by Lee Dunning
“Oh, right,” Raven said, pinching the bridge of her nose, disgusted with herself.
“And last but not least,” W’rath said, opening the final book. He froze as he realized what he held. So many years had passed since he’d laid eyes on it, he’d all but forgotten it even existed.
“What is it?”
“Lady Stormchaser gave you quite a gift, lass,” he said at last. He looked up at the girl and saw she had already guessed what she’d carried with her these past several days. No wonder she had refused to let it and the other books out of her sight.
“It’s his, isn’t it? Umbral’s journal?”
W’rath nodded. He flipped to the front of the book and grinned at the childish scrawls he found there. “Lady Stormchaser taught him the written language she developed. She was the closest thing he ever had to a mother. I expect the first few years of entries will prove of little historical value, but they may provide some amusement.”
He lifted the book toward Raven to show her the drawing on the page. Next to the drawing, in Lady Stormchaser’s elegant hand, the words Troll Orc flowed across the page.
“I saw that earlier,” Raven said. “What is it?”
W’rath feigned shock. “What? You cannot tell this fine piece of art depicts the rare and deadly troll orc?”
“I’ve never heard of a troll orc.”
“Of course not, we’re fortunate that such a creature has never existed. It would seem young Umbral, unsatisfied with the regular array of creatures the elves faced, made up some disturbing hybrids”
“An orc that could regenerate would be pretty awful,” Raven said. “I can think of something worse, though. A troll dragon!” Raven raised her hands up, curling her fingers into claws. She bared her teeth in a fearsome display.
W’rath winced in imagined horror. “I don’t wish to think too hard on how such a thing might come about. It would be interesting, though. Imagine, a fire breathing troll dragon. Invincible against all but it’s own sneezes.”
Raven’s laugh rang out like music, deep and comforting like a precious memory. W’rath found himself simply staring at her over his new spectacles, every bit as smitten as the boys had been the previous day. Raven gave him a curious look, and he shook himself out of his stupor. Behave, you old git.
He shut the journal and turned serious once again. “I know you’re not comfortable leaving these behind, but I think it unwise to take them with us tonight.”
Raven studied the room, brow furrowed in worry. “Do you think the magic of this place will protect them?”
“If a safe place exists, this is it,” he replied. “House of Memories won’t admit anyone who intends us ill. If I had realized that earlier, I wouldn’t have insisted on rushing over here.”
“Oh, yes, you would have. You make a gnome seem incurious.”
“You have me there, lass,” he said, accepting the satchel and placing the three books inside. He carefully stored them in one of the desk drawers. Under his breath he muttered a protection spell to help hide the books. Though confident the magic of their new home would keep the precious books safe from intruders, it never hurt to add in some extra security.
“What did you say?”
“Just wondering what secrets these lovelies will reveal to us,” he said. Add one more thing to the list of her amazing gifts, the hearing of a dragon.
Raven drooped a bit. “Stupid king. I’d much rather study these than clean up his mess.”
W’rath rose from the desk and ushered his companion from the room and back toward the exit. “That definitely is not Linden speaking,” he said. “You might wish to let him out to play this evening. I doubt the good king will desire to discuss philosophy. A good old fashioned shield bash might be much more appropriate.”
They trotted down the grand staircase, Raven reluctant to leave her books, and W’rath itching to explore the rest of the many rooms. The mysterious letter he’d hidden for later perusal pricked at him as well. They did have a king to quash though, so they must all endure some sacrifices. They glided past the two statues and out the front doors where they both came to an abrupt stop.
At the bottom of the steps leading to the doors, Lady Swiftbrook stood, arms crossed, foot tapping.
Chapter 12
W’rath smiled. “Madam, you’ve come to welcome us to our new home. How gracious.”
The gracious lady made a rude gesture. Two girls in matching green gowns, presumably apprentices, flanked her. They fell into childish giggles at the sight of their instructor’s crude behavior. “Your antics have caused quite an uproar. The ancestral home of the Stormchasers has given itself over to you and not everyone applauds the change in ownership.”
