With an effort, she swung Colath’s gift around her shoulders. It covered her past her feet. In these heights, once the sun went down it would get cold. She would need it. She could still smell his scent buried in the folds. In her thoughts she blessed him for his thoughtfulness. She pinned it with Elon’s charm. She didn’t know if she would ever use it. The risk was too great but more, she didn’t know if she could bear it. To see him and then have to leave again. But to see him again.
Elon.
Her heart was breaking.
She turned away from it before the pain could take her in its grasp again.
“All right, Katar, let’s be off.”
Obediently, he turned and they descended a little way along Dorovan’s trail. Not too far, not to the trap waiting below. She found she could sense the boundaries of the borderlands, like a silken veil she could push aside to pass through. Exiled yes but not banned.
Avila’s words. ‘You may not tarry long in the lands of Elves and Dwarves and Men.’
How long was long? She suspected she would find out. It didn’t matter. The borderlands were her home now, whether she willed it or not.
Trailing the border, her bow at hand and her swords at ready, she headed north, away from the Escarpment.
Chapter Twenty Seven
The air was cool but not cold. Not the cold that reigned in the heartlands of Daran’s youth at this time of year. Not the cold that even now receded from those rolling hills, little pockets of snow still tucked into corners and leeward sides.
Daran High King stood on the balcony and wished he were in his old domain with the wheat fields just beginning to turn green with the summer harvest. The first blush of green would be touching the trees as the last of the winter snow melted. It had warmed early and quickly this year. Too quickly. There had been flooding in numerous places. Some folk demanded that dams be built. Such wouldn’t be welcome among the other races.
This was no place for him, this city on the southern ocean. It was more like an Elven Enclave, with flowers everywhere. There were no seasons here, not the spring like touch of breeze of the heartlands with their velvety brush of green tinting the open hills. No summer with its lush, deeper greens and the wheat on the hills waving like the ocean in the breeze. He much preferred those waves to the ones below him. And Fall with its fire and glory, winter with its chill.
He missed winter, surprisingly. Once it had seemed dreary to him and grim. There had been something, though, to sitting before a roaring fire with his dogs at his feet. A time of rest, in a way. He didn’t get much of that any more. He was weary.
There was a knock at the door to his chambers.
“Come.”
His chatelaine let in a messenger, who dropped to one knee as soon as she cleared the door.
“Speak.” It was like talking to his dogs.
The messenger lifted her head. “I have news, My Lord King. I was bid to tell you I have news of the exile. She that was known as Otherling.”
Otherling. There were times when he questioned the wisdom of his decision. A time when, briefly, he almost regretted it. Almost. The Alliance held, although at times when dealing with the Dwarves he almost wished it hadn’t. Again, almost.
Negotiations took place but now it was over price and not supply. There was iron and coal, copper for pots and all the other things common folk needed.
In all else, his plans had gone as he hoped. Eliade had left the Council to make way for Elon.
It had taken some time to get the Dwarves to accept and forgive him but Elon’s integrity was known and even they couldn’t fault his honor in doing it, in spite of their anger over it.
Elon had handled the last negotiations and handled them well. He had a gift for diplomacy that Daran didn’t. A greater gift for the fine points of law. That damnable Elven sense of honor. No one could fault his fairness, neither Dwarves nor Men. He was scrupulous about it. The Alliance would hold, once Daran was gone. It would outlive him, and stand the stronger for it. If Elon felt the price for the Alliance had been bitter, it only seemed to have made his commitment to it that much stronger. Dwarf or Man, though, they wouldn’t let him be First. Which was as well. Had Daran the choice, Men would hold it forever.
Which was well enough, if only these damnable reports would stop coming.
Now, though, the mere mention was enough to curdle his stomach. He pressed a hand to it.
Why hadn’t she simply died as she should have? Six years of these damnable reports. At least once or twice a year she was reported dead. Others declared she had gone mad and laid waste to a whole region of the borderlands. According to still another she appeared to help a forester when a tree had fallen on him. Once they said she rescued a party of travelers from attack by a pair of goblins. Another time she warned of a flood but used her magic to avert it long enough for the people of the small hamlet to escape with what they could. It seemed unlikely. He could never be certain if they were true and then just when he began to believe she might be dead, there would be another report.
She was becoming a legend.
Hero or dead this time?
“Well,” he demanded. “I said speak.”
The girl quailed, her head nearly on the carpet. He resisted rolling his eyes but it was a harder battle to resist using his boot.
“My Lord King. They say she’s dead,” she said and hurriedly continued when his foot twitched alarmingly. “There are witnesses, my Lord. I was told to tell you good ones, this time. They’re sure of it. She raised the alarm of avalanche in a village to the far north. The heavy snows this winter and the sudden thaw have set avalanches loose throughout the mountains.”
“There was a Woodsmen there. He, too, had seen the danger. The villagers didn’t want to believe it. Even after the Otherling came to warn them as well. One of the villagers, to prove them wrong, set axe to tree. The tree fell with an almighty crash, they say. And the mountain of snow began to move, slowly at first, and then with speed. They say she set her horse up the mountain into the face of it. The avalanche turned. But not all of it. She didn’t see her danger until it was too late. The snow took them both, her and the horse, into the river. She wasn’t seen again. The Woodsman searched for miles down the river. There was no sign of either.”
