The Coming Storm (96 page)

He paused to contain himself again, to rein in the bitter anger and frustrated rage.

“I don’t care for the fact of your blood. Old taboos, prohibitions and bans matter little to me, they’re empty tradition. I could care less. Is any of it true? I was there on the plain and I saw the dragon. Real or illusion, it’s impossible to deny. To the Dwarves, that tradition and the ban against the mingling of blood are sacred. It’s Law to them, though, engraved in stone. Some of the Elves, too, hold that prohibition against the mingling of blood dear. Elon’s own people. You know as well as I the old stories you learned at your nursemaid’s knee. Our own old tales. That and the fear. They fear you. I can’t blame them for that nor should you. Wild magic. You gave them reason enough that day on the plain, whatever your intentions.”

And hope as well but that wasn’t something to speak of at this time.

It was the power they feared, power enough to raise a dragon into the sky.

Power that was held in the hands of this young woman, for all that she didn’t look especially threatening.

That was deceptive.

She was as powerful as the wizard they’d faced on the plains.

If even half of what he heard was true, even without that power, with only her swords in her hands she was deadly. She’d stood beside Elon, had fought equal to equal with one Daran knew to be a master swordsman.

That power, though, had raised a dragon.
What else could she do with it?

“The Dwarves know what you are now. They want your head and only partly for fear. Their Law demands your life. In truth, I think they only wish you to be gone. No one really remembers yet that their blood ran in your father’s veins and they don’t want anyone to recall it. They’re ashamed. They’re ashamed that one of their blood has done what he did, broken honor, turned traitor. Even if their Laws didn’t demand so harsh a fate for what you are, they would want it for that and that only.”

“Otherling. Even among the Elves, there are some who share that. As much as they treasure children, some among them wouldn’t have suffered you to live.”

“Many among our people feel much the same. You have three great black marks against you. Not the least of which is that you look like us and yet you are not. The chance that led to the mixing of blood and blood taints you.”

“Again, that’s the least of it. You betrayed your father. For the greater good, perhaps, but some among our people see only the betrayal. You betrayed your own blood, the blood of your father. As he betrayed his crown and his people.”

“Greater still than that, though, is that you have Power. Great power. Not a wizards power such as they could understand but Otherling magic, wild magic. That frightens them. They hear whispers among the Dwarves and they repeat the old tales of what your like has done. That they remember. They fear what they don’t know.”

In truth it frightened him. For all that the dragon he’d seen had been beautiful, for all that it had done no harm, the power to create such a thing awed him. He didn’t like to be awed.

He was suddenly tired. Weary beyond his years. Whether it was the distaste for this mission, or the long overdue weight of the past months and years on his shoulders, he didn’t know.

Daran sighed. “As for Jareth, he is of no moment. Wizards do what wizards do and I could care less. I leave it to them and Avila. Elon… Elon matters. You think I don’t care. Personally, no. Politically, yes. Even among our people his integrity is well known. One day he’ll sit among the Three, of that I have no doubt. His people respect him. As do the Dwarves, were it not for this. For you.

So, one day he’ll sit among the Three. If the Alliance survives this. If he does, he’ll lead the Elves. Of that, too, I have no doubt.

But.

There will be a shadow. It will undermine him. Someday he could be among the Three and long may he reign if it’s so but not so long as that shadow remains. That shadow will be you. There will be misgivings and doubt, even among his own people.

That does matter. I’ve worked too hard and struggled too long to give it up. I would see him sit in my seat and take my place. I won’t see this Alliance sundered.”

His legacy required it. Too often in the past these peace ventures had failed and history had marked those failures. What Daran left behind him would last. He would assure that at any cost.

Ailith listened, watching Daran’s face.

Before her eyes he seemed to age, the toil and struggle bowing his shoulders. He straightened his back, stretched it as if to relieve it of a monstrous weight.

He believed this. Daran High King.

She knew the truth of much of it, had seen it already. Fear in the eyes of some, unease in others. Truths can be many things. She hadn’t betrayed her father. Some might see it that way but she hadn’t.

Not even the man who resembled her father but hadn’t been.

She ached for the memory.
Was the rest also true?
She didn’t know.

Daran set his black eyes to her, resolute once again.

“Don’t count on their aid,” Daran said. He wouldn’t have her harbor false hopes. “Either Elon or Jareth. They’ve been called away. Far away. It was too great a risk that either would take up your banner.”

It made sense now. That’s what the summons had been about.

First Colath, then Elon and Jareth. All called away.

Ailith had never felt so alone since the days she’d first guessed her father wasn’t her father.

Closing her eyes briefly, she looked upon the stars that shone internally and eternally in the soaring vault of her soul and she could see those two, but distant.

It didn’t take even that much.

Elon
.

