The Coming Storm (40 page)

Ailith sat by the fire. She needed to think.

Broken, bleeding bodies. These people who she’d grown to care about.

Jalila slept, as did Jareth, her cry hadn’t awakened them. For that she was grateful. Both had been the more seriously hurt.

Broken and bleeding. It was bad enough to take such wounds in battle, fighting, but more terrible still to do so chained to a wall. For Elves, who saw none as being subject to another, it was even more so. Even the thought of such a thing made her shudder. To have seen it. It wouldn’t happen, she would make sure of it.

That mindless rage…

Ailith took a shuddering breath. No. Not that either. The stories of the others like her told her all she needed to know of that. She would be different, she would control it, she would find a way to do it. The anger, later, that had been cleaner, manageable. It hadn’t frightened her so badly.

She remembered wanting her swords there in the dream and suddenly finding them in her hands. The door shattering in a blast of white light. Tolan. His voice. You’ll show me your fear. He hadn’t seen. She’d hidden it. The next time he invaded her dreams she would be more ready.

For a while, Elon didn’t sleep, instead he watched the still figure by the fire with concern.

She looked small, swallowed up by his shirt. She wasn’t, though, there was strength in that small frame, determination and courage, which showed themselves now. He saw her sit up a little more straightly and square her shoulders. Her chin lifted. Ah, that was his Ailith.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself sleep.

The trail was little more than a narrow track through the woods but the sun shone down in bright shafts between the towering trees and the birds sang sweetly as they darted among the branches. Here in the shade beneath the boughs it was cooler than it had been out on the plain. It was hard to find threat in this peaceful place. Other than the birds and the rustle of the breeze in the trees, there was no other sound.

“He’s here, Elon,” Ailith said with a frown, shaking her head in puzzlement. “I know he is. Nearby.”

Elon pulled up suddenly and extended his senses. “Ailith, hold a moment. Colath, Jalila, do you feel that?”

A whisper, a little hint of magic. Particular magic. Familiar magic.

Colath’s chin lifted and gaze sharpened as he took a breath.

He nodded, Jalila did as well.

Oh, yes, Jalila knew that feeling, that tingle of energy. But here? There were no Enclaves here. Nor any close.

She looked at Elon, puzzled.

Jareth looked at the three of them and then looked around. There was nothing that he could sense.

“We’ve been skirting it,” Elon said and shook his head in disgust.

Raising a hand, he sketched a symbol in the air. It seemed as if he wrote it in light. The symbol, the Elven character for ‘open’,  hung on the air for a moment and then slowly faded.

To their right a mist appeared, rising up out of the ground, thin, hazy, with rainbow motes of light that shifted and drifted in it.

Jareth gave Elon a look. “Warding? And a Veil?”

Elon nodded, studying it. How long had they been skirting its borders? From the well-worn look of this trail, they weren’t the first. These wards had been very carefully crafted. A Veil. It was no wonder Ailith could sense Talesin close but couldn’t find him. If it hadn’t been for that whisper of magic…

“Talesin!” he called.

The Elf seemed suddenly to appear as if from nowhere, stepping from behind a tree.

Even for their folk he was tall, as ageless as they all appeared, his eyes as serene as the moon and nearly the same color. It was those eyes that gave away his age. Those eyes had seen much, the look in them was ancient and old.

“Ala, Elon of Aerilann,” he said and bowed a little, then inclined his head to the others in greeting.

His voice was deep but the tone was light.

“Ala, too, Colath and Jalila. Jareth, I haven’t seen you in some time.” His eyes went to Ailith and a spark of curiosity lit in those ancient eyes. “Ala, as well, Ailith of Riverford.”

Turning, he waved his hand and walked away, to pass through the glimmering light and mists of his Veil.

Elon looked at the others, lifted an eyebrow and followed.

Beyond the warding, beyond the Veil where a forest had once seemed to be, there was instead a broad, light-filled clearing. A vale of a different kind. Carefully tended it spread like a skirt around a single massive tree in the center. A broad gallery encircled the base of that tree, with wide stone steps leading up to it. Vines draped the thatched roof, curled around the narrow stair that spiraled around the bole of the tree and up into the branches, leading up to the  balconies there. Birds darted and flew among the leaves and branches.

