The Coming Storm

by Valerie Douglas

  There were those who would have run screaming at his smile.

  It must be the heat, High King Daran thought with exasperation. This was foolishness. He waved Ostin’s emissary to silence and reined in his frustration.

  In a level voice he said, “I’ll have the boundary re-measured.”

  An utter waste of time but he would have it done.

  The emissary started to protest but then thought better of it when he saw Daran’s glare. One of Daran’s secretaries hurried the man away.

  Shaking his head, Daran turned away to get some fresh air out on the balcony. It faced out over the gardens, toward the royal apartments and a low wall to the sea beyond.

  What nonsense, he thought, with a frustrated sigh. King Ostin, who had a sizable holding in the heartlands, swore that his neighbor had moved the boundary markers. A whole herd of some of his best cattle were on the wrong side. Ostin claimed that Queen Talisha had moved the marker. It was well known Talisha coveted Ostin’s carefully bred cattle. The matter would have been more easily resolved if Ostin had simply gifted her with a bull for breeding but he hadn’t.

  In any case, she couldn’t have moved the markers. It was impossible. The bloody things were bound by magic to the earth in which they were planted. They couldn’t be moved.

  Even so, Ostin had demanded Avila swear that none of her people would do it. As if that was likely with that stiff-necked woman. Unsurprisingly, she’d refused. Her people wouldn’t have moved it she said, rightly, and that was the only way it could be done.

  That Daran believed, and since there was no wizard who’d wish to chance that particular Master’s wrath he knew it hadn’t been done. Those boundary markers had been set at his command and at her predecessor’s. None of her people would breach that, none of them would have dared.

  Lilting laughter rose from the gardens below. Familiar laughter.

  His daughter Dyfna came into view with a trail of other young women floating behind her like a flutter of petals blown from a tree. More like birds or butterflies, that flitted aimlessly here and there. They were all chattering, youthful, happy voices. She was beautiful, his Dyfna, like a bird, or like those butterflies, with her dark hair and pale blue eyes. She wore a scarlet dress of Elven-silk that clung to her body in ways that didn’t make a father well-pleased.

  He loved his daughter as a father should but he also knew her well. There wasn’t a brain in that lovely head. She cared not for the affairs of state, nor did she care to learn. He’d tried. She was his only surviving Heir.

  Yet, she thought to be Queen. Certainly of his old Kingdom back at Caerwin. When he died, of course, not sooner. She was in no hurry. For then she might have to do, might have to decide on something more than the color of the dress she would wear that day.

  He hadn’t told her yet that she wouldn’t be Queen, unwilling to risk her displeasure or the tantrum that would inevitably accompany it. The Kingdom of Caerwin had already gone to his brother’s son, who was best to rule it. For Dyfna there would be a proper marriage, to one who would tolerate her headstrong nature in exchange for a decoration on his arm and in his bed. Though the thought made Daran the father uncomfortable, he wasn’t a fool. He hadn’t become High King by blinding himself to the faults of others. Least of all his daughter’s. No stranger to men, through luck or accident she hadn’t proven herself more foolish than she seemed.

  Looking up, she saw him watching and waved.

  Despite his thoughts his heart lifted. He smiled back at her and nodded his head. He loved her. Regardless of her faults, she was the apple of his eye.

  Seeing his daughter, though, reminded him of her mother.

  They had the same hair, as black and glossy as a raven’s wing with that same sheen of blue that glinted off it. Dark-lashed and pale-eyed against skin as white as pearls. He hadn’t married Melanthe for love. Love was a foolish emotion in his view and it had led more than one man to his destruction. No, Daran wasn’t a man of emotions. He’d married her instead for the alliance it would bring to another kingdom, furthering himself on his path to this place. He’d married her for her beauty, for that turned many a man’s head, not just his own, and distracted that man. Let them lust for his wife so long as they didn’t touch her and they agreed to his plans.

  He hadn’t married her for love.

