Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries Boxed Set (The Coming Storm)

by Valerie Douglas

  Her amber eyes darkened.

  “Your life on it, Elf,” she said.

  It would be. Her magic was the match of his.

  To any other those words might have given a moment’s pause.

  Elon’s life? At just the thought, Jareth’s heart caught and he nearly cried out in protest but it was already too late, Elon was already nodding.

  No one other than his Master and his foster parents had ever shown such faith in him. There was so much that could go wrong, no matter how hard you tried. No one knew that better than Jareth. He took a breath and let it out, all too aware of Colath’s eyes on him. It was his true-friend’s life in Jareth’s hands.

  None of the others seemed to catch Jareth’s start.

  That trust, though, pierced him to the core even as it made his heart leap and his spirit glow.

  “This isn’t our way, Elf,” Palic said, sharply, “this marking of place.”

  Elon nodded. “Nor ours but it must be if we are to live in peace with men.”

  Foresight had told him as much, if it didn’t always speak clearly.

  “He is wizard,” Palic said, “and not to be trusted.”

  “I trust him, Palic,” Elon said, evenly.

  Their eyes met.

  “So be it,” Palic said. “It is on your head.”

  Looking at her steadily, Elon said, “No, it is on yours, Palic. Your people signed the Agreement.”

  “I didn’t,” she said, sharply, seeking a loophole to break it.

  Keeping his voice even, Elon said, “Goras signed for you - for all Dwarves - binding all of you to it.”

  The Dwarven representative on the High Council, Goras was one of the Three - along with Daran High King and Eliade of the Elves - who ruled over all the Kingdoms.

  “As it does you, Elon of Aerilann,” she said, her eyes going abruptly dark.

  Well he knew it.

  A shiver of foresight went through him but of what it warned he didn’t know.

  There was a saying men had…no good deed goes unpunished. That was for an unknown and unseen future. In the meantime, there was this.

  “I would see what it is he does,” she demanded.

  “The place for the next marker is just ahead,” Elon said evenly. “Will you join us?”

  Placing each step carefully, the horses picked their way over the scree of tumbled, rocky slopes, down to where the delicate green grass grew in tufts among the bones of the earth. Here, too, the skin of the earth was thin.

  Elon looked at Jareth as they dismounted.

  The young wizard clearly felt the responsibility, the weight that was on him. His face was still pale, his deep brown eyes wide and worried.

  Meeting Elon’s eyes a thousand thoughts went through Jareth’s mind.

  ‘Fetching’ from that far away was chancy enough. He was as likely to drop it on Palic’s head as he was his own foot. Each stone varied slightly in weight, the heaviness unexpected no matter how prepared he was. Then there was the chance his own people would interfere, waiting for this opportunity to attack with both Elves and Dwarves here. That would be his kind of luck. Certainly there were enough among his own people who shared Palic’s misgivings.

  Some of them didn’t trust him either.

  There was a light touch to his shoulder, long strong fingers. Elon. Elves didn’t touch much as a rule, and never men.

  Jareth looked into Elon of Aerilann’s dark eyes, normally so stern but there was an understanding there and a confidence in him that few others save his own Master expressed. His heart contracted at that look, at the faith in those dark eyes and something within him loosened. He turned his head to look at Colath.

  That same look was mirrored in Colath’s seemingly colorless eyes.

  It shook Jareth to the core.

  “What we do not show, Jareth,” Elon said, quietly, “we still feel.”

  As calmly, Colath said, “Courage is not lack of fear but proceeding in spite of it.”

  Drawing in a breath, Jareth let it out sharply. He nodded.

  Looking to Palic, Elon said, “This is the correct place for the marker, agreed?”

  Grimly, she nodded, folding her arms over her chest.

  His heart beating hard, Jareth stepped to the spot Elon marked. With no men to observe it wasn’t necessary to confirm it with the sextant, and before these, knowing Elven veracity, it would have been insulting.