“Are you sure of it?” he demanded.
“Only as sure as I’ve been told, my Lord. They say the Woodsmen knew her. They say his name was Jored, my Lord and he wept.”
“And he has been cashiered from the service, I hope.”
“He resigned, my lord. Turned in his badge.”
Jored. Well enough. It had taken little time to find out who it was who had summoned Elon and Jareth back to the city. Jored had been injudicious. It hadn’t been hard to find him. As punishment, they had taken his lands from him and sent him north to the Woodsmen. Not quite banishment, not quite exile but close enough. That was surety enough.
A terrible thing, yes but at last she was dead. Now perhaps Elon would give him peace on it.
A soft breeze stirred the leaves and sent petals skirling across the Vale. The messenger, a young Elf, stood patiently, having given his message.
Elon shook his head. “Colath, did you hear this?”
Giving Elon a look and raising a brow, Colath said, mildly, “Of course, I’m sitting right here, am I deaf?”
He understood Elon was simply expressing his frustration.
“What is it with Men? Do they not understand that rivers flood? Why is it they must build their villages on the very banks, not on the high ground as sense would dictate? Do they not understand it’s the flooding itself that makes the land there so rich? Our people have always known it. What is it about that race they must always insist the environment change to suit them, rather than they change to suit the environment?”
Colath shook his head. “The more I know them the less it seems I understand them.”
“They will tear down a hill to make a road straight, rather than curving the road arou
nd the hill. Now they want to build a dam. If they build it where they wish, the water will seep into the mines of the Dwarves. Do they not understand that? What do they need a dam for, in any case? The village is in the wrong place, it’s not the river that’s too high, the village is too low. The river has always been there. Did they not know that?”
With a sigh, he handed the messenger a token in thanks and sent her off.
“If it’s not men with their dams and their roads, it’s the Dwarves raising the price of iron or copper in exchange for bread and meat. Or worse, beer and ale. Their fondness for such has grown. At least they’re somewhat the merrier for it, unlike some men with such fondness. The Elves in the South complain Men are pushing back the woods and encroaching on their lands. Not entirely but I understand their concern. There are more suitable lands to the west but for some reason men have some attraction to ours.”
“It’s not that, Elon,” Colath said. “There aren’t enough Hunters and Woodsmen to keep them safe. You know that. So they crowd close to us for protection.”
“Because Daran won’t levy more taxes to pay the Hunters and Woodsmen. As if he hadn’t learned that lesson well enough.” He waved it off, knowing Colath knew it well. “Yes, I know. So Elves are forced to bear the brunt of defending them. If we don’t, we’re heartless and care nothing for the lives of men. Risking the lives of our own people, who are few enough. Lilianne has already sent to the villages nearest her to say she won’t defend them, they must defend themselves. I’ve had protest of that already.”
It was fortunate Aerilann was so far to the North and nestled so close to the mountains. They hadn’t yet been forced into that defense. It was true of most of the Enclaves, save that one. He couldn’t and wouldn’t force Lilianne to that, for Daran’s lack. Somehow or another he must find a way to force Daran’s hand on this instead.
“The Hunters and Woodsmen were spread too thin then. Did he learn nothing from that war? It can’t continue. In fact, there’s a group of Hunters to go out today in answer to a report of a troll, I should see them. As well, a bear has been seen prowling around the borders and a team of Woodsmen are to answer that as well.”
“I can check on the Woodsmen, if you like. The troll is a more pressing concern.”
Elon nodded. “Do that, with my thanks. The bear is a nuisance but they can be dangerous at this time of year, groggy from their dens and perhaps with cubs.”
Rising from his chair, Colath waved to Elon and set off down the trail. There was too much demand on Elon’s time. It wore on him.
Not that Elon was like to complain. Nor would he refuse more burdens. This was little enough duty to take off his shoulders but Colath was thinking about taking more. If only to lighten Elon’s load. He should see about dragging Elon out somewhere away from all this for a time, though he knew the reason why he did it. Still did it.
And no longer did the forms.
The Woodsmen were loading their horses.
“Ala, Colath,” the leader of them, a wise and canny Elf named Zela.
“Ala, Zela. Elon sent me to see if you need anything.”
She lifted a brow, shrugged. “I have all, unless you’d like to come along.”
A rider, his horse nearly at speed burst upon the path, startling them all.
He pulled up sharply at the sight of Colath.
The rider was familiar and not known for riding at speed through an Enclave.
Surprised, Colath looked up. “Jareth, what brings you here and in such haste?”
He took a closer look at Jareth’s bleak expression.
“What’s wrong?”
Jareth looked at him with grieving eyes. “Ailith.”
It was all he said. It was enough. It felt as if Colath’s heart had gone still. “We must get to Elon.”
Reaching down an arm, Jareth swung him into the saddle behind him.
“What happened?” Colath said, his heart pounding a slow, dolorous beat.
Jareth took a breath. “I don’t know if I can tell it twice. Where’s Elon?”
