by Lee Dunning
Shoulders hunched defensively, K’hul glowered from where he sat. “What do you want?” he said.
W’rath let K’hul stew before answering. “I want the curse removed,” he said. He raised a hand to forestall the objection forming on the First Born’s lips. “Give me some credit, lad. I realize we cannot simply rip the veil from everyone’s eyes—assuming that’s even possible. It would prove disastrous. I merely wish to make clear my ultimate goal. To that end, if you harbored doubt about the importance of retaking Second Home, this should convince you otherwise.”
“My father,” K’hul began and then fell silent, obviously uncertain about sharing information with one he saw as an enemy.
W’rath nodded. “I think it’s clear he sought to save our people by relocating us to the mainland away from First Home. Considering his reputation, it makes sense. Until Second Home, he showed no interest in involving the elves with the mainland.”
K’hul snorted. “Listen to you. Our people. Even if I generously count the weeks you spent in a coma, you joined First Home only a month ago. You haven’t earned the right to call us your people.”
W’rath’s empathy for K’hul shriveled to nothing. “I have more right than a family actively working to hide their ancestor’s legacy of shame while the people of First Home die off.” When K’hul had no comment, W’rath pushed on. “Very well, you sit there and fume while I explain how things will play out for now. We’ll discuss the retaking of Second Home once we finish with our most immediate concerns.”
Color crept to K’hul’s face. As much as the afternoon had proven unpleasant for W’rath, K’hul must consider it nightmarish.
“Is that all?” K’hul asked.
“Not quite,” W’rath said. “You may have a great deal of book learning but you lack experience in the field. For now, and until the council deems otherwise, an experienced soldier will provide you guidance as you fulfill your role as War Leader.”
“That bloody well not be you!” K’hul’s golden mane flared as he reared back in indignation.
W’rath bit back a laugh. “Thankfully, no,” he said. “Lady Earthfire has that distinction. Lady Culna’mo assures us her mother will agree to assist you. Lady Earthfire’s maturity, level head and background will benefit you.”
K’hul’s posture eased. Perhaps since a fellow First Born, not a Shadow or Wood Elf, would stand at his side, he felt the sting less. It probably helped Lady Earthfire came from a family as old and respected as his own. “I can accept that,” he said.
“Excellent,” W’rath said. “As we progress, the council will wish to discuss some changes about greater autonomy for factions and such but we can save that for another day.”
K’hul snarled but wasted no time heaving himself to his feet. He yanked open the door and paused. “You may have everyone else fooled but I know you’re an Umbralite,” he said.
W’rath’s brow wrinkled. “I cannot say I’m familiar with the term.”
Predictably, K’hul didn’t believe him. “Don’t play coy, Exile. Even the Wood Elves know Umbralites follow the Traitor.”
“Ah, well, in that case,” W’rath all but purred, “by your own definition, I can’t possibly be an Umbralite.”
“How do you rationalize that?”
“Why my dear boy, it should be plain by now, I follow no one.” W’rath winked at his nephew.
“How has no one killed you yet?” K’hul spat. He didn’t wait for an answer but stormed from the room with a teeth-rattling slam of the door.
W’rath sagged into the vastness of his chair and let out a heavy breath. The boy was getting entirely too close to the truth.
Chapter 13
Raven merged with the shadows of the hallway, effectively concealing herself from any who passed by. This part of the house had adapted itself to W’rath’s tastes, all dark wood, and marble the color of dried blood. Only the paintings remained unchanged, the skin of generations of Stormchasers giving off a blue-tinged luminance as if the frames housed ghosts and not renderings in oil. You’re going to scare yourself silly.
The door to W’rath’s study flew open and K’hul’s inferno voice pushed back the solitude. “How is it no one has killed you yet?” The hall echoed with the resounding slam of the study’s door. K’hul’s heavy steps hastened toward the stairs leading down, taking him past where Raven hid. He swept by so close, the heat of his anger and scent of his fear-tinged sweat, pushed Raven deeper into her corner. She pulled the shadows around her like armor.
