‘Yes, of course. Most, in fact. Still higher than humans, though,’ she whispered and nodded graciously at the grim man who asked for a waiter to approach. ‘Great warriors, the lot of the elves, quick and skillful and merciless. Humans are hardier, able to endure rigors and pains. That’s the reason why only Ron is dead in the training so far.’
‘Will you drink? Eat?’ the elder of the men asked in a hopeless tone as a grinning redheaded lady stopped by the table, lifting her eyebrow.
‘Both!’ I blurted, and the men smiled fixedly, their eyes going to the elf.
‘My servant,’ Cosia said sternly, ‘is an idiot. But she speaks for me as well, and for some reason, before me. Bring us Mereidan Wine, roasted pork with Master Green’s Sauce and assorted vegetables. Some fish, carp? If you have it?’
The two men were looking at each other in mortification as the waiter nodded with eyes full of respect. The younger man stuttered and nodded at the waiter. ‘Yes, bring us … Mereidan. You heard the mistress and some meats for us as well. Ale. Red Ale.’ The two wiped their brows gently and attempted to chat about their households.
Cosia leaned on me again. ‘Mereidan Wine is of golden color, tastes damnably expensive and will cost more than their horses’ pet bottles. They took Red Ale for it is cheap and nearly tasteless and all they can afford now.’ She giggled, and I could not help but join her.
‘What brings you to Trad, ma tarish?’ the younger man asked. ‘Ah, I am Count Elor and this is my uncle, Lord Commander Maxam. We are of Duke Greyhelm’s house, subject to ma tarish Glamir Tarnis.’
‘I said I am not from the south. I’m ma narith, of the north. Stop quaking. And mistress Glamir is known to us,’ she said as the poor humans bowed their heads in supplication. ‘They are the fifty-fourth house to the Regency, are they not? House Tarnis?’
‘Fifty-third,’ Elor said with some pride. ‘There was a war last year and two houses were left with so few nobles they were combined to their victors.’
Cosia grinned. ‘I am Kalas Rimith, of the House Rimith. The tenth house.’
They bowed immediately, low and nearly banged their foreheads to the desk. ‘An honor, it is,’ Maxam said happily.
‘I will speak to the mistress Glamir with high praises of your manners and goodwill towards weary travelers,’ she said. And leaned to me, whispering. ‘Most of the first twenty houses are housed in the Freyr’s Tooth, clients of Houses Safiroon and Bardagoon. Of course, Coinar and Daxamma, and Vautan have their place in the top five, but …’
‘How does one measure the worth of a house?’ I hissed softly as the two men were discreetly counting their coin.
‘It was set so by Freyr, the lines of nobles by the purity of their hearts and blood,’ she said. ‘There were games and good deeds expected from those who would rule. That time is gone. It is so because he is gone, and so what was discreet in his time, is now the norm. A house must be able to overcome another in battle, in a challenge approved by the Feast of Fates. Of course, they might just surprise a house without any such agreement, but must win utterly with no survivors. Of course, it is easier to wipe out many houses in a larger war. Often when the great houses go to war, the real victims are the lesser ones, usually left crippled and victims to those who did not take part. Often, if a house is left too weak, the nobles renounce the house and join their conquerors or those who will have them. Or go and live as commoners. Few maa’dark are allowed to, of course, and … ah! Our wine!’
‘Indeed!’ Maxam said with small panic, and I turned to see people staring at us, for a fabulous bottle of green inlaid with gold and emeralds was being carefully carried by what was apparently the most steady-handed servant. She was frowning at the bottle, and a male child with a happy, freckled smile followed her and then grinned at me happily. He was carrying goblets. They ended up at our table, and a small chorus of claps could be heard.
‘Need a loan, Elor?’ yelled someone from the back, and the young noble grinned at us, his face white.
‘I’m sorry,’ Cosia asked, looking shocked. ‘You cannot pay for this? But you invited us to your table?’
‘I can pay,’ Elor nodded bravely. ‘By next year, I should be able to eat again. I’ll eat my horse in the meantime, so don’t worry, dear lady.’
