Dockalfar

by Nunn, PL

  The stone was a foot in depth, and they had managed to create a fist sized hole near the middle. Sith pulled Mange aside and eagerly pressed an eye to the small opening. Darkness greeted him. Too black for even a goblin gaze to penetrate.

  With a curse he ordered the other two to take up their picks again and widen the hole. Grumbling they did.

  The light bobbing up the corridor from the east took the whole of them completely by surprise. All three were so intent on creating an opening to the treasure trove that none noticed the soft glow, indicative of sidhe-induced light approaching. The woman was almost upon them before Sith happened to glance aside to avoid a chunk of flying stone and beheld her. She was twice their height, high white forehead melting into silvery hair that was braided and hung down the length of her armored back. Her features were cold and impassive. Glittering black eyes taking them in and what they were doing with the cool assessment that only a high sidhe could give. She stood before them and waited for an explanation.

  Mange and Krucc started babbling incoherently, gesturing wildly to the room behind the stone wall and the possible treasure that lay there. Sith slapped them both, glaring, then bowed to the lady and informed her that they sought the treasure to surprise the great lord.

  Her expression never altered. She stared down her long nose at them, then at the conjured stone door. She put a slender hand out and touched it. A frown marred her smooth brow.

  “Back,” she commanded. The goblins scrambled to comply. She lifted a hand and gestured at the stone. Nothing happened. She frowned, then closed her fist. Her arm shook some small bit from her concentration. A fissure appeared in the rock, climbing up from the hole the goblins had made. Small chunks of stone tumbled away from it, joining the pile of stone already littering the hall. With a creaking groan the gap widened, spidery fingers of instability spreading across the surface of rock. Then suddenly it shattered, bursting inward with a spray of debris.

  Her light poured into the room. She followed with confident strides. After a moment’s pause, the goblins scurried after.

  It was a room much like any other they had entered. The stone had been molded to seal the balcony doors as well, and the air was almost stale. There was no gold piled in the corners. No jewels spilling from coffers. There was a snarling, crouched gray-furred form at the foot of the bed. The goblins knew a gulun kit when they saw one and immediately raised picks threateningly. The cub laid its ears flat against its head and wiggled deeper into its crouch.

  The sidhe frowned. Her expectations could not have been less than the goblins. With a flick of her wrist she said, “Kill it.”

  With an excess of frustrated energy Sith sprang forward to swing his pike down upon the cub’s skull. He drew the pick over his head in preparation of smashing it down. That was as far as he got. The hilt of a stiletto grew rather startlingly out of his left eye. His mouth gaped in a last moment of surprise and numb fingers dropped the shaft of the pick.

  It thumped to the floor. Sith’s body followed suit.

  Mange and Krucc shrieked in fear and shock, scrambling for cover. The sidhe lady whirled in desperation, filling the entirety of the chamber with blinding light, even as she shielded herself and drew the short sword at her hip. The cub cried out its discontent with the white light and scampered across the floor, past the sidhe and escaped out the rubble strewn door.

  The lady ignored it. Her eyes flickered about the room. Yet nothing appeared out of place, save for Sith’s leaking body.

  “Step forth,” she cried. “Foul demon! Show yourself!”

  And with a compliancy that made her take several steps backward, a cloaked figure stepped away from the wall and the sheltering film of gauze that hung above the bed. His cloak might of been the same material for the closeness in color. The sidhe lady gestured at him savagely. But strangely enough, other than the curtain fluttering, the figure was affected not at all. The woman’s eyes widened. “What demon are you, that I sense you not and magic slips from you like water?”

  Slowly he lifted his hands and pushed back the cowl, revealing sidhe features that matched the color of his apparel.

  “No demon, Lady.”

  “You!” she gaped. “Ciagenii! For what reason do you linger in this place.”

  He looked behind her to the shattered stone door and shrugged helplessly. Her breath slowed somewhat and the shield lowered. It would not protect her if he chose to attack at any rate. She glanced at the goblin body on the floor and narrowed her eyes.

  “For what reason do you kill my henchmen?”

