Dockalfar

by Nunn, PL

  She looked up, as did most of the others, as the drenched figure of their lady appeared in the doorway. Ashara said nothing, merely walked to the fire and stood before it. She should have been sleeping like the rest of the party that had stayed to hold the keep’s last defense. She should have been exhausted by the mad chase through the eastern forest to get here. If she was, she allowed none of it to show. She had to be buffering her strength magically. Victoria knew Neira’sha thought so, and disapproved.

  That venerable lady, sitting across the chamber, stared meaningfully at Ashara and exchanged some unspoken word.

  Ashara slowly shook her head and walked over to sink onto the floor at Neira’sha’s feet.

  Victoria felt a chill. A horrible chill at the apathy in her eyes. Felt a greater one when Okar entered, looking miserable and cold. He found his heartmate with his eyes, shuddered when she refused to return the look, or was perhaps too involved with her own thoughts to notice him. He edged around the perimeter of the room and finally settled on the stone bench next to Victoria. His gaze fixed across the chamber.

  “Is she okay?” she asked softly.

  His lashes flickered. “She is tired. Scared.”

  “This was supposed to be a refuge,”

  Victoria murmured. “She has every right. We wouldn’t need it if I…”

  “You are not the blame,” he said to her sharply. “Your leaving did nothing more than sadden us. It did not cause this. The presumption to take you from Azeral brought this down upon us. The blame is mine and Aloe’s. More so mine, because she could not have done it without me.”

  Victoria stared at him. Shook her head in amazement. “All right. We each blame ourselves. But really it doesn’t matter whose at fault, does it? It matters how we’re going to fix it.”

  He laughed at her. “Humans. For mortals everything is so easy.”

  “And for immortals it’s too damned complicated. You should try living in my world.”

  “I have,” he said simply. “There was a time I loved your realm more than mine. I met her there, you know. Ashara. We were both in human guise. We both thought we were courting human lovers.

  She found out before I did. Let me tell you, she was hardly pleased and she holds grudges. Long grudges. It took me nigh a century to win her over and then only, I think, because she was running so hard from…” He trailed off, looking pained.

  Looking suddenly like he needed to cry.

  She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she did not think he would welcome it. He was dear. And Ashara had been a fool to ever spurn him and Victoria knew without even the benefit of magical spying that he feared his lady was doing the same thing now.

  “Running from who?” she asked gently. “Who was she running from?”

  He leaned his head back against the cold stone wall. “Azeral. The mate of her soul.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Part Twenty-four

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  All that was visible of the moon was a pale aura of light behind a shield of angry clouds. Lightning demolished even that trace as it made the entirety of the sky a blinding, white canvas. The nighthorses nickered nervously and miserably along their pickets. The bendithy huntsmen moved among them in as much discomfort, while the sidhe huddled inside great tents, protected from the rain, if not the clammy cold of midnight.

  Azeral stood at the edge of the largest of the tents and stared out at the storm of his making. Stared down at the blackness that was the Vale of Vohar. The sacred place that hid his prey. Impatience crossed his features. The sky gave all it had and still it was not enough. It would be days before the valley below became uninhabitable. Days of waiting that Azeral the immortal, could not tolerate. He had tried the wards himself earlier and found them as immune to his power as to any other. He had hardly expected less. But he chafed at the inactivity.

  A hand touched his back. He glanced back the offender. Neferia looked up at him with curious, mild eyes.

  “My lord,” she said softly. “Your thoughts are most surely guarded, for your own daughter has been trying desperately to contact you for some time.”

  He lifted a brow at his lady in question. Almost her lips turned in a smile. Almost.

  “It seems your human boy has slipped his leash. He has killed a sidhe and most certainly wounded Leanan’s pride. He has fled and taken the assassin with him. They have not been able to find his trail.”

  He surprised her. He laughed. She blinked at him and waited.

  “To be expected. No need to track them. It is this place they come to. This place that we all seem to gather. Tell Leanan to come here. I want her here.”

