by Lee Dunning
Dark times indeed. But based on the events these past few days, even darker times had found them. Ten thousand years ago, one angry youth lashed out at his father. When it came down to it, his tantrum should have doomed no one but himself. Whoever, or whatever, had chosen to attack Second Home had succeeded in delivering a devastating blow to the entire Elven Nation.
“We’ll arrive soon,” Lady Swiftbrook said, breaking into his introspection. This time it was she who looked ready to faint. W’rath understood her distress. In a short time, she would address thousands of her people, and watch as her news crushed their souls.
“How will the people react?” Raven asked.
The Sky Elf shook her head. “We’ve never faced anything like this before. I have no idea what to expect.”
W’rath cocked his head. “How do you want them to react?”
Lady Swiftbrook raised a silver eyebrow. Raven frowned.
“You’ve discussed your homecoming with K’hul?” W’rath prodded.
“Some. In between arguing about you two.”
W’rath chuckled. “Tell me, what would the Supreme Warlord like to see happen?”
“He feels we need to rebuild our army. He expects the attack will incense people enough, each and every one of them will take up arms and swell the ranks.”
W’rath shook his head. “We already have proof that won’t happen. Only about half the people Raven rescued chose to stand and fight.”
“They were traumatized,” Raven said. “I’m surprised they weren’t driven insane by the ordeal.” Her hands clenched on the ship’s railing as she struggled with her own memories of the attack.
“Perhaps,” W’rath mused. “But if you’ve faced the worst possible situation, and you’re still unwilling to stand up for yourself, despite knowing the results will end in disaster, I fear there isn’t much hope of you finding a warrior buried somewhere inside yourself. I believe K’hul shall meet with disappointment if he thinks any more than half the populace will care to join with him.”
“Unless?”
“What makes you think there’s an unless, madam?”
“I haven’t known you long, but I’ve already learned you always have a scheme bubbling about in your brain. So what is it? Use your mind powers to shape the thoughts of the people?” She put on a look of intense concentration and waved her hands about, presumably her attempt to emulate a psion using his mind powers.
W’rath made a face. “I would never resort to something so crude, madam. No, I reserve such mind games for the manipulation of enemies, especially ones whom I plan to dispatch soon. To use such methods on your own people, aside from showing poor manners, does more harm than good. It’s also completely unnecessary. It takes skill and timing, but a charismatic leader can reach into his people’s souls and convince them they want to change.”
“In truth, I don’t know if I care for such a fundamental change to take place. Our people bring beauty to the world now. We’re creators, not destroyers.” Lady Swiftbrook saw the frustrated set to W’rath’s features and relented somewhat. “It isn’t that I’m blind to what you’re saying. I see all too plainly the dangers we face. But I also know how hard our ancestors worked to evolve into more than just a massive army of death.”
“If we don’t fight, everything our ancestors worked for shall be wiped from the pages of history. All their art, writings and structures gone—stolen or destroyed by our enemies.” An edge had crept into W’rath’s voice. He reached up and pinched out the last embers of his spent cigarette, and Lady Swiftbrook flinched.
“I don’t think you need to worry about everyone falling into barbarism,” Raven added, worriedly looking from one to the other.
“I know,” Lady Swiftbrook said, dragging her eyes from the dying wisps of smoke. “I’m overreacting, I’m sure. I just can’t shake the feeling this would be a terrible thing for us. It’s much easier to stand up to a known foe, but in this case, the demons were a sword wielded by the hand of an unknown enemy. If we put the fire of retribution into the heart’s of our people, I fear we may lash out blindly, and bring the world down upon our heads.”
“That foolishness again,” K’hul rumbled, joining them. “One human is as wretched as the next. The world will hardly fall upon us if we happen to obliterate a few extra city-states full of the vermin.”
“We call some of those ‘wretched humans’ allies,” Lady Swiftbrook countered.
“Do not confuse trade agreements with military alliances. Two countries open their ports to us and nothing more. If you approached their leaders for military aid, they’d laugh you back to the ship you sailed in on.”
Lady Swiftbrook and K’hul moved off to continue their debate. Their animated gestures attested to the passion the two shared for the topic at hand.
W’rath settled next to Raven. “You look like you ate an extra putrid bug,” Raven observed.
“I wasn’t prepared for the great golden warrior to make any sense,” W’rath replied.
“You can’t be serious?” Raven hissed. “He just suggested wiping out whole populations of humans in our search for the attackers.”
“Not exactly. He said the rest of the world wouldn’t unite against us if we happened to wreak collateral damage on an innocent populace or two.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Raven said.
“Not at all. Proceeding in such an imprecise manner would be a terrible waste of Elven lives and resources. However, I find myself trusting in his view of world politics. I also agree we mustn’t confuse trade partners with allies. If it proves too dangerous to do business with us, they’ll cut us off, fearful that our enemies will target them next. After the events at Second Home, others will see us as weak—vulnerable. No one will want to tie their fates to us.”
“Gods,” Raven murmured. As much as W’rath’s callous disregard for non-elves troubled her, the picture he painted concerned her more. “We could find ourselves faced with even more enemies if people turn against us in the hopes of appeasing whatever power has set its sights on us.”
