The Coming Storm (32 page)

His expression thoughtful Colath said, “It was worse in the north. In winter, when the passes are closed…”

Elon nodded. “It will be difficult, if not impossible, for them to summon help and for anyone to get it to them in time. The Hunters and Woodsmen have been worn thin.”

“We’re already tired,” Gwillim added. “I’m losing people to accidents and injuries. They’re too weary.”

He nodded in Ailith’s direction. “If what she says is true – and I’ve no doubt it is – we’ll get no help from Riverford. Tolan has only to cut off our supplies. We’ll be dependent on the villagers and they haven’t much to spare. It’s only going to get worse.”

“Blood on the snow,” Elon said with a shake of his head. “Aside from the guards in each castle and our people, there are few real fighters in the Kingdoms but for the Hunters and Woodsmen. Lose them and we lose the only effective warriors. Daran’s army has never seen battle, most of them, save to hunt down goblins or settle a few quarrels between Kings. It’s largely untried. All we’re left with are the Hunters and Woodsmen.”

Swearing, Jareth lay his head against the back of the chair, seeing it all too well. “So that’s what’s been going on. Someone has been wearing them down with these attacks.”

Elon nodded. “Tiring them out. When winter comes, they’ll be stretched to their limits. Tired people do more than have accidents. They make mistakes. Possibly fatal ones. There must also be a reason for it all.”

“So, what do we do?” Gwillim said, disheartened. “We can’t just sit by and let them come. Who’ll protect folks in villages like this one? The borderland is only leagues away.”

A flash of foresight shot through Elon. He went still and cold. In the light of that foresight Ailith’s dream made sense. He nodded slowly, seeing a few more pieces of the mosaic fall into place. Not all of them, but a few.

“Blood on the snow.”

Colath looked up, remembering days dodging ogres and boggarts. In his mind’s eye he could see it, too.

“The wall around this village won’t be enough to keep a determined boggart out.”

“If they come in force…,” Jareth said, his own blood running cold, as he reasoned it through. “As they did with us…”

His heart sinking, Gwillim swore softly as he realized what they meant.

“But that can’t happen,” he said, desperately. “No one can command those creatures. They’ve never come in any numbers.”

“They have,” Jalila said. “We’ve already seen it. Down at the ruins a few leagues north of Riverford.”

He looked at her in shock. “That’s not possible. My people have been patrolling.”

“Tolan sent them after them,” Ailith said. “He didn’t want them to find you. He can control them.”

Control the creatures of the borderlands? That was insane.

If it were true?

Shaking his head, Gwillim stared at the floor, then looked up at them all merriment gone from his face and eyes.

“I haven’t enough people to defend even a village this small. The only place I could send them would be Riverford and we can’t send them there now. Not if what Ailith says is true.” He looked at Elon. “We have to send for help. Tell the High King. It’s the only chance these folk have.”

Elon said gently, helplessly, “Tell him what, Gwillim my friend? That the creatures of the borderlands are being commanded? As you say, it’s never been done, it’s never happened. Why should he believe us? Visions and foretellings. Not proof. Of that we have none. Certainly not for Daran High King who believes in nothing he can’t touch. Could we tell him about this Tolan? You’ve seen him, would you find him a threat? Jareth is a wizard and sensed nothing. None of us did. Were it not for Ailith’s warning, we would’ve been dead and none the wiser. We can say we were attacked but it proves little. We were a small party out in the open. He must know by now there are reports of the wild things of the borders being a little more bold of late.”

“In other words,” Jareth said. “We have nothing. Nothing we can take before Daran High King.”

Gwillim looked at them. “But you believe this thing will happen.”

Clasping his hands behind his back, his foresight vision clear in his mind, Elon nodded. “I believe it will happen.”

“What do I do then?” Gwillim demanded, suddenly angry. He hated this helplessness. “Tell me what I should do? How do I prevent this? How do I keep these people safe?”

It was his responsibility, his duty.

There were no answers to give him so Elon answered honestly. “I don’t know. We need to know more and we don’t have much time. We have a soul-eater. Jareth and I know of such things only from history and legend. This Tolan. What is he? Even history has no answers that I know of. This threat Ailith sees in the south, this doorway and this faceless thing that haunts her dreams, what is it?”

Jareth said, “We need to find Talesin.”

Nodding, Elon said, “He’s the only one left from that time.”

“What time?” Ailith asked.

“When things such as that soul-eater you found were in use. The time of the wizard wars. He might know something.”

Sighing, Jareth said, “How do we find him, though? We haven’t much time. Ailith says Tolan plans to attack Raven’s Nest. We have to warn them, too.”