“I can’t imagine why,” W’rath said, trotting down the stairs. Raven followed, trying to mirror his confidence. “Do any Stormchasers remain who feel entitled to this place?”
Lady Swiftbrook shook her head. “At least none who carry the Stormchaser name. Extended family exist who feel slighted they weren’t considered.”
“Lady Stormchaser felt otherwise. The magic laid upon this place wouldn’t have welcomed us otherwise.”
“I’m not arguing that, however, it doesn’t stop people from protesting.”
“They’re more than welcome to visit,” Raven said. “I think once they see the main gallery, they’ll understand better.”
Lady Swiftbrook’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, and W’rath made a sweeping gesture, inviting her to see for herself. She traipsed up the stairs, trailed by her still tittering ladies. They stepped into the entryway and Lady Swiftbrook’s jaw dropped at the sight of the towering statues. “Where in the Nine Bottomless Hells did that come from?” She swept into the room, ignoring the statue of Uverial Stormchaser, coming to a halt before the sculpture of Umbral. She read the plaque and turned to W’rath and Raven. Her young companions pushed past her to read the plaque for themselves. They exchanged excited squeals.
“He’s adorable!” the redhead exclaimed, and the two dissolved into another round of girlish mirth. Lady Swiftbrook cringed, mistaking W’rath’s sudden embarrassment for discomfort over her ladies’ foolish behavior.
“I’m guessing you’ve never seen this before?” Raven asked, ignoring the entire exchange. W’rath had known the lass just long enough to understand that she had an immense passion for history, particularly when she discovered something that filled in some of the gaps in her knowledge. Becoming giddy over a boy, though, especially one who had, no doubt, perished some ten thousand years prior? No, that would belittle the memory of one she’d viewed as a god for most of her short life.
“I’ve visited this place hundreds of times over the years,” Lady Swiftbrook answered. “The statue of Uverial Stormchaser has always been here, but I’ve never seen this one of Umbral.” She spun back to face the statue as if expecting it to have vanished in the few moments she’d had her back to it. She shook her head in disbelief. “Ancestors! I even commented once on how the empty space looked strange, and that she should commission an artist to do a companion piece. She just smiled at me. All this time it stood here? Why did she keep it hidden?”
The blond maid rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Uverial Stormchaser was in love with Umbral K’hul.”
Lady Swiftbrook gawked at the girl. “Ooh! What a delicious scandal,” the redhead said, clapping her hands. Lady Swiftbrook’s gaze switched to her for a moment before settling back on the statue. And then, as the girls continued to chatter, she at last turned back to W’rath and Raven.
W’rath found he could do little more than stare straight ahead, but he had no trouble imagining the mixture of surprise and amusement on Raven’s face. He knew his expression radiated complete shock. He found the entire situation outrageous. “That can’t be,” he said. “He was just a boy.”
“Well, technically, only a year, three at the most, separated them in age,” Raven said. “She wasn’t born, but sprang fully grown from the mating of Mother Magic a
nd the wind. Umbral was the first elf born of an elf, and if we can believe anything written, his conception occurred soon after the First forced Mother Magic to bring forth the first Shadow Elves. Umbral was fourteen or fifteen when he turned on the First. That would have made her no older than seventeen or eighteen. Regardless of her years alive, she had the body of an adult. She would have had an adult’s desires. Umbral was one of the few at the time who appreciated her intellectual gifts. It’s possible their closeness caused her to want something additional from him.”
W’rath shook his head. “At that age, he would have been oblivious to any such feelings.”
The young ladies by the statue clasped their hands and looked starry-eyed. “Unrequited love. How tragic!” they cried in unison. Each brought the back of a hand to their brow as if they might swoon.
Lady Swiftbrook rolled her eyes. “I’m regretting bringing you two.”
“If you hadn’t you wouldn’t know the truth of this heartbreaking tragedy,” the blond protested.
