by Nunn, PL
Alex gathered the reins of the sidhe’s horses and led them to the base of the incline. He handed one set to Dusk.
Mounted, he urged his horse up the hill, not waiting for the assassin. He hated the thought of having to depend on Dusk. He would not allow it.
There was a scream from somewhere far ahead. A great crash of branches. He kicked the horse into a canter, as fast as he dared go in the rain and the woods. He came upon a cluster of milling horses, and a lanky, furred form crouching over a struggling, cursing gnarled one. Deep, threatening growls emanated from the gulun’s throat. The spriggan had bloody gashes on him that might not have come from the fight with the hunt.
When the spriggan saw him, the curses started again.
“Get it offa me!” he shrieked. The cub was every bit as long in the body as the spriggan. Her ears were pressed flat to her skull. Alex dismounted and the cub turned her head to glare at him, nose wrinkled in ire.
“How?” he asked conversationally.
Which was a good question considering that the gulun held no small bit of animosity towards him as well. He had no desire to feel her claws again.
Dusk arrived eventually and looked down at the scene with some disdain. He brushed hair from his face and looked to Alex.
“Should she be allowed to eat him for his desertion?”
Alex quirked a brow at him, wondering how serious he was. Bashru had gone silent and quite, quite pale.
“I don’t know. Could she survive eating a spriggan?”
The assassin shrugged, carefully swinging down from the horse. “Perhaps, guluns have reportedly strong stomachs. She is only a kit, though.”
“Well, shit.” Alex threw up his hands and cast Bashru a glare. “I guess we better not chance it. Get her off.”
Dusk crouched a few feet away from the gulun and coerced her attention away from her terrified prey. Sullenly she stepped off of Bashru and went to butt her nose against the assassin. He seemed pleased with the success. Alex scowled and turned the irritation on Bashru.
“You little fink, you were going to cut out on us and leave us to the hunt.”
A look of utter indignation crossed the spriggan’s face. He scrambled to his feet, taking quick account of all his body parts. Relieved to find them all intact, he widened his eyes in innocence and declared.
“I was doin’ no such thing. Tryin’ to gather the horses, I was, but the damned beasts ran wild with terror. It was all I could do to stay on its back.”
“Good thing the gulun showed up then, huh? Or you’d have found yourself half way home before the horse came to its senses.”
“Good thing,” the spriggan huffed.
Then a sly look crossed his face. “The two of you take down the sidhe, huh?”
Alex cast a glance at Dusk. “Sort of.”
“You doin’ right well, the two of you. No reason to have me along.”
“Yes, there is,” Alex ground out.
“You’re my guide, Bashru and there’s no way you’re getting out of it.”
“Let him show you. Tell me there’s a place the dark sidhe don’t know the gettings to.”
“You are coming. Live with it.”
~~~
It seemed an impossibility, but the storms got worse. Lightning was a constant threat. They passed the visible evidence of its repeated strikes in the form of countless charred, twisted trees. If not for the rain, the forest might have burned from all the electricity dancing about its realm.
Twice more they crossed paths with patrols, but none with sidhe among them and therefore easily shielded against.
Bashru started catching the scent of ogre soon after the last incident. He complained and whined until Alex threatened to sic the gulun on him, and finally settled into a sullen, black silence.
The forest began to undulate in vast slopes and valleys. It was almost mountainous in its crests and trenches. What they could make out of the sky was a black, fermenting mess. Even during midday the world was dim.
After a third sighting of a mounted patrol, they decided to hide the horses and go on afoot. There were too many enemies about to quickly hide equine bodies. They had just topped a grueling rise and started down the opposite slope when Alex began to feel uneasy. He looked about himself uncertainly, wondering what had his hair standing on end, that the spriggan or the assassin did not sense. With every step the feeling intensified. Soon the spriggan too was casting wary looks about, muttering under his breath. But other than the rain, there was very little sound in the wood.
Just the constant dribble of water evading the leafy foliage overhead.
He lost his footing and slid a few yards down the incline. The feeling of unease turned to fear. He froze, sitting in the leaves, afraid to move another inch.
The spriggan had stopped some ways up the slope, shaking his head, talking to himself. Dusk looked down at Alex quizzically.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m not hurt, damn it!” he snapped.
Dusk looked at him, then back up the Bashru. His fine brows drew in consternation. “What is it?” he asked carefully.
“Just shut up,” Alex muttered, agitated and angry at his irrational fear.
He forced himself to stand, took another step and felt his limbs start to shake. He ground his teeth and took another and the terror came at him like a bullet. He gasped, rational thought fleeing. He scrambled backwards, not sure whether he had screamed or not. Hoping to hell he had not. Not with Dusk standing there staring at him in astonishment.
“God damn it!” he gasped. “There’s something down there. Something horrible is down there.”
The spriggan bobbed his head in agreement. Dusk was starting to look confused. He turned his back on them and peered into the shadowed forest. He took a few steps down the slope.
“There’s nothing,” he said. “What do you sense? Something magical?”
“I don’t know! I just can’t go down there is all.”
