Key to Conflict

by Talia Gryphon

  Realizing he was curious about her unusual impulse, she answered the unspoken question. “Nothing, Luis. Just glad to see you again.” Turning her attention to the blackness out the window, she fell silent, thinking about the meeting to come and trying to formulate her words into diplomatic Elvish.

  CHAPTER

  25

  T HE flight lasted about an hour. It seemed longer since they were flying with only running lights in the pitch black. Luis had typical Vampiric night vision and could see perfectly even without the red and blue lights that were flashing rhythmically on the nose and tail of the helicopter. Gill’s night vision was stellar for a Human, but she wouldn’t have been able to see a tree dead ahead in the darkness. The moon was but a silver sliver in the sky and while the stars turned the velvet black into a wonder-land of sparkling fire, the landscape wasn’t viewable.

  “Landing now, per the coordinates you provided.” Luis’s voice was teasing. He had a good idea where she was headed and who they would meet there. Their unit had become a very close group in the service. Members of a Special Forces team specifically trained for rescue, diplomatic coups and assassinations, their bond had been forged on the first difficult mission they had been assigned. Diverse backgrounds and races had been welded together skillfully by Gillian and her amazing empathy. Okay, so maybe a little bit of it was from her unique style of command.

  When two members of separate Elf races refused to cooperate with one another during a recovery mission and threatened to mutiny, Gill told them point blank that they would get along under her command or she’d shoot them herself before they ever got to court-martial. One of the Elves, a junior lieutenant Grael Elf, nicknamed Trocar, had laughed at her demeanor and audacity, verbalizing disbelief that a U.S. Marine, and a female at that, might employ such tactics. Gillian had calmly turned, drawn her Glock and shot him through the kneecap.

  As he writhed on the ground before his shocked comrades, Gillian had put the heated muzzle of the gun against his temple and asked if he wanted to restate his opinion, her green eyes icy. He did. Grael respected subterfuge, illusion, honor, and shows of strength. Gillian’s delicate appearance was illusion; he hadn’t expected her reaction and now she had him at her mercy.

  Trocar revised his opinion damn quick, said so, then with his knee magically healed by the efforts of their team, became one of Gillian’s strongest advocates, following her blindly on many a mission. The other Elf, a Forest High Elf to be specific, was not impressed by the show. High Elves tended to be patient and occasionally condescending to Humans, considering them a youthful, impulsive species with great courage but little common sense and a devious nature.

  Lord Mirrin Everwood, princeling of his people and the first to step into the modern Human era, looked down his aristocratic nose at his commanding officer’s method and the motley crew he’d been assigned to. Fortunately he had enough sense not to mention it to her, preferring to watch and see how she truly led before casting judgment. Gillian impressed him eventually on several levels, showing phenomenal intuitive judgment, amazing stealth and dexterity that was bordering on a sixth sense in hand-to-hand combat. Mirrin followed her at first because he had agreed to be an “experiment” for his people. Later he followed her for the same reason they all did: respect, and more than a little love.

  It was Mirrin she sought now. The princeling had returned to his people after his tour of duty was up. There had been administrative pressure to keep him in the service, but Gillian had managed to cut through more red tape than downtown New York during Christmas season. She got him out, honorably discharged, with accommodations for bravery above and beyond the call of duty. In the unspoken code of the Marines, he owed her. Mirrin was nothing if not honorable. He would help.

  The helicopter touched down gently and Luis cut the power. The blades rotated to a halt and the group climbed out. Luis stayed with the chopper, waiting for Gillian’s signal, which she gave moments later after hearing the rush of a river ahead and to the right. She had a flashlight, but would rely on the Vampire’s vision and Pavel’s senses to guide them forward. The stars above cast silvery shadows over the landscape. It was a faint light but still a light. The river was a wide black ribbon nearly obscured by the trees. The land was fairly flat, all gentle slopes before the thick forest that lined the river. Gillian knew that not too far in, the land became hillier as it became the mountains. That wasn’t where they were headed.