  To his surprise, however, she had married him for it. She’d pled for some of his time, his attention, and he’d given her enough to sire a daughter and a son. Nothing else. Then she’d come to him one day and said it wasn’t enough. She’d found another in the long days he’d been gone. She was leaving. According to the very Accords he’d helped write, she had that right. So he’d agreed. Now she was married to some minor landowner and had borne him two more children. By all reports, she was quite happy.

  To Daran’s shock and horror he discovered he wasn’t. In his own way, he had loved her, as much as he was capable of such emotion.

  He shook his head. Sometimes those of the race of men were fools.

  He pushed the memories aside. It was only proof that such emotions could ruin even the best of men.

  A voice at the door, a clearing of throat reminded him of his responsibilities.

  One of his secretaries. More demands, more decisions. This was what he’d wanted. This, the power and the control. Now he had it.

  Taking a deep breath of satisfaction, Daran went back to sit in his High Seat, Daran High King once more.

  King, High King, and First of the Three.

  Ailith hadn’t seen Gwillim yet to say goodbye. Unlike the others, she had no gear to pack, everything she had was on her back. One of the village women had been kind enough to loan her a shirt and one of the boys a pair of trews to replace her tattered and bloodstained clothing.

  Frowning, she stepped out into the road and looked around.

  To her surprise Gwillim came out of the stables, reins in his hand, leading a familiar horse.

  “Take Smoke with you , Ailith,” he said, “you’ll need him.”

  Saddled and bridled, Smoke looked none too happy about it. The look in Smoke’s eye, the way his ears were set, was almost enough to make her laugh but the offer quelled the impulse.

  Startled, she looked at Gwillim. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded, tilting his chin at the others as they checked saddles and bridles.

  “They’re all riding Elven-bred. Our horses can’t keep pace, that will slow them down, or you’ll have to ride pillion. That’ll be awkward. I’ve been doing fine without him for these last weeks, I’ll do the same now.”

  Cupping his hands, he set himself to give her a leg up, lifting her neatly into the saddle before she could object so he could adjust the stirrups for her.

  “I’ve longer legs than you. How does that feel?”

  It took only a look at the grim expression in Gwillim’s eyes to win her silence.

  Smoke looked around curiously as she stood a little to test the length. She nodded.

  “Well enough. Thank you, Gwillim.”

  He reached an arm up to her and she clasped it tightly, her heart twisting a little at the thought of parting from him.

  “Take good care of him, My Lady of Riverford,” he said, his voice tight.

  Craning her head around, she looked at the gashes on Smoke’s hindquarters. They looked cleaner and healthier than they had.

  “I will, Gwillim. I’ll do better this time,” she promised.

  Elon rode over, looking at the same thing she had.

  With a nod, Gwillim said, “He’ll do fine if you don’t push him too hard today.”

  “No need to do so,” Elon said. “There is urgency but no hurry. No need to tire the horses when we might need that strength another time.”

  “Be wary. My people have been out on their rounds but some things are still getting through,” Gwillim said. “Ailith knows the places to avoid. Trust her, she’s got good instincts, whatever else she might have.”

  Giving first him and
then Ailith a measured look, Elon nodded. “I’ve noticed but the advice is well taken.”

  The others came up.

  Gwillim grinned. “All right, Ailith, my beauty. Now, don’t be giving them no trouble, don’t be putting on no airs, don’t be asking for wine when there’s none to be had and have a care for your fine clothes.”

  She kicked at him.

  “Oh, leave off, Gwillim,” she said, laughing.

  Sweeping off his hat, he bowed. “Always leave the ladies smiling. Ah, Ailith, ‘tis only because I’ll miss you, heart of my heart, sweet jewel of the realm. You bring gladness to my day and joy to my heart.”

  With a glance at the others she said, shaking her head and grinning fondly, “We’d best go or he’ll only keep on. Flatterer and fool.”

  Ailith turned Smoke’s head even as Elon rode past, shaking his head in amusement as well. She waved goodbye to Gwillim as she fell in beside Elon and the others.

  “What was all that about?” Jareth asked, curiously, riding up on her other side, his soft brown eyes twinkling.

