Dockalfar (74 page)

The wooded slopes of the valley seemed deserted. The trees seemed bowed under the weight of so much rain.

A good portion of their leaves were floating in the vale. Quiet and still it seemed. He knew it was illusion. He knew goblins and ogre patrols roamed the forest. He knew that the hunt made those hills their own. But still there had to be a path out. A trek that the Dockalfar forces did not patrol. In his mind, he tried to imagine what landscape lay around the vale. No hope to the west, that was where the majority of Azeral’s forces were coming from. To the north was the high ground, where the hunt had surely set up their camp. To the south and not to far to the south were the flat plains that bordered the End of the World Range, which might offer good hiding if he could make it across the featureless plains without notice. To the east, more forest. Forest that reached all the way to the sea.

Some of his folk lived in those woodlands. He might even have a few relatives roaming those densely wooded domains. They called the eastern wood home, except for a few dangerous places none dared to trespass. A few dangerous places….

He cracked his knuckles thoughtfully.

He ticked off the number of days’ travel it had taken them to reach this vale from the eastern shore of Lake Mirikii. Two, if one did not count all the time hiding like rabbits from a fox. Little more than a day more of hard travel and one might reach one of those dangerous places. One of those places where even the hunt or an army of ogres might think twice about entering. A quick resourceful spriggan might take to ground and escape the notice that a greater number of invaders could not. A brave, desperate spriggan might be able to overlook superstition in favor of a more physical danger.

He shuffled out into the downpour, ignoring the water dripping from his brow into his eyes. He let his nose lead him to where the horses were stabled, hoping the sidhe had left his saddle packs well enough alone. There were still enough supplies for a few days travel. And there was an extra knife hidden in the lining to make up for the one they had taken from his person. He would leave the horse. Too conspicuous. A spriggan could travel lighter and more secretively without a great gangling animal to draw attention.

He slunk into the building the Seelies were using to house their horses. The smell of manure and wet hair hung in the air. He breathed deeply of the odor, it being a pleasant one to a spriggan. He peered through the shadowed interior until he made out the mount that had been his for the last several days. He began rummaging through the loosened saddle.

The horse turned its head and eyed him balefully. Bashru showed it his teeth. The animal laid it’s ears back in response.

“What are you up to, Bashru?”

The spriggan nearly cried out in his shock at the dryly delivered question. He whirled, his back to the horse and glared into the shadows. The human sat on a canvas covered slab of stone in the darkest part of the shade. Bashru should have scented him, but for the overpowering odor of horse. The spriggan hissed, stabbing a finger at Alex.

“Nasty human. Why you lurking in the dark?”

“Why are you?” Alex countered, summoning a witch light into existence. It hovered three feet over his head at the foot of the slab. Bashru shrugged nonchalantly and patted his saddle bag.

“Just lookin’ for a snack is all. That’s all. Why you here, huh? The Seelie court, they house you with the horses?”

“Yeah. Sort of.” Alex shrugged and looked into the darkness beyond the spriggan, a haunted expression on his face.

The witch light made him seem suddenly more than mortal. There was a dread there that might last an eternity. Dully, he said, “I messed up, Bashru.”

The spriggan snorted, well aware of this fact. Surreptitiously he went about unfastening the straps to his saddlebag.

Alex ignored his movements.

“From the time I got here, I’ve been making the wrong choices. Look where’s it got me. Thoroughly screwed up.”

Bashru cast him a glare, wondering if he realized how many innocents he had taken with him on his downward spiral.

The spriggan clicked his tongue. “No sidhe girl. No human girl. Bad, bad luck.”

“I thought coming here would make a difference. I thought showing her how devoted I was to her would matter.” His voice turned bitter. “All I’ve done is given her him on a silver platter. And you know what, neither one of them even thanked me for the effort.”

Bashru had the saddlebag down. He spared a glance for Alex, and a bit of his own opinion on the matter. “You rutted with the sidhe witch first. You asked for it. The girl weren’t listening to no reason tryin’ to get back to you and she finds you and Azeral’s bitch daughter. You ‘spect her to forgive and forget? You ‘spect her not to find a warm body of her own?” He shook his head in disgust. “‘course one wouldna’ of expected it to be the assassin. But who’s to guess female’s minds?”