  What few knew outside of the Elven tribes was that J. R. R. Tolkien had been not so much a genius as he had been an observer and trusted friend. Having a heartfelt belief in every legend having a basis in fact, through exhaustive research, looking in precisely the right places at precisely the right times, a lot of luck, and demonstrating his trustworthiness, he had been allowed a view of a world that none knew in his time. Permission was given to him to record what he learned, saw and experienced, with the condition that none ever learn from his lips or those of his descendents where or how he’d come by the knowledge.

  The professor had turned endless years of study and the cultivating of those friendships into the popular novel series The Lord of the Rings, a collection of seven books containing The One Ring Trilogy and The Hobbit. Middle Earth was real, only the names and places had been changed to protect the innocent and avoid undue persecution of the guilty.

  It existed even now as a destination behind a shielded Doorway the Elves had constructed with the help of the Thralian Wizards to keep the encroaching Human world out and their beautiful but treacherous worlds within. If there were ever a need, the Gateway would be destroyed, sealing their various domanins forever behind unbreakable, magical fields.

  Elves knew no boundaries of time and space. They could straddle the dimensions, the various worlds and the ages at will, though few did. As detailed as any books had been, they were far from complete. The Elves’ world was complex, multilayered and would never be easily understood by any but those indigenous to it. The great man had remained an Elf friend for the rest of his life, his descendents watched over by a Guild that had been formed for just that purpose.

  There was a doorway near his estate and he had crossed that doorway near the end of his life. Emerant, one of the Great Elf Lords, had been fond of the man and had allowed him passage into the Lands of Solace, an area of neutral magic just inside the Doorway before the world of his stories was encountered. There he dwelt, happy and well, aging slowly with the beauty of the world he so loved and in the company of the Elves and his lovely wife whom he had adored above all other beings.

  Gillian knew the stories, knew the legends that Mirrin had shared with her, comrade to comrade. The Gateway was along this river bank. She didn’t intend to enter it, just to wait until it was opened from within. Mirrin was punctual; he’d be where and when she asked him to be or he would send a representative to state why he could not. All gathered on the river bank. The water was low and dark and it sang as it flowed over the ancient riverbed.

  They stood together, waiting patiently. Pavel growled low as a shimmer began in the landscape before them. Like a curtain, the trees and river parted and Lord Mirrin Everwood stepped out of the veil, bow in hand, followed by three others, all cloaked and hooded. Two of them were Elves from the way they moved with incredible feline grace and the other, shorter person, was someone Gill had also requested to join them.

  “Caen Brith, Mirrin an Everwood.” Gillian spoke first and directly to Mirrin, holding her hand to her heart and bowing slightly in welcome.

  His rank with his people demanded respect, even from her. To her surprise, Mirrin grasped her in a tight hug. Elves weren’t really touchy-feely people, and she was astonished by his gesture.

  Setting her on her feet, Mirrin looked down at the smaller Human. She looked tired and stressed, and her blood pressure was up, that much he could tell instantly. Elves were highly intuitive and had a sort of limited telepathy. Their hearing also was just as acute as legend told. His former commanding officer looked a l
ittle careworn to his sharp eyes, but now was not the time to speak with her about her health. Gillian wouldn’t tolerate it with the urgency of her current mission.

  Gillian watched him giving her the once-over. If he knew what was good for his stunningly handsome self, he’d keep his mouth shut. Mirrin was as she remembered: tall, elegant, heartbreakingly lovely, with black hair down to his waist tied back from the crown in a warrior’s braid showing his caste and tribe, the front section left free to allow his aesthetically pointed ears to be clearly seen, his turquoise eyes glowing with their own light.

  “Caen Brith, Gillian Mallen Findel.” Mirrin’s rich voice flowed over them all.

  Even the Vampires noticed. He turned to indicate his companions, the smallest of which wasted no time in pouncing on Gillian and bearing her laughing to the ground. Pavel was on her in a moment, yanking the slight form off his friend, then standing in confusion while Gillian and the female he now held laughed hysterically.

