Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries Boxed Set (The Coming Storm) (19 page)

While he could take no pleasure in killing even these vicious things, Elon couldn’t deny it felt good to move; to fight cleanly - rather than be mired in seemingly endless debate, negotiation and discussion. It felt good as well to have Colath at his back once again in honest battle rather than the verbal kind, and surprisingly, to find he trusted Jareth to cover them both. As he had trusted him earlier in the day with his own life, sensing the wizard as he drew power. More, to draw him into the familiar pattern of he and Colath - to know and trust that Jareth would fill a space that hadn’t been there before but now was.

And he did.

Faced with such determined opposition the firbolg fell back. The tipping point had been reached between losing too many for the pride to recover and the prey they might win, if they succeeded.

The boggins were more stubborn but a last spray of mage-fire from Jareth was enough to discourage them and convince them to quit the field of battle, too.

If it hadn’t been for the risk that men would pass so deep into borderlands territory and so encroach on Dwarven territory from the rear, Elon wouldn’t have risked it and their lives to set a marker so close to the borderlands. Too many centuries of men ever pushing their boundaries had taught him a lesson that wouldn’t be unlearned.

Wiping the blade of his sword Elon looked to Jareth. It had grown light while they fought, bright enough to see the young wizard’s resolute expression.

There was hope yet though, to be found in him.

A clatter of hooves on stone warned them of riders approaching from the depths of Dwarven lands.

To Elon’s surprise, he saw it wasn’t a party of the men but one of the Dwarven Wives, and she wore a Lore Master’s jewel suspended from the heavy golden chain around her throat. Both a leader and a user of magic…

He, they, would do well to go cautiously here. Very cautiously. He glanced at Jareth, worriedly.

The young wizard met his look, quickly concealing his own apprehension.

The Lore Master was perched on one of the small, sturdy Dwarven ponies they used in the mines to pull the carts of ore. A coterie of massive Dwarven men - their faces much like the rock they mined, grim and gray - surrounded her, their bodies heavily muscled from years of digging and working the stone.

The Dwarves gave the outward appearance it was the men who led when in truth it was the women - a concession to their dealings with Men after one too many of the Wives had been killed. Men had had no understanding of the importance of Wives to Dwarven culture and society. Like the name of their people - which in their own language meant chosen of the stone while in Mannish it meant small - it was a source of much misunderstanding. Adapted to heavy work in the mines, the men were all obstreperous and volatile when not at work. Smaller in stature and warmer by nature, the Wives were the balance to their men - a calming oasis. They were the Healers among them, the gem miners and workers.

Like Elves the Dwarves were also empathic and there were bindings within their community as deep and strong as the soul-bond that bound Elven couples together, or the true-friend bond Elon and Colath shared. A friendship so deep it held them as close as or closer than brothers. To lose a true-friend was to lose a vital part of yourself, someone who understood you completely.

To lose a soul-bond? It was to lose half of yourself, to always feel that loss keenly, that missing part of one’s soul, one’s spirit, the ease and peace of knowing the one person who understood your heart and soul, the boundless depths of your spirit.

Elon hadn’t yet formed a soul-bond and he felt the absence sharply, especially at times such as these. He’d had alliances and a child had been born of one of them but that deeper bond was denied him. Much older than many of his folk to find his, after so long there was a part of him, buried deep, that feared his soul-bond had been lost in the terrible days of the Wizard Wars or in one of the many conflicts between Elves and men, before he could know her.

In the end, he couldn’t know; he could only serve his people, letting that and his treasured true-friend bond with Colath salve that wound…and wait.

Long-lived, the Dwarves were - like Elves - also less fertile than men. The loss of any of child-bearing age layered disaster on top of desolation.

So the need for subterfuge, foregone here when it was Elves and Dwarves who treated with one another, Jareth’s presence notwithstanding, although she looked askance at him before she chose to ignore him. One or two of the male Dwarves didn’t, their eyes glittering as they eyed him with warning.

This then the reason for sending a Lore Master, as defense against Jareth’s magic.

“Elon of Aerilann,” she said, her voice surprisingly deep, a rumble in her chest, yet the sound was still musical.

Elon inclined his head in respect.

“I am Palic, Lore Master and First Wife here,” she said. “There is one of the race of men with you - a wizard.”

Her tone was accusatory.

First Wife was Elon’s counterpart as First among Equals among the Dwarves - chosen by all of her Cavern to lead.

As many of the Dwarven women were, she was fair to look upon, with hair the color of polished oak. It spilled in tight curls and ringlets down over her shoulders and back. She was sweetly curved but her golden eyes were as cold and implacable as the metal they resembled.

There was power in her, too.

“A wizard, yes, and a man,” Elon acknowledged.

It wasn’t as if the Dwarves hadn’t known they were coming, they’d been warned. This had always been a danger, though. The Dwarves looked for a reason to break the compact.

Jareth went still, his heart in his throat.

Dwarves had no reason to love the men who encroached on their lands, attempted to invade their mines and cheated them - these people to whom a Contract was Law…and as binding.

These folk loved wizards even less than Elves as their people too, had suffered at the hands of his kind during the wizard wars. Like Elves, the long-lived members of this race hadn’t forgotten.

