Dockalfar

by Nunn, PL

  “Look at you, pretty young thing. Come here and let Annis take a look at you.”

  “Do you have family around here?”

  Victoria asked, moving forward, taking the old woman’s thin arm. “You should not be out here at night by yourself. You could fall, no one would know.”

  “Ah, so sweet,” the crone sighed.

  “Young folk are hardly ever sweet anymore. I saw your light. Smelt your meat. Do you have any to spare for a lonely old soul?”

  “Of course.” She released the old woman and hurried to what was left of her dinner. “There’s a good portion left. Let me just restart my fire and you can join us.”

  The fire sputtered to life and the crone’s eyes widened.

  “You’ve magic?”

  “Well… yes. I’m very new at it.”

  “Oh, delicious,” the old woman clasped her hands. “A magic user. It’s been so long since I…talked with a magic user.” Then she stopped and her face sagged into deeper wrinkles. “Did you say ‘us’? Are you not alone?”

  “Not really,” Victoria admitted.

  “Dusk is somewhere about. He tends to be hard to see sometimes. But don’t worry about him. He’s harmless.”

  But the old woman was searching the ravine with narrowed eyes. Victoria could almost feel a thin film of power radiate from the crone. Then it was gone. The old woman spun and stabbed a long finger at Victoria.

  “You lie. There’s no one else here. Do you think to scare old Annis off?”

  Victoria gaped at the violence in the elder’s tone. “Of course not. He is here, somewhere.”

  And rather suddenly, as if to prove her point, Dusk stepped out from the shadow, cloaked and hooded like the grim reaper. Old Annis stepped back, holding up a hand as if to ward him off.

  “Dark sidhe,” she hissed. “You travel with the night, girl.”

  “No, I travel in the night,” Victoria said dryly, casting an irritated glance at Dusk for his dramatics. “It’s perfectly all right. Really.”

  Dusk was not helping, standing there, looking so foreboding. She practically choked in surprise when he did do something. He spoke. Very softly, very slowly.

  “The hunting here is dangerous. Very dangerous. Seek easier game.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Victoria demanded, casting an apologetic glance at the old woman. But Annis was backing away, face twisted into a snarl. Sharp teeth hid behind withered, wrinkled lips. Her eyes were glued on Dusk. When she reached the edge of the ravine she cackled and spat in their direction.

  Victoria was dumb struck.

  “Ignorant fledgling,” she shrilled.

  “You let old Annis go to hunt you another day.”

  Dusk did not move. Victoria blinked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She hunts youth,” Dusk said quietly behind her. “Youthful flesh gives her the illusion of youth herself.”

  “Ha!” the old woman laughed as she struggled up the hill. “She’s an infant. Younger than the youngest newborn. And you’re nothing but a child, dark one. Your flesh would be almost as tasty.”

  “Try,” he suggested.

  Annis topped the rise and fled into the night. Victoria sat shivering by her fire, numb. That something so innocent, so helpless seeming as an ancient woman, could hide a predator was stunning.

  Terrifying. Nothing in this land was ever as it seemed.

  “She wanted to eat me?” she asked in a small voice, almost afraid to turn and look at Dusk. When he did not answer, she did turn. He had not moved. She could not see his face under the hood. “She would have eaten me.” Then it occurred to her that the assassin had not done what his nature demanded.

  “Why did you let her go? Why didn’t you kill her?”

  He shrugged finally and moved to circle the small area that they had claimed for their own. “There was no need.”

  “She said she would hunt us again. Didn’t she? If I wasn’t here, would you have killed her?”

  “No,” he answered shortly.

  “No?”

  Finally he whirled on her, exasperated. “Lady, if you were not here, she never would have come. Never would have been attracted by the light.”

  “Oh.” A certain amount of contrition eased over her. “Do you think she’ll be back tonight?”