“He was meeting with the Hunters, take that path there.”
At a careful canter, they turned up the path.
“I wouldn’t want him to hear it from a messenger,” Jareth said. “Daran and Avila were quick to send out word. I wanted to be sure, so I checked it out myself.”
“What happened, Jareth?”
“She’s gone,” he said, softly.
“No, Jareth,” Colath said. “I would know.”
The bond would have told him, as it told him she was hurt. She had been of late. It had been bad, was still bad. It pained him to know and be helpless to aid her.
“Does he need the reminder? It’s not unlike Daran to have sent the first messenger to Elon, as much for belated spite as for any other reason.”
“True.”
There was no sign of Elon on the lower gallery as they dismounted, Jareth throwing Zo’s reins over the rail of the steps. Nor was there any sign of Elon in the common space where he worked.
They found him on the upper terrace. He was still, staring out across the darkening vale.
Snatching at his arm, Colath drew Jareth to a halt.
“Look,” he said, his tone leaden.
Below, from the corner of his eye, they saw the royal messenger descend the steps on the other side of the gallery.
Jareth closed his eyes, his heart clenching.
From out on the terrace, Elon said, his tone empty but his voice carrying.
“She’s not dead, Jareth. I would know, through the bond between us. It has been too long since you have visited. I would you hadn’t come carrying such news. All the messenger would say was the King has declared the Otherling is dead.”
“He still resents me for it. This is his punishment. He didn’t even have the courtesy to use her name.”
For the moment, nor could he. Only think it. Ailith. Elon could feel the pain, still, whatever it was she suffered. He sent her strength as he could, as did Colath. Out there in the borderlands alone. He here alone. He should have gone he knew now but he hadn’t yet given up on getting her back. On lifting her exile.
Turning, he looked at Jareth. The look in his eyes was enough to make Jareth wish it were possible for Elves to weep. It wasn’t. That look was enough to silence the words in Jareth’s throat before they were spoken.
Jareth watched him walk slowly away.
His pale eyes pained, Colath watched Elon go as well. There was nothing he could do, for either of his true-friends, and that inability grieved him. Helplessness didn’t suit him well.
In Jareth’s mind’s eye he saw Ailith as she had been on the battlefield that day when the basilisks had erupted from the earth. Men froze on the field beneath that deadly glare. The lines behind stranded in their rush as a horde of goblins rushed up from behind the basilisks.
He had been fighting, desperately.
A dragon had risen up. An illusion. Every wizard there had known it. Even Avila. The basilisks hadn’t, nor the one who led them. Turning, the deadly beasts had faced their ancient enemy. Freed from that glare, the rush had rolled forward. A moment, only a short moment and then Ailith had been swallowed up amid the fighting, her swords out, her best weapons, as they had always been.
“She’s still alive,” Colath said. “She lives still. We know it. We send her strength through the bond. It’s still there, for him and for me. The bond.”
Listening as Colath spoke softly, Elon looked up at the darkening sky, at the stars spangling it. He remembered Ailith’s voice as she spoke of what she saw in her mind, the awe and the wonder in it, and her brilliant smile.
She saw everyone inside her mind like the stars in the sky and he knew that somewhere out there in the wilderness, in the borderlands, she watched over him, over them, always.
Elon held the memory of her in his heart and mind. The vision of that day on the veranda, her sleep-tumbled hair gleaming, the sun through her shift, her eyes so blue. And the w
ay she would turn, already smiling, to look at him.
Foresight said they weren’t done yet… It was all he had.
####
About the author
Valerie Douglas is a prolific writer and genre-crosser, much to the delight of her fans. She writes classic and heroic fantasy, romance, suspense, and as V.J. Devereaux, erotic romance. Who knows what will pop up down the road.
Happily married, she lives with her husband in the beautiful farmlands of Ohio with two dogs, three cats and an African clawed frog named Hopper who delights in tormenting the cats from his tank.
For more information, check out her web pages:
www.valeriedouglasbooks.com
www.vjdevereauxbooks.com
Other Novels by Valerie Douglas
The Coming Storm series:
A Convocation of Kings – Epic Fantasy – Sequel to The Coming Storm. One war is over but fifty years later another shadow rises as Elon finds new hope. Is it coincidence, or has an old enemy returned?
Not Magic Enough – For Delae, a lonely landholder on the edge of the Kingdoms, a frantic knock at the door on a stormy winter’s night brings more than a cry for help. After centuries of war Elves have little contact with the race of men, but Dorovan can’t bring himself to ride past those so obviously in need. One small act, with enormous consequences…
Setting Boundaries – For journeyman wizard Jareth the task of setting the boundaries between the lands of Elves, Dwarves and men is the opportunity of a lifetime and the chance to meet the great Elon of Aerilann, Elven councilor to the High King. What he doesn’t know is that the journey will test him to his limits and forge friendships that will last a lifetime.
Heart of the Gods – When archaeologist Ky Farrar starts in search of the ancient Tomb, he awakens its lethal, and lovely, guardian. Both quickly discover Ky isn’t the only one in search of the Tomb and the danger to the world that lies within it.
Coming Soon
The Coming Storm Page 81