  Calm settled over him. His eyes met Elon’s before he dared look at Palic directly, giving her a slow respectful nod.

  “You can feel the magic as I call it, my Lady,” he said, knowing Dwarves didn’t use titles any more than Elves but needing to show her respect in some way.

  The nod and its intention was clearly a surprise to her.

  He gave her honor. That Palic clearly understood.

  She nodded in return; he could see her sense as he drew power, her eyes narrowing a little.

  “I’m going to conjure the stone, now,” Jareth said.

  A shock went through the Dwarves, he, Elon and Colath all saw it.

  He would summon stone, something they, the workers of stone, couldn’t.

  It was apparent the Dwarves thought they would bring the stones with them. The words might have been in the Agreement but they hadn’t seen it or credited it as possible.

  A burst of magic was clearly felt and then the large carved stone appeared in the air above Jareth’s outstretched arms. As the weight of it hit, he staggered a little, but he didn’t dare to drop it or the disrespect he showed to the stone these folk held precious might have been his undoing. Instead he quickly lowered it to the ground.

  Elon turned to Palic and asked quietly, “Would you do this with us? It’s simple magic, a binding spell such as we do to create Veils or Walls, nothing more. You would have to do magic with the wizard…”

  There was a quiet unspoken undertone of challenge, of daring, in Elon’s voice.

  Such a thing wouldn’t have worked on an Elf, who had no pride in such to care about, but a Dwarf? One who had just been faced with stone magic she couldn’t do herself?

  Jareth bit back a smile. Now he understood that not only was Elon of Aerilann eloquent but he was wise in the ways of people, of men and Dwarves, and clever, too.

  Lifting her chin defiantly, Palic sniffed and said, “I would.”

  It was clear she feared nothing or at least would make it appear so in front of the men.

  One of the Dwarves - obviously her husband by his proprietary nature - stepped forward to put his hands around her waist and lower her to the ground. She patted his cheek with evident and touching fondness, giving him a warm smile he returned more gravely, clearly concerned.

  She stepped up to the waist-high stone - nearly chest high on her - and looked Jareth in the eye.

  Respectfully, he kept his eyes on hers, staying still, letting her look her fill of him.

  After a moment, she tilted her head. Her golden eyes darkened.

  “We will know you, Jareth the wizard…someday.”

  Prophecy whispered over Jareth’s skin; a thing of his meager foresight and her stronger prescience.

  For a moment it was just the two of them, their hands on the stone as what would someday be moved between them.

  Both turned to look at Elon at one and the same time, Palic’s eyes dark with the knowledge of the foretelling. Jareth’s gaze matched it.

  Young as he was Jareth had more magic than he knew. He was still growing into it.

  Elon nodded and stepped to join them, his hands with theirs on the stone. He felt the power move there, the metallic tang of Dwarven magic, the sharp sense of Wizard’s magic like the air after lightning, as he joined his own to it.

  For a moment they were as one and the power one with them.

  That power locked within the stone, sent tendrils like roots down into the earth to intertwine with it, binding it in place. Power swelled, surged, joined with and merged to the earth. Each and all of them felt it take ho
ld with a sudden sharp snap and then they released it.

  Beneath their hands the stone glowed, pinpoints of brightness spearing from within it where the stone had melded internally and now cooled slowly from the outside in.

  For a moment even Elon felt mildly disoriented - as he would from any major joint working.

  As the sensation passed, Palic turned to Jareth. “You will show me how to summon stone.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  Startled, Jareth stared at her a moment. He looked to Elon for guidance.

  Elon looked back at him impassively but not unkindly.

  This was for Jareth to decide - what to share and what not. It was the magic of men not Elves.

  Turning back to Palic, Jareth looked at her. For a moment, their minds had touched and he had known her in ways he knew no other. As he now knew Elon.

  “All right,” he said, and went to his knees with surprising grace for so ungainly a man.