“Now you’re starting to understand the way of things,” W’rath said, beaming, apparently pleased with her revelation. “I haven’t had the chance to familiarize myself with the current state of the world, however it’s clear we face a rare and powerful enemy, one whom most other populations will wish to avoid being noticed by. I can almost guarantee those two countries K’hul mentioned have already closed their ports to us.”
“You think they already know what happened?” Raven leaned against the ships railing, taking comfort from its solid support.
“Of course they know.”
“But how? We haven’t told anyone, and the closest city to Second Home is over a week by road. Even if someone managed to survive and escape, they haven’t reached a place where they can tell their story.”
“Ah, but you forget our hidden enemies. It’s in their best interest to make sure anyone friendly to us understands the consequences of maintaining relations with us. Isolate your enemy, drive them to despair and then wipe them from the memory of the world.”
Raven gaped at W’rath in horror. “Wherever did you hear such a horrible thing?”
W’rath gave her a knowing wink. “That’s a direct quote from your beloved god the First. You’ve obviously consumed the wrong history books if that tidbit escaped you. He’s famous for those words.”
“I’ve read a lot of history books and I’ve never run across such a quote. No one ever portrayed him as so brutal.”
“How old were those books you read?”
“Fairly modern,” Raven admitted. “I’ve never had access to anything truly old. It’s the main reason for my visit to Second Home.”
“And you went in search of these older books because …?”
“Because I suspected the newer books of bias—at least in matters concerning Umbral. I’d read so many supposed histories contradicting one another, I couldn’t help but feel the writers had agendas they w
anted to promote instead of presenting plain facts. I’d hoped to find something old enough it wasn’t twisted by time and cultural changes.”
W’rath nodded, just a hint of a smile playing across his face. “So, lass, if the historians altered the facts concerning one person, does it not make sense other historical figures suffered a similar fate?”
“Yes, but the First?” Raven said, radiating distress. “He’s the father of us all. How could he have been such a heartless bastard?”
W’rath didn’t answer right away. Instead, he watched the First Born and the Sky Elf as they continued to argue, their faces so close they could probably feel one another’s words. W’rath must be amazed at the naiveté of the world he’s wandered into, Raven thought. From his point of view, it was probably a wonder something like Second Home hadn’t happened sooner.
W’rath finally tore his attention away from the argument and continued with his tuition. “You’re making the same mistake as your modern history books, child. You’re trying to apply your mores to an elf who lived before anything resembling a true civilization existed. People didn’t negotiate then. They didn’t have the option of relocating to a better place. There weren’t any nicer places. Enemies swarmed everywhere. Volcanic activity constantly tore apart the world and remade it, making livable land the rarest of commodities. The goblinoids hated the elves. The giants raged, terrifying and maddeningly difficult to kill due to their extreme resistance to magic. If you wanted to defeat them you had to follow the First’s mantra.
“And just so we’re clear, the First was not the father of all elves. He created the first Shadow Elves. Period. He created the Shadow Elves for no other reason than he required a new weapon to use against the enemies of the elves. He needed spies. He needed assassins. He needed a small, quiet people who could disappear in the shadows and escape the notice of others. He bent his will against Mother Magic and forced her union with a jagged field of volcanic glass—beautiful but deadly sharp. That is our origin.”
The familiar story Raven had once thought of with fondness, now chilled her. Despite her belief that historians had suppressed the full story of Umbral and his betrayal, she’d never stopped believing that the First had loved the Shadow Elves. But W’rath’s retelling of their creation story rang with disturbing truth. The First had no reason to create a new race of elves for the sake of companionship. It only made sense he’d done it because he needed a tool to use against his enemies. “What about the female who he had Umbral by? Surely he cared for her?”
“Can you tell me her name?” W’rath asked.
“I … I don’t know.” Raven’s shoulders sagged and the solidity of the railing alone kept her from sinking to the deck.
“Don’t feel bad, lass. No one knows her name. I would stake my life that the First himself couldn’t tell you a thing about her. She served as an outlet for his lusts, and died bringing a mewling brat into the world. It’s a miracle the child survived. Umbral was the first child born to the elves. I’m surprised they didn’t kill him, assuming him to be some parasitic attack by their enemies, sent to tear them apart from the inside out.”
“They must have seen animals give birth,” Raven reasoned. “They weren’t stupid …” Her voice had grown small and defeated. How could she find herself so unanchored? She wanted to completely discount W’rath’s words. She knew from experience what sort of bitter denouncements her fellow Exiles made concerning the first elves. And yet, nothing he’d said had come across that way. When her mother had spoken of their ancestors her voice had always seethed with anger and loathing. Raven responded by rebelling against that hatred. She’d drawn great comfort from the idea of an all-loving creator who would forgive and one day bring his wayward children back to the fold, uniting them with the rest of their kin.
W’rath had delivered his lesson in such a matter-of-fact manner, with none of the venom usually accompanying such words, she found herself questioning the beautiful world she’d created for herself. If he spoke the truth, then she was truly alone—godless. She couldn’t even turn to the ancestor worship the other elves embraced. How could she revere the First if he didn’t have enough compassion to preserve the memory of his son’s mother?