“It’s the vale,” the spriggan whispered. “This must be the Vale of Vohar.”
Alex sat down weakly, head in hands.
Shit. The rune wards that the sidhe had been talking about. Maybe this was the vale and he could not go down into it. The irony was absolutely heart wrenching.
“The wards inspire fear,” he reasoned. “Terror. Physically they don’t keep you out, they make you stay out on your own.”
“Do a damn good job,” Bashru commented, settling down a few paces further up the slope than Alex. “That’s why there are so many cursed patrols around the valley. They can’t get in either.”
Alex felt absolutely sick. So close.
So damn close and he got stopped by the Liosalfar’s protective runes. Then he happened to realize that Dusk was still standing down the slope past the point where he had run screaming back up the hill, with nothing more than curious concern on his face. The runes were not affecting the damned assassin.
“Dusk,” he began carefully. The assassin sighed.
“It is back,” he said before Alex could ask. “My immunity to magic.”
“Just didn’t feel like mentioning it?”
“I did not know. I’ve have no magic used on me for a day or more. No way to tell.”
“Shit.” Alex flopped back onto the leafy ground and stared at the branches overhead. He did not like the options that were presenting themselves to him.
Dusk moved up the slope without making a sound. He stood at Alex’s feet, looking down. “The Liosalfar can bring you inside the runes. I can pass and let them know you wish their company.”
Alex sniffed. Sure he could. He could also pass the ruins and forget all about Alex. No, the soul Alex held prevented that. Dusk would not take that chance.
What might happen was, Dusk would go find Victoria, tell her all about what happened back at the Seelie keep and sour her against him. Then maybe he would convince the Seelies to go and fetch them.
He’d rather sit out here and wait for them to notic
e him. Only with his luck running the way it was, the hunt would happen by and notice them first. There were only so many places to hide on the slopes of this valley.
“Let him go,” the spriggan suggested.
“Make him give you his word. Sidhe are stupid about keeping their words.”
Alex shut his eyes. There was little choice, really. So little choice. He nodded his head once, and the assassin just melted into the forest below. He prayed to the gods of this world for a change, to send a little good luck his way. He needed it.
~~~
There was a smaller building on the outskirts of the cluster of ruins that was mostly intact. Although whatever decorations and furniture it might once have had, was long decayed or stripped by animals or less likely more intelligent scavengers, it was still lovely to the eye.
The stone work had been accomplished by masters. There was magic in the rock. It had been shaped by more than chisel and hammer. The ceilings were not too high, but they boasted delicate stone beams designed to look like nothing more than twining limbs and vines. More stone vines trailed down the corners. The outer chamber was damp, pools of water forming on the floor, tracked in on boots or creeping more insidiously inward from cracks in the roof. There was another room beyond that was more secure from the weather. There were blankets on a stone enclave, and a fey, smokeless fire in a center trough that might have been for water or plants.
Ashara had not gotten around to asking Neira’sha about all the facets of this ancient place. Neira’sha remembered.
She walked about the wide avenues with a wistful look in her eyes. Trailed fingers over stone work, or stared into broken buildings as if remembering them when they held life.
She stood with her back against the smooth inner wall of the secondary chamber now, her eyes shielded by lashes, her hands hidden behind her. She liked Ashara’s plan little, but she was wise enough to realize it might be their only salvation. She hid her doubts better by far than Okar. He was quite put out. Frantic almost, with the thought of her delivering herself into Azeral’s hands. She could not seem to disabuse him of the notion that she believed herself safe. But then, he had seen more of Azeral’s truly dark side than she, with whom the dark lord had always attempted to curb his nature. Azeral had always attempted to mollify her, even to the last. He had just never been able to defeat the shadowy side of his nature enough for her to tolerate him. And then there was their daughter. There were some things Ashara would never forgive.
There was a horse outside, miserable in the rain. She wanted to be about this business soon. She looked at the people closest to her in the world and forced an encouraging smile to her lips.
“I’ll be back by nightfall.”
“Of course,” Neira’sha said, her agreement very much for Okar’s sake. He flashed them both a dangerous, tight look.
“Do not do this. Give him the girl and be done with it.”
She smiled at him sadly, he was close to losing control. “Have you ever known him to back off from anything? I need to reason with him. I can reason with him.”
“He will not know how to reason with you. Not after all that has passed. Not with his court looking on.”
“Think you know him so well?”
“Well enough,” he scowled. “You cannot walk into his camp alone.”
She lifted a brow in question. They had been through this.
“You would go with me? Well that would make all the difference, he being so fond of you. Let it be, Okar. I’m decided.”
She turned to Neira’sha, briefly touched her cheek and exchanged a meaningful stare. Neira’sha would make certain she did go alone.
“Take care,” the elder said. “Be wise.”
She went for her farewell with Okar but paused at the speculation in his eyes.
He was not so clever at hiding his thoughts. Not from her. She pressed her lips together and glanced to Neira’sha.
The elder came off the wall casually.
Okar’s eyes caught the movement. He caught the expressions on both their faces and his own turned wary. He held up his palms towards them.