She could feel him through the bond. The incomplete soul-bond. She felt it now and always, as she felt the vow she’d made to him and the words she’d said to Talesin that day in the garden.

Endure
.

Slowly, she let out a breath, opened her eyes again to look upon DaranHigh King.

His eyes met hers.

“Good,” he said, “you know it, then, to be true.”

He’d seen it in her face. A slip.

Again, she nodded. There was little to say.

He took a sharp deep breath.

“I won’t ask for your answer now. Consider it. Listen, on the morrow. Listen and look. Watch what people do and listen to what they say as you pass among them. Listen to the whispers. Then decide.”

With that he turned and walked to the door.

Exile.

The thought made her cold. It wasn’t death. There would perhaps be some hope.

For herself?

Her heart quailed at the thought. Alone in the borderlands.

But for Elon?

“My Lord, if you recommend it,” Ailith asked, “how certain are you the Council will follow?”

With his hand on the handle of the door Daran turned to look at her.

The two lamps he’d lit cast only a little illumination, the fire was down to embers.

Her eyes gleamed, reflecting the light like polished steel. Her face was still, set, her eyes steady.

It came to him, then, that if what they thought was true then she was caged here only by her own will.

Did she have the magic to escape if she chose? He didn’t know. Yet she didn’t. And if she did? What then? A fugitive and hunted throughout the Kingdoms. Where would she go? What would she do? What choice had she?

None.

They’d made sure of it.

For a moment her gaze lowered, then she looked at him once more. “Can you promise it?”

“Aye, I can do that,” he said.

It was what he had worked so hard for, to have that kind of power. The power of life and death.

Her voice was soft.

“Well enough,” she said, on scarcely more than a sigh. “I’ll consider what you said.”

It was all he could ask for, all he would get.

He rapped upon the door.

It opened and closed behind him.

Ailith stared after him, her arms wrapped around herself.

Exile. Banishment
.

To the borderlands, as with any common criminal. To that place where all the fell things lived that she had fought for so long.

Alone
.

She couldn’t weep, though she could wish it.

Elon
. Her heart beat slow and hard.

She grieved, alone, for what might have been, and held it close as much as she could, that she not share it with him, or with Colath.

With darkness close and only the light of the moon to guide him Jored rode hard, pushing the gelding as hard as he dared. It wouldn’t do to founder the beast and fail in his self-appointed mission. His mission. There was no other to do it.

It was madness. It was.

What they planned was madness, too, though. He knew nothing of the affairs of the mighty, he was only a poor soldier but it was still madness. Despair drove him to risk himself and his horse by driving them both hard through the night with only the moon to guide him. One false step and his fate might be a broken neck.

Yet, what else had he fought for but this?

Standing on the battlefield with the butt of his pike ground into the earth and his sword in its sheath but ready.

What else had he fought for but her and those around him?

The young boy beside him, Corwin, his face and eyes nearly wild with fear.

Before them the enemy, the likes of such he’d never seen.

The sound of their approach was the sound of thunder but it was their aspect that chilled his bones.

Corwin had trembled and Jored had seen it was in him to run, the fear was so great.

One would be all it took and then they were lost.

“Are you afraid, son?” Jored had asked.

In the face of their enemy it was an effort to keep his own voice even.

The boy had turned his pale face toward him, his expression startled, eyes ringed with white. He was clearly too frightened to speak, only a second from bolting. One false move and he’d be gone. Nor would he be alone once he did and that would leave a break in the lines, a hole through which that fell host that approached would turn into a torrent of death.

“
What say you, Lady?” Jored had said to the one who sat so steadily on her horse nearby.

Surprised, she’d glanced down at him, her face so young and yet so calm.

“No Lady am I, no more at least. But, what is it you ask?”

“Are you afraid?”

She’d looked at him, then looked beyond him to young Corwin, scarcely as old as herself.

Raising her eyes, she’d looked out upon the approaching horde.

“My father,” she had said, calmly, “once told me that only a fool isn’t frightened on the day of battle.”

“Are you afraid, Lady?” young Corwin had asked, his voice trembling. He’d sounded surprised.

Taking a deep breath, she’d looked down at them both and smiled wryly. “Terrified.”

Corwin had just looked at her. Then he’d nodded once and set his pike all the more firmly in the ground.

As had Jored, taking his cue from her.

The boy was dead, fallen in battle after the dragon had risen but he’d fought bravely and well until the spear took him.

Jored hadn’t died but neither of them would have lived long if the Lady hadn’t freed the dragon.

He ducked a branch that would have done for his head if he hadn’t seen a flicker of moonlight on it.

As it was he very nearly charged straight through the camp and would have were it not for the guards on it. The war might be over and the battles had been won but the habits of war still held. There were still fell things that wandered in the night and those that escaped the battlefield had returned to their usual bloody habits.