  He turned away from her, studied the rain for a long moment before stepping out into it. She stood in the tent watching as he disappeared into the driving storm. He found his steed, loosed its tether and swung up onto its sleek back without benefit of a saddle.

  Into the night he rode. Into the wood.

  He did not know what goal he traveled towards, only knew that he had to distance himself from the stagnancy of his camp.

  He circled the ridge. The other side was rougher riding. Steeper, rockier. His mount scrambled for footing often. He came to the place where the stream feeding the vale exited the hillside. It spewed forth from between a tumble of rocks, vastly overflowing its shallow trench of a bed. He could sense its rumble of turbulence inside the land, as the underground basin that fed it, strained to release the pressure of storm-fed resources.

  For long minutes he stared at the dark water blankly, hypnotized by its writhing, glistening coils of movement. He followed its course down into the valley with his night vision, until the trees obscured it completely. A streak of lightning hit close by to the north. Thunder boomed immediately in its wake. His mount screamed and shifted. He calmed it with a thought. Then spun and urged it away from the swollen stream.

  Wiping hair from his eyes, he jerked it to a halt and turned to face the rushing water once more. He clenched a fist and called the power to him. He shaped it with words chosen to bend fey magic to his will. It raged inside him, trapped as he raked the coals of it hotter and hotter and finally channeled it from the center of his being down his arm and out through his tightly balled fist. It exploded forth from his hand with a light every bit as shocking as that of the nearby lightning strike. It slashed through the night and collided with the earth with an impact so profound that it jarred the ridge. Rock exploded out in a hundred directions. Shards of earth and stone pelted the earth and the forest.

  They rebounded off Azeral’s shield in abandon. After the earth’s eruption water followed, spewing upwards like a geyser as the pressure was released, then overflowing its boundaries and flooding down the hill. It took rock and earth with it. A dark, dangerous flood.

  His laughter was swallowed by the sound of it. Yards away from the ravaged mouth of the raging stream rocks and earth crumbled outward, as the water, goaded by the rebellion of its ilk, forced its way to the surface. The earth gave way for it.

  All about the hill the land was gouged and pitted by escaping channels of water. The ground beneath the nighthorse’s hooves became unstable and Azeral reluctantly retreated from the scene of his destruction.

  The animal was only too glad to be away.