I giggled, Elor quaffed, Cosia roared, and so, we had a fine evening. We sampled the wine, which the servant always rushed to pour, the boy with her. It was rather like what Euryale had served me though that had fortified me, this made me uncannily happy. Didn’t Anja also tell how she drank to excess? It certainly made misery flee for a while, at least. I frowned and shook such thoughts away as I leaned back. We ate well, the men told jokes about their lords and Elor of his mistress, even risking dirty gossip about mistress Glamir and their duke, for Cosia seemed a most relaxed elf.
‘Care for a dance?’ Elor asked, slightly drunk, half pushing himself up.
‘Me?’ I asked, stupefied. I gazed at the floor, where people were holding hands, their feet thrumming the floor in a nearly magical cadence. ‘I have not …’
‘He was not asking me,’ Cosia said with a grimace. ‘Go on, fool. You won’t get a chance soon.’ That was true.
Elor got up, pulled me with him, his handsome face looking like a pirate with a golden chest of loot as he pulled me along. ‘Your cloak, drop it,’ he instructed, and I did, over the chair. He swept me along to the middle of a throng of people enjoying themselves. The wine, the food, and the ale I had stolen from Elor and the thrumming, heart-beating, near barbarous music hitting the floor, the ceilings and the smiles around me? It all made me dizzy with happiness. He twirled me, I knew absolutely nothing about what I was doing, but soon, and very soon I fell into the rhythm and surprised myself with a huge laugh. He laughed back, and I was so happy. Lex’s gallant face swept by my thoughts, surprising me, but I cursed him. Something inside me was trying to spoil the evening for me as if I had no right to dance with Elor, but I forgot Lex soon, forcing myself to let go.
In the swirl of the dance, I noticed a party enter the tavern.
I frowned for a second, for there was something unusual about them. They held themselves alert, straight, and their faces were hidden in heavy cowls. There were ten of them; four of them dressed better, in modest dark and red colors, with rich twirls in their sleeves. One was lithe and small, a female perhaps and had a pale green cloak with a rampant, dark beast sewn on it. Though the tavern keeper that sauntered over to greet them did a commendable job of acting like they were frequent guests, it was clear they were not. Some were armed heavily, swords, axes, two had shields with a figure of a pale, red star.
Then I knew what was wrong.
Three of them were holding power, touching the Shades. Two of those were tall males; white and yellow hair peeking under their hoods, and one was the woman. My eyes settled on the tallest of them, wide of shoulders as he gently pushed along a slight figure, a female who was not touching the Shades. He was holding onto some sort of a spell, one to … defend himself? Perhaps. It was made of cinders and fires and would take a lot of power to hammer through, I thought for some reason. Almheir? The Regent?
The others held similar defensive spells, eyeing the room carefully. Then, suddenly, they moved upstairs using a broad staircase by the door. Some of the hooded figures stayed on the stairs, and others on the next floor, eyeing the floor warily.
Elor leaned on me. ‘Some high elf. Here to set deals for the Feast of Fates,’ he whispered. ‘Ah, the star of Bardagoon and the Beast of Safiroon. Northerners. Like you. Your lords, in fact, rulers of your mistresses’ house.’
‘Yes, I think so,’ I told him, and the music eased, a small thrum running through us, and the dancers around us smiled and relaxed, wiping sweat and leaning on each other. Elor looked surprised but gestured me closer. ‘Might as well. I’m not married. And you …’
‘I’m not, no,’ I told him and stepped into his arms. ‘But you just praised your mistress, did you not?’
&nb
sp; ‘I lied,’ he told me sheepishly. ‘It was something my friend told me about his, and likely he lied as well.’ I giggled as he led me around slowly; his footwork gentle, and I let him, twirling in his arms. I let the music, wine, and Elor take me around the floor, and in my mind I forgot Euryale, the Ten Tears, the Dark Levy and all my commitments. I considered running to the city, escaping. I shook my head in sorrow.
The Rot.
Dana.
The others? Yes, them as well.
Elor’s eyes were glowing. ‘I’m a soldier, and I’m supposed to be brave. So, let me take the lead here. I think you are beautiful. I mean, I know nothing of you. You are with a ma narith of the north, yet there are no humans in the tenth house, for the tenth house live near Ljusalfheim, the forbidden continent. I’m confused. By that. By your eyes and lips. And …’
And I kissed him.
