by Lee Dunning
Perhaps he should have allowed Ungren to make the attempt. The Chalice could have entered the wood to join the previous ten thousand lost, and Oblund would now be free of him. But no, the thrice-damned priest would have succeeded and come marching out of the forest, glowing in triumph, hand in hand with his new elf friends, a signed treaty in his messenger’s pouch, and tiny bluebirds fluttering around his glorious head. Fuck.
So, instead, Oblund had decided to do something nearly as noxious. He’d turned to his wife, the queen, to provide war funds so he could hire four magi from Tassilia. Curse the church and their damned Duality for putting women in charge of the purse strings. She’d only agreed to give him the coin if he allowed her to stay with him at the encampment. Now Oblund found himself trapped between his shrewish wife and the priest.
Once the magi arrived, Oblund had expected the priest to start quoting from the pages of the Duality. Ungren had frowned, but surprisingly refrained from voicing any objections—at least at first. Oblund vetoed the magi’s suggestions of fire and poison, and they in turn told him earth and plant magic would be useless against a people so in tune with nature. Eventually, the magi had shrugged and told him that defeating the elves would require the use of darker arts.
Rather than dismissing the men and sending them back where they came from, he’d found himself intrigued. Despite the priest’s claims, Oblund felt certain the elves, if not demons themselves, had summoned Abyssal power against their betters. He would only be using their own weapon against them. And it was for the greater good.
He made one stipulation though. He had no desire for an army of demons to run rampant through his new forest. To this the magi provided an elegant answer. Men and boys, pulled from the peasantry, made up the bulk of Oblund’s army. Unfortunately, the elves had shown a serious disdain for open combat and remained stubbornly hidden in the forest. Since the ten thousand had disappeared, without so much as a strangled death cry, the sodding peasants cringed at the mere sight of a tree. By binding a “ Rider” to them, they grew fearless and much more formidable. Once they’d served their purpose, the host would perish as payment for the demon’s assistance, and in turn the demon’s summoned spirit would return to its home to trouble Oblund no more. If only all of his subjects behaved so well.
And as an added bonus? The entire plan horrified Ungren.
The hands kneading his shoulders had started to feel more like harpy claws, and Oblund realized, while he’d been reminiscing, the queen and priest had chatted on without him. Of course they had!
“What do you mean the men won’t survive?” the queen asked.
“It hardly concerns you,” the king interjected, vainly hoping to keep the Chalice from launching into another sermon. The harpy’s claws paused in mid clench. Would she ever learn she had no business in the affairs of war?
“Anything involving the welfare of our people concerns me,” she said. “Please, Chalice, continue. Though possessed of a woman’s limited understanding in these matters, I pray you’ll suffer me to understand the nature of the magicks involved.”
“You do yourself injustice, Your Majesty,” Ungren said, once again bowing. Oblund’s eye began to twitch. “The magi have purposely allowed demons to possess our soldiers. Only through the force of their continued ritual, can they maintain control over them. Come midnight, they intend to send them en masse into the forest to eradicate the elves. Regardless of the outcome, those men carrying the spirits of the damned will die as a result of the possession.”
The queen gasped and the claws withdrew. She took a step back from Oblund. “No wonder you’ve kept this from me! What a monstrous thing to do to our people! Surely your advisors did not approve this?”
Oblund launched himself to his feet and turned on her. “This is why women should not insert themselves into a war council,” he snarled. “You haven’t the stomach for the hard choices. Those peasants live to serve the crown. Even in death they shall fulfill their duty.”
“And the council?” she insisted, not backing down despite his upraised fists.
“Old men who tremble and hide amid outdated laws.”
“But laws all the same. Laws which you have no right to change on your own!”
He did strike her then. Pain shot through the bones of his fist, but he welcomed it. The feel of her face breaking as he struck her made any discomfort worthwhile. She spun, crashing into the curtains leading to her sleeping area. The servant boy cried out as she landed on him.
