Night Elves 2: Dangerous Obsession

by Nelissa Donovan

  She leapt free of the massive body and landed on her feet. Her hand gripped the now bloody blade, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Achalian deyot,” she spat, vehemence and sorrow competing within her as she searched for the remaining young warriors. They were pressed tight against glowing boulders, staring wide-eyed at the rent bodies of their peers.

  Taking a calming breath, Eristta wiped her kriss on damp grass then slid it back into the hidden holster in her soft, keffa silk boot. She turned to watch the hatchlings milling uncertainly at the edge of the clearing. There was no point in reaching out to them now. Fear and confusion wafted from the younglings in waves.

  Eristta advanced, yelling, sending the youngsters squawking and sprinting into the forest. She waited until she could no longer hear their crashes before turning back to the Drow who kneeled by their comrades, their faces slack with shock and grief.

  Sighing, Eristta walked over. One was still breathing, barely. “Quickly, take him for healing,” she said softly, her hand resting on the Drow warrior’s shoulder that had first led her to the beasts. Her attention cut to the carrion bird, then back to the warriors. “Burn the body. Now. Before the hatchlings gain full comprehension of what has transpired. They will be hard pressed to survive as this point without their mother to teach them the hunt.”

  Surveying the scene, Eristta shivered, feeling bereft. She had been so close. It need not have ended the way it did. Badly. Like so many things in her life as of late. Shaking off her melancholy, she trudged back in the direction of the underground city with her supposed guides. Either way, she’d fulfilled her part of the bargain: kill the carrion bird of the EverNight Forest.

  “Took you long enough,” grumbled a shaky voice near Eristta’s delicately pointed right ear.

  Eristta wiped tired eyes. “And a thousand thanks for your non-assistance, Darous.”

  Her lifelong companion ruffled his gossamer wings in the classic Darous shrug before settling once more into the silken strands of his mistress’s midnight hair. “You do perfectly fine on your own, mistress. Haven’t I always told you so?”

  A half smile curved Eristta’s lips. She hadn’t really expected Darous to assist. A carrion bird had orphaned him as a youth, but he’d come along on the hunt nonetheless. An exceptionally brave thing to do. She gently mind-kissed her dearest friend on the top of his head, showing her appreciation for his presence.

  What shall we do, Darous, if they refuse their support? Eristta mind-spoke, her heart thudding dully.

  She felt the firewhit pat the tender spot behind her ear. “Then we find another way, Earie,” Darous whispered, using the name he had given her those many years ago when placed within her cradle. “If there is one thing you elfin folk are good at, it’s finding diamonds amongst naught but coal.”

  Chapter Two

  “Great Simeon’s guts, Peartoth! Do you think I am not in need of my arm to battle our foes?” Culdhun rubbed his shoulder beneath the nearly cleaved armor and grimaced.

  His cousin plunged his sword into the churned black soil of the practice yard. “My apologies, cousin.” Glass green eyes snapped to the crystalline towers that speared the clear sky behind them. “I feel as though there is little time. And here we wait—day after day, while others are out gathering forces.”

  Culdhun grunted and brushed mahogany braids back from his narrow face. “Truth, but hacking off my appendages will not change that fact.” The slim, powerful elf shrugged free of his leather vest as his silver eyes followed his cousin’s gaze. “You cannot blame him for wanting to keep us close after…” He cleared his throat. “Our betrayal.”

  The square-jawed Peartoth scowled. “’T’was not a betrayal. We were under a powerful spell, Culdhun.”

  Culdhun shrugged before making his way toward the turreted outbuilding. Memories of the night they battled Garethan and the golems in the palace assaulted him, as did the painful realization that none of it would have happened had they been able to resist the sorcerer’s spell. “It matters not. We allowed ourselves to be ensorcelled at the near destruction of our entire line, Peartoth.” He raised slim brows and fastened his cousin with a firm stare. “Were it me, I’d have locked us away, not left us in charge of training every able-bodied creature, be it elf or beast, to fight in the coming war. I’d also not have left us with our Ranger titles intact, our freedom—”

  “A false freedom,” Peartoth growled softly as they pushed through the nine-foot crystal doors. “Surely you can see that.”