“Nothing but foolishness,” Lady Swiftbrook retorted. “Everyone knows Uverial Stormchaser served as the First’s mistress for centuries. He had three children by her. Two girls, who went on to carry the Stormchaser name, and a boy who took on the mantle of the First. Trust me, I’ve heard in tiresome detail the origins of the family line from K’hul.”
“That wouldn’t have happened until after Umbral’s banishment,” Raven said, head cocked in thought. “So it’s very possible her true feelings lay with Umbral.”
W’rath remained transfixed in horror. They spoke of history, without understanding the personalities of the people they discussed. Assuming this wasn’t another grossly inaccurate distortion of history, brought on by the curse infecting First Home, Uverial had suffered terribly after his banishment.
The First had always taken his role as War Leader to mean he reigned supreme. True, he’d gathered those around him to provide council and sound strategy, but he never once let anyone forget he was the biggest, the strongest, the most powerful, and the most terrible of all of them. That meant any female who caught his fancy, he claimed, regardless of how anyone else felt about the matter. Most went with him willingly, attracted by his power, and happy to share in it in any capacity. Those who resisted, though, once he finished with them, even their regenerative powers weren’t always enough to save them.
“W’rath, you look like you’re going to be ill,” said Lady Swiftbrook. “It’s not like you to refrain from inserting an opinion.”
W’rath fixed the Sky Elf with such a glare she took a step back, his seeming queasiness quickly replaced by fury. “That,” he said, pointing at the statue of Umbral, “is not a representation of the First. That is a memory of the boy Lady Uverial Stormchaser raised, a boy who shared her passion for learning and the written word. The First had no interest in those things and only tolerated such nonsense because Lady Stormchaser worked as his chief strategist. She, in turn, only tolerated him because the majority of the elves accepted him as their leader, and she had no desire to bring about a schism that would leave thousands dead. She loathed him, as he represented everything she wanted to change in the elves. Once he discarded his son, her closest friend, she would have hated him with a passion not one of us can comprehend. If she acted as his mistress, as you claim, and had his children, it wasn’t by choice. The elves lived like savages back then, and the First was the most savage of all.”
Trembling, W’rath turned on his heel and stormed from the building.
Lady Swiftbrook and Raven shared shocked looks. One of the girls started to make a strange, high-pitched keen. “If you two start crying, so help me …” Lady Swiftbrook admonished. The noise abruptly cut off. “What was that about?” she asked Raven.
“W’rath really admires Lady Stormchaser. I’m guessing he didn’t know about her and the First.” She gazed after W’rath, brow creased with worry.
“How very odd. He seems to know just about everything about her. I wonder why that tidbit got by him?”
“I never knew those things until I came to the surface and read quite a lot. Everyone in my city knew various versions of Elven history from before Umbral’s banishment, but anything after that time would be unusual for an Exile to know.”
“Thank goodness K’hul wasn’t here,” Lady Swiftbrook said with a grimace. “They would have been at each other’s throats.”
Raven shuddered. “Do you think he’s right? Did the First …” she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
Lady Swiftbrook gazed around the gallery. W’rath had the right of it, she saw nothing devoted to the memory of the First. At no time, could she recall noticing anything in this place—a painting, a fresco, not even a tapestry detailing anything about the Elven War Leader. Yet here stood a larger than life sculpture of Umbral, standing on equal terms with the Great Lady herself. Whether she had viewed Umbral as a son, best friend, or potential lover, on some level Uverial had loved him. And the elf who had banished him to certain death in the Abyss would have earned her hatred. There was no way she would have forgiven the focus of that hate. No way she would have gone willingly to his bed. “Yes,” she said at last, “that bastard raped, repeatedly, his greatest adviser. Ancestors preserve us if this gets out.”
“We cannot let people know what we’ve discovered here,” Raven said. “It would tear First Home apart. We’d finish ourselves what the demons started.”
Lady Swiftbrook regarded her apprentices. No longer giddy young girls, they cringed in fright, distressed witnesses to an ugly truth. Fear wouldn’t keep them from telling what they had learned, though. “Are you going to kill us?” they whispered.