  The echoes of his magic still reverberated. He could feel the tremors of the impact in his own body. They would have felt it in the valley below, as well as in his own encampment. Let them all wonder, for the time being what had happened. Those below would find out soon enough. He let his mount choose its own pace, for once enjoying the feel of the rain lashing against his face. His laughter trailed after him in the storm.

  ~~~

  Ashara ran past the cornucopia of ruins and buildings, down onto the shallow flatland that might once have been used for crops. The sidhe youngling she followed was radiating fear. Desperation.

  The surge of power had shocked them all out of the doze that the night and the consistent pounding of rain had lul
led them into. But as its energies faded and no calamity came down upon them, they could do no more than wonder what had prompted it and what mischief it had birthed. All too soon that mystery became apparent. She pushed through the throng of bodies and stared down in horror at what hours ago had been no more than a standing pool of knee deep water. Dark, turbulent water cascaded down the slope to the east. Rocks and limbs, small trees even came with it, filling the low ground of the valley with water that was in no wise calm and no wise content with a slow rise.

  “By the Four,” she whispered.

  “They blasted the brook at its source,” the Lady Mendalah stood just behind her. “Rather clever. But when are Dockalfar not?”

  Ashara said nothing, just stared at her sanctuary being demolished. She had led her people to this. She did not need the accusatory stare of Mendalah to tell her that. The flight to this place had been her notion and her notion alone. A moan welled up inside her and she whirled, forcing it back.

  ‘He’ had always been single minded in his pursuits. He never swerved or gave up. A deadly, deadly predator. But not one, she desperately hoped, that would not understand reason.

  Back up the hill she ran, towards the ruins the ancients had left. She put out the call for council as she went. Stopped finally, dripping and laboring for breath in the cold stone shelter of the greatest of the standing halls. The fire on the alter top was still burning hungrily. They had long ago ran out of dry tinder and its fuel was purely fey in nature now. Those in the chamber stared at her in anticipation, while others of her wisest and most powerful entered behind her.

  “We’ve a problem,” she said, low-voiced to hide the tremor when enough had arrived to hear her out. “This vale has become a death trap and we’ve no way to stop it.”

  “There’s no way out,” someone said in desperation. “Their scouts patrol the whole of the hills around us.”

  “Is not there some way to stop the water? Some shield strong enough to hold back the flow?”

  “For how long?” someone else shot back. “Who among us can hold a shield of that magnitude for more than a few hours, and even so, what happens when it comes down? The flood it held back crashes down upon our heads.”

  Ashara half listened to them. She circled the fire, looking for the faces that mattered. The quiet ones who were not talking, who watched her, wondering what she was about. The ones who truly knew that nothing the others argued over would come to pass.

  “Why can we not open a portal and just flee to somewhere else?”

  “Think, fool,” Mendalah spat. “You can magic anything you want in this vale but power neither passes into or out of the circle of runes. Do you care to find out how far your portal will take you in that case?”

  “Send for help, then,” old Venaimar said. “Send out our fleetest and our best in hopes of eluding their patrols and find succor.”

  “From who?” Ehram wanted to know.

  “Lord Leabhar and his court are friends of our folk.”

  “Leabhar’s keep, even with the fastest mount, is a moon’s travel from here. And another moon or more to get back. If he agreed. We’ll be swimming our way to Annwn by then, old one.”

  Ashara met her heartmate’s eyes in the flickering light. He sat near the human girl. There was dread in his gaze. She could not match it. She found Neira’sha instead. That one looked about to cry. But she lifted her chin, and nodded ever so slightly to Ashara, as if to say, ‘I know what you plan. My support is yours.’

  She took a breath and waited for the present debate to end. Very quietly she said, “Azeral is the driving force of this. It is Azeral who must see it put to rest.”

  “He thrives on this,” Mendalah cried.

  “He will stop when he treads upon our bodies.”

  “I will speak with him,” Ashara declared. “I will go to him and appeal for truce.”

  “No,” Okar said, barely audible. She ignored him. Had to ignore him.

  “He has reasons to listen to me. Perhaps I might reason with him.”

  “The only reason he will see is giving the human girl over to him,”

  Mendalah stated.

  “No. That is not an option at this point.” Ashara lifted her head and glared at the other woman.

  “Lady, you cannot give yourself over to them. They have no honor.”

  Ehram cried, “We cannot lose you.”

  “She is right,” Neira’sha’s cool voice interrupted. “He had veered from his chosen path before because to her. He might be inclined to do so again.”

  Ashara inclined her head thankfully to the elder.

  “No! That was too long ago.” Okar was on his feet, anger and desperation warring on his face. “Too much has gone between to expect mercy of him now. By the Four, even at the best of times, his mercy has always come with a cost. Will it be you, Ashara?”

  “Would you rather it be all of us?”

  Her calm faced off against his frustration.

  For a moment, all she saw was him, all she felt was his all-encompassing fear for her. It shook her to her soul. It crumbled at her own resolve. He was not helping. He was most certainly not helping to make this easier for her. She took a moment to calm herself, then glanced to Neira’sha, who nodded once more.

  Most of them were against this. Some few felt she owed it to them to sacrifice herself. She could only hope it was not a sacrifice.

  ~~~

  Azeral let Neferia rub the tension from his body. Her nimble fingers were magic in and of themselves as she rubbed oils onto his back. The touch of her lips, or the brush of her breasts as she leaned over him were vague titillations. He half dozed under her care, very pleased with himself and his accomplishments. Dimly he heard the buzz of his court, sequestered in tents of their own, trying vainly to fight off the misery of the cold, wet morning.