  Culdhun sighed as he handed his tattered armor to a ready page. “I tire of your constant grumbling, Peartoth. We are none of us happy or free at this time.” His shocking silver gaze traveled the length of the impressive room where elves of varying families trained at swordplay, knife skills, and basic defensive spells. In the rooms toward the rear of the building, darker, more deadly arts were being taught and practiced.

  And elves were not the only Fey in attendance. With most of their fighting force and citizenry missing, they could not be particular about who or what offered aid. Dwarves ambled in from the dark mountains to the north. Squat, hard-bitten people with rough demeanors and even rougher manners. Then the sprites flew in. Too small to train in traditional fighting ways, they excelled in the art of spying. A herd of centaurs came forward, as well as varying forest nymphs, determined to help stop the monsters that were destroying their kin at Garethan’s command. By order of their king, all creatures that offered assistance were to be accepted into the ragtag army that gathered under the shining spires of Whitecliff at the heart of the Winter Kingdome.

  His cousin pushed past him and Culdhun bit back another harsh word. It was maddening, the waiting, the isolation. Peartoth was not alone in his foul temper. And to make matters worse, their king had chosen an outsider—a terran, albeit a powerful one, to spearhead the allied effort. To not only gather information, but to act as proxy in their king’s stead, traveling to each of the three Kingdomes, asking for their support.

  “You can offer a better choice, Culdhun?”

  Culdhun spun at the deep, resonant voice, coming face to face with his king. “Sire, I—”

  Serosen waved a hand although his slate-gray eyes were cool. “No matter. I am as much on edge as much as everyone else. If there were another who could do the task I set, I would have chosen another.”

  Bowing his head, Culdhun murmured, “Yes, Sire.”

  “Serosen, Culdhun.” A warm hand landed on his shoulder and Culdhun looked up. “That title belongs to my father…wherever he is,” the dark elf finished, his face troubled.

  A rustle followed by quick silence brought their attention around to the crystal doors. “Word comes, Sire!”

  Serosen’s expression instantly cleared as the king’s wife strode through the massive double doors, and Culdhun couldn’t help but gape along with him. The fire-haired beauty commanded respect and awe wherever she traveled within Whitecliff. “From which front?” Serosen asked as he met her halfway, beckoning Culdhun to follow.

  Conscious of the ears listening, Selena waited until her husband was at her side before whispering, “Your sister.” Her blazing azure eyes found Culdhun’s silver gaze and she grinned triumphantly. “It looks as though you’ll soon have more warriors to train, Culdhun.”

  * * * * *

  “They’re an unsavory lot, aren’t they?”

  “Be silent, Darous,” Eristta growled softly, gently shoving the firewhit further into her hair.

  “Are you certain they’ll arrive at Whitecliff in one piece?”

  Eristta clamped her lips as she watched the untidy, skulking rows of marching Drow warriors. None of whom where terribly pleased with their leader’s orders to acquit themselves to Whitecliff to train for the coming battle.

  But a bargain had been struck. At least the Drow leader had been honorable enough to keep it.

  After taking in a deep lungful of the chilled morning air, Eristta leapt from the ancient boulder at the foot of the cavern and
eyed the tree line to the east.

  “Where do you think he is, Darous?”

  The firewhit climbed around to the front of Eristta’s cheek. Holding on by one thick strand, he bounced against her chin. “Where do I think who is? Your missing hoodlum of a brother?”

  Eristta frowned as she trotted away from the resentful eyes of the warriors and into the shaded protection of the oaks. “No. Although, I’d like to know where he’s gotten to as well.”

  Darous grunted, and releasing her hair, buzzed into the air. He crossed his arms and raised a finely arched brow. “You mean the beast?”

  “He’s not a beast!” Eristta said, waving Darous back. “He’s a man, Darous. A—”

  White-hot light flashed in front of her and Eristta fixed the pear-skinned firewhit with an annoyed glare.

  “Ah, yes…a man. Well,” Darous said as he hovered far enough away to avoid Eristta’s swatting hand. “That’s nearly the same thing, now, isn’t it?”