“First Father, he knows!” K’hul said, his words ringing like a curse. “That damned Exile will destroy us.”
Then he was gone, leaving Raven to gape after him, his words filling her with questions and dread. She silently chastised herself for hiding from the First Born like a child. The fact she was a child didn’t matter. She’d agreed to become the person her body portrayed.
The thoom of the front doors closing signaled K’hul’s departure and Raven sucked in a deep breath. She emerged from the shadows and gathered her courage. She dreaded facing W’rath almost as much as the volatile K’hul. Nevertheless, she couldn’t avoid him. He was her mentor, co-leader of the Shadow Elves, and the elf who had nearly died rescuing her from the fiery, demon-strewn battlefield.
Raven forced a stiffness into her spine that didn’t want to take. “I could really use your strength right now,” she said to the soul sharing her body. Other than during her weapons practice, Linden had grown scarce of late. She understood his reluctance to face W’rath but found it decidedly inconvenient.
Not wishing to sound timid, Raven overcompensated by nearly pounding the study door off its oversized hinges. Loud and obnoxious, the blow echoed along the halls. She winced and cracked the door open to peer in.
“Flames of Fate, lass!” W’rath said when he spied the intruder. “I thought for a moment K’hul had returned to ring my neck.”
W’rath clutched at his chest as if fending off heart failure, but his eyes crinkled with mirth. An irrational sense of relief washed over Raven. What had she expected? Of course, he hadn’t changed. “Sorry, you’re so old I thought your hearing might have gone the way of your eyesight.” The words escaped before she realized she’d opened her mouth to speak. Bloody Linden! Now you wake up?
“Well, so much for everyone celebrating my miraculous recovery,” W’rath said. His shoulders shook with poorly repressed laughter and he waved to Raven, inviting her in.
Was that a flash of relief she saw cross his face? Surely he hadn’t truly worried K’hul had returned? If nothing else, she doubted the First Born would knock before bursting into the study. Perhaps W’rath too had harbored concerns about their reunion. They’d shared so much in the span of a few hours. Pain and pure animal fear had swept through them on the field of battle. Such an experience could draw people into an inseparable bond—or it could send them spiraling apart, unable to face one another.
Raven realized that the latter had caused her fear over this, their first meeting since they’d nearly died. With one irreverent outburst, Linden had shattered the walls threatening to rise between her and W’rath. Thank you, my friend.
Raven pushed the rest of the way through the door. A calm settled about her melting the tension from her shoulders. She made a slow circuit of the room, sliding her fingertips across the polished surfaces of the bookshelves. She breathed in the spicy scent she’d come to associate with W’rath. She finished her tour, aware of W’rath’s patient gaze, and settled into the chair across from her mentor.
The chair retained a goodly amount of K’hul’s body heat. First Born burned hot anyway but the elf who had occupied the chair before Raven would have blackened the finish if not for the protective magicks imbued into it. Raven’s sense of calm started to crumble.
“I overheard K’hul talking to himself when he left here,” Raven said. “What is it you know that has him so horrified? He’s certain you’re about to destroy First Home.”
W’rath’
s good humor slipped from his face. “A series of completely innocent but unfortunately phrased comments on my part prompted K’hul to panic and project his thoughts. He assumed I pillaged his mind—as if I’d ever willingly soil myself in the filth of his psyche. Simultaneously, we concluded the other knew about the curse on First Home.”
Raven clapped a hand across her eyes and groaned. “Sweet Mother of Wisdom, he nearly got us killed without even trying. Now he has motivation to get it right.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” W’rath said. “I indicated House of Memories shared the information only with me. I also told him the house would tell the world if I died. When we took possession of the house, she magically announced the event to all of First Home, so he has reason to believe me.”