  “Dyfna on her Progress. After her majority Daran High King sent her on a ‘Progress’. My father…my father said it was in hopes she might have some idea of what it was Daran ruled. That Daran thought she might get some sense of the diverse nature of the land, come to love it as he did, to have a care for them. He also said it was a great waste of the Kingdom’s money on what was clearly a fool’s errand. Daran said he used his own funds but seeing the party that came with her left some doubt.”

  “A Progress?” Jalila asked.

  With a roll of her eyes, Ailith explained. “An official tour of the domains. With a retinue. A large one. My mother gave up her solar to Dyfna and shared with my father. My smaller chambers weren’t considered suitable for the Princess. Dyfna took one look at them and turned up her nose. It scarcely mattered to me, as at least I would sleep in my own bed and I was set to ride out with the Hunters the next day. It was a standard patrol. Dyfna insisted on joining us. There was no point in trying to dissuade her. Once I took in her clothing I realized her definition of a Hunt and ours were quite different. She was wearing elven-silk and her horse had all its barding on. She had a servant riding beside her.”

  Jareth was chuckling. “She thought you were hunting hares?”

  “Something like that,” Ailith said, ruefully. “The complaints started less than a league from the castle. We were riding too fast. She was thirsty and wanted wine. We had only rough watered wine. Nothing that would suit her. When she saw where we would camp she was horrified. More so when she saw I had no more than the Hunters. Travel pack and all. My father insisted that when I rode with the Hunters and Woodsmen I lived like them and rode like them. In a travel shelter and a blanket, eating the same food. Sleeping on the ground. Dyfna traveled with her bed in her train. They had to dismantle my mother’s and store it to make room for the thing.”

  “It hadn’t been brought along on the Hunt.”

  Amused, Colath asked, “What happened?

  “We lit some torches and I took her back. There was no other choice. She retired to my mother’s solar for a day and a half to recover.” Ailith grinned. “She was heard to remark I was no proper King’s daughter.”

  Colath bowed his head ruefully, remembering his remark from the first night they’d met.

  “Ah, don’t, Colath,” she said, shaking her head with a smile, “It’s hardly the first time and it’s true enough, I don’t look the part. At one time or another I’ve been mistaken for a merchant’s lost child or a servant. It bothered me more when I was younger. I’ve found it more entertaining and useful as time has passed. I can walk down any street and no one will stop me. Dyfna can’t, so long as she wears Elven-silk and jewels.”

  Colath shook his head. “It was still wrong on my part.”

  It was a mistake he had yet to repair. A glint of mischief lit his eyes.

  “Perhaps I should make it up to you. With Gwillim as example.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, laughing. “One of him is enough. Besides what would it do to that Elven reputation of impassiveness? And with that pretty face of yours such blandishments might prove far too tempting.”

  “I can see it might turn your head,” he said, with a small smile.

  She grinned. “Since I can’t lie we’d best change the subject. Jalila, a favor?”

  A little surprised, Jalila cocked her head at her. “Ask.”

  “Would you teach me to use a bow from horseback? I never learned that skill. Necessity is a harsh instructor. I missed two shots. If I hadn’t missed, perhaps I wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

  “If you only missed two shots,” Jalila said, “then you did well. Hellhounds are hard to hit from horseback.”

  Shifting uncomfortably, Ailith said, “They were wide misses. Of the ones that hit, one was only a glancing shot and the other was just lucky. The best shot I hit was because it got too close. I would be better.”

  “It’s difficult as well to do without saddle and stirrups, on a unfamiliar horse. Stirrups would have kept you steadier.”

  “Delae wanted me to take them,” Ailith said, “but I feared the time it would take would delay us longer.”

  Elon said, “It’s a hard lesson to learn, Ailith. It would have been better to have taken the time. Those few minutes could have made more difference.”

  She nodded. “That lesson has been learned. I should also have thought to include a travel pack and spare clothes in case I needed to leave in a hurry. Now I’m regretting it.”

