Dockalfar

by Nunn, PL

  There was a disturbance at the window. A scratching and flapping that had her eyes wide open and her heart beat hammering. The great, yellow breasted bird found purchase on her window sill. It blinked its black ringed, yellow eyes at her and tilted its head. Its balance was awkward. It hopped on one sharp clawed leg and held the other close to it’s body.

  When she looked closer, expecting to find some injury she found instead a round, smooth stone as big as a chicken egg. Why would it bring a stone to her window?

  It squawked at her in impatience and dropped the stone to the floor. It rolled a few feet then came to a rocking rest. The bird stared at it a moment, then primly shuffled around and launched itself from the ledge. Victoria stared at it even longer, face frozen in surprise. She would not have been overly shocked had it chosen that moment to explode and end her misery then and there. But it did not. All it did was sit quietly in the spot it had come to rest in and wait for her to make the first move. She finally tore her gaze away from it and looked back to the window, but the bird was well and truly gone. She was alone again, save for the innocuous rock.

  Slowly, she put her shielding pillow aside and put a foot to the floor. She crept towards the stone and knelt before it, staring at it blankly. It was a rock. A mere rock. Grayish brown and not quite evenly round. There was a chip in one side, and lighter scratches in its surface that might have come from the sharp claws of the bird. She reached out a finger and touched it. Nothing. Of course nothing. It was just a rock. She was allowing her nerves to get the better of her. Imagining a rock was something more than what it was. With a sharp jab of determination she picked it up. As soon as her fingers closed about it and it lay pressed against her palm, a sharp tingle shot up her arm. Eyes widening in mute shock she reflexively went to fling it down, but her fingers momentarily refused to obey her brain.

  It was not a physical shock. Once she thought about it, she realized she had not really ‘felt’ it at all. It was something beyond physical that merely traveled from the route where she touched the stone to her head. It was a magic, but not the kind that triggered her defensive barriers. All it did was leave an intensive thought/

  sentence in her mind. A message that once released ceased to be. The stone returned to being a stone, cold and lifeless. When she dropped it, it fell with a thud to the floor and lay still. She sat and stared at it, with words that were in the tone of her own voice playing over and over inside her head.

  ‘Ride with the hunt. Ride with the hunt. Ride with the hunt.’

  It was simple and urgent and absolutely void of any explanation or reason why she should do any such thing.

  Who could have sent her such a message capsule? Surely it had not come from the pair of curious birds. Surely some higher creature was responsible. What if it were some ploy of Azeral’s? Some twisted manipulation created to bewilder her more than she already was. On the other hand, what if it wasn’t? Might it be someone on the outside who knew of her plight, and waited to help? That was too giddy a thought. What if her Seelie friends had come to her rescue after all?

  Bravely, she reached down and picked up the stone again, hoping it might release some further scrap of information.

  But it lay passive in her hand. Biting her lip in uncertainty, she rose from her knees and went to her window. With all her might she flung the rock from it. It arched out, away from the keep wall and fell towards the steep slope of the foliage covered mountain side.

  She turned with her back to the window and stared blindly into the ornate confines of her prison. So. Someone wanted her to ride with the hunt. All that remained to be seen, was who.

  ~~~

  The spriggan could not find the assassin all the first day. He searched frantically, anonymous in the frenzy and speculation over Deigah’s fall. In Bashru’s mind was the niggling suspicion that the dark sidhe, being sidhe and therefore twisted in his logic, might have done the unthinkable and gone to his master with the confession of guilt. At any moment, the spriggan expected to be descended upon by ogre guards or angry high sidhe.

  They would spirit him to the dungeons, slowly strip the flesh from his body then torment the tender, raw meat beneath. They would salt him and burn him and do horrible things to his feet.

  They would gorge out his eye balls and piece his ear drums. They would slice his tongue to ribbons and make him swallow it and he did not even want to contemplate what they would do to his poor shriveled organ.

  Whenever he saw a sidhe, he crept back into the shadows and held his breath, but they had no eyes for a mere spriggan.

  They were in their own world of grief and mourning. There was no great feast that night. No music and no song. The servants were given slight reprieve while the court kept to their rooms, wallowing in their misery. Bashru thought it a good act. It was a popular bit of change, the mourning.

  They played the part to perfection. But a spriggan with a close eye, who was furtively slipping about the keep saw a sly smile here or a glint in the eye there.

  The mourning would not last long.

  Late the second day, while he was roaming the catacombs under the keep the assassin found him. The Ciagenii was all dark, hooded and cloaked as though his master had set him on some delicate task.

  For a brief moment, Bashru’s errant mind spun the tale that Dusk had indeed told Azeral and the great lord had set the assassin to find and kill his accomplices.

  The spriggan shrank back from the shadowy form and stared wide-eyed, knowing there was no chance if that were the case. But Dusk made no motion of violence towards him. Merely stood waiting, as though Bashru had come upon him and not the other way around. The spriggan took courage at that and shook the tension out of his limbs.

  “Where you been?” he hissed. “Been turning the keep upside down lookin’ for you.” He did not expect a reply, so he went on. “Anyone talked with you about… it?”

  The Ciagenii shook his head. Bashru could barely see the movement in the shadow.

  “Well I saw the lady Huntress find a dagger. Since there weren’t no blood on him, I figure it wasn’t yours.”

  “No.”

  “Damn. Damn.” Bashru kicked the wall behind him in irritation. “I’ll wager they’ll start asking questions soon. What’ll you say?”

  A moment of silence. Then – “It depends who asks.”

  “Azeral,” Bashru qualified.

  “The truth.”

  “Damndamndamn. Don’t suppose you could forget my part?”

  Silence. The spriggan felt the flood waters of panic rising. He scrambled for any safety he could find. “The girl’ll get in trouble too. Don’t think she won’t. If not from Azeral, then from the others.”

  “What do you want?”

  Bashru threw out his hands in frustration. “I just want you to deny knowing anything. Just one little lie to save the girl and me, not to mention your own hide. It’s not so much to ask.”

  The assassin seemed to shrink deeper into the shadow. Cloth rippled as he folded his arms beneath the cloak. Bashru could see nothing of his face. His voice, when he spoke, was as shadowy as his form.

  “If he looks deep enough, he’ll find the truth.”

  “Only if he suspects,” the spriggan promised eagerly. “Only if he suspects.

  I’ll find out what they think, all right? See what suppositions they have. I’ll find you and let you know. But don’t make me look over the whole damned keep. Where will you be?”

  Hesitation. Bashru could sense it.

  Finally.

  “The ruins. The observatory over the ruins.”