“Lass,” W’rath called to her and Raven struggled out of her dark thoughts. He placed himself in front of her in an attempt to conceal her from the others. She stood head and shoulders taller than him, though, so he had no hope of hiding the tears running down her cheeks. Fortunately, everyone’s attention seemed focused forward and not toward her.
“Child, how have I upset you so?”
Raven almost laughed, but managed to restrain herself. No need to come across as hysterical. Was he joking? How could he not understand? “I’m lost,” she choked. She swiped at the tears on her face. “With one flick of that glib tongue of yours, I find myself without faith, completely alone.”
“If I can dash all your beliefs in just a few breaths, child, your faith was a pale thing to begin with.”
“So I’ve just realized,” she said, not bothering to hide her disgust.
“As for you being alone—you’ve never been less alone. You have already won the love of all those whom you saved. Your young friend resides within you, bound to you flesh and soul. Both Lady Swiftbrook and I stand by you, even if one of us isn’t particularly adept at sparing feelings.”
Raven didn’t trust herself to speak. Lady Swiftbrook had it right, he was a little imp, and a complete mystery. One moment he voiced frightening pronouncements, making it clear he understood battle and wholesale slaughter, and the next moment found him apologizing for making a silly girl cry. If a non-elf dropped at his feet in need of aid he would more than likely walk right across their back, and yet his attempts to reassure her showed he had at least some capacity for compassion. “I don’t understand you,” she said at a long last.
One corner of his mouth quirked up into a lopsided smile. “Of course you don’t. You’re much too sweet a lass to comprehend a wretch like myself.
“Now come,” he said, offering an arm she had to reach down to grasp, “even our two fellow council members have stopped their squabbling and stand dry mouthed as we pull into port. They must find a way to tell their people why they’ve returned with only a handful of our folk in tow. They must break the news that a hidden enemy reduced Second Home to a smoking, demon-infested necropolis.”
“And what do we do?”
“For now we stand by them and lend them our strength—even if one of them behaves like a self-aggrandizing prat.”
“And then?”
“And then? And then, lass, we’ll just have to see.”
Chapter 6
Lady Swiftbrook’s stomach churned. Bile rose in her throat, and she fought to keep from retching, as the last of the survivors trudged down the gangplank, and thousands upon thousands of her people realized their loved ones would never return to them. Even now, some depraved horror might feed, or worse, upon the body of their son, daughter, parent, lover or friend.
Aside from the nausea, the rest of her had grown numb from grief and exhaustion. Her elation at surviving had turned to guilt. Why had she come through the devastation when so many others had been torn apart at the claws of the demons? Out of her entire battalion, only she survived. How would she face the families of those who had served with her? What could she tell them?
As a member of the High Council, her duty also included helping the populace cope with their loss, and to turn their thoughts to seeking retribution against those responsible for the attack. She had no idea how she would manage to do that.
As much as she hated combat, she had joined her people’s army so others might live free of the horrors of war. What a foolish fancy. Over two thousand years old, and she’d never faced a conflict more severe than her ladies squabbling over the colors for the Spring Ball. Until now, she’d never truly understood what it meant to lead hundreds of souls into battle. I only played soldier. Every one of their deaths is on me.
And now all her silly dreams and higher moral ground meant nothing. A terrible sense of loss filled Lady Swiftbrook as she watched K’hul raise his powerful voice to her people. W’rath hadn’t thought K’hul could count on more than half the Elven people joining him in his quest for revenge, but the Shadow Elf hadn’t realized that the loud, boastful First Born had the one element W’rath claimed a leader needed in order to sway so many to take up arms—the passion to change hearts through any means necessary.
As the survivors disembarked, K’hul, the eldest surviving member of the First’s line, told their stories. First came Baeldyn, a silk weaver, who found himself unable to do a thing to save his lover and their child. If only he had trained and kept a weapon at his side. If only his mate could have done more than shield their child with her body. The boy had lived just long enough to see his mother consumed by dozens of tiny fiends.
Next came Aelatar. A gardener, and one of the fifty consumed by the devil Raven killed. All of his apprentices perished, and the devils reduced the elves’ beautiful living art to a blackened memory. K’hul helped the sobbing elf down the gangplank as the devastated gardener cried over and over how he couldn’t help his apprentices.
This went on for an agonizing age, and Lady Swiftbrook stood helplessly while her lover ignited the fire of their ancestor’s in her people’s hearts. Many tears were shed, but the outrage and cries for blood made the very air vibrate.
“He’s good at this,” W’rath said. The grudging admission darkened Lady Swiftbrook’s mood further.
“Happy now?” The Sky Elf hated that she sounded petulant.
“Happy? No. You have to understand, lady, we need a balance. I have no desire for our people to turn into a mindless juggernaut sweeping the world in fiery death. We cannot, however, expect to keep all of the beautiful aspects of our culture without fighting for it. There will always—always exist those who wish to deny us our freedom, life, even how we choose to dress. We must stand up to them and thwart them at every turn.