“So he doesn’t know about the journals Lady Stormchaser gave me,” Raven said. “That’s something at least.” She pushed her fingers through her windblown hair. “He’ll never accept I don’t know the truth. Apparently, that mess during the battle all started because my fighting ability caught his attention. I know you’ve tried to keep him focused on you but if he hasn’t already started to harbor concerns about me, he will soon.”
W’rath raised a surprised eyebrow.
Raven gave him a sour pout. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen how you taunt him any time it looks like he and I might get into a confrontation. I’ve taken my stand—I support you. We’re in this together.”
“So, the young, frightened girl who hesitated to take a position on the council did die on the battlefield,” W’rath said, and Raven thought she heard regret tinge his words. “I’ll miss her but I welcome the courageous fighter who has taken her place.” He placed a fist over his heart and gave her a polite tilt of his head.
Heat filled Raven’s cheeks. “Not all that courageous. I hid in the shadows like a goblin runt when K’hul stormed past me.”
W’rath laughed but the sound held no derision. “You already pointed out you’re not an idiot, lass. Even the most wildly brave of us need to pick our fights. Unfortunately, even after such a long life, I still have not learned that particular lesson. Of the two of us, you show more wisdom.”
I’m just not a cocky demigod. “Please tell me there is some good news in all of this,” Raven said.
“Some,” W’rath said. He picked up the Lady Sera’s scroll and tapped it on the desk. “He fussed like a spoiled bairn over most of our demands but he eventually acquiesced. Accepting Lady Earthfire as a battlefield mentor went over surprisingly well. Of course, his greater concern—the curse he just learned about—eclipsed everything else.”
Raven drew forward and leaned her arms against the desk. “So, he didn’t know until … when? Since his father died?”
“That is the impression I got,” W’rath said. “Which raises the question—”
“Who the hells told him?” Raven said. Concern over K’hul dwindled in light of the knowledge someone else knew about First Home’s past and doled the information out only as each new K’hul took power.
“He’s wears a ring over which he obsesses,” W’rath said. “It’s possible the ring itself told him but considering the timing, I doubt it. He found out sometime during the weeks I played invalid. That means someone among his household keeps his family’s secrets. There is some hope, though. He and I both agree his father supported the building of Second Home as a means of easing our people away from First Home and its affliction. It’s still a good idea but we can’t revisit it until we rid ourselves of the Dragon Queen. Only then can we seek to retake the city.”
So much for me being the wise one. “Gods, I never considered Second Home served a reason beyond its library,” Raven said. Since evacuating the city, she’d purposely thought about it as little as possible. Of course, as W’rath had pointed out earlier, the danger of demons and devils didn’t stop with Second Home. With so many elves in Teresland now, the human kingdom would soon swarm with monsters. “Instead of sending an army, shouldn’t we evacuate our people from Teresland instead?”
“And leave the humans unprotected?” W’rath asked. “Lady Swiftbrook, despite finding them quite maddening, won’t leave them to fend for themselves. She feels we have a responsibility to take care of them since we defeated them.”
“They might not need protecting if we aren’t there,” Raven reasoned.
“I think we both know she won’t take that risk,” W’rath said with a melodramatic sigh. “Be at ease, lass. You’re as jumpy as K’hul. By now, she’s warned Lord Icewind and he’s scuttling about putting up wards. Lady Swiftbrook and I will leave for Teresland in a couple of days to inspect things and make sure no surprises await the army Lady Culna’mo has started to assemble.”
Raven’s stomach fell and Linden bristled. “What about me?”
W’rath didn’t flinch at the accusation in her voice. “You’ll stay here this time.”
A hiss of exasperation pushed through Raven’s clenched teeth. What had she done to deserve such punishment? “I earned my keep during the battle. How did I fail?”
“Oh, lass,” W’rath said, “you didn’t fail.” He pulled the shining optics off his nose and carefully replaced them in their ornate box. “I’m the one who failed. Do you remember, right after we left the war council, how you said you’d remind me of how cavalier I was about the preparations for the battle once it blew up in our faces?”