If only, Lady Swiftbrook thought uncharitably. Was I ever so brainless? “I can cast a geas on you to keep you from gossiping about what you’ve seen and heard here. Assuming you can live with that, it shouldn’t prove fatal.”
The girls nodded enthusiastically to show their acceptance of Lady Swiftbrook’s terms. “Very well,” she said, “we’ll return to my residence and perform the spell there.”
She shooed the girls outside, and the group started down the steps. Lady Swiftbrook paused, taking in the surrounding grounds. “However, first let us see if we can’t find our very angry Lord W’rath. We don’t need him punching squirrels … or unicorns?”
The four females gawked at the impossible tableau before them. In a small clearing, surrounded by silver oak, and littered with every possible hue of wildflower, W’rath stood in apparent conversation with a unicorn.
“I thought,” the redhead started to say.
“You’re right,” Lady Swiftbrook interrupted.
“Oh! It’s beautiful,” Raven said, completely oblivious to the half comments of the others. Then she grew sober. “I wish I could approach it.”
Lady Swiftbrook turned incredulous eyes on Raven who shrugged. “Back when I first found out about the coming of age ceremony, I got this crazy idea that maybe I had to be a virgin for it, so I went to a brothel and hired a boy for the night. The only thing I accomplished was annoying my mother because I wasted money on a whore when we had plenty of males around the household. Among other things, my mother was very cheap.”
“Great Lady, preserve me from any more revelations this day,” the Sky Elf said, her gaze returning to W’rath and the unicorn.
For the first time, the significance of the situation wormed its way into Raven’s consciousness. “Oh! Oh, my!” she said. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle the laughter threatening to escape.
“How old do you mark him at?” Lady Swiftbrook said.
“He’s incredibly near blind, so he’s at least five thousand,” Raven said.
“That old?” Lady Swiftbrook said, startled. She’d placed his age at a bit over a thousand, which in itself made it remarkable he was still a virgin. Raven was right, though, if he suffered from near blindness, he hadn’t seen his thousandth birthday in a great great while. “How …? And to think I … Oh, bother
!” She made a face, disgusted with herself. She’d assumed the worst of the male and warned him off of pursuing Raven. He’d agreed to her demands without blinking an eye. Now she had to deal with the fact that, of the two, Raven had more experience in the bedroom. Perhaps, for all his flirting he did not care for the companionship of ladies? Did unicorns make such distinctions? Ancestors, I wish alcohol affected elves.
From the moment he stormed out of House of Memories, W’rath regretted his angry outburst. For someone who prided himself on his control, he’d done a remarkably poor job of maintaining his composure. The thought of his monstrous father brutalizing Uverial had hit him hard.
Another thought had occurred to him, and in some ways it struck him as an even worse scenario. He knew his father had initially spared his life because of Uverial’s pleas, and then had postponed his banishment, again because of her intervention. What if the First had demanded something in return for those boons? And what if, for the love of a foolish and overly prideful boy, she had agreed to accept the First’s advances? Agreed to bear his children? W’rath squeezed his eyes shut, trying to purge the thought from his mind, but unable to do so. Now that the possibility had presented itself to him, he had no way to cleanse himself of it.
When he again opened his eyes, he found he’d wandered blindly into a small clearing. Of more concern, a horned creature confronted him, proud head raised arrogantly, regarding him with seeming disdain. A unicorn, Reaper’s memories supplied. One of the fae who had fought alongside the elves ages ago. As a child he’d known of their existence, but he’d never seen one as they were private, elusive creatures.
“Greetings, Umbral K’hul,” the creature said in ancient Elvish.
W’rath took a shocked step back, horrified to hear his true name spoken by another being. He quickly looked around, but no one but he could hear the creature’s words. The ladies had only just now exited House of Memories. He didn’t think even Raven’s remarkable ears could hear the unicorn’s words, much less understand them.