Oblund pivoted, anticipating Ungren’s interference. The priest stood, shocked, hands reaching for the heavy mace on his hip. The boys at the doorway had gone rigid, wide-eyed and ready to flee. Technically, he had done nothing wrong. Surely, even Ungren couldn’t find fault with his actions. According to the Duality, men and women both had their roles within society, and should not stray within one another’s purview.
“By the twins, man! Have those magi possessed you as well?” Ungren roared. He only just managed to keep himself under control, trembling with the effort. Behind Oblund, came the cup bearer’s panicked voice as he tried to assist the injured queen. She didn’t reply. With luck he’d broken her jaw. “The Brother says men should protect women, not incite their terror!”
Gods, so he could find fault, even with this. “The crown I wear marks me as king!” he snapped back. “You would do well to remember that and obey instead of question.”
“Majesty, you need the support of the nobles in order to retain your rule,” Ungren returned, taking a step forward, his control starting to fray. “They, in turn, cannot function without the support of the commoners. You lose the confidence of the people, you lose everything. The elves will be the least of your worries.”
An evil chuckle interrupted the priest’s tirade. Even without the ability to understand the words, the menace behind them chilled the blood. Ah, but we are very much the greatest of his worries. Oblund felt his mouth go dry.
From the flickering shadows, materialized a small, dark being. The young nobles guarding the door jumped. They grabbed for their swords, but something snatched them from behind. Their heads crashed together and they collapsed on the carpeted ground. A much larger being stepped through the doorway. Ungren caught a glimpse of the other two guards from the outer entry—also lying in a heap.
“Demons!” Oblund roared, apparently immune to the irony of his outburst.
“No, Shadow Elves,” Ungren said. He edged toward the king to protect him from this new threat. An enormous sword flicked to his throat, freezing him in place.
The smaller of the two elves raised a hand where a plain gold ring glittered. “I must give Lady Swiftbrook my compliments. I can understand their bestial tongue perfectly.”
“What is it saying?” Oblund asked.
“They can understand us,” Ungren said, choosing to leave off the more insulting aspects of the comment.
Perfect white teeth flashed in a smile from the elf’s ebony skin. Crimson eyes caught the candlelight to gleam like embers, and shifted to the priest. “Excellent, you’re more learned than I expected. We need not share our rings with you. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
Ungren swallowed. He’d never seen Shadow Elves before, but everyone grew up hearing stories about them. His old nurse had terrified him as a child with tales of their cruelty. As an adult he’d come to view the stories as nothing but myth and nonsense. The gleaming blade held to his throat, by a much too steady hand, made him think he might wish to reassess those earlier conclusions. “I am Chalice Ungren Renoir, Holy Purveyor of the Word of the Duality.”
“What is going on?” the king demanded.
“We’re just introducing ourselves,” Ungren said.
The small elf moved into the light and Ungren blinked. He’d seen several Wood Elves, and all of them had appeared so androgynous and pretty, they seemed childlike. This fellow, though, had angular features, a chiseled chin and an aquiline nose. His voice, though musical, held a deep, and very ma
le timber to it. Despite the almond eyes, the beardless face, and his small stature, no one would mistake this elf for a child.
For his part, the elf seemed just as intrigued by the priest’s appearance. “A great deal of time has passed since I last laid eyes on your kind. Walking much more upright these days, I see. Just as horrifically hairy as I remember, though. I don’t know how you can stand to procreate.”
Ungren didn’t know if the elf hoped to goad him into a rash act, or if he merely stated what he saw as facts, without any insult actually intended. Better to ignore the words and try to move things in a more productive direction. “I’ve introduced myself, perhaps you would return the favor?” he asked.
“How abominably rude of me,” the Shadow Elf said, sounding quite sincere. “This winsome lass, with the sword to your throat, is Lady Raven. I am known as Lord W’rath. We serve as the Shadow Elf representatives of the Elven High Council. We’ve taken offense to your treatment of our cousins and have come to lodge a complaint.”
