only window. They sat a good sixty feet above the ground and it might be fun to see if those fancy robes helped Kiat fly. Some of his imaginings must have shown on his face as the Sky Elf shrunk back into his chair, alarm sending his eyes wide and his perfect brows racing toward his hairline.

  The First Born waved a hand at his frightened guest, a feeble attempt to convince Kiat the snarl on his face was not directed at him. “I’m surprised the little savage knows about such things.”

  Kiat started to breathe, relieved the Wood Elf bore the brunt of K’hul’s ire. “I doubt anyone will rush to a decision until we finish the union of Renlin and Teresland,” he ventured.

  K’hul nodded, for the first time taking some heart from Kiat’s blather. The mage was right; the annoying humans did serve to keep the rest of the council distracted from the issue of what to do with him. They also had the matter of the captured mage from Tassilia to consider. The human had yet to regain consciousness but he never strayed far from K’hul’s thoughts. The mercenary and his ilk were the reason the elves found themselves in their current situation. “Yes, we must not lose sight of what brought us here in the first place—someone hired Tassilia’s mercenaries to set demons upon our city and we need to find out who.”

  “And why,” Kiat added.

  Safely away from the subject of his possible dismissal from the High Council, K’hul eased deeper into his chair and rocked back, lifting the front legs from the floor. The rear legs groaned in warning and he quickly returned the chair fully to the floor. Bloody primitives and their sad excuses for craftsmanship. “I don’t really care why they did it,” he said. “Humans have no shortage of reasons to hate us. They envy our perpetual youth, mistrust our magic and look down on our lifestyle. They even make up things about us to instill fear in their ignorant populace.”

  Kiat nodded. “Did you know about twenty years ago Teresland suffered a plague? Despite how little the humans know about us, word got around human sickness cannot touch us. The people came to believe we caused the sickness. Chalice Renoir told me all about it.”

  “Typical,” K’hul said, his lip curling. “What exactly was his point in telling you that?”

  “He used it as an example of why we’ll have a difficult time forging peace with his people. We’d assumed our difficulties began and ended with Oblund wanting our cousins’ forest, but in truth we’ve waged war for years with the humans without knowing it.”

  “Damned idiots,” K’hul muttered. What in the Nine Hells had his father been thinking in agreeing to return to the mainland to build Second Home?

  Kiat continued to fret. �
��It’s just so baffling. Until now, not even the Chalice had met more than a handful of Wood Elves. We’ve never stepped foot into their kingdoms. Why do they loathe us so?” He’d started to fuss with his robes, pulling at imaginary loose threads. K’hul knew the mage would soon switch to picking at his cuticles. If not for his regenerative ability Kiat’s hands would look like a rabid badger had gnawed on them.

  K’hul dragged his attention back to Kiat’s question. He didn’t usually bother to try deciphering the reasons behind people’s behavior. Even so, he’d suffered through enough lectures from his tutor to make a reasonable guess as to the motivations spurring the humans to their inane behavior. “You must have noticed the majority of them are uneducated laborers,” he said. “It’s in the best interest of the nobles to keep the masses ignorant and superstitious—they’re easier to manipulate and control that way. And their caste system is designed to make sure it’s nearly impossible for anyone to better themselves beyond the situation they’re born into.”

  “So, they have to find someone else to blame for their misery?” Kiat asked.

  K’hul shrugged. “The peasants lead short, harsh lives, and they need an outlet for their frustrations. The nobles don’t want their anger turned toward them, so they use us as scapegoats. ‘If not for the elves, you could live perfect lives’—it’s a typical ploy those in power use to control others.”

  “We’re convenient,” Kiat said. As K’hul had predicted, the Sky Elf abandoned picking at his robe for the chance to tear at his fingers. As one would start to bleed, it would heal and he’d start all over again. K’hul couldn’t decide if the mage’s futile attempts to mutilate himself fascinated or disgusted him.

  K’hul stifled a yawn and rubbed at his burning eyes. He had gone beyond caring what the humans did or thought, and he certainly couldn’t spare any more of his dwindling reserves to educate Kiat about the ways of the world. His lady’s recent flight to First Home suddenly struck him as the wisest action any of them had taken in days. Coming to a decision, he rose to his feet, startling Kiat. He fixed the mage with a frozen glare. “I’m returning to First Home to rest. I’m leaving you in charge.”