Exile's Gamble_The Chronicles of Shadow_Book II

by Lee Dunning

  Chapter 18

  What am I doing here? Raven clung to the cliff face, tunic soaked through, with only her new sword for company. She had as little gear as she did a plan.

  This was the sort of stupid, spontaneous madness she accused W’rath of almost every day. Yet the moment he and Lady Swiftbrook left for Teresland, she enlisted the help of a portal mage to get her within a couple miles of Gryphon’s Aerie. The mage hadn’t blinked or asked why she wanted to travel alone to a remote part of the island. Perhaps she intimidated him. More likely, he was used to eccentric requests.

  With the sun barely in the sky, she found the first chink in the mountain’s side and started to haul herself up Gryphon’s Aerie so she could introduce herself to the locals. If she survived, Raven decided she would have to sit herself down and reevaluate her thought processes. She didn’t think she could blame Linden for taking such a risk, which meant she had only herself to blame for her current predicament.

  Well, perhaps she might rationalize handing over some of the blame to W’rath. She couldn’t take much satisfaction in the notion, though, if she ended up a smear on the hard, unforgiving ground spread out below her.

  Raven peeked down to check on her progress and instantly regretted it. It did, however solidify her decision to continue heading up. She couldn’t possibly feel her way back down. If she made it to the top and the gryphons didn’t kill her, Raven expected she could count on W’rath or Lord Icewind to locate and rescue her. She grimaced at the imagined humiliation of enduring W’rath’s lecture. He’d abandoned her to the safety of First Home because he deemed her too young and inexperienced to accompany him. If she failed in this asinine scheme, she’d only prove him right. Grumbling, Raven started to feel around above her for a new handhold.

  The sun had crept across the sky, signaling mid-morning when she at last dragged herself onto a small shelf. She collapsed, partly out of relief and partly out of exertion. The surface of the stone retained its chill from the night and she gratefully allowed it to cool her heaving body.

  Before her transformation, things had been quite different. Small and lithe, she’d thought nothing of scrambling up vertical surfaces. As a youngster in the underground city of her birth, she’d explored every chance she could. The walls of the vast cavern of the city promised all sorts of hidden secrets. The massive stalagmites made perfect perches for a thoughtful child wishing to find solitude. She’d gazed for hours out at the purple, green and fuchsia lights of her city.

  Once topside, the ancient trees of the Wood Elves’ forest replaced the stalagmites. The occasional mountain cliff added some variety and many opportunities for exploration.

  But since she merged with Linden? Raven sighed. Not only did she feel ugly and ungainly but her muscular body didn’t respond the same as it had when she was a tiny mouse of a girl. That her strength and stamina nearly matched that of a First Born was the only reason she could haul herself up the mountainside.

  Of course, it didn’t help that for her first climb since her rebirth, she’d chosen a true mountain to scale. Her previous exploits compared nothing to this monstrous wall of rock. From the windows of Lady Sera’s estate, Gryphon’s Aerie hadn’t appeared nearly so tall or formidable.

  Raven rested until she started to fear night would fall and find her still clinging to the face of the mountain. Even with her excellent night vision, she didn’t relish traveling under such circumstances. She felt recuperated so she had no excuse to remain on the ledge. Above, she spied a similar rest spot about half a league up. She’d aim for that. Once there, if another good stopping spot didn’t present itself she’d wait out the night. Assuming no one came looking for her, she’d continue with her foolish quest in the morning.

  Time stretched and the sun continued its predictable journey across the sky. Raven worked methodically up the rugged gray stone of Gryphon’s Aerie. From a distance, it gleamed a solid mass of one seamless color. Up close, its surface shone with streaks of glittering white and copper.

  Raven’s father gifted geodes to her years ago. The unremarkable shells hiding a wealth of beauty still fascinated her. This mountain was like that on a larger scale. Maybe she could chip an especially mineral rich piece and place it in her bedroom window—a memento of this foolish day and a reminder of what her father gave her all those years ago. Of course, she had to make it to safety first. Idiot.