“I do.” Her voice took on a panicked edge. “But I didn’t!”
“Of course you didn’t,” W’rath said. He folded his hands and closed his eyes in shame.
Raven sucked in a breath and it stuttered in her throat. He wasn’t punishing her; he felt responsible for what befell her while under his command. “I don’t blame you,” she said. Tears started to leak out of the corners of her eyes and she hurriedly batted them away before W’rath opened his eyes and saw nothing but a little girl across from him.
“I know you don’t but you should.” W’rath’s voice hung heavy with self-recrimination. “I had no business taking someone as untried as yourself into the midst of an enemy camp. I didn’t plan properly. My arrogance nearly killed you.”
Raven had never seen this side of W’rath and it hurt almost as much as acid fire. “You needed me.”
“I needed someone.” Of course, by that he meant anyone with size and strength who wasn’t she.
“No,” she said. “I won’t accept that. First Born and Sky Elves can’t ride the shadows like us. Anyone besides me would have needed you to conceal them and hampered your mobility. We worked well together—did our jobs. If K’hul hadn’t gotten distracted, Kiat would have pulled us out before …” Despite her conviction, the memory of those final moments on the battlefield hit her like a tower shield and choked off the last of her words. To her horror, Raven started to cry in earnest. Gods! No!
W’rath’s chair scraped and his soft booted tread approached. He should smack me upside the head and tell me to get a hold of myself. Instead, he enfolded her in an awkward embrace. The scent of leather and heady spices grew stronger. Despite her humiliation, she didn’t pull away. Even the father who rescued her from a hellish life never tried to comfort her. She’d ached for such simple compassion forever. Why did it have to come at the cost of her status as a warrior and a leader?
“As usual, you make valid arguments but I stand by my decision for this mission,” W’rath said after a few minutes. “I know it galls but humor this old elf, lass. Stay here. Lady Swiftbrook tells me you’ve started to train under a pair of highly skilled warriors. You should continue to study with them. She also said Lady Earthfire and her people made you a new weapon, which you have yet to wield. Take your time to bond with it.”
When he put it that way, his reasoning made sense but she continued to fume, frustrated W’rath felt the need to protect her and angry with herself for proving him right to deny her. She sucked in a deep breath and let Linden’s fire burn away the last of her tears before freeing herself from W’rath’s arms. Even though s
he sat and he stood, she didn’t have to tilt her head far to meet his implacable resolve with her youthful determination.
W’rath pushed the bangs out of her face. “You hold within you the passion of a hundred warriors,” he said to her burning gaze. “Soon those pages of history you love so much will overflow with tales of your heroism. Just not yet.”
The mention of history cut through Raven’s ire and reflexively her attention flickered in the direction of the concealed journals. W’rath stepped back to the desk and ran a hand over the carved handle of the drawer. “Ah,” he said, “our long neglected project.”
“A trade then,” Raven said. “Sit with me for three days while you recover and help me go through the journals. In return I’ll pretend I’m not angry you’re leaving me behind.”
“Three entire days?” W’rath said. “I hardly think I’ll need that long to regain my strength.” He struck an exaggerated pose, puffing out his chest, and promptly toppled over.
“Oh, gods!” Raven gasped and dropped down to kneel next to the psion.
“Let’s make that four days, shall we, lass?” W’rath said, clearly mortified.
Raven helped W’rath to his feet. “Four days,” she agreed. “But right now you need to rest.”
“Our secret?” he asked.
“Sure—what’s one more.”
Day five and the old woman, whom Foxfire learned went by what vaguely translated as Croaking Wisdom, finally deigned to speak with him. Until now, the three elves had spent their stay sitting in the old woman’s yurt, staring at one another, while their hostess tried small bites of the food, and pawed the skins and textiles they’d brought. She sniffed at the herbs and even insisted Foxfire pry open each jar of honey so she could verify none contained poison.