There were snickers around us, apparently aimed at us as the music gently let us love each other, just for a moment. It was a long kiss, and enjoyable, and I felt it to my toes as his tongue touched mine. He stopped the dance, I allowed him to, crushing myself to him, and then the music stopped.
He pulled away; his handsome, strong face blushed with happiness.
‘I …’
He died.
I felt it. I felt Cosia draw in power, harnessing a spell of Fury, heat and fiery flames. Two pillars of flame shot up in the middle of the room, angry fingers of molten fire, the whole house was rocking in its roots. One rushed up to the air, tearing Elor with it, strewing him about in burning bits before me. I whirled to stare at Cosia while rolling away from the flames. She was grinning, her face an unholy mask of sadistic wrath, and I saw Maxam was bleeding on the floor, his grim face astonished as he held his slashed belly. The flames thrust higher, hit the ceiling with a roar, and a fiery rain came down, like a fountain of death, spreading and spitting angry white flames that burned holes in the people and furniture. I ran and dodged as the fierce, arrow-like fires splashed on the floor, amidst bodies. People and elves, formerly happy and now terrified ran, those who could. They ran but were scorched and mauled by the thickening, dropping fires, the insidious flames igniting their clothing and limbs. I stared in horror as a dozen revelers danced around in fire, holes in their clothing and bodies. Cosia giggled and pulled another spell together. She let curl a fiery whip and faced some elves running down from the stairs, wielding swords and axes, their faces full of wrath. They moved fast as wraiths, looking for a culprit, and Cosia hid the whip behind her. The musicians and the elf who had controlled the horn pointed at Cosia, and four armed elves faced her, and then rushed her. She danced away, lashing her hidden flame across two, cutting them in half, their bodies falling heavily against tables. The two remaining ones dodged falling fire, but only one managed it. One caught some on his back, turning him into a screaming pyre. The last one thrust at Cosia, but the wicked woman danced under the savage sword, grabbed the elf and breathed fire on his face. He died in an instant. Cosia laughed savagely and let the corpse fall.
Wind tore through the room, igniting more flames, and I saw Cosia flying around to land heavily on the floor, but she sprung up like a cat. On top of the stairs, the three highborn elves stood, two in armor of black and red, one with the green beast embroiled on the chest. It was a woman who had cast the wind, and she pulled again at the Shades, and I felt and saw the wind spell taking form again as Cosia struggled upright, grinning. The elven males moved for the stairs. Cosia grimaced at that, fell again with the wind, and as she rolled, she was calling for ice and water, so much frigid water. That water bubbled from the cracks of the stairs and then she snapped her fingers. The stairs broke as the water turned into ice, the mortar holding the stones turned into liquid puddles, and the whole thing crashed down with an enormous rumble, all the way to the basement and perhaps beyond.
The elves retreated back to the balcony and faced her, calling for spells. Spears of flames were flicking across Cosia’s dress as she dodged a firewall. Then she stepped away from a gout of blue flames and finally, acrobatically, incredibly smartly she rolled away from a force of wind that threw around burning furniture.
‘Your turn, Shannon,’ she hissed.
She turned her eyes on one of the humans left untouched in the terrible hell of the tavern, likely due to her skill. It was the boy. His hair was long, blond and his face was one of shock as he stared at one burning lump of flesh. Perhaps his mother. Father? I sobbed. ‘No!’ I screamed.
‘Yes,’ Cosia hissed. She summoned a small, fierce ball of fire and it flew in the air, hit the boy in the shoulder and with an evil sizzle burst through it.
‘You bitch!’ yelled a high, imperious voice. ‘Die!’ The building rocked as the tall elf on the balcony jumped down, landing heavily. A fiery circle of fire protected him, and Cosia retreated from his wrath to the shadows where she melded. I prayed she would die as the elf summoned a blade of red flames, invoking powers to pull at Cosia, to find her from the dark corners. She flew to her face, her fingers scraping at the boards, and she grimaced as she was dragged towards him. She snapped her fingers, I felt and saw the Shades, and at that time, she rolled to the dark portal that appeared between her and the fierce elf.
I saw the Shades.
Euryale. She was around as well. Where was she?
I ran to the boy, who was sobbing his life away, a fist-sized bit of meat gone. The elf lord was near me, staring around in horrified anger, spitting at the sight of the burning bodies, summoning mist that was moist, trying to douse the flames. ‘Help me!’ he yelled up at the two others.
