Exile's Gamble_The Chronicles of Shadow_Book II

by Lee Dunning

  She must have sensed the troubles weighing upon him for she abruptly switched topics. “Your first time out as War Leader has left you with a heavy burden,” she said. “Our people triumphed over superior numbers without losing a single elf—you did well. You restored our honor and captured an enemy wizard.”

  “Or as Lady Swiftbrook or Kela would tell it, I almost got three councilors killed, and in the process, left the enemy mage so wounded we may never find out what he knows. There will be a Vote-of-Confidence.” Despite his desire to appear strong, a shaky sigh escaped.

  Itarillë, in a typical show of support, waved away her brother’s concerns. “No K’hul has ever been ousted in such a manner and neither will you. I don’t know why you waste your efforts on Lady Swiftbrook anyway. If you want to strengthen the K’hul family, you should seek out a proper First Born female and not a Sky Elf.

  Because I’ve loved her since she found me lost and wandering in House of Memories. “She has no interest in children,” K’hul said. “Regardless of my feelings for her, I’ll have to seek elsewhere for someone who wishes the honor of adding to our line.”

  “How about Councilor Culna’mo?” Itarillë said. The suggestion spilled out from her much too quickly. Apparently, she had spent a great deal of time considering who best suited their needs.

  Arien Culna’mo? K’hul winced. He wouldn’t admit it to his sister, but the heavily muscled frames of female First Born didn’t appeal to him and Lady Culna’mo’s severely cropped hair did little to soften her appearance. “The next child due to their family will take the Earthfire name.”

  “Oh-ho!” Itarillë crowed with sudden excitement. “I know something you don’t! Cho’zen Earthfire has already been quickened. She hasn’t officially announced it but she invited Lord S’ensar to her bed. His son told me all about it.”

  “He bedded that one-legged she-bear?” K’hul couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice.

  His sister scowled at him. “She’s a direct descendent of our people’s greatest smith. Not to mention Lord S’ensar fathered Linden. Since Linden died in Second Home, it makes sense they’d wish to fill the loss. Regardless, it means if you and Lady Culna’mo have a child, they could take the K’hul name regardless of the child’s sex. Councilor Culna’mo is a perfect choice. She’s powerful and skilled with a sword. Any child from a union with her couldn’t help but grow into a great warrior.”

  “I’ll think about it,” K’hul said.

  Itarillë threw her hands up in mock exasperation. “You’re too enamored of that stick,” she said. “Am I the only one left in this family who understands duty?”

  For the first time K’hul’s voice took on a chill tone. “That stick has stood by my side for over four hundred years. Regardless of her appropriateness for producing K’hul heirs, I won’t readily hurt her by turning to another simply for breeding purposes.” Gods, he’d criticized the humans for their wretched arranged marriages and yet here they were doing much the same thing. At least he, and whoever bore his child, needn’t spend another second in one another’s presence than necessary.

  Any hope K’hul had Itarillë would leave well enough alone in regards to the stick was dashed with her next words. “It’s rumored she tossed you aside and even now sits at the bedside of the Exile male.”

  Itarillë could have spoken few worse words to her brother. Her widened eyes and the hand she clapped over her mouth made it clear she realized her error. Like her hounds, she had a tendency to act before thinking.

  K’hul’s fists flexed. He couldn’t lash out at Itarillë. He’d sooner spill his own entrails than turn his fury on her. The ground rumbled beneath their feet with the effort of his attempts to control his temper. The hounds went into a frenzy of terrified barking, bellies pressed to the ground.

  “I’m so sorry, Brother,” Itarillë said, her voice barely audible over the shifting earth.

  Others emerged from the K’hul compound. Their concerned voices and pointing fingers pulled K’hul’s attention to his right. A rent in the earth spewed steam. His breath caught in his throat. No one in his family ever lost control like that. Ancestors! He turned back to Itarillë and saw real fear in her eyes. First Father, what is wrong with me? “Forgive me, Itarillë. You of all people deserve better from me.”