  He shrugged again and looked past her to the open door. She most certainly did not like the plain way he ignored her questioning, but feared to press him to harshly in fear of her own immortal soul.

  “Azeral holds court in this keep,” she informed him archly, playing upon the name of his master. “You might answer the same question from him.”

  He cast a golden-eyed glance to her.

  A look that was almost insolent in its disregard. She tightened her grip on the sword.

  “Of course,” he finally agreed.

  She gestured for him to proceed her out the door. He did so without protest with a flowing grace that only the most poetic of fairies might match. She followed in her armor and felt cumbersome in his wake. She thought she might hate him for that as well as the fear he inspired.

  Down the main stair she directed him, staying far enough behind him to bolster her own feeling of safety. Sidhe lights illuminated the lower levels. The bendithy servants that had followed the great hunt hurried to and fro, utilizing the Seelie stores for their master’s evening meal.

  Sidhe lingered in the great entry hall, looking out the open portal to the glittering array of campfires speckling the night.

  Most still wore armor, feeling none too secure in the home of their enemy. A young male looked up at her approach and called out, “What have you, Ethiea?”

  “Assassin,” she hissed, and the young sidhe blanched, exchanging looks with his companion. She extended her arm to the Ciagenii, indicating the way the greatest of garden chambers where Azeral and what of his court that remained at the keep, utilized as their banquet hall. The young sidhe fell in behind her, whispering questions that the Lady Ethiea refused to answer. They were silent after that, until they entered the garden. Towering columns lined one side, holding up a slanted sheet of crystal that allowed clear view of the night sky. Arched portals lay between each column, leading out into a fabulous garden. The smells of ripe flowers infused the whole of the great chamber. Benches and pillows had been scattered over the floor and the Unseelie court reclined upon them, finishing what remained of the feast their servants had prepared from the enemy larder.

  Their entrance went mostly unobserved, the sidhe too busy discussing the battle or coupling together in victory orgy. The assassin ignored them all. He did not pause as Ethiea did at the entrance, but plunged forward towards the spot that Azeral himself occupied.

  The lord of the Unseelie court did not look up until the assassin was almost upon him, and then only by chance. His eyes went wide and he straightened, pushing his lady away from him. The assassin stopped a few feet away from the cushions his lord lounged upon and dropped to one knee in supplication. Azeral gaped, and only after a moment’s struggle managed to compose his features.

  “Where, pray tell, might you have been?” The lord of the Unseelie court’s voice echoed throughout the garden hall.

  Every eye was drawn to him. Every conversation paused, every action stalled as the sidhe became aware that something new had entered the night’s diversion.

  Ethiea walked up behind the assassin.

  “He was sealed in one of the upper chambers, my lord.”

  Azeral’s eyes flickered to her, then back to his Ciagenii. “Captured?” His tone held mock disbelief.

  The assassin’s eyes lifted momentarily to his, then lowered. “Yes.”

  “Is the girl dead?”

  The whole of the
court held their breaths. Azeral did.

  “No. I have failed you.”

  Silence. The goblet at Azeral’s finger tips shattered, spraying wine and glass across his silks and Neferia’s dress. She gasped and shifted back, looking at her lord with wide eyes. The assassin did not flinch.

  “You – failed – me?” He rose, shaking off bits of glass and towered over Dusk. He grabbed a handful of the assassin’s cloak and hauled him to his feet. “You failed me?!! You entered this court and did not kill the human girl!?”

  The assassin was passive in his grip.

  Lashes covered eyes. In frustrated rage Azeral closed a magical fist over the soul he possessed with every intent of rendering pain that was beyond physical.

  And he felt the secret. Suspicion welled within him. Suspicion and gnawing doubt.

  His Ciagenii had never lied to him. And yet there was something desperate hidden that only the contact with the soul had revealed. He thrust Dusk away and fixed him with his coldest gaze.

  “What do you hide from me, Ciagenii? What have you done that you fear my knowledge of?”

  The assassin took a trembling breath.

