Dockalfar

by Nunn, PL

  He let go of the bird he had been traveling with and went on by himself. He soared low over the forest top, spying on the denizens who made their homes at the very pinnacle of treetops. None of them ever sensed him, lower order creatures that they were. He had become adept even at evading the senses of the higher watchers. If you wanted to go fast and far you ran with engines full blast, anyone watching could see you coming for miles away. If it was secrecy you desired you ran with your engines off and glided. He had learned the glide on his own. He was proud of the ability. It was the one thing he kept secret from his hosts, the one skill that he was afraid they would prohibit him from. It was a battle to keep that secret, for all his instincts screamed at him to trust in them completely, but the longing to fly uninhibited by Azeral’s restraints won out. And with the victory came the niggling little questions over why Azeral deserved his loyalty so completely.

  And lately came the dilemma of Victoria. He was amazed at himself. He had actually forgotten her. He had become so enamored with Leanan that Victoria had slipped his mind. Leanan was his world, his love. That fact was rooted deep down in his mind, but he could not quite reconcile the idea that he had overlooked Victoria’s presence so completely. She had been lost and in danger and he had blithely gone about courting Leanan. It was so irresponsible. The least he could have done was occasionally worry over her safety. But he had forgotten how she looked, how she sounded, her smell, the things they had done together when they were growing up. How did a man forget those things? It was like someone had gone inside his head and wiped the memories out of existence. But they had not done a good job, for they kept popping up unexpectedly.

  He glanced over to Leanan, a shapely form under silken covers, hair spilling about her like a golden fall of water. She was everything he had ever dreamed about, ever wanted. She made him forget everything else. And yet…. For the first time he wondered idly whether it was her face and figure that stilled thoughts of other women, or whether it went deeper.

  Was it enchantment of a different kind?

  He recalled the insurmountable net he had sensed about Victoria when she had confronted him that last time. Azeral had done that in fear of her awesome power.

  More power than Alex had. He had felt it that night when she had first come here.

  Felt the inexorable gathering of the same power he drew upon, but in such great mass. He had never had access to that much power. And she had pulled it in so easily and released it against him. If not for Azeral and the combined strength of his court, he and Leanan would have been smears on the floor. Victoria had that much power. And Azeral had curbed it.

  He had gone inside her mind, while she was unconscious and walled her off from the earth magic. He had manipulated so great a power. How hard to manipulate a lesser one?

  ~~~

  The gnomish wench heaved her bucket of cleaning water into the passage way in front of Bashru. The dirty water sloshed on his leathery feet. He glowered at her, showing yellowed, rotting teeth in a snarl. The gnome leered back, bending in such a manner to show off flabby, bristly mammary flesh.

  “Clumsy wench,” Bashru muttered darkly. One could appreciate hairy breasts, even on a gnome.

  “The little bakatu was down here lookin’ fer you, Bashru laddie.” The wench smirked. Bashru’s glower descended to a scowl. He hunched his shoulders. There was no need to clarify that the bakatu was human. The kitchen wench would hardly know the difference.

  “So?”

  “So you roving in high circles fer a spriggan. Playin’ with the high one’s toys.”

  He grumbled a curse at the gnome and shouldered past, kicking her bucket enough to slosh a great puddle of dirty water on the passage floor. The gnome hissed.

  “Little witch found the Ciagenii instead. She’s got a taste for filth, huh?”

  Bashru tossed back a insult towards her offspring. No use insulting a gnome’s ancestors, since no gnome knew who they might be. Fate was looking poorly on Bashru. He was certain that his luck was souring. Why the human wench kept pestering him was beyond his ability to comprehend. He certainly did not encourage her visits. In fact he did his best to insult her. But she stubbornly insisted on holding him in some esteem. He could not understand it. Brainless wench. Had the sidhe fawning all over her and she chose to associate with the likes of him.

  Then went after the assassin when by all rights she should be avoiding him like a mountain troll on a rampage.

  He shook his shaggy head. Never would he understand females, spriggan, human or otherwise. But in the back of his crafty, little mind, there began a worry that something might be wrong with the wench.

  That she was too stupid to take care of herself and might have been looking for a bit of spriggan advice. Not that he cared one whit. Not one whit at all. But the worry would not go away.

  ~~~

  The birds were back on the window sill. Victoria opened her eyes to the coolness of early morning and found them sitting side by side on the ledge. They were watching her rather intently. She lay under the covers for some time and watched them back. Already her mind was revolving around a plan to place some treat especially tasty to birds on the window ledge in hopes of training them to return each morning. She had visions of the creatures perching on her shoulders.

  She shifted under the coverlet. The air was chill this morning. From the diffuse quality of light coming in through the window, she assumed the sky to be cloud covered. She carefully put a leg to the floor and slid out from the warmth of her bed. The two birds perked up, cocking their heads, eyes glittering with interest.

  She wondered if they made it a habit to visit window ledges. Did they expect a handout? She drifted over to her breakfast tray and picked up a flaky biscuit. She crumbled it and placed it on her palm.