  Lord Cinder made his way down to the dungeon area of Castle Teres. He’d done exactly as Historian instructed, traveling through the portal with the relief squad of soldiers, even pulling a cousin aside to show off his new ring. “I’m here to represent the family since Lord K’hul himself couldn’t come,” he’d told his cousin.

  “Your parents must be proud,” was the reply.

  Lord Cinder had beamed, oblivious to the sarcasm in his cousin’s voice. “I hope so,” he’d said. “I’m going to tell them about it after I return to First Home.”

  Lord Cinder hurried now. He didn’t want to waste a second before fortifying the wards protecting the castle. Historian obviously didn’t want to embarrass Lord Icewind by openly pointing out the flaws in the councilor’s casting. Lord Cinder found that noble and wise.

  He had to ask for directions twice but eventually the young elf took the final left leading to the stairs he needed. The steps dropped Lord Cinder into a hallway where two red armored guards stood vigil outside the cells where he’d heard the disgraced king of Teresland awaited execution. In another cell rotted the horribly mutilated mercenary who had helped the king build a demon army.

  The heads of the guards swiveled in Lord Cinder’s direction. One frowned but the other, Lady Magma, had trained with Lord Cinder. She smiled in greeting. “I heard about your adoption. You coming down to rub our noses in your good fortune?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  Lord Cinder laughed. “Maybe just a little. But I have an assignment too. I’m supposed to check on the wards protecting the sewer grates.”

  “Ooh, look at you, responsible and everything,” Lady Magma replied. She turned to her companion. “He used to show off when we sparred. I had to kick his ass more times than I can count.”

  “Hmmph,” the second guard replied, obviously of a much more sober demeanor than Lady Magma.

  Lady Magma rolled her eyes and turned back to Lord Cinder. “That translates to ‘congratulations’ in Lord T’ren speak,” she said.

  Lord Cinder laughed and continued down the hall. “I’d better get on with it. I don’t want to neglect my very first assignment.”

  Lady Magma called after him. “Just keep going straight and down. Or follow your nose—it smells like flowers up here compared to down there.”

  “Lady Swiftbrook and Lord W’rath of the Elven High Council,” a herald proclaimed to the hundreds gathered in the throne room. All eyes turned to stare at the newcomers. The beginnings of a headache started to pulse behind Lady Swiftbrook’s eyes. Humans and their silly need to have each person announced—they worried more about status than a K’hul.

  As if every human present had their tongues ripped out simultaneously, all gossip stopped. Several gasps and a scream escaped startled throats to echo off the stone of the chamber. A lady collapsed, swooning. A few of the braver lords made a show of stepping forward to form a protective line. Lady Swiftbrook pinched the bridge of her nose. “Apparently, they’ve heard of Shadow Elves,” she said to W’rath.

  W’rath bowed to the frightened humans. “Charmed,” he said. Another lady sank to the ground in a dramatic display of feminine horror. “I’m rather starting to enjoy myself,” W’rath murmured, just loud enough for Lady Swiftbrook to hear him. “But I am glad I forced Lady Raven to stay behind. Her kind soul would find this reception painful.”

  Lady Swiftbrook started to agree when a diminutive girl in a lacy dress shot out from between two adults and rushed up to W’rath, eyes wide in amazement. “Are you a demon? Mama says demons are coming.”

  “Did she also mention demons like to
gobble up small humans foolish enough to run up to them?” W’rath asked. For a change, he needed to tilt his head down in order to converse with someone. To Lady Swiftbrook’s amazement, he crouched so he could speak with the child eye-to-eye.

  “My da will protect me,” the girl said with the conviction of someone too young to know the failings of adults.

  Lady Swiftbrook scanned the room and her gaze lit upon a young couple. The woman’s hands covered her mouth and her eyes leaked with terror. The man made as if to rush to his daughter’s aid but an older man held him back. “Don’t leave your wife a widow,” the elder advised. “You can have another child.”