  “Darous, you are the most bigoted, self-important creature I have ever known.”

  The firewhit smiled wolfishly, showing off startlingly white teeth. “A thousand thanks, Earie.”

  As she strode through the dense trees, Eristta fought to put Darous’s sniping out of her mind. At least he hadn’t—

  “You know he thinks himself separate from you, Eristta. I don’t know how many ways I can tell you to turn your heartbreaking violet eyes elsewhere lest your dreams be driven into dust. I’d have thought after he spurned you that first night in the baths that you’d have written him off.”

  Eristta stopped, her feet squelching into the thick layer of leaves, her heart quickening. He would have to remind her of that moment, not one of her finest. “And I don’t know how many ways I can tell you to mind your own business, firewhit.”

  It was a weak retort, and one that Eristta instantly regretted. She knew Darous had the right of it. That he was just looking out for her. And she also knew it was an abysmal waste of her time to still entertain the fantasies that had blossomed within her from the moment she’d laid eyes on Red Claw. Desires unsatisfied, despite her best efforts. Which Eristta was convinced had given rise to her obsession. Simple, wild, engrossing sex with the terran would cure her, she was certain.

  But as things stood, obtaining the cure was nearly as impossible as forcing the Furies to give un-bartered aid.

  “I’m not going with them, Darous.”

  “Mistress! Your brother, the king, has insisted that you—”

  “Enough!” Eristta knotted her hands on her slender hips as she leveled the firewhit with a firm stare. “My brother does not command me. There is a good chance Red Claw has yet to approach our uncle to the west. I can be there in two day’s time.”

  Ignoring Darous’s sputtering, Eristta trotted in a westerly direction, her thoughts set. The Drow warriors could find their own way. They feared and respected their leader enough to not disobey his command. Her presence was not needed. Of course, she’d not shared that information with Selena when they’d mind-linked briefly. One hundred warriors was a pebble barely able to make ripples in what promised to be a tumultuous sea.

  And Eristta was more determined than ever to avoid going back to the palace to simply wait for information. Too much time to think. To dream.

  “At least try to contact the beas—Uh, the shaman, so that your trip is not a wasted one, Eristta.”

  Eristta sighed and slowed, her gaze shifting to the peeved firewhit hovering inches from her face. His advice made perfect sense. And she couldn’t very well tell him that in her heart she hoped to encounter the bronze warrior in her journey. Foolish, foolish girl…

  “Alright, Darous. If it’ll stop your nattering, I’ll attempt to send him a message.”

  The firewhit raised pear-skinned arms. “Some measure of sense prevails!”

  Pushing aside a particularly generous bednet fern, Eristta worked her way into a secluded spot between bush and rock. She wiped frosted leaf litter to one side and sat cross-legged on the cool, rich loam. The thought of contacting Red Claw was daunting and exciting all in the same breath. Not that she had any intention of truly contacting the shaman. He’d be certain to tell her to go back to Whitecliff. To await word. To help train those already in attendance. Eristta’s lip curled, and she had to force her irritation down lest Darous suspect her duplicity. She felt a measure of shame for deceiving her friend, but there were times when such tactics were necessary.

  She couldn’t go back to Whitecliff. Spend time in an empty palace. Her mother now with the ancients, her father and younger brother…missing. Her friends and their mothers—captured. The only thing that had saved her sanity the weeks past had been her brother and his new bride’s happiness. Even if it was dulled by the reality of their situation, the pure pleasure they took in each other’s company brought a beacon of light into a shadow of despair. And then there was everyone’s fascination with Serosen’s bride’s true nature.

  Eristta sighed as she drew ancient symbols into the hardened ground at her feet. The Phoenix. Who would have thought she’d be reborn in a terran? It all made perfect sense now. The instant connection she’d felt with her brother’s new bride. The strange, unearthly quality of Selena’s presence. And after their miraculous rescue from Garethan’s attack in the willow, thanks to Selena, Eristta knew her new bond-sister was much more than she’d originally thought.

