Drawing him into the shadows, she looked up at him and in that moment, he knew. Delae had told him true. This was the one he’d been waiting for, his soul-bond, the one who would love him in the face of everything.
Slowly, he lowered his mouth to Marantha’s. This time the joining wasn’t smooth and gentle, it was fierce, wild. It lifted him up and filled all the spaces that had been empty until he was no longer alone, nor was Marantha, but they were joined as one. His heart opened and his spirit found the mirror to it… A true soul-bond. He discovered a joy to match what Delae had given him, soothing his spirit.
Delae, who had loved him as long as she could. Her warmth surrounded him and then released him, her joy at his bond clear.
Dorovan let her go and he heard her laughter ring as he took Marantha to him.
Marantha, the other part of his soul, who would love him, always, throughout all the long years.
There was magic enough for this.
Setting Boundaries
A novella, part of the Otherling Series
By
Valerie Douglas
Published by the author as a member of the
Alexandria Publishing Group
Setting Boundaries Copyright © 2010 Valerie Douglas
Cover art by V. J. Douglas
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from author.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Discover other titles by Valerie Douglas
Fantasy
The Coming Storm Series
The Coming Storm
A Convocation of Kings
Not Magic Enough
Heart of the Gods
Song of the Fairy Queen
Suspense
The Last Resort
Romance
Dirty Politics
Directors Cut
Irish Fling
Two Up
Dedication
To Mr. Cross, the inspiration for Daran High King, and all those who inspire writers to continue writing. My thanks.
Chapter One
Jareth hurried up the cobbled street - the long skirts of his formal robes hampering his long strides. It probably would have helped if he hadn’t put on his rough wool working trews beneath them but it seemed best to be prepared in case they wanted to leave right away. Elves were rarely unprepared, and he wanted to make a good first impression. His travel pack was slung over his shoulder, fully packed.
He passed the plaza where the new Council Chamber under construction, just as the Dwarves set the great crystal dome in place. Their magic crackled in the air - the sense of it sharp, stinging, like striking flint on steel. It seemed oddly fortuitous to him to walk by just at that moment.
Sunlight glinted from the crystal and the gold and silver veined marble of the columns. His breath caught at the beauty of it all. Trust the Elves to design something both functional and beautiful. Well, especially one Elf in particular.
The Council Chamber was a chamber in name only. In truth it was a great open plaza designed by Elon of Aerilann himself so the people of the Kingdoms would be able to come see their laws being made. The massive granite and marble building behind it was for the offices of the Councilors - of which Elon was one - both the High and Low and for standing space on the verandas outside.
Dwarves swarmed all over both. Dwarves in the High King’s city of Doncerric, imagine! No one could remember a time when Dwarves had walked the streets of the city. Jareth could feel the prickle of their magic as they set each stone in place with Dwarven precision.
He couldn’t dawdle though; they’d be waiting for him in the castle.
So many changes had taken place in the last few years! The Agreement had been signed and a new government - one that represented everyone, men, Elves and Dwarves - set in place.
For the first time there was hope in the air, real hope that perhaps there might be a lasting peace between the three races. This time offered by Men, by Jareth’s own people. By High King Daran no less, with the aid of Elon of Aerilann. And he, Jareth, would be a part of securing it!
Jareth hurried his steps, looking up at the towering granite walls of the High King’s castle high above where they surmounted the city itself. The damned skirts of the robes kept tangling around his shins as he strode up the causeway, beneath the Great Tower with its murder hole and then into the courtyard.
As always, the courtyard bustled with people rushing to and fro on the High King’s business, presenting petitions or making demands.
The chatelaine waved him on with a smile - knowing him from prior visits - shaking her head at him in fond amusement. He’d visited often in the company of the Master of wizards, Dorcet.
He smiled back but his stomach locked up even tighter as he strode toward the doors of the High King’s Hall. Huge ironbound doors that those brought before the High King’s justice had named The Crack of Doom for the sound they made when they closed - a deep resounding boom.
They weren’t closed now, they were open wide. Reflected sunlight from the marble floors beyond poured through them, the light glaring.
Jareth let his pack slip from his hands to set it beside the door out of the way.
Throughout the Kingdoms the High King’s Hall was noted for its remarkable beauty, for the white marble walls, the dark marble floors and the expanse of rare glass windows that made up the length of one wall. Windows that could actually be propped open to let light and air in rather than the high clerestory openings and deep gloom of most Halls. That in itself was astonishing. Add to it the nearly legendary splendor of the High King’s garden outside those windows and it was a wonder in itself.
The guards nodded acknowledgement as he passed between them, his heart hammering in his chest with nervousness.
He remembered Dorcet’s words and the hearty clap to the shoulder his beloved Master had given him.
