THE CHOOSING

by PhyllisAnn Welsh

  “Even with my men and the odd advisor or two, if it comes down to a fight between the king’s men and ours, we could not possibly win, Feenix. We would be hopelessly outnumbered.”

  “Don’t be so negative,” she said with a smile, slapping him on the back. “If it comes down to a battle, you have more allies than you think. What about the slaves you have, the Sea Elves? I’ve seen a number of them. If we spoke with them and told them about Mac Lir’s plan, don’t you think they’d help?”

  He stared at her in amazement. “They are only slaves. What can they do?”

  “Put a sword in their hands, give them their freedom and I bet you’ll be surprised at what they can do. A man fighting for his freedom is a terrible thing to behold.”

  “You might be right, Feenix,” he said after a moment of silent thinking. “Most of them were captured when they attacked Cragimore many years ago. They were all warriors. True, they have not wielded a sword in all those years, but they are strong and healthy. But how do we know they will not turn the swords on us? We must be assured we are not loosing the enemy to attack us in our own home.”

  “Leave them to me,” she said with a confident air. “I’ll be able to convince them. And I’ll have Rendolin to council me, once he makes contact with me again.”

  “The king had ordered me to have them all killed. Instead, I took them Atop, thinking I would reassign them duties there, and keep them out of Zimpher’s way. Perhaps, that was a good move on my part.”

  “Perhaps,” Feenix observed, “you were merely acting at the prompting of Mac Lir without even knowing.”

  “I do not want to think I have been influenced by a god without my knowledge.”

  She shook her head, but smiled at his obstinacy. Who was she to talk? Hadn’t she been reluctant to acknowledge Mac Lir’s guidance? L’Garn would come to realize he had little choice but to follow the god’s plan. Let him learn the hard way, as she had. Perhaps they both learned best by taking a punishment rather than by reason.

  “So, L’Garn. Do you believe my story?”

  He looked away from her as if considering his words.

  “Yes, I believe. You have confirmed what my mother told me. She had a Dream and Mac Lir told her the same information.” He stepped to her and looked deeply into her eyes. “It is hard for me to accept that Mac Lir is using us for his plans. It is especially hard for me to accept, when he has not found me worthy to speak directly to me. Instead, he sends females to tell me my duty.”

  Feenix put her hand upon his cheek and stroked his beard with a gentle caress.

  “Don’t let your pride get in the way of helping your people, L’Garn. Use the tools that have been placed before you. Use me. I will fight by your side, if need be, as long as you accept the fate the god has thrown in your path.”

  She smiled and shook her head, remembering how long she had railed against Mac Lir’s influence in her life.

  “It will do you no good to fight it. Mac Lir has us well and truly caught in his plans. We might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  He caught her hand in one of his own, kissed the palm and then held her hand captured to his heart.

  “I will enjoy the ride if you will be there, beside me, the entire time.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Could he really want her, even after all she had told him?

  “Do you want me beside you? Even knowing the truth?”

  “By the Jewels, I have tried to reason why I should be so drawn to a woman who enjoys fighting at every turn,” he laughed, “but I can not seem to get you out of my blood. And now you say that Mac Lir has named you the mediator between my people and the Sea Elves. It seems that he wants you in my life.”

  While it wasn’t exactly the declaration of love she had been hoping for, L’Garn’s words were encouraging. But she had to be sure. She had never contemplated putting her own plans aside to commit herself to another soul. If she was going to take such a drastic step, she needed his assurance that he was committed, too.

  “Are you sure? I’m marked forever, L’Garn. Can you stand to be with a woman who changes into a fish without any control? Can you bear loving Feenix of Port Marcus—warrior and shape-changer?”

  He brought her hand to his lips, kissing each finger while peering deeply into her eyes.

  “How can I bear not to?”

  He swept her into his arms and captured her lips in a kiss that spoke of commitment and longing, but which quickly turned into a heated thirst for more.