  Azeral could see it the moment Dusk contemplated the lie. He saw the emotion flicker within the shielded eyes. Felt the fear through the soul he held prisoner.

  “What have you done?” he roared.

  Dusk did flinch then. Finally lifted his head and stared Azeral directly in the eye.

  “I could not kill the girl.”

  “You could not – ? You would not! Has she bewitched you then? Or do you merely wish to engage my wrath?”

  “Neither. I am Ciagenii no longer.” It came out barely a whisper. Azeral had to lean forward to hear it. When the words registered, at first he doubted he had heard them correctly. He scrutinized Dusk’s face and slowly a black rage descended over his own.

  “By the earth and the fire that burns within her.” His words came out a sibilant hiss. Hateful, boiling power rose within him. “You slept with the bitch. You slept with her!” This last came out a scream.

  The power followed. It erupted out of him in a scathing blow of pure force that shook the hall. The floor blackened and crumbled where Dusk stood, melting and boiling under his feet. Nimbly the assassin leapt to the side, unscathed by the lash of power that left a hole some ten feet in diameter in the place he had stood. Azeral screamed in frustration, and leapt the pit, falling upon his assassin with the ferocity of a frenzied animal.

  Dusk went down, refusing to do more than block the worst of the blows.

  Nervously, excitedly, the court gathered as close as they dared. Slanted, almond eyes glittered with a hunger for violence.

  “Traitor,” Azeral raged. There was blood on his hands. Dusk was bleeding from the nose and mouth. A gash from Azeral’s rings traveled from hairline to temple. His eyes had gone dark and somewhat glazed. Azeral spat at him, then smashed the back of his hand across his cheek. Dusk closed his eyes and lay still.

  Sputtering with a rage that he could not quite control, the lord of the Unseelie court sprang off Dusk and dashed to the nearest flagon of wine. Sidhe scattered out of his path. He was back on Dusk in a moment, grasping a handful of hair and jerking the night sidhe’s head back.

  “Do you think immunity to magic will protect you from me? So easy to give up the one skill. Easy enough to rid you of the other.”

  He forced wine into Dusk’s mouth.

  The assassin sputtered and choked but did not fight against his master. Azeral was not satisfied until the flagon was empty, although a good deal of it had spilled down Dusk’s cheeks and puddled the floor under his head.

  Azeral tossed the flagon away and crouched over Dusk, who half curled on his side, closing his eyes against the ring of glowering faces that leered down on him. He stared down at the bloodied, half hidden face. The most valuable weapon he had owned. He had given up riches beyond belief for this piece of wretched flesh that lay trembling on the floor at his feet. Useless. Useless to him now.

  Sacrificed for some imbecilic notion that he had no patience to discover now. He had no patience to do more than slam his boot into unresisting flesh and pull back before in a fit of uncontrollable rage he destroyed Dusk completely. Not so hasty a demise as that. He took one deep breath and stepped back, surveying the avid interest in the faces of his court.

  He waved one arm, a grandiose gesture. “Your entertainment for this night.” He could stay there not one moment more. He stalked from the chamber. They watched him go, then one by one turned their attention back to the victim he had given them.

  Neferia paused in following her lord to give them a word of advice. “He’ll want him later. Keep him alive.”

  They grinned at each other with bludgeoning glee. For too long this particular morsel had been denied them.

  Both by the value Azeral placed on him and the fear they each had held for the death-dealing abilities of a Ciagenii.

  Those reasons had been negated. And the court was oh so willing to make up for lost time.

  ~~~

  The crashing of underbrush spoke boldly of the ogre patrol that blundered through the wood. The night was well progressed and the groups of enemy searchers too many for comfort. Ashara and her small party crouched in the brush, using nothing more than the merest of illusions to keep themselves from ogre discovery. It was all they needed for ogre intellect. They spent more effort in shielding themselves from magical discovery from afar.

  When the ogres had passed, the sidhe rose and continued on their way. They were afoot and all of them tired to the point of weakness. They had held the shields as long as possible before giving way to Azeral’s concerted attack. The wards had fallen first, then the magic shields. The backlash had pounded all of them, even though they had distanced themselves from just such a thing. If even a portion of the great hunt found them now, they would be hard pressed to defend themselves. But there was no time for rest.

  No time to heal weary muscles and let sleep clear aching minds. They had to catch up with the rest of their folk before they reached the Vale of Vohar and found that path blocked. Ashara and her strongest needed to be there to open the wards and let her people pass or they might find themselves trapped against an invisible shield on one side, with the great hunt down their throats on the other. And even that depended on whether she could open the wards at all without Neira’sha’s guidance.