“Damn the two of you. Do not!” He took a step backwards as if their magic might have a limited striking distance.
“This has been decided,” Ashara declared firmly. “There will be no interference. From anyone.”
He stood there glaring at the two of them, knowing that if anyone could worm their way past his considerable shields it was Neira’sha, and if anyone could batter them down it might be Ashara, who knew him so well. His shoulders slumped finally, and the tension went out of him.
He drew a shaky breath and the glare turned moist. He cursed her and crushed her to him, pressing his face into her hair.
“I swear to you, if he harms you, I’ll make him pay – “
“Of course we will, dear.” Neira’sha patted his shoulder. Ashara pulled away, afraid her own eyes were going to tear.
Out into the rain before she could think of a reason to delay. Onto her shivering horse. There was water at the high point of the valley now. Up her mounts fetlocks. And ever more coming.
She passed silent faces peering out of her from the shelter of stone doorways.
Children inside one. She could hear their quiet chatter. Too young to know exactly what was going on. Her own was among them. Her second child. An infant yet.
Only recently weaned. It had suckled on another. A bendithy. Sidhe women were notoriously shy of milk. Sidhe children notoriously distant from their birth parents. It was the way things were. It did not mean she did not love her children.
Even the one who rode with Azeral and thirsted for her demise.
~~~
Dusk moved through the forest, wraith like. Instinctively he kept to the shadows. It was his nature. It was most certainly an easy task on such a day. The sunlight did little more than hazily illuminate the woodland features. Down the slope he went, making not a sound.
The cat made more noise.
She was following him. He could hear her clumsy descent. Occasionally a disgruntled growl or a snarl as she became entangled in some patch of vine or briar. She was growing into her adult size, but her stealth and hunter’s cunning had a long ways to develop.
The fringe of forest abruptly ended and the downward slope continued on covered in rain slicked grasses and rock.
Below that as the valley flattened out was a jumble of mist shrouded structures. Dusk moved back within the shelter of the wood and studied the view. Occasionally there was movement down there, but not much.
The newest inhabitants of this vale were mostly likely holed up in whatever rain-proof buildings remained, shivering in misery from the damp chill. Victoria was down there somewhere. He stared down intensely for a moment, until he heard the cat closing the distance between him and her, then he set out westward to circle the tree line.
He heard the deluge before he actually saw it. A great rushing of water and debris that plunged down the eastern slope of the valley, savagely ravaging its core. He moved up the slope for a better view, and found a gash in the tree line as the flood ripped all but the oldest trees from its path.
There were sidhe near the flooding.
He could pick out the sounds of their movement against the roaring cry of the flood. Their voices were inarticulate noises. First reflex was to shrink deeper into the forest unseen. He pushed that back and moved closer to the swollen stream.
His boots sunk deep into mud and pine needles. He bounded to a flat sheath of rock where the footing was more solid and crouched there, head cocked, discerning which direction the sidhe were coming from. Across the water bed, in the flanking forest. On the wrong side of the stream for his purposes.
The water was too wide and turbulent to risk crossing afoot. He was developing a bit of wariness for turbulent rapids and storm-induced mud slides. Bad luck twice before was enough of an inducement not to risk a third chance with fate. Over it then.
He sprang up and caught the lowest
limb of an old, old conifer. Clambering up to the higher branches, he danced outward on the sturdiest limb and sprang, squirrel like, to the neighboring tree. That tree stood immersed in brown water. Only by the great width of its trunk and the doubtless far-reaching limits of its roots did it still stand amidst the rushing water.
Another of its ilk stood further across the flood path, the tips of its outer limbs barely touching the tips of the one he sheltered in. He went as far as he dared trust his weight and leapt. A too-weak limb gave way beneath him and he scrambled for purchase. He caught a brittle branch with one hand and used the momentum to swung himself further inward where the limbs were heavier. He moved without pause across intersecting branches, crossed with more ease to a final tree outside the influence of the flood and jumped soundlessly to the ground.
The sidhe party was down slope. He caught a slight movement of forest green against the somber atmosphere. He hastened through the wood, skirted around the party, not wanting to come upon them from behind and trigger violence towards him from surprise or fear. Let them come upon him. He had to alter his path as they altered theirs, skirt around a snaking finger of the flood, and finally when he was certain they were coming straight towards him, he sat upon an outcropping of rock, one knee pulled up to his chest in a position of harmless nonchalance and waited.
Five of them, there were. All armed with bows and knives. All afoot and grim of face. They missed him at first. He was in plain view for a half dozen heartbeats before the sharpest of them caught sight of him and then only because he shifted position to make it easier on them. The alarm went through them with a mental, magical spur. Knives came out, a bow or two was drawn.
Dusk looked at them expressionlessly. Held up his hands, palms outward in a gesture of peace, and noted absently that the two with knocked arrows had moved backwards to give themselves more range. Their eyes grew a little wild. They were undoubtedly using magic abundantly and getting no results.
He sighed and leaned back on the rock.
“How long ere the valley floods?”
“Demon spawn!” one of the archers hissed and tensed. The bowstring quivered.