Dockalfar (54 page)

With a low growled curse he flung out an arm. Power rippled into the wall yards from the tapestry and in a successive path of destruction dug a trench in the stone of the wall as tall as a man and the length of the weaving. The unfortunate goblins were caught in the path and their remains stained the indented wall with gray and red splotches. The tapestry hung in tatters. But it still hung.

He summoned white hot flame to engulf it and watched it burn. Cinders of glowing thread floated through the air.

“Bitch,” he growled, glaring at the remains. His court watched impassively.

Eventually, assuming he was content to sulk before the destruction he had wrought, they wandered off to search the keep in a fashion more sophisticated than ogres were capable of. One remained. She stood regarding him for long enough to have his hackles up. Finally he whirled on her and demanded.

“What? Have you so little to do that you need stare at me?”

“They could have fled south,” Tyra eyed him calmly, gauntleted fists on hips.

“But past the forest there is only plain land before the End of the World Range.

No cover. East is more likely. Thick forest, lakes. Many places for hiding a large party.”

“Yes. Yes. We will scout east.”

“There is another place east that no Unseelie has ever sat foot in. They might seek refuge there.”

Carefully he observed her. The cool ease at which she handled his rage. She overstepped her boundaries time and time again and they both knew it. He might exile her from his court; the kindest measure of punishment. He might cut off his own arm as well, for the disadvantage he would put himself at. For she was proving quicker than he, in his disappointment and rage over being cheated out of victory. “Vohar.” He whispered the word with palpable disgust. “They would not dare. It is not a place for sidhe of any type.”

“But more suited to Seelie than Unseelie,” she commented. “And I’ve heard tales told that the wise woman Neira’sha lived there for a time when she was young.”

He frowned, disturbed by the suggestion of Vohar. It was the last of the old cities. Places of strange architecture and stranger pasts. Home to a people that had simply disappeared one day long before even his birth. The wards were unbreakable. They were bound to the earth in a way that no power could bypass.

They were not always active protections, but one never knew. So one never ventured into the old places. The rage built at the thought of Ashara taking her folk there and hiding behind the wards of a people long gone.

He would not let her. He could not let her.

“Take what you deem necessary to Vohar,” he told her. She inclined her head, a motion of respect it seemed she granted only because she approved of his actions.

He had not the time to deal with her subtle discourtesies. He found himself alone in the hall. The wind blew in from the high open skylights. The air did not smell of aged stone and mildew. It was fresh and open and the purity of it made him shiver.

He had lived for so long in his keep within the mountains that he forgot the freedom of living next to nature. He forgot the feel of grass under his boots. Those were Seelie pleasure. Let Ashara and her folk partake of them while they could. His rule dispelled light and purity. He was well aware of the distinction.

~~~

The goblins were more difficult to evacuate from the keep than the sluggish ogres. The thought of pillage and looting swelled large in small goblinish minds.

They slunk in from the camps made in the surrounding gardens and wood while their captains were not looking to take what trophies they could. They crept along deserted halls and desecrated personal chambers, pilfering jewelry and trinkets that caught their greedy eyes. Small, withered bodies clung to the shadows, fearful of discovery from their own superiors might they be caught with pockets of gold and pretty blown glass.

A small group of them, three to be exact, skulked along the upper floors.

They were quiet as mice, but not nearly so harmless. Their looting, like the looting of their fellows was never circumspect.

What they did not take, they took glee in desecrating. They shredded silken pillows and shattered glass or pottery they did not desire for themselves. They left signs of their presence in urine and feces deposited on beds or in the middle of carpeted floors. Chattering with malicious delight over the senseless defacement, they went from room to room, their pouches and pockets brimming to overflowing with the booty they collected.

The particular three that made the west tower hall their own were known as Sith, Mange and Krucc. They differed very little from any thousand other goblins, as they were small, wiry, hideously ugly and single mindedly malicious in each and every activity they engaged. They had taken the best of what they discovered, mirthfully delighted that no other goblin had reached this bountiful harvest before them. Sith was the dominant of the three. It was he that got the best treasures, even if Mange or Krucc had found them first. It was he that led the way from room to room and marginally directed the actions of the other two. And it was his, narrowed, sly gaze that caught sight of the sealed doorway when his two cronies might have passed blithely by.

The goblins gathered about what once might have been a normal portal. The stone of the wall to either side of it had been twisted and stretched to cover the door way. It was rough and slightly concave, and very, very sturdy. Goblin claws made no dent in its solid surface. It was very clear to small goblin minds that some magic had been done to seal the room. Therefore something of incredible value must lay beyond the stone portal.

They spent some time imagining what that might be, working themselves into a delirious frenzy fantasizing over the wealth that awaited them. Next to dwarves, goblins were the most fanatic in their search for gold. They hardly ever did anything more with it, though, than bury it and jealously guard the spot.

There was nothing more for them to do but go back to camp and procure picks to break through the stone. They sat about this eagerly, scurrying through the darkening evening towards the wild dotting of campfires outside the keep.

They made a bee line for their own company and rummaged around in the supplies where Mange was certain he had seen a bundle of picks.

With picks in hand and each carrying an empty sack for the loot they were sure to find, they crept back towards the keep.

They went in through the kitchens and crept up a narrow back hall. The sidhe were occupying the lower levels, holding what court they could, in the abandoned keep.

Unerringly they found their way back to the one peculiar door. Sith set the other two to work chipping through the stone.

Bits and pieces of rock flew through the air. He hissed and snapped at them frequently as tiny projectiles razed his face or the skin of his arms. Mange and Krucc continued on indifferently, occasionally casting accusatory glares over their shoulders at Sith’s inactivity.

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.