“Your chance has come, Jareth, my lad,” Dorcet had said with a smile. “You’ll finally get a chance to meet Elves.”
And what Elves…!
From the time he’d been a boy he’d always been fascinated with that beautiful, aloof and distant race.
“You’re the best wizard for the job, Jareth, be sure of that, my lad, or I wouldn’t send you,” Dorcet had said then, giving him a stern look. “Mind me, of that there is no doubt! You’ll do just fine, lad. You know the way of them and there’s none - wizard or not - that I would choose other.”
That memory eased his belly only a little.
He knew he was young for the job, only in his early twenties. There were more than a few other wizards who wanted the position who were both older than he and more experienced. Avila for one, but her dislike of Elves was well know
n. Dorcet had wanted someone younger, more open-minded. Someone like him.
Then Jareth’s breath caught again.
There he was. Or rather, there they were. The Elves.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen them before, he’d been present at the signing of the Agreement with Dorcet but not this close.
Elon of Aerilann stood in the center of the Hall. The legendary Elon of Aerilann himself, First among Equals in his Enclave, Councilor and Advisor to the High King, with his paxman - or true-friend as Elves named it - Colath, at his side.
Standing in the middle of the room, the two Elves drew the eye even amidst the hustle and bustle of High King’s Court.
Looking at them, you couldn’t mistake them for anything other than Elf - and it wasn’t just the ears.
They were tall, taller than most men, one dark, one light; Colath a bright shadow to Elon’s dark, their hair falling as straight as rain. Both were incredibly well built, the muscles in their chests and arms sharply defined even beneath clothing, the fluid Elven-silk draping over them. There was also that ineffable Elven calm and confidence that so many of Jareth’s own race saw as arrogance - a serenity that men saw as aloofness, an impassivity his people declared cold.
It was clear what they were to each other in the way they stood, Colath a little beside and behind, ready to defend Elon’s back even where there was no need. This was something else men envied, that closeness that didn’t need words.
As much as he tried it was an effort not to stare at them and not just because they were Elves - you could see Elves riding openly anywhere throughout the Kingdoms more and more of late these days - but simply because among a race that defined masculine beauty Colath embodied it.
In truth, no Elf was homely. As a race they were a beautiful people, perhaps as much for the calm confidence that radiated from all of them…but Colath was above and beyond even that.
Hair the color of ripe wheat streamed over broad shoulders to be caught back Elven style in narrow beaded braids at each side of his strong but finely featured face. Those features were sculpted, each line clean, his silvery eyes long-lashed and beautifully shaped; they mirrored the color of his clothing. Broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, he had the body of the master swordsman he was said to be, firmly muscled in the chest, arms and back, lean in the abdomen and hips. He held himself with cool confidence, his arms crossed as he stared expressionlessly out the windows.
Even in the face of Colath’s beauty, though, Elon of Aerilann caught, drew and held the eye, just by the strength of his personality.
As dark as Colath was light, his features stern, as impassive as all Elves, Elon of Aerilann dominated the room by the sheer force and strength of his character, by his air of calm sure confidence. In a room also occupied by Daran High King, a formidable personality himself, that said something.
Here then was the Elf who’d gone toe to toe with Daran, wresting concessions from that stubborn, scheming and shrewd King that were still being debated in halls and taverns throughout the Kingdom and would be for years to come.
Including the concession Jareth was about to embark on with him.
If they accepted him.
The Accords - the Agreement that had been forged between men, Elves and Dwarves -wouldn’t have been possible without the diplomacy and eloquence of Elon of Aerilann. For all it had been Daran High King’s idea - his vision and dream - Elon of Aerilann had shared that vision...that dream. Even so he wouldn’t sacrifice one inch, one iota, of protection for the elder races - not if it meant his people and the Dwarves would suffer.
As tall as Colath, inches above Jareth himself - and Jareth was tall for a man - and the hawk-like Daran High King, Elon of Aerilann was an impressive figure physically as well.
He was simply striking, if only for the sternness of his features.
More than most Elves, there was about Elon of Aerilann a supremely calm confidence that many men envied and called arrogance but wasn’t. His dark hair was swept back from his high forehead and held in place by Elven style braids and a narrow band of gold. His features were as expressionless as Colath’s or any Elf’s, but strong, more defined, those dark eyebrows arching high above eyes so deep a brown in color as to appear nearly black.
In contrast, Daran High King - similar in build and coloring - seemed less imposing. In other company, with his high-arched, aquiline nose, sharp eyes, thin mouth and sharp personality, he was a very impressive man in his own right.