  Holding out the offering she approached her visitors. The smaller of the two shifted its weight nervously. She made a step towards them. The larger bird ruffled its crest and squawked at her. It sidled over to nudge its companion then dropped off the ledge. The other bird followed much the same as before.

  Disappointed, Victoria leaned over the ledge and tossed her handful of crumbs to the wind. Feeling rejected, she turned her back to the open window and stared morosely into her room. She knew its details well. After several days of self-imposed confinement she was only too familiar. Azeral had sent several invitations for her company. She had declined them all. She was thankful at least that he was not a demanding warden.

  He had, after all, all the time in the world to wait her out.

  The wardrobe that had been supplied her was vast. She picked through its contents disinterestedly, finally settling on a simple gown of white with gold trim. It was modest as far as any sidhe design was, and warm. A leather girdle and short leather boots finished her dressing. She set out with staunch determination to find something of interest in the keep that morning. With a breakfast cake in hand she left her room and headed towards some of the less popular garden alcoves.

  Even if any of the court were up at the early hour, they most certainly would not be passing time in the older gardens. She skipped down a broad range of steps, listening to the echo of her footfalls. It was easy to forget sometimes, in the greater halls, with the air uncluttered by stone above her head, and no courtesans about, what a dark place this was.

  Sometimes it was just a miracle in masonry.

  A brook crossed the hallway, starting under one wall and leading into a dome topped garden on the other side. A ornate bridge crossed it down the center. The sound of running water was a enlightening chorus. She passed that room, though, knowing it did not open to the outside world and wanting to see the sky and the mountains. She knew of a garden further away with a fetching little pond of its own, twisted leafy trees and an array of flowering plants. Its balcony looked out over the eastern side of the keep. There were shaded paths among the trees and boulders just the right height for sitting.

  The arched doorway was framed by sculptures of exotic anim
als. It was chipped in places, either forgotten by the artist or done by hands long gone from this place. There was deep shadow when she first stepped into the garden. The plants that thrived in half light grew en masse by the door way and under the overhang of the terrace above. She moved out into the sunlight, wrapping her arms about herself in reaction to the morning breeze. The faraway sounds of the forest denizens could just be made out if the wind turned the right way. She settled against the balcony wall, and looked out over the edge of the keep. There was nothing below but the outer battlements far, far beneath her. It was a very isolated spot, which was perhaps why the sidhe found little use for it, social creatures that they were. She shifted and the mortar crumbled a bit under her weight. It was ancient and yellowed and moss encrusted in some places. She knocked a pebble of it off and watched it disappear below. She retreated to a boulder and settled down upon its curved surface.

  Her captivity…

  The trouble she was presently in, was her own fault. No one had forced her along this path. She had been determined to follow it and had succeeded admirably.

  Had the Liosalfar forgotten about her?

  Could they imagine the depths of trouble she had thrown herself into? They had warned her. Ashara had been adamant in her refusal to have anything to do with the Unseelie court. Victoria, in her ignorance, had assumed she might know better than folk who had fought for survival in this world for hundreds of years. Thousands.

  She was a child who had thrown a tantrum, then connived to have her way and look where it got her. The Seelies had no obligation to her. They had befriended her, taught her and she had betrayed them.

  She hoped that, if nothing else, they took care of Phoebe. A warm gulun kitten would have been very welcome at that moment. Something that loved her regardless what she had done, with no reservations.

  A fallen twig snapped behind her.

  The peace was broken with startling clarity. She turned her head slowly, dreading the intrusion, hoping it was a servant that she could chase away. She had no such luck. Deigah leaned against a tree, his face in shadow. She could still see his satisfied smirk. He had followed her. There was no other explanation. His pestering was becoming a problem and she no longer desired to be polite.

  “I was enjoying a bit of privacy, if you don’t mind?”

  “You enjoy too much privacy.” His voice was low. There was a look in his eyes that suggested that he had not yet been to bed. “I was unaware that humans needed so much time alone.”

  She did not want to trade witticisms with him. She wanted him gone. Failing that she would retreat herself.

  “Is this some plan of Azeral’s?” she asked quietly. “If it is, I don’t understand, for you’ve blatantly failed to interest me. Or is it to chase me to Azeral’s protection?”

  He circled the path around her boulder seat. He took her in from every angle. She turned to follow his movements.

  “Azeral has nothing to do with this.”

  There was nothing between herself and the exit. Deigah was framed by gray sky. If he chose to, he could stop her. Her skirts would be hampering if she needed to run.

  “What do you want?”

  The sidhe chuckled. “What an obvious question. Do you wish the obvious answer?”

  She drew a deep, tremulous breath.

  “You are very stubborn. I’ve made it clear I want no part of you.”

  “No part?” He lifted a brow. She blushed despite herself.

  She rose, primly folding her hands before her. With a tilt of her chin, she stated. “If you do not leave me alone, I will be forced to go to Azeral with complaint.”

  “And what will Azeral do, little human? You’re not his guest. You’re his captive. Just because he’ll whip a slave at your behest does not mean he will lift a finger against a member of his court.”