  He opened her shirt and she rubbed her breasts against his chest, the crisp hair sending shocks of desire coursing through her blood. She felt safer than she ever had in her entire life. How could she have lived so many years without this half-elf? His kiss branded her for life, and she would fight to the death to keep him by her side.

  “Pretty Feenix and prince must come quickly!”

  The troll’s voice shocked her out of the intense sensual sea in which she had been floating. L’Garn stilled, as if he too had forgotten the existence of Eagnad.

  “By the Jewels, who are you and how dare you disturb me?” It was the first time Feenix had seen L’Garn in all his royal dignity. She couldn’t help but be amused.

  “This is Eagnad, your highness. He carried you to the ravine where we could take care of you, and he helped save me from the dragon.” She turned to the little troll, “What do you want, Eagnad?”

  “Pretty Feenix and prince must come. King going to fight Sea Elves. Must stop now.”

  “The attack on Shalridoor,” L’Garn said, as if remembering an important event.

  “What do you mean?” Feenix grabbed the half-elf’s shoulders in a fierce grip. “What attack?”

  “When I spoke with my grandfather a few days ago, he said he was planning on a large attack on Shalridoor, to wipe out all the Sea Elves for good. He forbade me to take part, but assured me there would be none of the enemy left to plague us further. He must have decided to launch the attack tonight.”

  “Yes, must hurry. Stop king.” The troll hopped from one foot to the other, over and over while wringing his hands. His cavernous face looked like it would break open and spill an ocean of tears.

  “How far is it to Shalridoor? How long before they reach the Sea Elves?” Feenix ignored the little troll’s agitated bouncing.

  “The army will reach them tomorrow night, after Eon’s rise.”

  “We have to stop the king from attacking,” Feenix said, fixing her clothing and donning the tunic again.

  “I do not know if we can, Feenix. If he has sent the advance guard forward, it is too late to stop the battle.”

  “Then we have to gather your people immediately! Come on,” she yelled as she rushed from the room, strapping on her sword.

  The prince and the troll followed in her wake.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “You are granting us our freedom? In exchange for what?”

  The band of Sea Elf slaves clustered around the one-handed elf. Feenix had noted this particular slave when L’Garn first brought her Atop. Even chained to a grinding wheel, he had commanded her attention, as well as the other slaves’ respect. Looking at him now, she was again reminded of someone, but she could not quite place who. The slaves seemed to look to this one elf as their leader and spokesperson.

  Upon their return Atop, L’Garn had ordered a small company of household slaves to bring his mother above to the farmhouse. After she was settled comfortably in a suite of rooms and her needs tended to, Feenix and Eagnad watched while L’Garn spoke with his servant, Sarnett, about Mac Lir’s plan, and the importance of peace. Sarnett had immediately sworn his support, and that of many other loyal family retainers. By the time they had approached the Sea Elf slaves with the plan, L’Garn had a following of about seventy-five strong Night Elves. Some of them were guards, trained in war.

  While nothing was said directly, Feenix had a strong feeling that L’Garn’s people were tired of Zimpher’s cruelty—t
o his own people as well as to enemies—and they looked forward to a change of ruler.

  Sarnett and a few others were sent to try to recruit other Night Elves who would be willing to listen to what L’Garn had to say regarding the god’s plan. Those remaining prepared for a confrontation by stocking the farmhouse with weapons and supplies. L’Garn and Feenix went to talk with the Sea Elves.

  “What is your name?” the prince asked.

  It was obvious to her that L’Garn realized his best opportunity to convince these worn elves to follow him was to speak to this one-handed slave. She couldn’t help a pleased smile from flitting across her lips. L’Garn was a good judge of character, it seemed.

  “Your people have called me Himli since my capture.”

  The one-handed slave stood proud and unwavering as he answered the prince’s question. Not a single shadow of fear or uncertainty marred his strong face. His clear gray eyes met the prince’s without hesitation, and Feenix was impressed despite herself. Here was an elf who had been used to command, and in fact, still knew how to gain others’ trust and co-operation.