As Elon hadn’t, though he’d been little more than a boy. The memories were bitter and painful. He set them aside.

Thankfully, Palic wasn’t one of those or they might be facing greater difficulty on Jareth’s behalf.

Men - living much shorter lives - forgot easily, considering such things as something from the past, while some here and throughout Elven and Dwarven lands still bore the scars - both physical and mental - of those terrible wars. There was some question as to which type of scar was worse.

And forgetting, men didn’t change their ways but repeated the mistakes and habits of old.

The elder races might be empathic, but that didn’t guarantee a uniformity of opinion. Even among Elon’s own people, as dedicated to justice as they were - it being one of the tenets of Elven life and an integral part of Elven honor - there were some who weren’t comfortable with the Agreement, knowing men too well.

Among the less flexible, more conservative Dwarves, the conflict was more pronounced. It had taken much persuasion on Elon’s part to convince them to sign, binding them to the Contract that was the Agreement.

Given the circumstances, Jareth couldn’t defend himself against an attack - even unprovoked - and certainly not with magic, or risk open war, no matter the circumstances.

Something they all well knew.

Nor could Jareth best a Dwarf physically however tall he was. Even Elon and Colath would have been tried there. Jareth was at real risk.

 That he knew it was evident by the slight paleness of his skin.

For all his youth, though, he wasn’t impetuous; he said nothing in his own defense, wisely leaving that to Elon. He sat his horse, his hands resting on the pommel of his saddle in plain sight of all, his gaze respectfully lowered.

Elon could only be grateful for that self-possession - although he found he hadn’t doubted it nor truly feared it. He was coming to like and trust the young wizard, despite everything he knew of men.

It wasn’t time to mention to Palic that the presence of a wizard had been in the Agreement the people of the Dwarves had signed. The Agreement was a Contract, and inviolable. Were he to present it now, though, he would give up his strongest point in the negotiations too soon.

Impassive as his own folk in the presence of a Wife and a Lore Master, it was difficult to tell if any of the males here bore Jareth any enmity for what he was.

“Do you stand surety for his behavior?” Palic demanded.

The moment Elon had accepted this mission it had been implicit that he would stand as guarantor for the behavior of those in his party. That acceptance had been tacit. Hence his concern at the beginning of their journey.

Now, though?

There was no question. Jareth had guarded their backs, his and Colath’s.

“Yes,” Elon said without hesitation.

Her amber eyes darkened.

“Your life on it, Elf,” she said.

It would be. Her magic was the match of his.

To any other those words might have given a moment’s pause.

Elon’s life? At just the thought, Jareth’s heart caught and he nearly cried out in protest but it was already too late, Elon was already nodding.

No one other than his Master and his foster parents had ever shown such faith in him. There was so much that could go wrong, no matter how hard you tried. No one knew that better than Jareth. He took a breath and let it out, all too aware of Colath’s eyes on him. It was his true-friend’s life in Jareth’s hands.

None of the others seemed to catch Jareth’s start.

That trust, though, pierced him to the core even as it made his heart leap and his spirit glow.

“This isn’t our way, Elf,” Palic said, sharply, “this marking of place.”

Elon nodded. “Nor ours but it must be if we are to live in peace with men.”

Foresight had told him as much, if it didn’t always speak clearly.

“He is wizard,” Palic said, “and not to be trusted.”

“I trust him, Palic,” Elon said, evenly.

Their eyes met.

“So be it,” Palic said. “It is on your head.”

Looking at her steadily, Elon said, “No, it is on yours, Palic. Your people signed the Agreement.”

“I didn’t,” she said, sharply, seeking a loophole to break it.

Keeping his voice even, Elon said, “Goras signed for you - for all Dwarves - binding all of you to it.”

The Dwarven representative on the High Council, Goras was one of the Three - along with Daran High King and Eliade of the Elves - who ruled over all the Kingdoms.

“As it does you, Elon of Aerilann,” she said, her eyes going abruptly dark.

Well he knew it.

A shiver of foresight went through him but of what it warned he didn’t know.

There was a saying men had…no good deed goes unpunished. That was for an unknown and unseen future. In the meantime, there was this.

“I would see what it is he does,” she demanded.

“The place for the next marker is just ahead,” Elon said evenly. “Will you join us?”

Placing each step carefully, the horses picked their way over the scree of tumbled, rocky slopes, down to where the delicate green grass grew in tufts among the bones of the earth. Here, too, the skin of the earth was thin.

Elon looked at Jareth as they dismounted.

The young wizard clearly felt the responsibility, the weight that was on him. His face was still pale, his deep brown eyes wide and worried.

Meeting Elon’s eyes a thousand thoughts went through Jareth’s mind.

‘Fetching’ from that far away was chancy enough. He was as likely to drop it on Palic’s head as he was his own foot. Each stone varied slightly in weight, the heaviness unexpected no matter how prepared he was. Then there was the chance his own people would interfere, waiting for this opportunity to attack with both Elves and Dwarves here. That would be his kind of luck. Certainly there were enough among his own people who shared Palic’s misgivings.

Some of them didn’t trust him either.

There was a light touch to his shoulder, long strong fingers. Elon. Elves didn’t touch much as a rule, and never men.