Alex stared at him silently. The glow of the light darkened perceptively. “Where are you going with the bag, Bashru?” His voice was barely audible. The spriggan shivered, remembering there was a good deal of untaught magic power coiled inside the human. And even untaught magic was dangerous.

“None of your business,” he snapped, even as he edged around the horse.

“You abandoning ship?”

“No ship here,” the spriggan muttered, although it might not be a bad idea. “Just going outside where the company is better.”

Alex looked past him to the dim rectangle of gray light. The shadows were taking over outside also. The night was almost upon them. The night was the best time for creeping. Spriggan vision was good in the absence of light. Ogre and sidhe sight not quite so good without benefit of witch light. Goblins…well goblins he would just have to stay clear of.

The human said nothing more and Bashru crept outside, heart pounding in his chest. Alex would not give him up. He had too many other things clamoring for his attention to bother with betraying a lone spriggan’s escape to sidhe that really did not care to begin with. Just a matter of slipping out of the vale and past the first line of Azeral’s scouts. Of finding one of those dangerous places where the hunt and the Unseelie forces would avoid like a stretch of Annwn itself. Hide there long enough for Azeral to accomplish what he wished and return to his keep. Then Bashru would be safe.

~~~

Okar pushed past the crowd that gathered to meet Ashara’s horse. He struggled up the muddy slope even as the exhausted animal pounded down. He tried to reach her mentally and found impenetrable shields. Her mind was a fortress of cold, repellent force. His own probe shied back from it in alarm. It had been long, long past since he had felt anything of the like from her. He caught the reins of her horse, the Seelies gathering around behind him, crowding around her with frightened, expectant faces. Their questions rent the air, both mental and physical. Ashara seemed inattentive to the lot of them. Her face under the sheen of rain and snaking hair, was white and frozen. Her eyes held a look of such pain that Okar’s own gut clenched with it. She fumbled to dismount, blindly, numbly and stood trembling against the side of her heaving mount.

Softly he called her name. She did not look at him. Just stood with her shoulders quaking. Neira’sha was moving through the crowd towards them, her fine face distraught. She put her hands on Ashara’s shoulders and the Lady of the Seelie court started at the touch and suddenly turned wild eyes to the collected faces around her. She moaned, a dismal, wailing sound that came from the soul. There was fear in her gaze and the flicker of her eyes hinted that she wanted nothing more than escape from prying eyes.

The questions still hammered at her. Her elders had shouldered their way past the others to demand her attention. Mendalah stood foremost, shoving herself between Okar and Ashara.

“What happened? Did you have success? Did you speak with him personally?”

“Success?” Ashara’s whisper came out in a hysterical gasp. Her eyes turned more frantic still. There were tears running down her face, intermingling with the rain.

“Lady, have you lost your wits?”

Mendalah demanded, offended at the lack of interest Ashara showed in her questioning.

Ashara turned her gaze for one brief moment to him, and in her eyes he saw, he knew, that her strength had dwindled. That she was as fragile as an orchid and her own folk threatened damage. Burning anger rose within him. Acid hatred towards the cause. Azeral. But for the moment, concern for her overwhelmed it.

He put a hand on Mendalah’s shoulder, pulling her back from his lady.

That one cast him an offended glare, which he ignored. More gently he pushed past Neira’sha and took Ashara in his arms. She clung to him, curling up in his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. He swept through the startled sidhe, careless of their dwindling questions and growing concern. Neira’sha followed.

No.
He sent to her mentally.
Please.

Her step faltered and she fell behind with the others. A dozen stricken, pale faces watched him go.

He put her down in the haphazard nest they had made for themselves in this place and spelled them both dry. She drew her limbs against her torso and turned towards the wall, refusing to look at him.

Refusing more than the comfort of his touch. He stopped trying to get her to talk to him and merely lay down beside her, wrapping her in his own arms, resting his chin on her head.

The rain continued to fall. He could hear the clamor of inquiry within the vale.

It was barely contained. But it was not directed at her, it merely bounced around among the sidhe. He shut it out and dwelled on his own rage. He had known she would be hurt. He had felt it as surely as he felt her touch.

Azeral. Damn him to Annwn. Azeral whose policy ever was to destroy what he could not possess. And to decimate thoroughly what fought against him. He shut his eyes and pressed his face in her hair, vowing revenge.

And she spoke. “Save your vengeance, my love.” Her voice was raw from crying. She did not attempt to turn.

“He is not the author of my misery.”

He did not speak. Simply waited for her to continue. Her voice broke when she did.

“I’ve dealt a death blow to my child. She died by my hand. By my hand.”

“Leanan?” He could not contain the shock from his voice. Could not help but picture the golden-haired Leanan who had inherited her mother’s beauty, but not her temperament. “How?”

She brought her hands to her face, silently sobbing. “I cannot think. My mind is befouled with images of her death cry. I cannot get it out of my head!”

He held her tighter, thinking of nothing better to do in comfort. He wanted to ask her details but she was certainly in no shape to recount them. Why had the daughter deserved death at the mother’s hands? Azeral’s machinations. There was no other explanation.

“No.” Her voice was calmer. “He saved my life. Against the force of his court, he saved my life. He was no instigator in this.”

She pressed her hands over his and cried. “Oh, Okar, Okar, I understand little of this.”