  “If she’s wise, no. I give no second chances.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Part Thirteen

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The sprites were becoming an annoyance. An overwhelming, brainless irritation that had the hair on Bashru’s back bristling. The glowing vermin would not leave him alone. They harassed and molested him at every turn. They had the nighthorse snapping and bucking at the snap of a stick or the rustle of leaves.

  Bashru was ready to abandon his mission to find the human girl and devote all his time and effort into setting sprite traps and collecting as many of the pesky creatures as possible for a great steaming pot of tumble root and sprite stew. It was almost as if they knew he had serious business to attend and no time to dally with them. For five days, since he had retraced his path to the place where he and the ogre had lost track of the girl, the agitating things had been plaguing him. He had taken to sleeping during the daylight hours when the sprites were not as likely to venture forth, because they took such great relish in tormenting him during the night. They had taken his packs and loosened the nighthorse tether one night, chasing the disagreeable beast far into the forest before Bashru had been able to catch him.

  Even then, the animal had come up lame and the spriggan had been forced to walk for two days before the leg was strong enough to support a rider’s weight.

  Bashru hated sprites. He hated humans who aimlessly wondered off and got themselves lost. He hated assassins who should have been competent enough to solve the problem before a poor spriggan got hauled into the situation. And he very quietly, and far back under his conscious thoughts, which could be read by an enterprising sidhe, hated Azeral for sending him on such a hopeless mission.

  The Forest was huge. The human wench was probably long since something’s supper. Or she was so deeply lost that she’d never be found. Or something had found her and she was starting out her days as some lucky creature’s human slave. Humans made good servants. He remembered the days when humans crossed over the boarders to Elkhavah all the time. Brought as slaves or captives or brides. Humans used to think the inhabitants of Elkhavah gods to worship.

  Or demons to fear. They never ignored them. And never ever took them for granted.

  A sprite buzzed through the darkness and whipped past Bashru’s nose. He swatted viciously at it, but it avoided him with something akin to a tinkling laugh. He glowered and thought dark thoughts. The night horse tossed its head, pulling nervously at its reins. Bashru cursed at it and jerked at the bit. The animal heaved a great sigh of irritation and made certain to wander painfully close to the next thornbark tree they passed. Bashru vowed to eat it one day. But he kept that to himself, having no desire to walk. He was traveling a path that could only barely be classified a game trail. It was covered with tumbled undergrowth and littered with limbs. Great spilling falls of moss tumbled down from towering oaks, sparkling with tiny bits of phosphorescence. Dew coated the nighthorse’s legs and Bashru’s leggings.

  The chorus of night song enveloped everything in a reassuring harmony. And then, the sprites went away. At first, Bashru did not notice, so busy was he riding hunched over in his saddle bemoaning his misfortunes. But after a while, when no irritating little miscreant fluttered out to harass him, when for so long they had been doing nothing else, he noticed the lack of presence. He sat a little straighter and looked about the woods, eyes squinted in the dark, nose twitching as he searched for scent of something that might chase the sprites away. The night sounds were undaunted. The tree frogs and the crickets, the birds and the night animals were not in the least alarmed. But there were so many things that hunted more soph
isticated prey. Things that the lower animals had no natural fear of because there was no danger to them.

  Those were the things that a spriggan had to fear. Things that needed an intelligent soul to feed upon. Things that might, in a pinch, go after a sprite. But not, if there was larger prey afoot.

  He shivered under the rough weave of his tunic, and clutched the carved bone hilt of his dagger. Spriggans did not prey to the same gods sidhe did. They relied upon the whims of fate and their own innate ability to survive and if that did not protect them, then it was just as well. For a spriggan that could not see to his own safety was a poor spriggan indeed. He urged the nighthorse to a faster pace. It tossed its head in irritation and flattened its long ears. It was no more scared of the night than the birds and frogs, but one could hardly call it intelligent. Then, suddenly, its eyes did roll and it snorted in more than minor agitation at its rider.

