The Coming Storm (95 page)

Outside the weather had turned as bleak as Ailith’s mood, the sky gray. The chill in the air seemed to settle into her bones. This city rarely experienced such weather but it seemed right for the circumstances. Dusk had fallen and darkness gathered beneath the fragile trees that struggled to grow within the castle and city walls. Save in a garden she knew where grass grew and a little tree’s roots had pillowed Elon’s head. Still, Ailith didn’t move from the window to sit by the fire where it would be warmer. The fire offered little comfort, less welcome and even less distraction. At least from here she could see the activity in the city and courtyard below, which was some solace for her confinement.

On the other side of the door Ailith could hear voices as folk passed, but she often had that day as other folk wandered the halls of the castle freely only going briefly silent as they passed her locked and guarded door.

The door rattled.

A key in the lock.

Her dinner had already been delivered and sat cold by the fireside. She’d had little appetite for it.

Beyond surprise by now, she felt little beyond a faint curiosity. She turned and folded her hands in front of her.

The lamps hadn’t been lit, only the flickering light from the fire cast light, so the room was shadowed and dim. The light from the torches without framed her visitor for a moment before he waved to the guards outside to draw the door shut. Seeing who it was, she was surprised, confused and wary as she sank down to one knee. Her heart pounded.

High King Daran.

“Get up,” he said, impatiently and set a twig to the fire to light the lamps.

She stood, clasping her hands behind her back. It seemed poor manners to thrust them in her pockets or to hook her thumbs in her belt as she might have with another. Besides, hooking her thumbs in her belt only reminded her of the absence of her swords.

They’d taken them, of course. She felt naked without them, she’d worn them for so long.

As many times as she’d seen the man she hadn’t truly looked at him. She hadn’t needed to. His presence had been enough, cold and predatory like some bird of prey. Face him she had and challenged him but that had been a different time, a different place, and under different circumstances.

He had needed her then.

He didn’t now.

Now, she was more cautious. Now, she saw him clearly.

He wasn’t a handsome man, his face marked with by pox and sword, his hawk-like nose scarred and slightly bent.

The scar on his nose was new.

Daran didn’t need beauty, he had presence instead, a forcefulness of personality not born of his position but of his fierce nature. He dominated the room, filled it with that predatory energy as Elon did with his quiet confidence.

Dark hair was swept back from widow’s peaks above that arching nose. His eyes were black and never still, as hard and bright as the eyes of a crow. Perhaps they only seemed like that now, under these circumstances. Still, of all she’d heard of him, he wasn’t known for his warmth. Nor had she ever known him for it. The blunt way he’d announced she was disowned had shown that. There was little kindness in him. Some claimed that Elves were cold but she knew they weren’t, not in the way this man was.

Daran, High King of all Men and First of the Three.

Looking at her, Daran wondered, 
How had it come to this
?

He had nothing but distaste for this mission but little choice.

This woman, this young woman. How old was she? Mid-twenties perhaps
.

He remembered her too well from Colbreath and his reluctant admiration of her there.

So young, too young and too calm, too still for it, under these circumstances.

If what they suspected was true, though, that explained it.

Some were afraid of her. He wasn’t, not yet. But she was a risk he dared not take.

Otherling. If it was true then she had power, a great deal of power, as he’d seen that day on the plain, when she’d raised the dragon.

The power it had taken to do such a thing…concerned…him.

Judging by what he’d seen, by the power it had taken to do what she’d done, she was as powerful and as dangerous as the wizard they’d just fought.

There were those who searched for a name, for the one who helped make her. There were some who wanted it. Daran didn’t care. He didn’t matter.

Only this one did.

Like so many others, she bore the marks of this war on her face. It was too pinched, too thin, her eyes too steady and too knowing in too young a face. There had been too much blood on her hands, she’d seen too much horror. As he knew. This confinement and the reasons for it wouldn’t have improved upon it.

She was comely enough now that he looked at her, although she wasn’t comely enough to turn a head for looks alone. That steady gaze from steel-blue eyes showed courage and strength, of which he already had reason to know she had in plenty. Sun-lightened hair in tousled waves was bound back with a leather thong. Of her Dwarven heritage she showed only a sturdiness of frame, of her Elven an odd thread of grace, but outwardly in all else she was of the race of Man. And therefore his problem. Or so it seemed. His also by being graced First of the Three.

It didn’t matter and couldn’t matter. None of it mattered, nothing mattered but the Alliance.

There would be some who would try to use her to destroy that Alliance. That was inevitable. It was already happening.

She had power. Power he didn’t, couldn’t. control. Nor could Avila. Although that one hadn’t admitted it openly, he’d seen it in the avid glitter of her eyes.

Neither of them had any hold over her.

By all accounts only Elon did.

That Daran couldn’t allow. Nor had Avila been pleased with the notion.

Not that any of them had any choice in it now. Not with what had been set in motion.