As with Colath, Elon was strongly built as befitted the master swordsman he was. Master even above Colath, for it was said Elon had trained Colath. No other swordsman, Elf or man, could match him, save perhaps the legendary Elf and wizard Talesin. Certainly no man could best even the least Elf with either a sword or a bow, much less these two. Even the least of their race had learned the skill out of necessity and then honed it to a razor edge in order to defend themselves against first the creatures of the borderlands and then the more numerous, and vicious, race of men.
Jareth’s own people.
Fewer in numbers, the Elves and the Dwarves had found themselves increasingly at odds with the younger race.
Until now. Finally, there was the promise of a lasting peace.
Despite that promise both Elves wore their swords, long and short, even in the High King’s castle where no other could, in recognition of those days…and the fact that they weren’t truly over.
Not yet. One last task remained.
The Agreement was too new a thing and still disputed in some parts of the Kingdoms. Hence their mission.
The High King’s chancellor announced him.
Turning, Daran High King looked toward the newcomer. His jaw tightened as he looked at the young wizard who hurried into the room.
Jareth.
He said nothing, instead taking a deep restraining breath.
He could wish Dorcet had sent a more prepossessing wizard.
Oh, there was no doubt as to Jareth’s talent - he was rumored to be Dorcet’s own choice as the next Master once Jareth had the years and practice to supplement his skill in magic. Unfortunately, he was also as homely a man as they came - his features as rumpled and plain as his clothes. As always, the young wizard appeared slightly disheveled. His robes were as wrinkled as if he’d slept in them, his hair with its unruly cowlick mussed and windblown. With his towering height, a height to match Daran himself, the wizard was both ungainly and unmistakable. Worse, rumor had it he’d been an orphaned street urchin, spawned of some harlot and plucked off the streets of Doncerric.
That explained much.
Yet folk seemed uniformly and inordinately fond of the young wizard.
At the Chancellor’s announcement, Elon, too, turned to see who had arrived and his spirit lightened as he spotted the tall young man in wizard’s robes.
He’d feared who they might have chosen to be paired with them. His people had little reason to trust wizards, to say the least. Human wizards had done his people a great deal of harm in the past, in ways that left bitter memories and lasting scars.
Elon bore more than a few of both.
Looking now at the gangly young wizard with his open, curious face and mop of brownish hair, Elon allowed himself a breath of hope. Perhaps this wouldn’t be too much a trial after all.
There was a comfortable air to this one, an ease about him; a sense of being at home in his own skin as few men were.
Elon hadn’t failed to note the young wizard’s reaction to Colath but to his credit he hid it quickly and now showed no evidence of it beyond that first flicker of the eye. That spoke well of him.
Nor did he display the overweening deference or, even worse, the carefully concealed intimidation and accompanying resentment some men displayed toward Elon himself. He didn’t let his relief show any more than he would have allowed himself to show any other emotion in the face of these who had once been the enemy but were no longer.
Or so he hoped.
His voice carefully un
inflected, Daran High King said, “Elon of Aerilann, Colath, be known to Jareth, wizard of Doncerric.”
It would have horrified and infuriated Daran to know just how clearly Elon and Colath could see his dismay - who didn’t and wouldn’t care about it or the reason for it - and to Jareth.
Jareth was so accustomed to it he scarcely noticed the sting.
As a boy he’d taken comfort in the Elven view of things. They simply neither noticed nor cared to notice a person’s appearance; to them what mattered was what a person did, not how they were born or how they looked. He’d taken that philosophy to heart.
He still did.
It was to Jareth’s credit, too, Elon noted with satisfaction, that the young wizard didn’t offer his hand or arm to clasp as men often did, determined to force their custom on Elves even knowing they didn’t like it.
Warm brown eyes met Elon’s evenly, giving a quick glance of acknowledgement to Colath before the young wizard grinned with anticipatory delight.
Knowing that Elves and Dwarves were empathic, the thought of shaking hands or clasping arms never crossed Jareth’s mind. Empathy increased with touch, although his own talent there was slight. Neither Elves nor Dwarves touched in public. In private? No one knew. No man had ever crossed the borders into those lands, either Elven Enclave or Dwarven Cavern, not even Daran High King himself. Not that anyone knew.
“Ala, Elon of Aerilann,” Jareth said in Elven, with a nod. “And to you as well, Colath.”
To be greeted in Elon’s own tongue was a surprise.
Heartened, Elon nodded in return. This boded very well indeed. Few men bothered to learn even that much of the Elven language. Not even Daran.
“Ala, Jareth,” he said, quietly pleased.
Colath looked to Elon, before lifting an eyebrow and looking back at the young wizard who had greeted them in their own language. He inclined his head in greeting and relaxed a fraction.
Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries Boxed Set (The Coming Storm) Page 10
