Exile's Gamble_The Chronicles of Shadow_Book II

by Lee Dunning

  Kiat’s wail of horror warbled like a strangling owl. “Just pretend we’re on the battlefield again,” K’hul continued. “Show the same mettle you displayed there.”

  “It’s not the same! I’ll have to … to talk to people.” Kiat’s protest dwindled into something that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

  K’hul responded by slamming the door as he left.

  Kiat planted his elbows on the table and plopped his chin into his hands. His fingers had healed instantly, but his fingernails bore the signs of his constant battle with nerves. “Ah, bugger,” he sighed.

  For all of about three minutes he thought Lord K’hul saw him as something more than a lackey. Maybe not an equal, but at least someone worthy of a modicum of respect. Why should he respect me when I don’t respect myself? The thought drifted into Kiat’s mind along with a number of reminders of his failings.

  Kiat had heard in gruesome detail the extent of Lady Raven’s injuries from acid fire. Lord Foxfire had nearly perished from the smoke. Lord W’rath still suffered due to Kiat’s inaction. Instead of ordering the evacuation of their people, he stood docilely awaiting permission to do his job while Lord K’hul muttered about Lady Raven’s fighting style and Lord Foxfire’s idiocy in returning to the battlefield. That no one on the council had mentioned subjecting Kiat to a Vote-of-Confidence simply meant he was irrelevant.

  Then K’hul had to go and bring up the horrifying suppression collars again. That first afternoon, when the pitiful remains of the Shadow Elf population staggered to the surface, Kiat knew he should have stood up to K’hul and spoken out against the collars. Instead, he’d cowered in the shadow of the individual who had invited him to the council. Just minutes ago, a chance to partially redeem himself had presented itself and still he’d said nothing. Ancestors, I’m loathsome.

  The door to the room creaked open, and for an irrational moment Kiat thought K’hul had returned, hadn’t really deserted him. It wasn’t the First Born of course, but Lady Winterdawn, Kiat’s apprentice in search of her missing teacher. Her grey eyes lit on him with far more reverence than he deserved. He added one more item to his growing list of shortcomings: abandoning the one bright spot in his existence to languish in the hallway while he wallowed in self-pity.

  “Lord K’hul left and yet you did not,” Lady Winterdawn said. She paused in the doorway to take in the stark, unadorned room. Not even a wall hanging broke up the chill grey of the stone walls. “I had no idea Lord K’hul had taken up residence in the dungeon.”

  Her words brought a smile to Kiat’s lips, but it was a fleeting thing. His face, so unaccustomed to such an expression, had difficulty hanging onto it.

  “I saw that,” Lady Winterdawn said, still refusing to leave the doorway. She extended a hand to her instructor. “Come on, I can see no reason to spend another second in this depressing place. Our rooms have carpets and paintings. Even drapes. That furniture looks like someone used an axe to hack it out of a log.”

  “It does at that,” Kiat said. For the first time he truly noticed the room. It didn’t appear anyone had even bothered to sweep away the cobwebs from the corners before the elves’ war leader moved in. A pathetic act of defiance on the part of the humans? If so, the insult was lost on Lord K’hul. Had he noticed the poor conditions, he’d simply chalk it up to the human’s lack of skills, intelligence and cleanliness. Kiat rose. Lady Winterdawn had the right of it; no good could come of tarrying in such a place.

  As he approached, his apprentice threw back her shoulders like a soldier at attention, her not-so-subtle reminder for him to stand up straight. He forced his spine erect but shoved his hands into his robes so he could avoid her still-proffered hand. Between his savaged nails and his damp palms, he couldn’t bear to let her touch him. She only did it out of kindness anyway.

  He gave her one of his brief, ghost smiles. It almost erased the confusion and hurt that had settled behind her eyes.

  The double casement window of Lady Sera’s guest room framed the view of a sharp, jagged tooth of a mountain in the distance. It took up most of the horizon, dominating the landscape to the far north, but First Home sat at sea level, so Raven didn’t think the highest peak actually very tall. Near the forest she’d called home for the last three years, twin mountains the dwarves referred to as Awen’s Teats, stood a good seventeen thousand feet high. Whoever Awen was, Raven mused, she must have suffered from severe back pain.