  He had only a little empathy. It would be on her to learn what she needed from him.

  That he knelt before her took Palic aback for a moment, and then she smiled - warmly and gently - as kindly as the mother he couldn’t remember, as the lover he hadn’t yet found. It warmed a part of Jareth that he hadn’t known was cold.

  Her fingers slid into his hair, cupped his temples tenderly.

  The knowledge was there inside his mind, at the very forefront. He could almost hear her say “ah” in comprehension as she saw him lay his hands on each stone so he might ‘know’ it to conjure it.

  At the same time he knew her; knew the intricacies of her, of her place in Dwarven society, of her love for her husband and her responsibility to her people. As she knew him.

  Stepping away, she nodded, slowly, more than one question answered.

  With a gesture, she summoned a stone - conjured it into her hand as he’d shown her - and allowed herself a smile of success and pleasure before placing it in his hand. She closed his fingers around it.

  There was a touch of Dwarven magic in the air. It resonated as the stone seemed to melt into his palm.

  For a moment he didn’t dare breathe as he opened his fingers, slowly.

  His hand was empty.

  “My blessing upon you, young Jareth,” she said serenely.

  Her eyes went to Elon. “This is well done, Elon of Aerilann.”

  She and her people mounted and rode away - back the way they had come.

  ###

  They stood before the last of the stones that marked the edges of this Dwarven Cavern. Elon joined Jareth at the stone. He looked at Jareth and then at Colath. This, the knowledge of each other he and Jareth had shared with Palic, hadn’t been shared with Colath.

  Not that Colath would have minded but it was on Elon to share this with his true-friend, too, to give Colath a knowledge of Jareth, and Jareth of Colath, that neither had yet.

  “Would you join us, old friend?” Elon asked.

  Although Colath had very little magic, he easily had enough for this small working.

  Surprised and more than a little pleased, Colath nodded.

  It was safe enough here, unlike the first stone on the far side of the Cavern, with little likelihood of threat so far from the Borderlands and so distant from the lands of men.

  Sheathing his swords, Colath stepped to the stone and laid his hands beside theirs.

  Their hands were so striking together, Jareth thought, seeing them one beside the other. Elon’s and Colath’s were long and strong, the fingers supple, whereas his own were long and rough, the knuckles knobby and scarred from beatings and fights, despite his youth.

  He looked up to meet Elon’s eyes and to find Colath looking at him with amusement.

  No longer did he see Colath’s beauty, just the strength and heart of him - the sure and steady friend.

  Almost as one, the three of them sank their awareness into the stone.

  With a sigh, Jareth felt Elven magic, soft and sweet, scented with the aroma of growing things, meet and meld with his, softening it, yet somehow steadying it, too. He sensed Elon’s strength of mind, of spirit, his calm, and Colath’s sureness, his resolve. Yet for all of that, there was an ease to the two Elves that was a balm to Jareth’s damaged spirit.

  Elon reached out, drew them together, sent power down into the earth to root there and locked it.

  There was a sharp crackle of power - a sense of something snapping closed forever and it was done.

  Chapter Four

  With a sound not unlike the whisper of water up a strand, the fields of oats, wheat and rye bent and flowed like waves, still green, ripening in the sun. The light glinted off the feathered heads of the grain as they waved in the breeze. Above them the sky was clear and brilliantly blue. The air was hot and appeared to shimmer over the grain, although the depth of summer hadn’t yet been reached. If Elon had timed their journey correctly they would reach the northernmost Dwarven Caverns then.

  He could remember a time when these lands had been nothing but open prairie with grass so high he could sit his horse and run his hands over it as he rode. It had stretched for as far as the eye could see.

  That had been long before men had encroached so far north.

  His memories didn’t detract from what he saw; the land was still beautiful in its regimented way, each field a square, neatly delineated by the crop within it with thin strips of green grass running between the fields and along the road.