  Bashru clutched handfuls of mane as it skittishly sidestepped, half bucking in its disturbance. Its gaze was fixed to the obscuring fall of ivy and moss to the left and the darkness beyond that. He kicked it hard to get it moving and with an explosive release of air it did, launching into full gallop with such alacrity that Bashru’s head snapped back and he almost lost his seating. He clung like a small, gnarly burr to the nighthorse’s back, hopefully making as small a target as possible. He imagined bogles swarming through the forest after him, or baen spirits wanting to feed on the substance of his soul, or tilpen-sel who fed on the screams of their victims, or even goblins who would relish to feed on spriggan flesh, regardless of soul or screams. The nighthorse jumped a brook, its hind legs sending up a spray of water as it struggled up the opposite bank. Soft, spongy moss flew in the effort. Then something was in front of them, right up in the nighthorse’s face. The animal screamed. Bashru screamed. His mount reared in shock, lost its footing in the soggy ground and tumbled backwards. With a monumental splash it crashed into the brook. Bashru threw himself clear and found himself in several feet of water, his hat dripping over his brow and his dagger clutched securely in his hand. The nighthorse surged to its feet, dangerously close, and stood trembling, sides heaving. Bashru cursed it under his breath and scanned the bank in desperation. Where was it?

  Whatever it was. Something had flashed in front of them, plain as day, and now it was gone. He started mumbling wards that never really worked in a pinch. He began figuring how to sacrifice the nighthorse to whatever was stalking him, and hope it was delayed long enough for a resourceful spriggan to make good his escape. The horse was an encumbrance. The horse could not hide itself or cover its movements. It drew attention to itself and its rider. The horse was staring at him balefully and accusingly, no doubt dwelling on all the uncomfortable things it could do if Bashru decided to remount.

  Bashru would do well to be rid of it.

  There was a crashing of leaves and twigs from the way they had come. Bashru whirled and dove for the cover of the bank ready to fight for his life and soul. And found himself staring at a single, slim, long-legged female in finely wrought sidhe leathers with a delicate sidhe knife in her hand and wisps of reddish hair escaping a braid to float around her face.

  He stared, wide eyed, as she came to a panting halt some ten feet from his position and bent over to rest her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

  She was not a sidhe. She was more delicate than a bakatu, which left one alternative that he could think of. “You!!”

  he accused. He jumped up so quickly that he startled the horse. He shook a massive hand at the girl and scrambled up the bank towards her.

  She straightened and held out her puny knife as if that would deter him. His own blade was twice as long and had tasted more blood than ran in her body.

  “Wait,” she said, before he reached out to grab her arm and shook her hard enough to make her drop the knife. She half cried out in more shock than pain and tried to pull away. Bashru was having none of it. He knew not what kindly spirit had smiled on him to bring them together, but he was not risking a turn in favor. He did not even care how she had gotten here, or why she was wearing sidhe clothing and carrying a sidhe blade.

  It was as he was drawing her forward, thinking of how quickly he could make it back to Azeral’s court that his hand started to burn. It started as a pin prick of heat, then rather startlingly it blazed to life as a roaring, white hot flame. The spriggan let out a screech and jerked his injured member from the human girl, shaking it convulsively to put out the fire. But there were no flames, and despite the fact that it felt like all the flesh had been charred from the bone, it was whole.

  The girl was glaring at him.

  “So nice to see you again too.” She sniffed and crossed her arms over her breast.

  He gaped at her, then at his hand. The heat slowly faded. “Did you do that?” he whispered, cradling his hand. She shrugged, and looked about the wood.

  “There are goblins in the woods. I was trying to warn you. I really wonder if I should have bothered.”

  “Goblins?” he repeated dumbly.

  “You warnin’ me?”

  “There weren’t that many,” she muttered, then her eyes lit up as they fixed on something behind him and she amended. “There probably aren’t any now.”

  Bashru whirled and looked at the opposite bank. There was nothing there but forest. Green on brown with patches of yellow that glowed dully in the night’s scant light. Then it shifted and flowed down the bank in a roughly man-sized shape and with graceful, delicate motions leaped across the brook using outcropping stones to keep from getting its boots wet.