“What is it saying, dammit?” the king snarled.
“Your Majesty, please meet Lady Raven and Lord W’rath of the Elven High Council. They’re not happy with your campaign against the Wood Elves.”
“ That’s a woman?” the king blurted, completely ignoring the more salient points of Ungren’s words.
Ungren’s gaze shifted to Lady Raven. She’d drifted slightly so that the candle light brought out her face more clearly. He’d expected anger, but much to his surprise saw hurt there. When he looked back at Lord W’rath though, the elf simmered with enough anger for both of them.
Oblund saw it too. “Even if it means your life, priest, your duty demands you protect me.”
“I shouldn’t bother if I were you,” Lord W’rath said. “I assume, as leader of your people, he has a responsibility for their welfare. His actions make it clear another would serve better.”
“W’rath!” the female said. “You promised the council you wouldn’t kill him.”
“A promise made before we knew he’d infected his men with Riders,” came the curt reply.
“What about avoiding a war of revenge for killing their sovereign?”
“She has a point,” Ungren ventured, and immediately regretted his words as the angry little elf turned his hellish gaze upon him.
“Who exactly will shoulder the blame when all of your lads start withering and dying in agony from the demons hosted within them? Surely, you don’t expect me to believe your goodly king will admit he traded thousands of his men’s lives in return for a brief tactical advantage?”
All of their eyes moved back to Oblund. “What?” he fumed.
“Lord W’rath believes you’ll tell our people the elves are to blame for the agonizing deaths awaiting those possessed by the Riders.”
The king shrugged. “We’re at war. Of course I’m going to shift any blame to them. I need to use all available resources in the fight, and you cannot expect peasants to understand the necessity of my actions.”
“Is that all our people represent to you, resources? Like a chair? If you break a leg, you simply replace it?”
The king nearly leapt out of his skin. His wife, forgotten, had come up behind him. She wavered, unsteady, supported by the servant boy. The whole right side of her face had swelled and bruised from the blow, to the point she couldn’t see out of one eye. Her nose twisted oddly to the left side of her face.
Ungren cast a nervous glance at their captors, concerned the queen’s sudden appearance might startle them to violence. Neither seemed surprised, though. So, they’d known of her presence all along. While he and the king hadn’t heard a thing, the elves had completely dismissed her as a threat. The rumors of heightened Elven senses were true, then. “Her Majesty, Queen Cherish,” he said.
Lord W’rath frowned in disgust. “Your queen appears to have seen more battle than either of you.”
“Talk to me, damn it!” the king erupted.
“Sire, Lord W’rath merely expressed concern over Her Majesty’s injuries.”
“It’s none of its damned business,” he said. His normally baritone voice had climbed several octaves.
The small elf leaped over the table before Oblund finished speaking. He bore the man down like a hunting cat. Perching on the king’s chest, he leaned in close, nose to nose with the horrified king.
Ungren started by instinct to go to his liege’s aid, but Lady Raven’s sword block his way. “Please,” she said, “you seem like a decent man. Don’t make me hurt you.”
Ungren nodded. He flicked his eyes over to Queen Chalice, worried for her. She’d grown pale beneath her bruises, and taken a few steps back, but for now she seemed well enough. The boy, on the other hand, looked as though he might faint. That’s what happened when childhood nightmares came to life.
“Lass,” Lord W’rath interrupted, “may I borrow your ring, please? I weary of this indirect communication.”