  “Kimber Whitecloud! Damn glad to see you!” Gillian climbed to her feet. “Put her down, Pavel, she’s obnoxious, definitely not harmless, but she’s not going to hurt me.”

  Pavel set the woman down and she turned to him, raking the hood off her head and regarding him with laughing eyes. His breath caught in his throat. Taller than Gillian but lighter built, Kimber Whitecloud was a glorious combination of several Human races to their highest compliments. Her hair was golden bronze and braided all over her head; it hung in plaits down her back, under the cloak. Grass green and golden hazel warred in the slanted eyes that were full of mirth and ringed with black lashes. Those remarkable eyes stared daringly into his own.

  Her skin was silky bronze, a shade or two darker than her hair; her lips full and dark pink. No makeup adorned her but she was the loveliest thing Pavel had ever seen. Her scent was like a drug: warm, comforting, tantalizing…the scent of the loam of the forest and sparkling water. He wanted to tuck her under his arm and never let her go. He was sorry when she turned from him to clasp Gillian in a death grip that left the smaller woman gasping for air and laughing.

  “Captain! Well met and well…merry!” Kimber laughed, then turned to the other, yet unintroduced Elves. “This is Hierlon.”

  The Elf she indicated raised a slender, elegant hand and removed his hood. Like all his fellows, he was beyond lovely. Platinum blonde hair shimmering with glints of gold and braided in a manner slightly different from Mirrin’s framed a face that was both arrogant and breathtaking. His ears were bare as well, showing off their delicate points to their best advantage.

  Hey, if you had aesthetically pleasing body parts, why not flaunt them? Gill thought. Dark eyebrows, starkly contrasting his bright hair, rose above steel-blue eyes. His mouth was full and kissable, though it wasn’t smiling at the moment. Disapproval was in his look and in his stance but a heavy bow of the Golden Elves was in his hand. The carvings on it indicated that he had status among his people and was a master archer. Nodding to Gillian with his hand over his heart respectfully, it was still clear he wasn’t fond of the company she kept.

  “Caen Brith, Gillian Mellion Mirrin.” Hierlon spoke in a soft but commanding voice that brought to mind crisp, cold nights, warm lips and smoldering embraces.

  Damn. Elves all had that silky, magical quality to their voices. Outside of the Vampires, they were also the most remarkably beautiful people Gillian had ever seen, even in her limited contact with them. Until she’d met Osiris, Aleksei, Tanis, and the rest of the Vampires, the Elves she knew had been the sole occupants in her Hall of Memories under “Legendary Beauty.” Hierlon was arrogant but he addressed her respectfully and acknowledged her friendship to Mirrin. Gillian could overlook his attitude and not knock him on his ass.

  “Caen Brith, Hierlon.”

  She returned the gesture with a little push to her glare which startled him from the brief flash in his blue eyes, then his expression hardened to a perfect mask. Fine. She’d not bother him further with idle chatter.

  The third figure walked up without speaking, blackness in the depths of the hood. Gillian’s empathy flared at his approach. Recognition clicked and she threw her arms wide to hug the tall, quiet figure who swept her up and spun her before setting her on her feet. She reached up and pushed back the hood.

  “Trocar,” she said a little breathlessly.

  Crystalline white hair spilled in frothy waves out of the dark hood and glimmered in the starlight. Maeti’s gasp brought a sharp look from Dionysus as the Elf’s face was unveiled. Carved out of blackest obsidian, the Dark Elf’s face was phenomenally, achingly lovely, putting even the Vampires to shame.

  He was the arcane black of the darkest, starless depths of the deepest cavern in the Abyss. Silky ebony skin covered well-defined muscles on his tall form. His hair, eyebrows and eyes all seemed to be made of the finest white crystal. Like spun clear glass, his hair settled around his face and shoulders, barely moving in the light breeze. Trocar’s eyes were devoid of a dominant color. Crystalline white like his hair and brows, they were iridescent, sparkling like faceted jewels, framed by equally shimmering, amazingly long lashes. The Grael were a beautiful, deadly people. They were also shunned by all other Elves and most of the Fey. Gillian was shocked to see him in the company of a Golden Elf. No wonder Hierlon was aggravated. He must have had tremendous respect for Mirrin to go along with being a guide to a Grael.