“I’ll take the horses,” Ailith offered, as they came to a halt at the foot of the steps and dismounted.

Talesin turned, his pale gray eyes looking down at her with interest. No censure or condemnation, just that glint of curiosity.

“A King’s daughter dancing attendance on Elves?”

She looked up at him, into those ageless eyes and his impassive face. Somehow, she sensed she was being tested, assessed in some way.

“I dance attendance on no one,” she said, calmly. “I do a service for my companions. As they would do for me and have.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Well, enough,” he said, with a nod and gestured. “If you wish, set them loose. There is a place for their tack that way.”

Those ancient eyes went to Elon and then Jareth, then the others. He turned and walked up the steps to the gallery.

“I think,” he said, “that we’ll talk. But first, you’ve had a long journey to come here. A place has been made for you. Relax, refresh yourselves, there are rooms above for you, Elon, Colath and Jalila. There is one on the next level for Jareth. I’ll wait and it will wait.”

It was simple Elven courtesy.

No one objected.

Elon, for one, was in need of what was offered.

It was what Geric should have offered and hadn’t. Food and drink. A bath and a bed if he chose to sleep a little. Fresh clothes.

Sighing, Elon relaxed.

With a slight incline of his head he followed the sweeping gesture of Talesin’s hand and went toward the stair and the quarters he knew awaited them above.

Unsaddling the horses, Ailith found a long low shed in which to store the tack. She laid them out neatly as Korin had shown her so many years ago, making sure the blankets got plenty of air. There was a brief pang at the memory. She set it aside. Smoke followed her and now waited patiently behind her.

For a moment she was grateful just for the time alone. So much had happened in so short a time. The horse came up to nuzzle at her hair as always and she leaned against him for a moment.

This place was so peaceful, so quiet. She gazed up at the thick canopy of leaves above her, seeing glimpses of the balconies with their draping vines and the birds that flitted happily from one tree to another. A sanctuary, a refuge from the world, that’s what this place was. Standing and leaning against the horse, her eyes on the glimpses of blue sky and green leaves, she drank in the serenity of it.

Was this what Aerilann was like? she wondered. Only many? That distant view hadn’t give her much detail.

Finally, she sighed, patted Smoke and walked toward the gallery.

Talesin waited for her.

There was no sign of age in his face as there was none in Elon’s, Colath’s, or Jalila’s, save  that his seemed carved sharper, more finely honed. Like them, his face was still, almost expressionless, except for the eyes. Ancient eyes the color of fog but the expression in them wasn’t unkind. There was no tinge of gray in his hair, such as men would have. It was as fair as Colath’s, caught at the back in a clasp to hang down his back in a straight fall of silvery gold. He wore a robe the color of silver that fell straight to his feet, plain and unadorned. 

She inclined her head a little, in respect.

Talesin stared gravely back, studying her.

After a moment, his eyes softened.

“A place has been made for you,” he said and his voice was gentle. “Follow the stairs to the top. You’ll know when to stop.”

“Thank you,” she said and did as she was told.

At each level there was a room but she ascended as he had instructed and found the one that was hers.

It was the last, the uppermost. The balcony here was narrower than the rest but it gave a clear view across the little vale. There were no walls as most knew them, only draperies of Elven-silk the same color as the leaves on the trees, so fine they were almost transparent. Where the sun shone past the leaves outside, the draperies glowed and the shadows of the leaves danced in an endlessly changing pattern.

Inside, a bath awaited, and food and drink had been laid out on a small table. Wisps of scented steam drifted over the surface of the bath water. The room was so clean, so fresh, she felt grimy even in the clothes they’d purchased only the previous day from a farmer’s wife. On the bed clean clothing had been laid out, an Elven-style robe of their fine silk in a pale blue-gray with an underdress of a darker blue.