  By Mac Lir’s nose! She finally hit upon who this slave reminded her of. She would wager her best sword that this elf standing so proudly before them was a relative of Mac Lir’s High Priest. It would be wise for their cause if this slave were to throw his backing behind L’Garn.

  “What is the name by which you were known among your own people?” L’Garn asked.

  “Why?”

  The distrust the slave infused in that one word seemed to Feenix to sum up all the concern and doubt she sensed in L’Garn’s own heart.

  If the alliance was to succeed, she knew both sides were going to have to trust each other. The first step was to share information.

  “Prince L’Garn would like to address you by your true name. Since you are no longer a slave, that name is not appropriate. Is that not correct, your highness?” She turned to L’Garn and waited for his reply.

  Some strong emotion flashed across the prince’s face, but was gone before she could put a name to it.

  “Yes,” L’Garn agreed with a tight smile. “I would address you as your true name.”

  “However,” she continued before the slave could reply, “I believe I recognize you as a member of the House of Hiloris. Is that so?”

  Her words had an electrifying effect on all the elves who heard her. L’Garn turned to look at her with a question on his lips. The one-handed slave’s eyes held questions, but were filled with speculation as well. And the other slaves murmured amongst themselves with fearful and anxious whispers.

  “How did you guess, lady?” Even in bondage, she noted, the elf’s noble birth could not be quenched.

  She smiled warmly, trying to radiate as much assurance and good will as possible. “I am closely acquainted with Lord Thelorin of the House of Hiloris, as well as his brother, Rendolin, the High Priest of Mac Lir. You have their look.”

  The sudden silence that met Feenix’s statement seemed to echo forever.

  “How are you acquainted with these brothers, might one ask?” The slave asked his question in a quiet and polite tone, but she knew by his rigid stance all of his senses were quivering in tight anticipation of the answer.

  “I am Feenix of Port Marcus,” she said. “Captain of Rendolin’s personal guard. I am also Mac Lir’s mediator in the negotiations for peace between the silvan races.” She waited quietly for her words to penetrate.

  “Peace negotiations? Between the silvan races?” The slave seemed to be having difficulty comprehending such an alien idea. “What trick is this?”

  “No trick,” Feenix assured him. “The god, Mac Lir, has decreed that his children, the silvan kind, are to come to terms of a lasting peace. Your people are threatened by a more dangerous enemy than each other. But all this will be made known to you soon.”

  “Again, I ask your name,” L’Garn said sternly. Feenix was sure he was not used to asking twice for any information.

  The Sea Elf pondered her words for a moment, and then made a decision.

  “From your words, Captain Feenix, it seems we have much to discuss.” The slave gave her a courtly bow before he straightened and turned to L’Garn. “Your highness,” he addressed the Night Elf. “I am J’Laris Hiloris, Lord of the House of Hiloris, and,” he added with a glance to Feenix, “father of Mac Lir’s High Priest, it appears.”

  By Mac Lir’s ears, this information will rock Shalridoor to its foundation, she thought in amazement! It was believed that J’Laris had died when the brothers were young, during the attack on Cragimore. The attack had been merely a diversion that enabled the survivors of the war-wracked Shalridoor to escape to Sasheena.

  Both Rendolin and Thelorin grew up believing their father dead. They were in for a shock. Thelorin would not take well to having his authority removed from him, she speculated, when the surviving Lord of Hiloris returned. She would enjoy watching his reaction to the news.

  “Do you mean to tell me,” L’Garn said, after his initial shock had worn off, “that we have had the king of the Sea Elves enslaved for all these years and were not aware of it?”

  “I am not a king, your highness. Merely the Lord of the ruling House. But yes,” he admitted with a definite twinkle in his gray eyes. “I have been a slave to your people since the attack on Cragimore. If you had known of my existence, your king would have used that knowledge to enslave all of my people. I thought it best to keep my identity a secret.”