“I think he’s pretty clear on your meaning at the moment.” She tilted her head at Ungren, silently warning him not to try anything, and took a step back. Only then did Ungren realize she had a body slung over one of her shoulders. She dropped it, and one of the mercenary magi landed in a heap at Ungren’s feet. He breathed, unconscious but alive. When Ungren looked back up, the she-elf removed her ring, and then brought her sword back up close to his throat. It didn’t seem someone so big should be able to move so fast, but as she tossed the gold ring to her companion, Ungren knew underestimating this lady would be a very foolish thing to do. Doubly so, as far as her male counterpart went. He didn’t look when she tossed the ring to him. He simply reached out, and it landed in his hand, as if by its own volition. He patted the blade shoved through his belt as if to warn Oblund the fate awaiting him if he tried anything, and then with barely concealed disdain, the elf shoved the magic ring onto the king’s hand.
“That’s better,” Lord W’rath said. “Now we can insult one another directly.”
“I’m sure His Majesty didn’t mean anything by the use of the word ‘it’,” Ungren said, once again attempting diplomacy.
“Of course he did,” Lord W’rath replied. “I try not to be overly sensitive. Your people have always had trouble determining the gender of elves. So, in the name of peaceful negotiations, I’m willing to overlook the ‘it’ reference. I’m feeling generous and shall, this one time, forgive the rude outburst concerning Lady Raven. But the rest of it—plotting to send demons against the Wood Elves, and then laying the blame for the subsequent deaths of your people at our feet—I cannot abide. So, what shall I do with you, old boy?” His intense gaze drifted from the tongue-tied king to the queen. “What would your battered lady say, I wonder?”
Much to everyone’s surprise the queen answered for herself. Though heavily accented, her Elvish was understandable as she forced the words through swollen lips. “What do you suggest? I wish to avoid as much bloodshed as possible.”
In answer, the ground shook with a concussive force. Ungren frowned. The king had insisted the magi put a spell on the tent to keep people from eavesdropping on them. Not only had that backfired and allowed the elves to completely take them by surprise, but now something significant transpired outside and they could hear none of it. The elves noticed the unnatural silence too and an unspoken communion passed between them. For some reason the magic concerned them.
A messenger burst through the tent doorway, only to trip over the unconscious bodies of the guards. Raven snatched him up by his collar before he could hit the ground. He squeaked when he saw the Shadow Elf warrior holding him aloft.
Another explosion shook the ground, still eerily silent. “Report, son,” the priest ordered the panicked young man.
The boy’s eyes stayed fixed on Raven, but he managed to find his voice. “The elves, sir. They’re raining fire and lightning down on us. They came out of nowhere. The magi, sir, they’re dead!”
W’rath rose from the king, leaving the toe of one boot pressed against t
he man’s throat. Raven’s brow furrowed in concern. “Either Foxfire didn’t make it …”
“Or K’hul decided to press the attack with us still here amid all the Riders,” W’rath finished.
“What does that mean?” the queen asked.
“It means, madam, that your liege’s demonic horde is completely free to do as it pleases. Human and elf now find themselves equally at risk.”
“We need to join forces,” Raven said.
W’rath sniffed in disgust, but didn’t disagree. The king, however, vigorously protested via grunts and animal noises. W’rath shifted his foot until Oblund’s voice choked off. “You no longer have a say in what happens here.”
The Shadow Elf regarded the priest and the queen. “This is our offer. Come with us now. Priest, rally your people, those still human, and join us in putting down the demons. Queen Cherish, we shall do our best to escort you and this wretch to safety. In exchange, he abdicates, and you renounce his actions.”
“I don’t have the power to make that kind of promise,” the queen said. “Such things are not considered appropriate for women to decide. Even if the majority of the nobles agree to your terms, civil war could still erupt if enough choose to stand by my husband. Others may decide that they wish to take the throne by force, and each banner that rises will bring more violence until one man finally manages to take the crown and crush the rest.” She nearly fell as another explosion shook the earth. The trembling boy at her side barely managed to steady her.
W’rath’s scowl deepened. When he’d last seen humans, their primitive society, if it could even qualify as such, had been exceedingly male-dominated. He had assumed they had outgrown such things once they took to walking upright, but that was apparently naïve on his part. Playing nice with the enemy had never been one of his strengths, and his ignorance of their culture made things worse.