“Warn them how?” Elon asked. “With visions and foresight?” He waved that away. “We must first find Talesin and he’s not easy to find.”

“As an itinerant wizard no one knows where he’s likely to be, nor has anyone heard from him in an age,” Jareth said, “but if we can prove Riverford tried to bring down King Westin, we’ll be a long ways toward proving something Daran can move on.”

“How do we defend Raven’s Nest if we don’t know what it is we fight? What other surprises does this Tolan have in store?”

“He might delay his plans,” Colath pointed out. “Ailith hasn’t aided his cause.”

Jareth nodded. “With no guest of honor, his plans for consolidating power around Riverford will take longer. He doesn’t have the Hunters and Woodsmen as his thrashers, to chase down escapees.”

“Will he delay his plans, Ailith?” Elon asked. “You know him better than we.”

She shook her head. “No. There’s some other plan, something else he has in mind. He never spoke of it but there was a time or two when I felt he was close to doing so. Elon, if you need to find Talesin, I may know where he is.”

Jareth said, cautiously, “No one knows where Talesin wanders.”

“I know where he is,” she said, evenly, surely, despite her own doubts. She remembered the boy.

Elon looked at her. She sounded so sure. “Ailith?”

Her heart pounded a little unevenly.

“I do, I know where he is. I knew as soon as you said his name. That’s how I found you. I came straight here or as nearly so as I could. I knew where you were.”

For a long moment, Elon looked at her. This was no power, no gift that he knew. Otherling magic?

“Tell us what you mean, Ailith.”

“I see everyone,” she said and there was wonder in her voice. Magic. It had never occurred to her that was what it was. She’d always seen them.  “I always have. I just didn’t know what it meant.”

Madness?

No, her eyes were clear, direct.

Frowning a little, Jareth said, “What do you mean, you see everyone?”

“Everyone. I can see them,” she said, struggling to explain. “Like stars in the sky, except I see them in my mind. One of the children from town got lost in the woods. I found him because I could see him there. I see them all.”

In her mind she could, brilliant again the darkness of her internal sky, like tiny diamonds, tiny jewels tossed across it.

She looked to Gwillim.

For a moment he was still and then he nodded. He remembered.

“Jonn from the village. We were beating the bushes trying to find him,” Gwillim said and then explained to the mystified glances of the others. “A little boy, he’d wandered off from among the woodcutters. With the river so close… Ailith found him.” He looked at her. “You knew?”

She nodded.

“Where is Danalae?” Gwillim asked suddenly.

A Light bloomed inside Ailith’s mind. She knew Danalae. She took a breath, turned her head to find her bearing.

“There, that way. With Maret, your second. The children are with her. She’ll be here late this morning.”

Jareth stared at her, stunned at the very idea. It seemed incomprehensible. “Everyone?”

She nodded slowly.

“Like stars in the sky. Some burn so very brightly and some not. Some flash like a shooting star across the heavens. Some burn long and long. All of them. Every thinking, living thing.”

Her voice was soft and full of wonder.

“Where is Aerilann, Ailith?” Colath asked.

She shook her head. “People, not places, Colath. A name.”

There was no pride in her, Elon noted. She wasn’t preening, she was simply trying to prove what she said.

“Charis,” Colath said.

Ailith went still.

In her mind a light brightened, among many bright lights. She smiled.

“Your mother, Colath,” she said, softly. “Far west and north a little. There are many very bright lights there.”

“Aerilann,” Colath said.

Ailith had no way of knowing Charis was his mother. It was enough. For Elon and Jalila as well, it seemed.

“And Talesin?” Elon asked.

Her eyes met his. Her answer was firm. This proving had helped her accept her gift, acknowledge the truth of it.

“South. Not that far and a little west. In towards the heartland. On horseback, a week or so. Riding Elven-bred horses? Two day’s ride, a little longer perhaps. He’s on the other side of the Gorge.”

“Are you sure, Ailith?” Jareth asked.

She nodded.

“South. We’ll have to go carefully,” Elon said. “We won’t be able to use the ford.”

“Take them along the Gorge, Ailith,” Gwillim said, “use the Bridge. You know the way.”

She looked at him. Her mouth tightened but she nodded.

“We’ll leave in the morning,” Elon said. “There’s little enough night left. We should take what rest we can.”

Tolan paced the Great Hall at Riverford with only the flickering flames in the firepit for company. Rage beat inside his head like a drum so  it seemed to fill the room around him. The need to rend and tear, to feel hot blood flow and something die, threatened to drive him mad.

“Have they found her?” Tolan demanded as Caradoc stepped in the door.