  “Greetings, little Captain.” Trocar’s voice was no less alluring than Mirrin’s or Hierlon’s but Gillian knew the mind that fueled his speech and it had less effect.

  At Gillian’s confused look, Kimber volunteered: “I found Trocar here when I arrived. Mirrin and he have been looking for your friend. Hierlon has been our guide to the Gateway.”

  Leaning in and knowing full well the Elves could hear her perfectly, Kimber added in a whisper, “He’s kind of an arrogant hardass but he’s really got a good heart underneath.”

  Mirrin and Trocar laughed. Hierlon didn’t. He stayed back from the rest of the group, on alert and watchful. Dionysus and Maeti remained also on watch and back from the group. Pavel was at Gillian’s side, as always, but looking longingly at Kimber.

  Werewolf in Love: The Saga Continues. Oh boy! Gill thought, noticing the initial attraction. Kimber was staring back at the tall, blue-eyed blonde wolf with an undisguised hunger on her face. Goddess, puppy love. They didn’t have time for this.

  “Well?” Gill inquired, returning her gaze to Mirrin’s bemused face.

  “I am sorry, Captain. We found traces of your friend’s passage through our lands but he was spirited away from here—to England, we believe.”

  Mirrin had the decency to look annoyed. “Whoever had him was hard pressed to avoid Trocar’s magic, so they remained only a little ahead. Unfortunately we were unable to prevent their departure.”

  Gill turned on Trocar, who actually stepped back at the smoldering look in her eyes. “Who the hell has the level of wizard-class magic in your realm to be able to force open this doorway?”

  A thought clicked in her head. She advanced on the Dark Elf menacingly. “Trocar, I swear to the Goddess, if you had anything to do with this…”

  Trocar was affronted, or at least so it seemed from what they could tell from his dark features in the night. “Captain, my Captain.” His voice was silky and soothing. “Even I do not possess the knowledge to open the Gateway or any other alone. Only the Golden Elves and Darkenwood Clans can do this. We Grael, our High brethren and the Sea Clans cannot. The lord and lady of the realm do not hold us in as high esteem, apparently.”

  The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable. Hierlon and Mirrin looked on coolly as ever, unruffled by the Grael’s resentment.

  “Someone did!” Gillian snapped.

  “In truth, I do not know,” Trocar answered, his hands going out in a helpless gesture.

  Her direct stare pinned both remaining Elves. “Well, goddammit, who knows?”

  “I do not know. I do not even know the reason your
friend was taken, Gillian. We only tried to find him and rescue him for you.”

  Mirrin spoke softly, not wanting to aggravate her further. Gillian threw up her hands and started pacing and swearing under her breath.

  Kimber moved forward but didn’t touch her. “Gilly, honey, you need to relax. We’ll find your boyfriend. We’ve got a great team.”

  Her former captain whirled, grinding out “He. Is. Not. My. Boyfriend.” between clenched teeth.

  She paused, letting that sink in. “I know we have a great team, Kimber, that’s why I called you all here. And I apologize, Mirrin; I know that you’ve done your best. You too, Trocar. I was unable to give you more information at the time.”

  Turning, she included Trocar and Mirrin in her visual line. “Tanis is a hostage in a very ugly war that has begun.” Taking a deep breath, she expounded on the subject, “Dracula has started a war, enlisting aid from the nonliving, the Fey, the Lycanthropes and he will probably contact the wizards and the Elves. The purpose of this war is the enslavement of Humans by the paranormal world. We are nothing but cattle to him, to be used for food and amusement.”

  Kimber hissed at that. Mirrin’s face darkened, even Trocar looked furious. “He means to make servants of us all then, Captain. One such as Dracula would not stop at ruling”—he paused for a heartbeat—“only the Human world. It offers nothing of power to his domain.”