Sinking into the bath felt wonderful, the warm water fragrant with herbs while flower petals drifted on the surface. Soap was on the tiny table beside the bath. Not knowing when she might get the chance again, Ailith washed every inch, knowing it might be some time again before she could get this clean again. Scrubbing her scalp and washing her hair was an almost hedonistic experience.

There was a cloth to dry with and she did, wrapping it around herself while she picked gratefully at the food.

“Ala, Ailith.”

Jalila, her tall figure outlined by the light against the curtains.

“Ala, Jalila,” she said, both greeting and welcome.

The Elf brushed the drapery aside. “May I?”

Wrapping the drying cloth around herself more closely, Ailith nodded.

This was a Jalila she hadn’t seen before.

Although Jalila had always been neat, she’d always been attired in working clothes, the long, tunic-like shirt that Elves wore to work in and long loose leggings. Now she wore a robe like the one on the bed, in a deep green that suited her dramatic coloring, with a lighter colored one beneath.

Her rich dark hair was caught back more elaborately than usual, braided and clipped with beads in ways that enhanced the high curve of her cheekbones, the fine line of her jaw and mirrored the arch of her brow. The beads matched the amber highlights in her deep brown eyes.

“You don’t know our ways,” Jalila said. “This will be unfamiliar to you. If you would let me help?”

With a sigh of relief, Ailith nodded and smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Jalila.”

Allowing herself a small smile, Jalila said, “It would be my pleasure.”

Much more at ease after his bath, Elon descended the stairs. There was a deep-seated pleasure in feeling truly clean again, in wearing Elven-style robes. In a way, it was like being home again. He missed the peace of Aerilann but this was a welcome substitution.

Talesin awaited him at the bottom of the stair as if he had been expecting him to come down at just that moment, and alone.

Elf and wizard, perhaps he had.

“Walk with me, Elon of Aerilann. The others are still resting and refreshing themselves. You’ve had a hard journey and an even harder one lies ahead.”

Elon looked at him.

Meeting his glance, Talesin nodded. “Yes, I’m aware. I’ve taken myself out of the world somewhat but I’m still of it. There is a great darkness rising. I’ve felt it. We’ll talk more on it when the others come but I would speak to you first of something else.”

They walked in silence. Elon was content to wait on the other Elf’s pleasure.

Few of their people could awe him, it wasn’t their way, no skill or ability was greater than or lesser than another since all contributed to the betterment of the Enclave and their people as a whole. Each had an equal voice. One led, as he did in Aerilann, by the grant of all.

This one, this Elf, however, was different. It wasn’t only that he was wizard, that was simply another skill or talent. No. Nor was it the many years he’d lived, although that had somewhat to do with it. No. It was that inexpressible air of wisdom and knowledge, the product of the experiences gained over that millennium of life.

“Ailith of Riverford,” Talesin said, coming to a stop in a small glade. “Daughter of a lesser King. And Otherling.”

Going still, Elon eyed the other Elf cautiously.

With a shake of his head and a small intake of breath, Talesin said, “There’s nothing to fear from me on that.”

He held up his hand for silence, looking out among the trees.

“It was madness but I couldn’t stop it.”

There was a deep and ancient sadness, a bitterness not common to their people in the Elven wizard.

“One voice wasn’t enough to drown out so many. So, I was overruled. Elon, they need not go mad, these Otherlings. It’s not intrinsic to their natures.”

Some weight, some burden Elon hadn’t known he carried, lifted from his shoulders. The risk of knowing Ailith might go mad, that he might set her loose upon the world to commit another Lothliann had weighed heavily on his mind. The image of those burned and shattered galleries haunted him. If others knew she lived, they would have urged him to kill her and he would have had to do it. Some few of their own folk, many among the Dwarves. He should have done it, rather than take that risk but he hadn’t, he couldn’t. As others hadn’t before. That weighed on him.

“You wouldn’t remember, Elon,” Talesin said, “but during the wizard wars I knew one who was Otherling. He passed to the Summerlands after the war. You would only have been a child at the time. He was a man of great courage.”