Taking a deep breath, Caradoc shook his head. “No, the hellhounds are dead. One was smashed to a pulp by horse’s hooves to all appearances. The other had sword wounds. Both had arrows in them.”

“Arrows,” Tolan said, narrowing his eyes. “Arrows. Where did she get arrows?”

Caradoc nodded. “I brought one back. And this.”

A scrap of cloth.

Snatching it up from his hand, Tolan held the piece of cloth up to his face and smelled it. He lowered his head like a dog’s, his mouth open. Her scent and the taste of her scent filled him.

Caradoc held out the arrow.

A hiss of breath as Tolan took that too and looked it over carefully. “Elven.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Caradoc said, carefully.

Pacing away, Tolan went to stand by the fireplace, his jaw working. “Elven. Elven.”

Fury built again. The Elves. The damnable Elves.

“Where did she find Elves? The only Elves who’ve come through here were that Councilor Elon and his people. And they’re dead.” He stopped. Considered it. “Or are they? Your Guards said they found dead boggins and boggarts but no dead Elves. They assumed they were dead, assumed they’d been consumed as is the wont of those creatures. They should have looked for bones.”

It wasn’t a shout, but it might as well have been.

“They aren’t dead.”

His voice didn’t rise or fall, that odd sing-song quality didn’t change but there was no doubt of the sudden menace in the room or the increased level of his rage. His jaw worked, his head lowered, his sandy eyes glittered beneath his brow.

They weren’t dead.

Elon of Aerilann and the wizard.

They weren’t dead and they’d helped her escape.

“I can send men out,” Caradoc offered.

Tolan waved him off, unheeding and unhearing. “Yes, yes, do that, do that.” The words hardly penetrated his consciousness.

Relieved, Caradoc nodded and backed away.

The Great Hall was empty but for Tolan himself.

It should have been filled with revelers toasting the guest of honor in her high seat on the dais. Ailith, with her new gift around her throat. The soul-eater. Her blue eyes blank and empty, waiting for his will to fill her as the will of another filled her father. All her guests new hosts for his trinkets. He’d planned it for weeks. The trestle tables on each side would have groaned with food and wine. There would have been entertainment.

All the landowners, the merchants, sitting around him, stuffing their foolish faces, while he wandered the tents below leaving little gifts behind.

Those plans were dust.

He wanted to throw something, to scream his fury, to rage and storm. Pacing, he snapped the arrow into small pieces, then smaller, systematically rending it before flinging the pieces forcefully into the fire.

Elves.

Instead, Geric was going visiting with his chatelaine by his side.

It would take more stealth but it would be done by the time the leaves changed.

They had another visit to make. To Raven’s Nest. It had to be done. There were plans in place that required that Kingdom and what would happen there. Tolan would also have the security of knowing his back wasn’t exposed.

His Master had not been happy.

Fury nearly blinded him.

Lifting the scrap of cloth to his nose again, he took a deep breath. Her scent was in it, he could taste it as well as smell it.

All his plans, all his plots. It would take so much longer now. To have taken all his careful plans, all his months of plotting, his careful attendance on this mongrel King and turned them to dust.

But the prize, oh the Prize.

Otherling.

Magic and power at his command. Magic she didn’t know how to use.

Still she’d outwitted him. Fooled him. Made a fool of him.

That infuriated him.

He would punish her for that. He would punish her severely for that. He wanted to rip and tear and rend. He wanted to make something bleed. He wanted to hear something scream.

Wanted to hear her scream.

And he would.

He remembered the sense of eyes on him there, down there in the darkness, standing before the Door.

Ah, the glory of it, to tell Him, to tell his Master what he had in the palms of his hands. His plans.

Then, the eyes. The sense of being watched and turning. There was no one there to see but someone had been there, he could sense her. Sense the fear and the horror and the sure knowledge that she had seen. She’d seen him, the Doorway and his master within it.

He smiled. She couldn’t tell, though, wouldn’t tell. How could she? It would sound mad and so confirm their fears. To tell was to reveal herself for what she was. She was no wizard and they would know that. She was Otherling and Otherlings were mad. If she told and the fools didn’t see the value of her and slaughter her on the spot as the Dwarves would have done, they would think she was mad and then slaughter her for fear of what she would do. In truth, it was a wonder she wasn’t mad. She should have been if she’d seen Him. If she’d known Him for what He was.

She’d seen something, though. Something. He’d felt her horror, her shock and her fear. As if she truly knew what fear was.

Oh, he would teach her what true fear was.