  “It’s called Gryphon’s Aery,” Lady Sera said as she bustled in, trailed by a handful of novice healers. With House of Laughing Waters destroyed, the majority of the healers had relocated to Lady Sera’s estate. Much to Raven’s annoyance, the head healer had insisted Raven join them. When she protested, told Lady Sera that she considered House of Memories home now, the healer claimed she needed to keep an eye on Raven to make sure she had fully healed.

  Raven suspected it had more to do with Lady Sera wishing to keep her from hovering around W’rath’s bed as she’d done at their previous location. Grudgingly, Raven had to admit the healer was probably right. She needed to acclimate to First Home and she wouldn’t do that wasting away at W’rath’s bedside. She turned away as the gaggle of apprentice healers set up the room for Raven’s stay. She knew from previous attempts to help, they’d turn her down, so instead she focused on the black dots soaring around Gryphon’s Aery. “I take it those are gryphons?” she asked.

  “Could be,” Lady Sera said, adding her energy to the task of pillow plumping. “It’s just as likely they’re wyverns. About once every five years or so we have to send out a hunting party to thin them out. They’re nasty beasts, and they breed like orcs. We may have to rename the blasted mountain.”

  “Aren’t wyverns pretty stupid?” Raven asked.

  “Supposedly they possess a low cunning, again, much like orcs. In fact, I have a book around here somewhere, which claims wyverns resulted from the mating of an orc and a dragon. They have none of the genius or raw elemental power of the dragons but all of the foul manners and poor hygiene of the orcs. Only their general shape and wings give any credence dragons had a part in their origin.”

  Raven squinted at the circling specks. Like most elves, she had outstanding eyesight, but Gryphon’s Aery rose so far in the distance she couldn’t pick out the details of the creatures. She’d never seen either a gryphon or a wyvern. She had no desire to meet one of the flying reptiles, but she’d read fantastic stories about gryphons and wished she could see one up close. She hoped they didn’t have the same prejudices as unicorns.

  Unicorns. W’rath’s meeting with the creature in the glade of House of Memories came back to her. He’d claimed he’d hoped the unicorns would agree to serve as mounts so the elves might develop a cavalry. As it turned out, they possessed neither the willingness nor the size for such a union. But what about gryphons? Some books claimed they might possess sentience. “Has anyone tried to form some kind of alliance with the gryphons?”

  “What? Against the wyverns?” Lady Sera made an odd chortling noise as if she couldn’t decide whether she considered Raven’s question funny or just plain stupid. “They may have some intelligence but they’re savage, perhaps even more so than the wyverns. It’s the only reason they’ve lasted this long against the green-skin’s superior numbers.”

  “Oh,” Raven said, disappointed. Lady Sera’s depiction of gryphons didn’t mesh with what she’d read during her studies, but living on an island where the creatures resided suggested the healer might know better. Then again, Raven had already encountered a number of beliefs held by the residents of First Home, which were false. She pursed her lips and started to contemplate something ridiculously reckless.

  Chapter 4

  K’hul surveyed the ruins of House of Laughing Waters. Built to provide quarters for five hundred healers and twice that many patients, it now looked more like a displaced beach. Even in its current state, K’hul could feel the powerful magic imbued within the structure, yet the Exile’s mind had razed it as
if it had been nothing more than the shack of some human peasant. A playful breeze kicked up a dust devil made from the powdered remains of the once elegant building. It danced across one of the few piles still bearing any resemblance to a wall. First Father, what have we allowed into our home?

  He lingered for a moment more and then trudged back to the pair of Sky Elves who had opened a portal from the mainland to here for him. “Impressive, isn’t it?” the female of the pair said, her tone indicating more admiration than dismay.