  A soft breeze blew, cooler and more refreshing than it had been now that they were in these higher latitudes. The horses picked up their pace at the feel of it but they also might have sensed some little bit of Elon’s growing elation. Something Colath shared, he knew.

  Anticipation swelled within them. Each hoof beat took them closer to Aerilann. To home. A home from which they’d been separated for far too long, although any length of time away was too long.

  Soon the distant forest with its skirt of grassland that marked the beginning of Elven lands would be visible on the crown of the distant hills.

  The folk of men with their boundaries and ownership couldn’t begin to understand this tie his people had to the land on which they were born, the land that nurtured you and kept you, cradled you and fed you. You didn’t own it - you belonged to it. You were as much a part of it as it was a part of you, from the roots to the towering crowns of the trees that were your home. It was the scent of the loam and the mosses beneath your feet, the aroma of the things that grew and the flowers that bloomed. There were berries to be picked from bushes in the spring and early summer, roots, beans and grains to be harvested and fruit gathered from the trees in the Summer and Fall.

  It was home and they were drawing close to it.

  Something eased in Elon that he hadn’t known was tight but for the prickling of foresight… some niggling sense of unease he couldn’t define. A warning of some sort.

  Colath sensed something amiss, too, straightening in his saddle.

  After so long being hunted, they were accustomed to sensing when they were being watched with unfriendly eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Jareth asked.

  Elon shook his head. He couldn’t put a name to it, it was just there; the sense that he’d just become quarry was innate after nearly five hundred years.

  Uneasily, Jareth scanned the horizon. A feeling of alarm he couldn’t define set his nerves jangling, too. Turning, some instinct drawing him, he looked behind them, downwind, and something deep in his belly went cold.

  Smoke rose and billowed behind them.

  “Elon,” he said. “The fields behind us are on fire.”

  With no lightning to set it ablaze there could only be one cause.

  Men.

  They all knew what it meant and what it was.

  Jareth let out a breath.

  Looking back, Elon’s mouth tightened.

  It was a tactic of men from days gone by. Not surprisingly it was one of the few things men still remembered and held from the past, to
be used specifically against Elves. For a people who lived in and among the trees there could be no other more elemental enemy, no more intrinsic and atavistic fear but fire. The fire behind them was meant to cut off their retreat.

  Which meant the enemy was before them and probably surrounding them. Again, the same tactics used in the past.

  No single man could best an Elf sword to sword as Elves were far stronger, had more endurance and were trained with sword and bow from childhood.

  Not all men sought peace, for reasons of their own, and some few of those fought it violently, if not always openly.

  In an effort to stop the Agreement assassins had been sent after Elon many times during the years he had spent negotiating the truce between men, Elves and Dwarves, or when he worked on Daran’s behalf as envoy to the lesser Kings.

  Daran High King was no diplomat. Elon was.

  He was called eloquent, persuasive - and he was that, too. His integrity was legendary, his honor unquestioned.

  To stop him men resorted to these old tactics, the old strategies from the days when men and Elves had been at war. They were taking no chances. This was one of their last chances to stop him. Few things could defeat an armed and prepared Elf. One was overwhelming numbers. Another was fire.

  Surrounded, with fire at their back to cut off their retreat and no recourse, there was no choice left except to fight their way out, if they were to survive.

  For a moment despair and shame threatened to overwhelm Jareth.

  His people had done this. His.

  At least the Dwarves talked, negotiated. Not his own folk. They could hate without reason, just because someone was different, or for greed, for what another had that they didn’t. Others for fear, not knowing what change might bring, believing the rumors, the stories and the lies, the fear-mongering that spread like the wildfire behind them - burning good grain, needed grain, destroying, not building.

  Despair wouldn’t help them though, and so Jareth refused to give in to it. Not everyone felt that way. Some truly did want peace. He was one of them.

  If they pushed him to it he would fight for it, too.

  He reached for power even as Colath reached for his bow.