I ignored them and pulled at the healing power. I filled myself with it, feeling I would need every ounce of it and then, finally, breathed it to the boy. His flesh turned pink, then red, and he shuddered in stinging pain. I did it again, praying I could and cast my spell. I was feeling dizzy, the ice flowing from my being to him, and he cried weakly as he lost consciousness, the skin folding over the hole, his shoulder forever hurt, but he would, perhaps live.
I fell over him, then onto my back on the sooty floor as a hand dragged me up.
There was the elf lord staring at me in stupefaction. His eyes scoured my eyes, still keeping a hold on me. His mouth made incredulous sounds as he crouched next to me. He was handsome, his chin wide, his hair hugely thick, white and curly, framing his ancient, nearly colorless eyes. ‘You healed him? How?’
‘I’m the Hand of Life,’ I told him slowly.
He shook his head at that and turned to look up. There, the two elves were whispering, apparently having witnessed the same sight.
But Euryale was not done.
There was a scream. A terrified, long cry of female horror. The elf lord got up in panicked haste, the sword of flame quivering in his hand. ‘Aloise!’ he yelled. ‘Save her!’
The two elves turned to look up. From the stairway upstairs, elven bodies tumbled down, the guards slashed and ripped apart and then, thin, mocking laughter could be heard. I saw the fourth of the nobles; an elven woman of exquisite beauty, and Euryale was holding her by the throat at the top of the stairs, high and evil. Time froze. I heard her voice, a sing-song thing of spiteful mockery drifting down at us. ‘Come, Regent, come and save your wife. And she is pregnant?’
He ran to the broken stairs, and climbed the remains with an uncanny ability, screaming at Euryale, incoherent with rage. Euryale laughed, tore the clothing off Aloise Bardagoon and sunk her fangs into her neck. I felt an ache hammer at my own shoulder as Aloise screamed. She let her go as the Regent reached the top of the stairs, full of rage, harnessing a spell.
I thought they would fight. I hoped he would prevail.
Instead, I saw a shadow moving across the walls, swift as lightning and then, a twirl of darkness as Euryale grabbed me. I saw her face, her mouth smothered in blood, and I knew she had given the wife of the Regent the Rot. She pulled me in, her mocking, dreadful eyes meeting those of the powerful elves staring down at her. The Regent turned to look at us
, his eyes haunted with fear and rage. She grinned. ‘Sorry, Shannon,’ she said apologetically and slapped me so hard things went black for me.
I woke up in her chambers. She was pacing back and forth, staring at the ceilings. I came to, not saying anything, noticed I could no longer see and feel the Shades. She stalked around for a time until she stopped and stared down at me. ‘Well, Shannon. Thank you. You did fine.’
I sobbed and noticed I had been holding my breath. I rubbed my face, not wishing to see her. ‘You killed all those people.’
‘We did. We did that to make the Regent take note. He knows there is a Hand of Life. He knows I hold her. And he will not mind she is a human.’
‘Because you gave the Rot to his wife?’ I asked in misery. ‘And while I cannot heal myself, I can heal her?’
‘Yes. And soon, very soon, I will give you to him. During the Feast of Fates, he will be a desperate elf. Desperate enough to make mistakes.’
‘Why then? Why not now?’ I asked desperately.
She shook her snake-ridden head. ‘A bit of wine, kisses and happiness, and you are so ready to leave us. I sense there is a part of you that desires power and control, just like I do. Those who have always been without it, often do. But you were happy, and all you can think of is a joy of freeing yourself from us, not the longer game with great rewards. And now you also hate me.’
‘That boy? His mother? I …’
‘You are allied with me, Shannon. You made a pact with me. For your sister. Think about that. What are the humans to us? Even to you, for we are maa’dark, and they all fear us, and race has nothing to do with that. You will learn this. Do not feel sorry for the elves, either. Nor their servants. If you don’t see how cruel life can be and blame me for all the violence in Aldheim, at least think of Dana.’
‘I will,’ I told her miserably. ‘Will there be more children getting slaughtered before this is over?’
‘Yes,’ she answered instantly. ‘Many more. Is that clear?’
The Dark Levy: Stories of the Nine Worlds (Ten Tears Chronicles - a dark fantasy action adventure Book 1) Page 21