  ~~~

  The spriggan came back to her room.

  Furtively this time, knocking softly on the thick wood of the door. She was almost afraid to answer the soft rapping, but the low, gravely voice that called ‘Lady?’

  was unmistakably Bashru’s. She let him in. He looked about her room, as if expecting her to have company and she let him prowl.

  She wore a thick dress that c
overed arms and fit close about her neck. The covering of skin made her feel safe. She wished she could have worn armor. She toyed with her braid and waited for the spriggan to explain his presence.

  “Have you been out since – ?” He trailed off, but she knew what he meant.

  She shook her head. “No one’s come here?”

  “Other than the servants? No.”

  He scratched at a scurrying itch behind his ear. “The high sidhe are a wily lot. Hard to guess what they’re thinkin’. I knows they found his knife. I saw it. But far as I can tell, they’re keeping to themselves about it. I can’t find a bit of rumor from the servants and the likes o’ me can’t strut about among them. You can.”

  She shook her head immediately.

  “No! I’m not ready to socialize with them yet.”

  “But you’ve got to,” he whined.

  “There’s ways of tellin’ who that dagger was turned on. There’s ways of scrying out the facts if they put their minds to it.”

  “Then there’s no way to stop it. Why does it matter if we find out what they suspect?”

  “Matters to covering my tail – our tails.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Just go to the feast tonight. Listen to the talk. They’ll be discussing it to be sure. Sit near the lady Huntress. It were her that found the dagger.”

  “I said no.”

  “The assassin’ll will take the blame when they find the truth. Killin’ a High Sidhe. There’s no forgivin’ that. Azeral won’t let that pass.”

  She was staring at him wide-eyed too long of a time before she realized how close to home he had hit. What a full circle she had traveled from wanting to see the Ciagenii dead to dreading the suggestion that he come to harm because of her. And it was her fault. Both spriggan and Ciagenii had done what they had because of her. Ironically it was more shocking that she received loyalty from the spriggan than from the assassin. Beneath that rough, foul exterior she was beginning to believe, existed some degree of concern for her well being.

  “Just listen?”

  “Just listen. You can come back early. I’ll find you here.”

  She drew a deep breath, fighting back a shiver.