  Feenix threw her head back and laughed. It was obvious to her where Rendolin had inherited his humor and charm. She was going to like this J’Laris very much.

  “This is no laughing matter, Feenix,” L’Garn admonished her. “However, we can use this knowledge to our mutual benefit.”

  He again addressed J’Laris and his band of Sea Elves.

  “Regardless of whether you throw your lot in with me or not, I grant freedom to you all. When you return to Shalridoor, I ask that you, in turn, release any Night Elves held captive.”

  “Of course,” J’Laris said with a regal nod.

  “However,” L’Garn continued, “before you depart for your families and homes, I would ask that you listen to what Captain Feenix and I have to say. Then, if you are adamant that you return to Shalridoor, I will not hinder you.”

  “If, after we listen to you, we decide we wish to depart, you will allow this?”

  “Yes, J’Laris,” the prince said. “However, I will not allow you to take weapons, and you may only have short rations. These we must keep in the event that we will require all we have to persuade Zimpher to our cause.”

  “You expect a fight then?”

  “I pray it does not come to that. However, we must be prepared for anything. As you will learn, Zimpher has been a puppet for Tuawtha for so long, I doubt he would hesitate to turn on his own people. Or his own grandson.”

  Feenix put her hand on L’Garn’s shoulder in an attempt to offer her support and comfort. Without a word, the prince covered her hand with his, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Proceed with your tale then, Prince L’Garn. The Sea Elves will listen closely before making their decision.”

  The former slaves nodded their agreement, and Feenix and L’Garn began their story.

  ~*~

  By the time J’Laris’ questions had all been answered, it was time to eat. Everyone gathered in the large farmhouse dining room, and Feenix noted the feeling of unease and tension that lingered throughout the meal.

  She could understand it. If she had been held captive for three hundred and forty-eight years and forced into slavery the whole time, she supposed she would be a bit leery of sitting down to break bread with her former masters.

  “Tell me, L’Garn,” she leaned over and spoke quietly to him. “I know that elves all possess magic. Why didn’t the Sea Elves just use it to escape rather than be held prisoner all those years?”

  “Most elves have magic, Feenix. Some do not. However, to answer
your question, it is the korsh.”

  She was confused. “The korsh? What does that foul stuff have to do with anything?”

  He smiled. “The korsh has an additive which dampens magic. Slaves are required to eat a bowl of korsh each morning.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she said with disgust.

  “After a few days, the additive in their system prevents them from the use of any magical ability.”

  “I wasn’t aware of such a thing. Does it leave them permanently magic free? Will they ever have their ability returned to them?”

  “In most cases, the magic slowly returns in about six months. Rarely has the magic failed to return.”

  She was glad to hear that. While Feenix did not like to use magic, or be around those who did, she recognized the value of such a handy ability.

  She stifled a large yawn, and her jaw cracked. Blast, she needed some sleep. And if she needed to rest, she thought, L’Garn certainly did, too. Only yesterday, he had been close to death. He needed to rest to make sure he was completely Healed.

  “Feenix,” the prince leaned over and said softly in her ear. “Perhaps we should rest before attempting to speak with my grandfather.”

  She felt her face heat with a blush for being caught in the yawn. “I’m fine, but you probably should lie down. That shoulder was open to the bone only a day ago. You don’t want to overdo it.”

  He leaned closer and nibbled her ear before speaking again with a hot breath she knew he used purposefully. “I will lie with you, my flower, but I do not intend to rest.”

  A chill raced down her spine, and she felt the blush deepen to a bright red. She was acting like a young girl with her first love.

  She pushed him away and looked at him sternly.

  “You will rest or you will not be able to do what you must. Don’t waste my efforts on your behalf, L’Garn.”

  He sighed heavily, gave her a boyish grin, then straightened in his chair.

  “Very well, Feenix. But I want to go on record stating that you are a hard task master.” He stood and pulled her up beside him. “Sarnett, I will rest for a while. Please see that I am not disturbed until Eon rises.”