  Closing her eyes, Eristta imagined what it must feel like to possess such a power. To hold an ancient in the center of your spirit. An insistent tapping on her wrist brought Eristta’s eyes snapping open.

  Darous hovered above her hand, his expression foul. “Do not think to fool me with grand words and pinched eyes, Earie.” He buzzed upward and flicked a thick strand of midnight hair off Eristta’s shoulder. “Seek the bear-man and naught else.” The firewhit raised one brow. “I will know if you wander, girl.”

  Eristta frowned, but held her tongue. Faerie tits, there’s no trying to hoodwink Darous now. Stilling her rapid heart, she placed her attention on the task at hand.

  Red Claw.

  Sprinkling a fine dust of powdered unicorn horn around the symbols etched into the soil, she settled herself and drew the energies of the forest to hand.

  “Daiasthma eerin dea freenaugh…”

  The powder erupted into phosphorescent symbols, and magick filled the tiny space like a resonant bubble. Eristta closed her eyes and pictured the object of her quest. Formed from the dust like molded clay, she envisioned each foot, muscled calf and powerful thigh, up to the shaman’s lean waist and broad chest. Around and upward to his regal neck and the patrician planes of his bronze face.

  She reached with her danu awen and flung her awareness outward. Her spirit tumbled free, glorifying in its sovereignty. She’d been warned by Red Claw and Serosen that spirit travel was a risk with Garethan and his Death Mages on the prowl, and to use it only if the need was dire, but what other sure way was there to locate the elusive shaman?

  Focusing on her objective, Eristta left her physical body behind. Colors swirled around her, energy dancing along the planes of her spirit that shone silver in the muted light.

  Where are you, Red Claw? Eristta searched for his telltale signature. There. A brilliant slash of bronze bisected the ethereal plane to the west, and Eristta arrowed toward it, her senses tingling. Within seconds, a gleaming shaft of deep blue joined the other and Eristta slowed.

  Serosen!

  Muting her own silver glow, Eristta melded her spirit into the mists of the otherworld, and floated closer. Her spirit eyes fastened on the pair who were even now banking their own danu awen to hide their presence.

  Even in his spirit form, Eristta’s brother radiated power and confidence, his tattoos swirling blue within his ethereal body. Her attention snapped to Red Claw, who unfolded himself from the bear and into the impressive man that haunted her dreams and quiet moments. Shivers lanced through her at the sight of him.

  “The Drow come,�
� Serosen said after clasping arms with his hunt brother. “Near a hundred strong.”

  Red Claw nodded, the long braids on either side of his face brushing broad shoulders. “It is good.” The warrior’s face lifted, and Eristta’s heart froze at his dire look. “They march on Tee’amon, Serosen. Over two thousand, possibly three. Only a week out, if the king had the sense to set traps to slow them.”

  Eristta and Serosen both gasped at his words. Fortunately, her reaction went unnoticed, as Serosen had moved in closer to his hunt brother, his face creased with fury. “We’d never arrive in time to give aid. And we’ve not the army to match them. It would be a slaughter!”

  The shaman gripped Serosen’s shoulder. “I have enlisted aid from your uncles to the south and east. The Spring and Autumn Kingdomes will march with us in battle, meeting near Aroaran Craig, yet there is resistance from some members of the royal families.”

  Which meant that even though they were committed to fight Garethan, there could be conspirators working against them. A very dangerous alliance, Eristta knew. Anger blazed fresh at the ignorance of a People that were supposedly an enlightened race.

  “What of the faeries?” Serosen asked hopefully.

  Silence met his question. Eristta observed Red Claw, unrest churning inside her like a violent sea.

  “I have yet to locate them.”

  Serosen hung his head, shining hair falling forward. “Without the faerie, there is little hope that we can drive them back from Tee’amon, even with my uncle’s forces.”

  Unable to stop herself, Eristta resumed her visual form and stepped forward. “I will find them.”

  “Eristta!” Serosen rounded on her, his face thunderous. “Didn’t we tell you the grave risk in—”

  Eristta raised a brow. “Spirit travel?” Her gaze raked the two warriors. “Funny how you fail to follow your own advice.”