  ~~~

  Alex flew high and far, but he could not quite cross the boundaries needed to find Azeral and his cohorts. The distance was too great and the field of tournament too unfamiliar. All his far flung senses could register was a dim clamor of something very far away. And even that he could not be certain belonged to the conflict he sought out.

  He had driven himself to exhaustion each night since the Host had departed to track their progress. To spy on the intentions of the Unseelie court. To no avail. He had discerned, those first few nights when he had been free to let his mind’s eyes roam, that it was no fault on his part that obscured the Great Hunt and their forces, but a shield of sorts conjured by the Unseelies to protect their progress from any prying eyes.

  It was only later, when they were too far gone to find, shield or no shield, that the frustration began to gnaw at him.

  Leanan’s words ate at him the most. For her prediction that Azeral engaged this crusade for the sole purpose of killing Victoria only served to strengthen his own instincts about the subject. He needed to know what was transpiring on that distant front.

  It was the night before Azeral made his sudden, lone appearance in the mountainous keep that Alex decided to sway Leanan to his cause. She lay beside him in the overly soft pillows of her bed, her wealth of hair snaking over both their bodies. She complained of the boredom she’d had to endure, the last days without the presence of the court. There was so little to entertain one when all of one’s friends were off campaigning. He listened and sympathized. And it occurred to him that the solution to both their dilemmas was
a prompt and direct passage to the place where Azeral and his court presently resided. It was only a matter of convincing Leanan, who made it perfectly clear that she held no interest in campaigning, that joining the Wild Hunt would solve all her woes.

  “Do you think they’ve taken the Seelies yet?” he asked with as much curious ignorance in his voice as he could muster.

  “It’s been nigh a seven day span,” she said. “I would expect it to be so.”

  “You’ve heard no word?”

  She frowned. He could just see her lips twitch downwards. “Nay,” she admitted.

  “Hmmm. I would think Azeral would let you know what was happening?”

  “What need has he for courtesy towards me?” Leanan’s tone held the indignation of one wrongfully treated.

  Very gently Alex urged the notion of the court having a grand, spectacular time with no thought whatsoever to those left behind.

  “I suppose they’ll have a great victory celebration once they’ve taken the Seelie court.”

  “One supposes,” she sulked.

  “The Seelie court must be very rich. Do you think there will be many spoils? I mean riches, treasure, things like that.”

  “If one treasure’s trees and the like.”

  “What will he do with the Liosalfar?”

  Leanan sniffed. “Torment them. But that is hoping too much. Azeral has always held a soft spot towards certain of their alignment.”

  Alex lifted a brow. “Soft spot? Azeral? That surprises me.”

  “Not I,” she muttered. “But I still imagine there will be great sport with the light sidhe.”

  “Hmmm. That would be entertaining.

  Too bad we have to stay here.” And he stroked her hair and pulled her closer, intending to say no more. It was quite clear enough that the seed had been planted, watered and cultivated. He did not even have to spy on her thoughts to see her mind furiously considering the possibilities. It showed on her face, in her narrowed eyes and the way her teeth pulled on her lower lip.

  ~~~

  The servant’s apprehensive whispering was the first hint that something within the great keep was amiss. Alex padded down the cool stone halls, shivering with chill from a winter he had been told was weeks early in its arrival. Leanan’s presence he avoided, her mood being foul indeed as result of his prodding and careful urging. She sulked with the others of her kind who remained at the keep, comparing woes, concocting various dark entertainments to amuse themselves while the majority of he court flourished at war.