  “I’ll share blankets with you, Ailith,” Jalila said, “until we can get you your own. Now, as to those lessons? First and hardest to learn is your balance in the stirrups. Only a very few get good at it bareback.”

  Raising herself in the saddle a little with her legs and her thighs, she demonstrated. “Your horse may bounce or stumble, costing you your shot if you stay seated. You must ride with him but above, using your legs to keep you steady.”

  Ailith tried it, feeling the strain in the muscles of her thighs instantly.

  Her eyes widened.

  With a tip of the head, Jalila said, “You see? Those aren’t muscles you’re accustomed to using this way. Practice that every time you have the chance but not so much you make them sore. If you do it will be harder the next time you try.”

  The lesson continued as they rode, Jalila checking her draw on the bow and how she held it. She made corrections. Elon and Colath made suggestions from time to time.

  Jalila was pleased. It had been a long time since she’d had a student and Ailith was an attentive one. It also made the day pass more quickly.

  Gwillim was well-satisfied. His lap was full and his life was fuller. His wife Danalae occupied his lap, her arm around his neck as they watched their children dance gleefully with the children from the village. Though disaster might rain down upon them at any time at this moment he was happy and bound to enjoy every minute of it.

  The folk of the village had insisted on a welcome celebration, opening their hearts and their homes to his wife and family. Some of it was only sense – they wished him to stay, to keep them safe and so they wished to make him feel welcome. It was also a good excuse for merrymaking. Life was hard here in these mountains and not only because of the wild things that occasionally strayed from the borderlands.

  It was simply hard.

  Farming was difficult in this harsh land, for the earth was full of rocks and stones that were found by the plow but dug by hand, pried out of the earth with iron and muscle. Some folk raised sheep and goats, instead, but those creatures were preyed upon by more mundane predators such as wolves and wildcats. A fair number were woodcutters, who felled trees and split them into rails or whatnot, then dragged them on sledges down the mountain for the building of houses and such in the heartlands. It was dangerous work and far from healers. Reasons for celebration were few.

  A piper played a sprightly tune and a drummer kept beat. There was a keg of the l
ocal beer, a cask of the harsh local wine and a dipper big enough to fill a mug of either in one scoop.

  Gwillim had a mug of beer in hand and his wife in the other. She looked down at him with a grin, a mug of wine in her own hand and gave him a quick kiss.

  Ah, life was good.

  The scream from outside brought instant silence to the revelers.

  As one, he and Danalae leaped to their feet, casting their mugs aside. They both had swords in hand as Maret joined them at the door. Frightened as they were the folk of the village still quickly took up cudgels and mallets to stand at their backs and defend their own.

  He went out the door first, with Maret second as Danalae at their rear darted to cover them. No faint heart was his wife, for she’d been a Hunter before they married. She’d set it aside for the children.

  The woman who screamed ran toward them, looking back over her shoulder. Wisely, she dashed between them to take refuge behind them.

  “Drows,” she gasped.

  Looking past her, Gwillim nodded. He’d already seen them and his heart had gone still.

  Four of the things closed in on the cottage.

  With a thrill of fear, he thought of what might have happened if he and Danalae and the children had been there as they ought. If not for the celebration, they would have been. From the corner of his eye he saw his other Hunters – those who’d come in with Maret – take their positions along the cottages to watch from cover.

  Four drows.

  He looked beyond them out into the darkness and saw movement. His blood chilled.

  There were more. How many?

  Just the thought made his blood run even colder. Even what he could see was a lot, for this number of men.

  He signaled his people to wait. There was no choice.

  The door of the cottage cracked and gave way under the assault.

  A drow went in, there was the sound of wood splintering and then it came out.

  It wailed in frustration, a bloodcurdling sound.

  The others sniffed around the road. One of the other drows looked toward them, then looked toward the drows who waited. Everyone froze. The thing growled in frustration, in hunger, and then it howled. The sound was chilling. Somewhere inside a child cried and someone hushed it quickly. The drow whined, shook its head, sniffed around the yard.