~~~

Victoria stood at the edge of the crowd, watching with growing dismay as Okar shouldered his way past the onlooking sidhe with his mate in his arms.

There seemed very little hope, with Ashara looking as she did, that truce had been agreed upon. Hope of any kind seemed a foreign thing.

She broke away from the sidhe, before accusatory eyes could be turned on her. Her head was still spinning from the strange sensation she had experienced moments before the announcement of Ashara’s return. For some unexplained reason she associated it with Dusk. She could not imagine why she might suddenly have a shocking, ethereal sensation hinting at him, when she had not even been thinking about him to begin with. Granted he was at the back of her mind. He had sort of taken up residence lurking around at the edges of her thoughts, but as of recently it was more of a joint effort between him and Alex, and one she was growing rather frustrated and weary of pushing out of the mainstream of her thoughts. She was not prepared for the type of decision the situation demanded.

She felt vaguely offended that she should be forced to make one.

But she was curious. She was curious why all of a sudden thoughts and feelings that for some reason she associated directly and personally to Dusk should be cropping up within her, when before it was all she could do to sense him physically. In a daze, she walked through the narrow aisle formed between stone buildings. She ran her fingers along the pitted wall in distraction. The rain beat down upon her hair, streamed into her eyes. She blinked it away, so used to it by now that it was second nature to contend with it.

She knew not exactly where she was going, and yet seemed to have purpose in her wondering. She found a roofless building, low in the pit of the vale, where the water level was almost to the knees if one did not walk along the neat, unintended pathway of fallen stone supports. She moved along the zigzagging pier and watched the eddies in the brown water. She found a perch at the doorless entrance and peered into the gutted structure. Like a magnet, her gaze was drawn to Dusk, even though it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the utter likeness of his color to that of the gray wall he crouched against. A stone column thrice the width of a man had fallen aslant against one wall and provided something of a shelter from the rain. Under it was an indention in the wall that might once have been a cubby for sleeping, or an oblong alcove for an icon or idol.

Irony rose within her. Suddenly and for no particular reason she could fathom, she could read his misery as plain as her own. There was grief and loneliness and an all-consuming hopelessness. And an awareness of her. Him being aware of her, being aware of him. She laughed in tired, frustrated amusement, feeling cruel and selfish. The dagger in the heart of all his trouble. That was her. His downfall and Alex’s torment. What had she become?

“What are you doing out here in this? There are dryer shelters.”

He said nothing, peering at her from under his hood. She felt bad for the lightness of her tone, when he looked so grim. For a long moment she met his stare.