  She took a step backwards. There was debris on the ground. She could feel it through the thin soles of her boots.

  Twigs and leaves, pebbles of weathered mortar and stone from the terrace above. It spoke of the disuse of this place. The lack of upkeep. It spoke of just how solitary her chosen place of retreat was. And suddenly that distance from the rest of the keep was not a boon.

  “You’re wrong,” she whispered.

  “You don’t know what he wants of me.”

  “I know what I want of you.”

  That did it. Her courage snapped and she turned to flee. She had taken two steps towards the interior door when a short stout figure stepped inside it. She skidded to a halt and felt Deigah come crashing up behind her. He caught her arm in a painful grasp, wrenching her about. But not before she had recognized the newcomer.

  Desperation fought with relief. She screamed his name.

  “Bashru!”

  Deigah threw her backwards. She stumbled against a tree and caught her balance, even as the sidhe cast a furious finger at the startled spriggan.

  “Get out of here!” The screamed command was accompanied by a searing line of white hot fire that tore into the masonry above the spriggan’s head.

  Bashru let out a startled squawk and disappeared from the doorway. Victoria sobbed, her miraculous chance of succor now gone.

  “Damn you!” she cried. “Leave me alone.”

  “I think not, lady,” he sneered, returning full attention upon her.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Part Fifteen

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Bashru ran as fast as his short legs could carry him. Mistake. He knew it had been a mistake to go hunting for the wench. But his damned curiosity had gotten the better of him. It had to know why she had been looking for him. Just could not leave well enough alone. Now look at the trouble he was in. A high sidhe throwing magic missiles at him. And the damned wench screaming his name loud as day just so the sidhe might not mistake him later. And him running towards…what?

  He skidded to a stop before a servant’s stairway. A step, dark passage that led straight down to the lower levels.

  As soon as he hit the level floor he started yelling for the Ciagenii. He knew Dusk was down here somewhere. The damned assassin preferred the dark lower tunnels to the sidhe-populated upper levels.

  Gnomes and bendithy stared at the spriggan as if he had lost his mind as he stomped down the passages, screaming at the top of his lungs. It was useless anyway. The assassin was probably out of the keep or to far away to be of any help.

  The human wench would have to live with what the sidhe wanted to do to her. Many a lesser sidhe or bendithy wench certainly had.

  Bashru slowed, feeling a stitch in his side. If only she hadn’t looked so damned relieved to see him. Then he wouldn’t be feeling guilty over failing her. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and Bashru screamed. He whirled and swung at the same time, reflexes getting the better of him. His fists hit empty air. The shadows danced back from him and coalesced a few feet away.

  “Are you insane?” The question was low and somewhat dubious. He was surprised Dusk had voiced it to him at all.

  He almost sagged with relief. With one stubby finger he pointed at the ceiling. “Girl. In trouble. Bad trouble. Old north garden. Opal wing.”

  He blinked sweat out of his eyes and stared into the shadow. It covered the walls and ceiling like ink. It was featureless and flat and hesitantly he reached out a hand to feel for any solidity.

  All he felt was cold wall and the mildew of underground dampness. Very carefully he straightened, holding his aching side and turned back the way he had come.

  ~~~

  It was a game to Deigah. A merry chase for his entertainment. He stalked her and caught her, ripping her dress here, tearing it there. Fondling her or ruthlessly stealing a kiss, then letting her escape so he could take up the hunt once again. It was a cold, merciless game and Victoria felt very much the terrified prey. She felt every inch the weak, helpless victim and it debilitated her rationalization. All the strengths she had developed, all the staunchness of will withered under the physical assault. He
r presence of mind was limited to the frantic efforts of dodging her attacker’s taunts and feints.

  The calculated places where his long fingers brushed against her as he almost caught her.

  She dodged through the garden, using the scant protection of trunks to elude him.

  Getting close to the door in a heart wrenching moment of hope only to have him dash it by leaping in her path. He played her like a fine instrument. All to familiar with the desperate patterns of a victim’s attempt to escape.

  Ridiculously, he assumed this was still a part of the seduction. That it was as much a game to her as to him. It took her nails raking a set of furrows down his cheek to wipe the smirk of amusement off his face. He shook her savagely, then glared into her pale terrified face. He spat on her in derision of her humanity, her mortality. For her stupidity in denying one of his ilk. He bore her backwards into ferns and moss off of the garden path. Her hysterical screaming was an irritant. With a casual display of power, he magically gagged her. He did not bind her limbs for that would have deprived him the physical dominance he craved. Her twisting and writhing under him were erotic stimulus.

  With a violent tear he destroyed the bodice of her gown, baring youthful, human flesh. She was crying. Tears coursed down her face, wetting the hair at her temples. Strands clung to her cheeks.

  In her very imperfection she was lovely.

  With one hand he reached between them to loosen his trousers. And was rather abruptly jerked backwards by his tunic. Deigah landed ungracefully on his back. He drew power for defensive magics even before laying eyes on the one who had dared to lay hands upon him.