  He extended his hand palm up, and she accepted it with more strength in her grip than he’d expected. He drew her to his side. “We’ll speak no more of my tiresome personal life,” K’hul said, trying to sound light-hearted. Coming from him, it sounded like a grumbling volcano. Still it eased some of the tenseness from Itarillë’s shoulders. As she calmed, so did the hounds. They stopped whining and got to their feet, tails slowly rising from between their shaggy legs to tentatively wag as though testing the air.

  Itarillë gave a sharp whistle and the dog’s ears pricked up. First one and then another bayed. They tore off running, skirting past the steaming fumarole. They raced across the property, chasing imaginary prey into the surrounding forest. An eruption of panicked birds marked their passing.

  K’hul watched them go. He couldn’t suppress a twinge of envy at their simple lives, and then he recalled his father’s scorn at his desire to step up to the position of Voice of the First.

  “You couldn’t lead a halfling to a banquet,” the elder K’hul had said to him. “The K’hul name will only take you so far, boy. Eventually, someone will expect you to live up to everything our name stands for—and you’ll fail miserably. Maybe one day you’ll grow into it but right now you’re just an overgrown child.”

  His jaws creaked as he ground his teeth. I’m glad you’re dead.

  Itarillë made a wheezing sound and K’hul realized he’d started to crush his young sister. He loosened his grip and gave her a smile he hoped conveyed benevolence. She shook his head. “Don’t do that, it just looks creepy on you.”

  K’hul tried to take comfort in the fact Itarillë had recovered from her fright. The crowd at the entrance to the compound hadn’t dispersed, though, and among them stood Historian, looking every bit as sour as K’hul felt. He had his arms crossed, a gilded tome pressed against his chest like armor. His suede shod foot tapped with his impatience. He might have the slender build and bookishness of Kiat, but he certainly didn’t share the diviner’s quivering demeanor.

  To Historian’s right clustered four young males K’hul didn’t know. He noted their eyes avoided him and instead settled to his left. As one, they started as if remembering they had prior engagements. K’hul’s gaze dropped from them to his sister. She held her left hand down close to her hip, frantically motioning for the little group to disperse.

  This can’t bode well.

  “Well, I know you’re exhausted,” Itarillë said much too suddenly. “And I should hunt down the hounds before they frighten off all the game.” She squirmed loose of K’hul’s encircling arm. “We’ll talk more once you’re recovered.” She flashed a stiff smile and then fled in the direction of the forest.

  K’hul knew that fake smile. Itarillë used it when she had involved herself in something ... troubling. Like the time she decided to lead a raid with her young cousins against the Nightmourn’s beehives. The honey was the treasure and the fist-sized bees the dragons. The trio had succeeded in snatching some ‘gold’, but when they fled back to the K’hul compound the infuriated insects gave chase, descending from the sky in a murderous cloud. K’hul, his father, and a handful of others resorted to incinerating the bees before they laid siege to the house. The three thieves served five years as apprentice beekeepers in reparation for their crime and K’hul’s father had replaced the ruined hive. Now seventy plus years and dozens of escapades later, Itarillë had immersed herself in a new scheme. K’hul squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore his growing suspicions. He just wanted some rest.

  “If you’d answered when I sent for you, we might have prevented this folly.” K’hul’s eyes startled open to find Historian had managed to sidle up next to him. He only
stood as high as K'hul's shoulder, but his perpetual scowl gave him an air of authority the younger elf resented.

  K’hul tried to deflect his teacher’s accusations. “You were supposed to run the household while I dealt with the situation on the mainland. I shouldn’t have to run to your aid every time my sister causes trouble.” He marched up the stairs, intent on escaping the older elf. Like the angry bees, he refused to relent.

  Those who remained outside made way for K’hul and Historian, tipping their heads politely. K’hul’s strode through the pillars at the entrance, past the perpetually burning braziers, and finally through the doors leading into the house proper. Still, Historian dogged his heels. So closely did he follow that when K’hul came to an abrupt halt, he and the tome he still clutched, plowed into the solid wall of K’hul’s back.