  Bashru gaped even more. Then managed to get his astonishment under control and compose his features.

  “You’ve been dallying, assassin,” he accused. “Takin’ your own time bringing this girl back. His Lordship’s agitated enough as is.”

  “Might you mean, Azeral?” the girl leaned forward, a practiced smile on her lips. “Is he eager to meet me?”

  Bashru glared at her for the affront of Azeral’s name on her lips. “Been tellin’ her all the master’s business too, have you?”

  The assassin flowed over to stand behind her, what might have been a troubled expression on his face. Bashru did not care. All that mattered was that he had the human girl, who Azeral had sent him to find and bring back, and the Ciagenii assassin, whose services Azeral valued, was with her. Bashru might very well be amply rewarded.

  He stomped back into the brook to gather the reins of the nervous nighthorse. The animal’s eyes were showing red at the edges and its nostrils expanded rapidly with labored breathing. Bashru growled at it under his breath.

  “You’re heading straight back to the keep, or were you planning a side trip to Lake Eerna to show the wench the water lights? Only a few weeks out of the way. The master should understand.” He cast a scowl over his shoulder at the assassin.

  There was no response to the jibe from that corner.

  The lady smiled though, a sweet curving of her lips that the spriggan almost found attractive. “Not right now. Later maybe. At the moment I’m rather eager to meet your master.”

  “Oh and a lively meeting it should be,” Bashru muttered. He hauled the nighthorse out of the brook and stood for a moment to get his bearings. His mad dash had taken him askew of the course he had been traveling. He made to pull himself up onto the animal, but the assassin’s light touch stopped him. He flinched away from it as from a burning poker and glared indignantly and just a tad nervously at the Ciagenii. Dusk stepped back from the violent reaction, pulling his hand back within the folds of his cloak. If the spriggan didn’t know better, he would have thought embarrassment flickered across the dark sidhe’s face.

  “Let the lady ride,” Dusk murmured, hardly audible. Bashru drew his considerable brows.

  “She’s got longer legs than I,” he complained. The assassin lifted his head slightly and just stared at the spriggan.

  Bashru cursed and threw the reins to the earth.

 
; “Fine. Let the wench ride. Damned animal’ll probably take her leg off.”

  ~~~

  They made camp in a grotto next to a pool of uninhabited water. The girl started a small fire with nothing more than a flick of her finger and sat beside it carefully roasting the small game that Dusk had brought to her. Bashru glared at her surreptitiously from under his brows.

  Humans with magic. It was unnatural. And the way she used it. So casual that she almost didn’t notice she was doing it. It made his skin crawl with more than its usual ailment of lice and fleas. And her mood! By Annwn, she was almost cheerful to be traveling to Azeral’s court.

  Did anyone not of the Unseelie court want to visit it? He thought not. Eager to see her human lover, no doubt. Her mood might change once she did, considering what Azeral and that daughter of his had been up to.

  And the assassin! He thought the Ciagenii had lost some of his mind.

  Bashru had been at Azeral’s keep the day the Master brought back a mewling, crying Ciagenii infant, and never once during all that time since, even as a youngling, had Dusk spoken more than three words to anyone other than to ask a question or to answer one. And in one night Bashru had heard him speak whole sentences to this human wench. Granted, she prompted it.

  She was fearless in her treatment of the Ciagenii. She ordered him about. She snapped at him. She hesitated not to touch him in order to draw attention or get a point across. Bashru expected to see her sprawling for the offenses. But Dusk tolerated it. He was also staying close to camp, which was another anomaly. Once darkness hit, one almost never saw the Ciagenii. If he made an appearance at all, it was generally the next morning and then only briefly. That night, he actually sat across the camp between Bashru and the girl. Far enough out of the light to blend with the shadows granted, but he was there.

  The girl offered him a piece of meat and he shrugged and refused. She frowned and snapped at him, asking if he ate at all or merely subsided off air. The assassin very carefully told her that he had eaten during the day and she glared at him for it.