  “All right.”

  ~~~

  So she went to the ball. Against her will and dreading every step she took towards the great hall. She wore a modest dress and let her hair fall free. It would better hide her face and any expression that might trigger curiosity. She had aches that had not really made themselves known until the next day. Bruises that were livid under her gown. There was one high up on her cheek that her hair hid.

  She slipped into the great hall amongst the coming and goings of servants as they conveyed platters to the table.

  Some of the court had seated themselves, most stood about the hall in small groups, talking in hushed tones. The fairy musicians played a subdued melody. She edged her way into the hall. This was a sad mockery of the past feasts she had attended. She had heard they had not even had a feast last night and this was a gathering of shadow beings, only a part of their natural glimmer showing through.

  She wondered on how many occasions in the infinite past of this keep, the great feast had not been held, or had been held in such a state. She looked for Azeral and could not find him. It was not unusual, he was always the last to arrive, his presence marking the true beginning of the feast.

  The Mistress of the Hunt then.

  Victoria found her already seated near the head of the table. She made her way across the room, and lingered about the empty chairs. Azeral had always seated her near him on the occasions she had joined the court at feast. She hesitated over the choice of chairs. Then finally pulled one out near the center seat and hoped she had not offended anyone by taking their place. The position was a chair away from where the lady of the hunt sat.

  Tyra spared her not a glance. The lady was in conversation with a silver haired male. An older male. Victoria found that their eyes gave away their age.

  There was something wise and calm in the eyes of the elder sidhe. Something lacking in the younger ones like Aloe or Leanan, Neferia or the late Deigah. Tyra had the same look. Patient as a rock. Cool as an arctic breeze.

  Victoria listened unobtrusively to the light banter between the two sidhe.

  Deigah’s name came up, but the context concerned his parentage, not the method of his demise. A lull in conversation signaled the arrival of the keep’s lord and master. Azeral walked in to the great hall with Neferia on his arm. The sidhe bowed to him gravely, waiting for him to take his seat before the individual groups began to move towards the table. His eyes found her almost immediately. There was a brief flicker of something in his eyes…curiosity maybe, then nothing. He took his chair gracefully, steepling his fingers before him as he waited for the court to settle about the table. Neferia took the seat between Azeral and Victoria. Her eyes were not as shielded. There was pain in their depths and anger. Her stare, when she looked at Victoria was simmering.

  Her lips pulled back in a snarl that took Victoria off guard by its pure vehemence, then the sidhe woman composed her face and turned her attention back to Azeral.

  Victoria clenched her hands under the table. There had been accusation in that glare. Knowledge and hatred. She was so shaken that she barely heard Azeral’s opening remarks. He spoke of the loss of Deigah, the loss of an immortal sidhe. The tragedy of a sidhe soul that had unfortunately been deprived of the chance to come back to a living body in this realm. He bade them feast and remember and put mourning aside, because mourning for the sidhe was unnatural. They, for the most part, were only too happy to comply.

  So the feast commenced and the musicians struck up a livelier tune. The servants brought forth platters of food and the talk turned to lighter subjects.

  Someone brought up the topic of a great hunt. There were murmurs of accent all around the table. Eyes turned to Azeral expectantly. He in turn shrugged and looked to his mistress of the hunt. Tyra lifted a brow in carefully controlled interest. She claimed knowledge of worthy prey in the southern reaches of the Alkeri’na. Azeral nodded and declared that the hunt to be.

  The remnants of the strange, bird-borne message, echoing in her head, Victoria leaned forward and captured Azeral’s attention. He smiled at her, always the charming gentleman when it suited his purposes.

  “My Lady, how nice to see you here tonight. It is so infrequent that you grace us with your presence.”

  She forced a smile of her own. “I find that loneliness does not suit me,” she countered. “I see no advantage to becoming a hermit when you’ve so generously offered your company.”

  He lifted a brow. “Oh? And what brought about this change of attitude? Not long ago you were perfectly content to closet yourself away from us.”

  “Solitude. Long enforced periods of it work wonders.”

  He laughed. Neferia glared, snaking her head about to fix Victoria with her icy eyes. “Oh really? I’d heard you were entertaining company, and not so very alone.”

  A shaky smile found its way to Victoria’s mouth. She forced it in place and kept it there. “The company of your servants maybe. I’m afraid they’re the only ones who ever visit me and then only bearing meals.”

  “Oh?” Neferia’s teeth showed in a feral smile. “That’s not what I heard.”

  “And what did you hear?” Azeral asked, an intent query in his eyes.

  Neferia’s look grew guarded, her face smoothed to lines of innocence when she turned to look at her lord.

  “Why nothing of import, my lord. Only that our little human girl is not as reclusive as she believes herself to be.”

  She knows. Inside her head the idea screamed over and over. Neferia knew.

  Somehow she knew that Victoria had been involved in Deigah’s death, but she was afraid or uncertain enough not to come right out and announce it. There was no other explanation. She had spoken few enough words with Neferia to warrant her animosity.

  “You mus
t mean my walks,” she spoke up quickly to cover the silence that gaped after Neferia’s last comment. “I explore quite a bit. I admit I’d like to see more of this wonderful keep and the beautiful forest outside it. All I ever get is a treetop view.” She took a breath and asked, “Do you think it possible if I rode with you on the hunt, Azeral?”

  He lifted both brows in obvious surprise. “You wish to ride with the hunt?”

  She bowed her head meekly. “I have to admit, I’m getting bored. I think it would be a nice change. Unless of course you think it too dangerous for me…?” She left that hanging, relying on his own sense of power and ego to take up the slack.

  “Your safety would be assured. But the hunt is not my domain. Ask the Mistress of the Hunt if your presence agrees with her.”

  Tyra. Victoria turned her eyes to that notable. The lady sat with her chin propped on her slender knuckles, a hint of amusement in her metallic eyes. And that was all that was there. No hint of condemning knowledge, no accusation.

  Simple interested curiosity over a conversation that was not her own. She inclined her head at Azeral’s respect.

  “I have taken one human on hunt. I see no reason not to take another. I will be certain to find interesting prey to make your first hunt a memorable one.”

  “I certain it will be,” Victoria murmured, looking down. Those eyes reminded her of Neira’sha. Too knowing. Too wise.

  The meal commenced. Azeral’s gaze kept flickering back to her, as if expected to discover something new about her if he caught her off guard. There was a deep curiosity in his eyes that suggested he was not quite sure of her motives. As if she were sure herself. She avoided his gaze.