  Historian’s sputtered cursing brought the slightest curl of amusement to K’hul’s lips. “What will it take to get you to leave me alone so I can retire for a few hours?” K’hul said. He slowly turned so he could fix the house scholar with his toxic gaze.

  “Lord K’hul,” Historian said, his tight voice pinched further by his efforts to make sure his pretty nose hadn’t sustained damage, “we need to sit down and talk. What we have to discuss isn’t the sort of thing you chat about in the hall.”

  “It’s simple. I go to sleep. You chase off those four slavering cures before my sister chooses one to bed.”

  Historian left off his ministrations and squared his shoulders. K’hul had never realized the slim elf could work his face into the same explosive glower his father had so often used. Perhaps, despite appearances, K’hul blood did run through his veins. “This isn’t about your sister and her distorted sense of duty. This is about your duty. With your father dead, I must educate you concerning history only entrusted to the head of the family. Your father carried the burden once he took the K’hul mantle. His father before him did the same. Stretching back some five thousand years each head of the family has guarded this secret.”

  K’hul dragged a hand through his mass of gold hair. What new nightmare did Historian wish to dump on him? Secret knowledge should excite him but instead it made him miss life as a simple soldier. He started to wave for Historian to lead them to his study, but to his surprise the other elf raised a hand.

  “You truly are exhausted,” Historian said. “You’re right, Lord K’hul, you should rest. What I have to say, while important, won’t grow stale if we wait until you recover. You’ll need full clarity anyway.”

  Thank you, First Father. K’hul didn’t wait for Historian to change his mind. He spun on his heel and took off toward his room. The scholar waited until he started around a corner before calling out. “As for your sister, it’s too late. She’s already allowed at least one of those brats to quicken her. She intended it as a surprise.”

  A bellow of primitive fury erupted from K’hul’s throat. He spun back around, but Historian had already made his escape. The wall shuddered with the impact of K’hul’s fist.

  The wall remained intact. K’hul’s bones didn’t. He roared in agony and felt his surge of rage spiral into misery. He sagged against the wall, clutching his shattered hand. “Shit.”

  Chapter 5

  “The rumors don’t lie—you really do fancy yourself a scholar.”

  The voice interrupted Raven’s concentration. With reluctance, she raised her head from the book spread before her. She’d discovered it among the hundreds of tomes crowding Lady Sera’s library. As thick as her hand was long, it contained numerous entries about the native creatures of First Home. Raven blinked, groggy as if she’d just crawled out of a too deep sleep. Lady Culna’mo leaned against the frame of the library’s door.

  “I enjoy learning,” Raven said. The sudden appearance of the First Born councilor puzzled her. Raven hadn’t seen her since the meeting where they’d determined their course against Oblund. She couldn’t recall ever speaking directly to the severe-looking female. Why had she sought Raven out? Linden stirred within the young warrior. Lady Culna’mo’s arrival had piqued his interest, too. Had they known each other? She tried to remember if he’d reacted when they first met, but Raven couldn’t recall. The situation with the Shadow Elf boys, and her first council meeting had consumed so much of her attention, little else made an impression.

  “With your physique it’s hard to imagine you preferring books over swords.” Lady Culna’mo cast her gaze about the room, taking in the shelves stuffed with myriad knickknacks. A particular piece caught her attention and she strode over to poke at a stuffed owl. It hissed in warning as she reached for it. “Gah!” she squawked, stumbling back in an undignified retreat.

  Raven snickered.

  “You could have warned me,” Lady Culna’mo said.

  “I thought it was stuffed too,” Raven said with a grin.

  Lady Culna’mo burst into easy laughter. As intimidating as the big elfess appeared, she lacked the stuffy self-importance of K’hul. Raven recalled the First Born’s breathless arrival at the council chambers. She’d come across more like an excited adolescent than a blood-soaked killer. She’d also proved far more thoughtful during deliberations than Raven expected. Still, what had brought her here? They barely knew one another.