  “That’s one way to put it,” K’hul replied. He had come home to get some rest, but at the last moment told the two mages to change the destination from his family’s estate to House of Laughing Waters. Despite his weariness, he knew he’d never rest if he didn’t view firsthand the damage the Exile had wrought. Neither Kiat’s words nor his own imagination proved adequate to the reality. He’d expected ruins, but with standing walls and even a few rooms still intact. After all, powerful casters had raised the complex. One wretched Shadow Elf shouldn’t have the power to undo it all. “Take me home.”

  “Are you certain? Lady Swiftbrook is staying at House of Memories for now,” the male said.

  Were all Sky Elf males socially inept? K’hul saw no sign in the elf’s expression he intended to be provocative. So, just an idiot. “Home,” he said. He had trouble squeezing the word out from between his clenched teeth.

  Both mages shrugged. “As you wish,” the female said. She shot her companion a warning look. At least one of them realized K’hul didn’t care for the topic of conversation. He half-expected the male to bring up the bloody statue of Umbral, which had mysteriously appeared in the entryway to House of Memories. He’d stumbled across that particular tidbit when he decided to take a meal with his soldiers and surprised them as they discussed the matter during dinner. It wasn’t lost on him even Kiat had enough sense to avoid the matter of the statue when reporting to him.

  The two mages gave up their attempts to entice the war leader into any additional travels. They set about opening a portal leading to the far northern reaches of the island where the demesne of the K’huls and a few of the other old families lay. K’hul’s ears popped as the musical chanting and intricate gestures drew forth an expanding doorway. Through it the squat, sprawling complex he’d called home for over five hundred years came into view.

  Without another word, the Voice of the First strode through the magical doorway. He sighed in relief when the portal winked out of existence and he found himself alone. He needed time to recuperate, to think, and he didn’t need overly chatty mages reminding him, however inadvertently, what a steaming pile of shit his life had become.

  He followed a set of precisely laid pavers, smooth red stone, which lead to a broad swath of stairs. Still some ways from the steps he paused, drawing strength from the solidity of the structure before him. The stairs flowed up to a heavily pillared and imposing grand walkway. Massive representations of earth elementals loomed on either side of the stairs. Inside the cave-like walkway, fire flickered, a reminder of the other element so closely associated with all First Born, but especially those directly descended from the First. A Sky Elf would call the compound inelegant, or unimaginative, but K’hul saw it as solid and practical. Even the sculptures of the elementals and dancing flames within served a purpose— intimidation. No ridiculous ornamentation or strange useless hallways leading to nowhere disrupted the solid perfection of the complex.

  House of Memories served as a perfect example of the frivolity of Sky Elves. He’d made a point to avoid the place even before the infuriating Lord W’rath claimed it for his own. The few times he’d had reason to go there as a child he’d soon found himself lost, ready to set fire to the paintings lining the hallways. Hundreds of Stormchaser ancestors glared down at him as he passed, seeming to know what fiery mischief he wished to unleash.

  The only good he ever associated with those visits was the chance to spend time with Kiara—Lady Swiftbrook, he corrected himself with an angry twist to his mouth. Often she was the one who stumbled across him lost in the halls. That she found it nearly as difficult to navigate the mazelike halls and swore long and hard every time they ran into yet another dead end, raised her above all other Sky Elves in his estimation. Even the fact she smelled of storms instead of summer, like other Sky Elves, intrigued him. When he learned she could hold her own with a sword against his father and lacked even the slightest proficiency for anything remotely artistic, she became like a goddess to him.

  At the awkward age of seventy-five, he’d confessed his love to her. She’d had every right to laugh at him, but she hadn’t. Instead, she’d said to him, “When you take your family name, if you feel the same way, come back to me.” Twenty-five years later, he’d done just that and she’d bestowed upon him a night he still couldn’t think on without blushing. He’d never once considered straying from her side since then. He’d thought she felt the same about him. But now…

  Thrice damned, Exile!

  The baying of excited hounds brought him out of his angry ruminations. Just the slightest bit of tension eased out of his bunched shoulders. As much as he hated chaos in general, the hounds, and by default, his little sister, brought a welcome bit of turbulence.