  Farther away the dull drone of the ogre army treading through the forest. Almost here. Almost ready to surround the vale like a net. He thought of Alex and casually searched for a human mind, but found no trace. The boy was shielding no doubt. He had become rather adept at that.

  Something else tickled his thoughts. A delicate touch, that scraped politely at his outer shields. He slitted his eyes open to glance up at Neferia, but she was unaware of the intrusion.

  Azeral. Impatient at his lack of response, the intruder finally prompted an answer. The flavor of the call was distinctly familiar. Shockingly, stunningly familiar. Something inside him started at the mental scent of ‘her’ that filled his head. He opened his shields and let her in, wondering where she was that her magic passed the boundaries of the ward.

  My lady, he sent back. What an unexpected surprise.

  Surely not unexpected. Her thoughts were dry. Cool. As ever. Pray tell, what were you expecting? Mute surrender?

  Are you surrendering then? A slow, lazy smile spread across his lips. Neferia, seeing it, continued what she was about with more vigor.

  No. But a parlay would be nice.

  Would you consent to one?

  With you, lady? Most certainly. Do you expect me to come to you? You’ll have to let me past your wards.

  I will come to you.

  Ah. Shall I prepare a feast? How many will you bring? Do bring your most charming mate, I’ve missed him.

  I come alone. There was a touch of irritation to the sending. Azeral’s smile broadened.

  Another time for him, perhaps. When shall you come?

  Tomorrow?

  I’ll see to it, that you have safe passage, my lady.

  Unspoken approval on her part, and she backed out of his mind, fast.

  Disappeared altogether. The retreat was almost a physical pain. The deepest part of him, that most private of places lunged after her desperately. After so long of nothing of her but the ineffectual images of his dreams, the real concrete presence threw him off balance.

  Oh, he had conquered the physical need for her long ago. Demolished the cravings for her that had once plagued his sleep. But th
e soul never truly forgot.

  ~~~

  He woke to the sound of thunder and pelting rain, disorientation blaring hard behind his eyes. He lay for a moment, frozen in panic, immersed in darkness that his sidhe sight had trouble adjusting to. He could not remember where he was, or why his body ached, even lying immobile as he was. He forced calm upon himself, a task made easy by long habit. Calm was his ally. The cool of a dark night his advantage. Only it was hard coming now.

  His mind whirled with a menagerie of images and feelings that might have been his own, or might have leaked into him from some other source.

  He shifted about, and pain shot through his chest. His breath came with fire behind it. He did not cry out, just clutched his side as vague memory of the sadistic sidhe magic that had wreaked havoc with his bones drifted back. The face of the man who had did it was even more blurred. It mattered little – his taste for revenge had never been sharp. He tended to care only for existence and the fruition of his master’s will. Only he had no master now. Not a real one.

  Tentatively he reached out and touched the damp wall of rock he lay against. A cave. A subterranean animal den, long abandoned, that the spriggan had found. It was hardly large enough to comfortably hold three bodies. It was shelter from the storm and the things that roamed the forest. He remembered the flight. He had yet to figure out what purpose it had.

  His senses slowly returned and he listened to the steady breathing of the other two. Smelled their individual scents.

  The spriggan’s was overpowering. The human’s oddly disquieting. It reminded him of a similar scent, but one bathed in Liosalfar fragrances and oh so alluring.

  Hair smelling of crushed flowers, as soft as any sidhe’s….

  The memory of that scent and the reality of the spriggan’s odor mixed repugnantly. The closeness of the damp little den made him nauseous. He rose, ignoring the pain, stepped over the human with a whisper of movement that the lightest of sleepers would not have detected. Past the spriggan whose lips twitched with the occasional sputtering snore. Up the hole leading to fresh air. It was big enough for a bear. And there had been the faint odor of that beast, long stale. He moved away from the entrance, breathing in the moist air. No sign of the horses. He wondered what had been done with them, equine bodies being harder to hide than smaller bipedal ones. For the moment though, he cared not. He merely wanted the smell of the spriggan off him and the coolness of the rain to wash away the fever of lurid dreams.