  Lady Culna’mo’s laughter faded into a rumble, and she crossed to the other side of the room, as far from the annoyed owl as possible, before slumping into a heavily padded chair. “You can blame Lady Sera for my invasion of your quiet contemplation,” she said. “Gods, do you really like cutting yourself off from the outdoors like this?”

  “I spent most of my life in a cave system,” Raven said. “Compared to that this is bright and airy.”

  “Huh, hadn’t thought about it like that,” Lady Culna’mo replied. No judgment colored her voice, just idle curiosity. Then her eyes narrowed, and a sly smile sidled its way across her face.

  Linden tensed within Raven. Uh-oh. He did know this female, and he recognized her worrisome expression. “What are you going to do to me?” Raven said. It struck her Linden had spoken through her. What the hells?

  Lady Culna’mo’s expression switched to one of shock, but she quickly recovered. “I haven’t heard that phrase in a while,” she said

  Raven swallowed. She knows you too, Linden.

  When Raven didn’t react, Lady Culna’mo shrugged. “The healer thinks you need to get out and do something besides mope,” she said.

  “I’m not moping,” Raven said. I’m plotting to get us an aerial cavalry. She slammed the book shut. She didn’t know which she found more annoying, everyone’s attempts to dictate her routine or how unmoored she felt without W’rath by her side. “What do you have in mind?” she said, swallowing her ire.

  Lady Culna’mo responded, giving no sign she’d noticed Raven’s vexation. “I’ve recruited two squires to lug your equipment to the training grounds. I want to cross swords with the heroine who slew a devil.”

  Lady Sera took that moment to appear in the library doorway. “I think it’s much too soon for Lady Raven to exert herself in that way,” she said.

  “What are you talking about, Healer?” Lady Culna’mo said. “You’re the one who wanted me take her mind off of things.”

  “Ancestors protect me from slow-witted First Born,” Lady Sera snarled before turning a beatific smile upon Raven.

  “Don’t even try,” Lady Culna’mo said. “I already told her why I’m here.”

  “Of course you did. I intended for Lady Raven to breathe in some fresh air—enjoy the sun before she goes as gray as those boys we rescued.”

  “Oh, really. This slow-witted First Born recalls your words quite clearly. You said it would be in Lady Raven’s best interest to get her back to waving a sword about. Fresh air did not come into it. Or perhaps you have an evil twin you wish to blame?”

  “I do, but I won’t,” Lady Sera said. “It simply occurred to me Lady Raven recently suffered a broken back, so sparring might strain her too much.”

&nb
sp; Lady Culna’mo threw her hands up in exasperation. “See? Was that so hard? Why couldn’t you to simply admit you changed your mind?” She flashed a wistful smile Raven’s way. “I guess we’ll have to try again another day.”

  “No!” Raven jumped up from the desk. She was tired people coddling her. She preferred to stay holed up with Lady Sera’s books but the healer’s mothering brought a sour taste to her tongue. “I’m fine. I’d be happy to accept Lady Culna’mo’s offer to spar.”

  She marched out from behind the desk, past the others and out the door. Halfway down the hall she came to a halt as Lady Culna’mo’s hushed voice reached her. “You were right, she jumped at the chance to get out of here the minute you said no.”

  “You idiot,” Lady Sera said. “She has the hearing of a bat.”

  “Oh. Shit.”

  “Get out of here. Maybe she’ll pound some sense into you,” Lady Sera said with a dramatic sigh.

  Raven fixed a scowl on the First Born councilor when the blonde trotted up to join her. “You’re gonna beat me like an orc whelp, aren’t you,” Lady Culna’mo said. The cringed set to her shoulders looked ridiculous on someone so imposing.

  “You know it,” Raven said and a ferocious grin splayed across her face.

  The two squires turned out to be Ryld and Caeldan. Only a week had passed since Raven had last laid eyes on them, yet she thought they’d grown a couple more inches. Their hair had certainly sprouted. It hung past their ears and provided the only means of telling them apart. One had blade-straight hair and the other loose waves. She’d have to figure out which brother possessed which.