  The seven hounds, the size of black bears, tore around the north side of the estate, their mistress close on their waving tails. Strong and long-legged even by First Born standards; Itarillë had just turned one hundred and could conceivably outgrow her elder brother. First Father, she’s fast. What a warrior she’ll grow into.

  Itarillë came to a skidding halt as she reached her brother and burst out laughing as her exuberant charges swarmed the elder K’hul. She pushed her shaggy mane of flame-colored hair out of her face. Through the forest of furry bodies, he caught the glint of her teal eyes. Thank the gods she’d taken after her mother in appearance. She didn’t carry the burden of the K’hul nose. He staggered under the concerted efforts of the hounds.

  “They’ve missed you,” Itarillë said.

  K’hul wrestled one of the bear-like beasts away only to have another jump up to replace it. He grunted under the siege of canine happiness. “I thought you intended to train them to stop doing this,” he said.

  “Oh, they’re very well trained—until you show up. They revert to puppies the moment they scent you.”

  “Well, call them off unless you plan on stepping into my shoes sooner than expected,” K’hul said.

  Itarillë let out a series of whistles and clicks. Instantly the enormous hounds calmed and trotted over to flop down around their mistress’ feet, amused looks on their panting faces. The forest hounds the K’hul’s raised could even take down wyverns if the creatures foolishly left their mountain home to seek food on the family’s lands.

  The two elves started to pick their way down the path to House of the First. Another click sent the hounds into a protective circle around them, an escort to welcome home the new head of the family.

  “You do know,” Itarillë said, “even though I took the K’hul name, I don’t covet your position?”

  “I do. Your sense of duty has always far outstripped your ambition,” K’hul replied.

  Itarillë sent a wry grin in her brother’s direction. “Not exactly in keeping with family tradition, huh?”

  “By taking our father’s name instead of your mother’s name you’ve already shown you don’t think all that much of tradition,” K’hul said. Aside from the Earthfires, few of the elven families strayed from the convention of young elves adopting the family name of the parent they shared a common gender. “How is your mother taking your decision?”

  “She still refuses to speak to me,” Itarillë said, shrugging. “She feels betrayed or maybe just cheated, I don’t know. She doesn’t understand whatever duty I owe her as my mother, my greater duty lies in helping to preserve the legacy of the K’hul family.”

  “Our father sought her out because of her line’s size and strength, not her intellect,” K’hul sa
id.

  Itarillë nodded, not the least flicker of insult crossing her features over her brother’s depiction of her mother. “Everyone except she seems to understand that. The only advantage the Steel family has over the K’hul’s is their ancestors had the sense to avoid dallying with non-First Born. They kept their bloodline pure.”

  K’hul generally disliked it when anyone intimated the First had flaws, but even he had to admit the First had failed abysmally when he took on Shadow Elf females as lovers. He knew his sister included Sky Elves in the look but don’t touch category but he refused to go that far.

  “Our father saw the chance to strengthen the K’hul line by reintroducing unsullied First Born blood to the family,” Itarillë continued. “Did you know the Steels were outraged when mother chose to let our father quicken her? There’s any number of Shadow Elves and Sky Elves thinning the blood of the First’s descendants. But she wanted the prestige associated with birthing a child related to the First.”

  “Then she should be ecstatic,” K’hul said. “You’re entirely a K’hul now and the Steels remain pure.”

  Itarillë snickered. “Like you said, she wasn’t approached by Historian because of her intelligence.”

  At the mention of Historian, K’hul remembered his old teacher, the keeper of his family’s records, had sent word to him several times before and after the war with Oblund. The strange elf, the only member of their family to appear wholly of Sky Elf blood, seldom left his study. He hadn’t spoken to his student since K’hul reached his age of majority. Now suddenly the creepy bookworm seemed desperate to get a hold of him. K’hul had ignored him these past few weeks, but he supposed now that he’d returned home he should see what the wretch wanted. However, Historian would have to wait at least a couple more days until K’hul had rested. K’hul turned a weary smile upon his sister. “I for one am honored you chose our father’s name.”