As much as he knew Elon hated the thought Daran knew he could control even Elon to some extent. Elon would do much to bring peace for his people. So long as that was something Elon wanted and Daran controlled that, Daran controlled Elon. However much that proud Elf bucked in his traces.

This chit upset that balance of power. All he had to do see it was to look at Avila.

More, as the heir to a lesser King – disowned or not – there were those who could and would rally around her, try to raise her up. Perhaps even offer her as High Queen. A few of the lesser Kings would like that notion.

That made her dangerous. Too dangerous.

“This much I can do,” he said to her, abruptly. “I can offer you exile. To the Borderlands. If I recommend it, the others will follow. Take it. It’s better than death at the hands of the Dwarves.”

For a moment Ailith went still and her heart as well, frozen in her chest.

The offer surprised her, stunned her.

Exile
. Banishment to the borderlands like any common thief or murderer. Sent out into those barren lands to survive among the creatures there however she could.

The creatures and the wizards she’d fought for so long and so recently.

She was astonished Daran offered even so much.

Elon. What would this do to him
? Her heart twisted, ached. That pain, that grief burned in her chest as if seared by acid. Scalding.

She remembered what Talesin had said.

Were they truly soul-bonded, she and Elon? What would exile do to him? Would it at least offer him hope?

At least it wasn’t death.

She closed her eyes and her breath caught. It was beyond her to reply.

Narrow-eyed, Daran watched her but that serene face showed nothing until she closed her eyes and shuttered away whatever feelings she did have behind them. He didn’t want to see it anyway. It was easier if he didn’t.

“It’s better,” he said to her silence, pacing away to stand by the fire, “than what may be. Were it left to the Dwarves it would be your head. They remember the last Otherling too well. The Elves haven’t yet made known what their thoughts are, they’re not a blood-thirsty race but there are those among even them who would wish for your end. They’re unsettled by the idea of another Otherling.”

Death. More than an end to her life, it would be the end of all hope for Elon.

There wouldn’t even be the promise of a reunion in the Summerlands if she lost her life to a Dwarven axe.

She was afraid. More afraid than she’d been on any battlefield. It seemed she couldn’t breathe, as if the air in here had grown too thick and close.

Exile or death. Daran offered her exile and life, if she could survive in the borderlands. A chance and life for herself and hope, perhaps, for both her and Elon.

“Why?” she asked, and watched Daran cautiously.

Was it hope she felt or dread? She couldn’t tell.

He turned to look at her, frowning slightly. “Why, what?”

What had she to lose by challenging him now? Her life? Of what moment was that now? Little. Exile or death. It kept echoing in her mind. Exile to the borderlands, to survive as best she could among the creatures there.

Raising her chin, she looked at him.

“Why should I do this? Why should I do this for you? I should like to know. You wish me to accept it. How can I, without quarrel or explanation?”

It wasn’t often anymore that he was challenged. This one had done it before. Nothing much daunted her but then after time spent around Elon, nothing much would.

Daran raised an eyebrow and looked at her more carefully.

Resolution, yes, it was there in her eyes.

Something more than mere curiosity.

A life of exile in the borderlands or a Dwarven axe to the throat? Either choice would be bitter enough.

As little as he liked it, in a way he was the petitioner here.

He needed her consent, her cooperation. This plan had been set in motion very carefully, for many reasons.

“Fair enough. Because you must,” he said, shortly. “For the Kingdoms. Because if you don’t, Elon will suffer. His involvement in your cause already raises questions that cannot bear answers. Jareth will suffer as well.”

By all reports she had strong ties to each.

Just how strong and of what nature
? he wondered. A threat to them might convince her to accept.

Those piercing eyes, the color of good steel, met his evenly.

“What matters that to you?” she asked plainly. “You care little for either of them. It’s well known that you have no love for wizards so Jareth’s fate is of no matter to you. As for Elon, there are few who would challenge his integrity, he’s so well known for it. He’s served you faithfully and well and you repay him like this?”

For a moment Daran’s temper flared. What gave this slip of a woman the right to question him? He who was High King of all men and First of the Three? It was a fault he’d long struggled to control. He thrust the anger back as he had so many times before.

What right?

Her life, her hopes, her dreams. What fault had she committed to be condemned to this fate? Her birth, which wasn’t of her choosing. For a single act of courage? A moment, short seconds that bought precious time that may have turned the tide of the battle, of the war? That may have spelled the difference between victory and defeat?

May have? It had.

He owed her this much.

“Personally, you’re right,” he said, as he stalked across the room to the fire to stare into the flames. “I have little feeling for either, in truth. However, I need Elon. The one thing we share, that we care deeply about, is this Alliance. I’ve given my life to it and bid farewell to my wife for it. It’s been bought and paid for in sacrifice and struggle. No more does Man and Elf quarrel over land and boundaries or Dwarves craft their swords and axes for Man and Elf both to use against the other. That Alliance has held for years now, longer than you’ve been alive. In the end, it’s been forged in blood and war. Now it threatens to shatter, to be torn apart. And for what? The fate of one person.”