  Ancestors! Lady Swiftbrook returned her focus to W’rath, whose head cocked in the direction of the miniature drama across the way. For a second she feared he might do something unpleasant but the flair in his eyes hadn’t yet grown into a full inferno. “W’rath—” she called, fearful.

  He held up a hand, forestalling her and addressing the child. “I am not a demon,” he said. “I am an elf like those you’ve lived among these past few weeks.”

  The girl scrunched up her face considering W’rath’s words. “You’re awful black,” she said. “Did you get burnt up?”

  “No, the other elves are simply undercooked,” he said. He twisted the girl around so she faced her parents and gave her a gentle push. “Now shoo,” he said. He rose, and placed his hands on his slim hips and narrowed his eyes at Lady Swiftbrook. “If you ever tell Lady Raven about this I shall soundly deny it.” Lady Swiftbrook worked her mouth but words were long in coming. W’rath chuckled. “Are you quite well, madam?”

  “That was a human,” she managed.

  “That was a child,” W’rath corrected. “She hasn’t yet deteriorated into the rotting, weak-minded carcass of a true human.”

  Lady Swiftbrook thought she had mostly figured W’rath out, yet once again, he surprised her. “You like children,” she said, perhaps with a touch too much amazement in her voice for politeness’ sake.

  “As difficult it is to believe, madam, I too started out life in the guise of a child,” W’rath said. “As such, I have a certain amount of empathy for the difficult journey they face. Cruelty often awaits those unable to stand up for themselves.”

  Lady Swiftbrook’s throat grew tight. So often W’rath spoke in a flippant, quietly amused manner, but she detected only sincerity now. A certainty filled her that this maddening, intense elf had withstood brutality beyond her ability to imagine. He could have allowed it to shape him into a monster but instead he’d taken on the mantle of a protector. She turned away, fighting back the emotion threatening to shame her in front of a room full of outsiders.

  With some relief, Lady Swiftbrook spied a soldier she knew and headed in his direction. The click of W’rath’s heels followed along, and the ache in her throat eased, replaced by a sense of gratitude for his solid presence. She stopped again and his hand settled on the small of her back. “Madam?”

  “I want you to act as my second,” she said.

  W’rath paused, perhaps trying to decipher her request. “I beg your pardon?”

  “In the birthing room,” she explained. “Be there for me. Lend me your strength.”

  “You flatter me, madam,” he said, his deep voice a pleased murmur. It dropped with regret. “You may change your mind before your time comes. Quite a lot could happen in two years.”

  “I won’t change my mind,” she said. “Say you’ll attend me.”

  “I would never turn down such an honor,” he said. “So, in two years’ time then.” He gave her a gentle push as he had the little girl.

  “In two years,” she agreed and turned, smiling.

  The little fuck was gone.

  Lord Darson looked upon his liege, King Oblund. Former liege, he reminded himself. He still couldn’t believe the man he’d served for twenty years had betrayed his country. The Church of the Duality had investigated though, and found the man guilty of consorting with demonologists. Worse, he’d used his own people to fuel the foul spells of the mages.

  The disgraced king hadn’t said a word since Darson entered. His finery gone, hair and beard unkempt, Oblund bore little resemblance to the fearsome warrior king Darson had come to visit one last time. “The elves make demands of us,” Lord Darson told Oblund. “Your folly has reduced us to playing serf to these point-eared pricks.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Pricks, that’s funny. I can’t tell if any of them have one. Their women are flat chested and have no hips. Their men can’t grow beards. They all look alike. That mincing fuck, Lord Icewind, is the worst. He should spend his time in the gardens with the rest of the flowers, not standing before real men, telling them if they want to eat, they have to dig the dirt like a peasant.”

  Oblund said nothing, and Darson sighed. He ranted to someone who no longer cared about what went on around him. It’s as if he’s already lost his head.

  A sudden clamor outside the prison entry drew Darson to his feet. Flames shot by the barred window at the top of the door. A woman yelled and Lord Darson realized one of the guards was female. Another roar, this one distinctly masculine, followed the woman’s bellows. More magic flashed, sending wild shadows across the walls of the cell.

  From the next cell over a voice rose in fear. The crippled mercenary. Darson ignored him and instead approached the exit. “What’s going on out there?” he demanded. The door shook on its hinges as something large and heavy crashed into it, threatening to reduce it to splinters. Lord Darson jumped back with a cry.

  Silence fell outside the door. No more magic tore through the air. Not even the torches lent a glow to the grate.

  The mercenary cried out again.

  “Shut up, you fool,” Darson spat. He took a step back and found himself pressed up against the bars of Oblund’s cell.

  Hot breath filtered through the bars and tickled Lord Daron’s ear. He flinched and an unmanly mewl escaped his throat. From behind him, Oblund spoke at last. “They’re here.” He giggled.

  Something slapped at the door to the hall. Something wet. Oblund tittered. Lord Darson pissed himself.

  Lady Winterdawn dashed down the hall, anxious to get back to the suite she and Lord Icewind shared. One of the guards had informed her of Lady Swiftbrook and Lord W’rath’s arrival and she knew Lord Icewind would want to know. He’d gone to get some rest after spending almost five days straight setting up the castle’s wards against anything evil but he’d gladly pull himself from his bed in order to greet the two councilors who had arrived to relieve him of his long ordeal in running Teresland.

  She passed Lord Darson and nodded at the human, hoping to acknowledge his existence without being drawn into another of his angry, monotonous diatribes about how he and his ilk shouldn’t be expected to demean themselves by working the land like those born to the position. The stuffed shirt of a man had provided much of the stress endured by Lord Icewind over these past several weeks.

  The lord expelled a grunt, surprising her but Lady Winterdawn supposed the man’s anger had finally sucked away the last vestiges of his manners, and ignored him. She trotted around the next corner, heading for the stairs leading up to the suite. When she heard him turn and come after her, she had just enough time to spin in alarm, before the human hurtled around the corner and plowed into her, smashing her into the wall.

  The surprise of the attack combined with the man’s momentum, left her unprepared. The air wooshed out of her lungs. Not even a squeak escaped. She fought to breathe.

  Lord Darson pummeled her face. The force knocked her sideways. She staggered free of him. The hallway spun and she fell against the wall to keep upright. He roared something incoherent and came at her again.

  The terrified elf sucked in air and a sob. She got her hands up and threw the man back. “Get away from me!” she screamed as he slammed into the opposite wall.

  Lord Darson snarled and shook his disheveled head. His eyes rolled strangely. “You’re stronger than you look,” h
e rasped. A trail of drool escaped his mouth to trickle into his goatee.

  What the hells is wrong with him? Lady Winterdawn inched down the hall. She worried he’d take her from behind if she made a dash for the stairs. Hadn’t anyone heard her scream? Though guards had joined her when she left her suite, she’d stupidly left them behind in her hurry to tell Lord Icewind her news.

  I’m on my own. The human couldn’t match her strength but she knew nothing about fighting. Insanity twisted his face. His hands twitched, promising a fury she couldn’t match. He sprang.

  Lady Winterdawn pushed off from the wall and tried to take the fight to him. He used a shoulder to thwart her clumsy punch. His right fist exploded into her gut. She collapsed, choking. Tears blinded her. She hung limp as he hauled her up and hammered her into the unyielding wall.

  The young Sky Elf felt consciousness slipping away. She fought it. She’d never wake again if she gave into it. She pushed at the man but the strength had left her limbs. Her throat had closed up. Now that she tried to cry out in earnest, no sound would come.

  Lord Darson spat in her face. “Think you fuckers have the right to order us around?” he shrieked. He grasped the collar of her robe and ripped it down the middle. She pulled herself out of her black well and managed to pound her fist into the side of his head. He rocked back on his heels, disbelief twisting his features further. She smiled through the blood pouring down her face.

  The human roared, grasped her head and slammed it into the wall. The world reeled. Her breakfast came up in a rush, cascading over her attacker. He threw himself from her, cursing.