Sweet thing. Young thing. She didn’t yet know true fear. He would teach her. He would hold that face, look into her pretty blue eyes and know her fear. He would teach it to her well. Again and again. Each time she thought she knew what true fear was, each time she thought it couldn’t get any worse he would teach her she was wrong.

He wanted to feel her in his hands, trembling, he wanted pain and screams and blood.

He would have them. Oh, yes. She would learn a thing or two at his hands. By the time he was through with her she would wish to be mad, oh yes, oh yes. She would crawl to him begging. When she thought her horror was at its greatest, when she thought the pain and fear were more than she could bear, he would chain her soul to his as he had chained her father’s. But she would know it. Unlike her father, she would know it. He would make sure of it. He would press a soul-eater to her breast, watch her eyes as it sank its talons into her soul and ripped it away piece by slow piece. Not like her father, in tiny doses  he didn’t recognize for being what they were. No. She would feel it and she would know it. She would do his bidding and know her soul was rending, know that he owned her.

He would have his vengeance. He would. And on the Elves. Oh, yes. They should have died, they should have. They should have been torn and bleeding and eaten alive. He’d pictured it a thousand times.

That Elon who had scarcely looked at him when he’d been here. Who hadn’t realized in whose presence he stood.

Damn Elves. Supercilious lot. They thought they were so superior. They would learn as well. They would know who it was whose plans they’d tampered with. He would remind them. Oh yes.

There was the wizard as well. A poor one, though, to dance at the call of Elves. No wizard should debase himself so. From the look of him with his untidy hair and disheveled clothes, it was no wonder. A simple man, a foolish wizard. That one had barely glanced his way. Ah, yes. He, Tolan, had fooled them. He’d fooled them all. They hadn’t seen him for what he was. He would teach them. Oh, yes, he would teach them now.

He spread his arms out from his sides and Called.

They came from up out of the cellars.

Drows.

Huge ugly shambling man-shaped things. Like men made of mud, their flesh soft but their muscles massive. Four of them but many more waited below.

 Some folk said drows had once been men, murderers and thieves. Tolan smiled. Did they but know.

He held out the cloth to the things.

“Find her,” he said. “Bring her here. You may hurt her but not badly. I want her back alive. The others? They are your payment. Kill them. Tear them to pieces. Bring me their heads, I want to look upon them. But her? Make her watch. Bring her back alive.”

They sniffed as he had with their mouths open and salivating. Tasting the smell, her scent. No longer shambling, they were alert, on the hunt.

“Go.”

They left at a run, back down through the dungeons. Through the long dark passage with its damp and dripping walls.

He smiled.

The girl… woman, now that her majority had been reached and passed but she was but a girl in his mind. Small and weak. She didn’t know her power. He didn’t know her power but he would.

Intimately.

Elven arrows.

If not for the Elves he would have had her by now. They would pay for that. Oh, yes. The drows would find them. They would hunt them down and rip and tear them. Yes, they would.

Speaking of hunts and Hunters. The Hunters, Gwillim’s Hunters, hadn’t returned, although they should have by now.

Well enough. Maybe they were being kept too busy. His plans would have gone easier if they had been in his thrall. No one would have commented on seeing Hunters. There was no time for them now.

Caradoc had converted easily. Had given up his soul so freely. It was his nature. Some men, beneath the faces they showed the world, hid another. A different one. There was a blood-lust in Caradoc, a love of the fight, a yearning for force and blood which had gone unsatisfied and he’d fought to conceal. A flaw. A tiny one but it had been all the difference. Tolan had only to feed that lust, allow it to bloom, to blossom and Caradoc had come to him willingly.

That Gwillim, though, that sweet-talking flatterer, was another thing entirely. His eyes were too sharp. Beneath his flowery talk was a strong will and a clever mind. It would have taken more time. Been more of a challenge.

No matter. There were creatures of the borderlands that would do as well. Let loose some kobolds in the lands between Raven’s Nest and the rest. They would do. Perhaps it was time to start whittling them down, those proud folk of the Hunters. Give them a taste of what was to come. He nodded. Yes. It was time to take them to task. He smiled into the darkness.

There were those who would have run screaming at his smile.

It must be the heat, High King Daran thought with exasperation. This was foolishness. He waved Ostin’s emissary to silence and reined in his frustration.

In a level voice he said, “I’ll have the boundary re-measured.”

An utter waste of time but he would have it done.

The emissary started to protest but then thought better of it when he saw Daran’s glare. One of Daran’s secretaries hurried the man away.

Shaking his head, Daran turned away to get some fresh air out on the balcony. It faced out over the gardens, toward the royal apartments and a low wall to the sea beyond.

What nonsense, he thought, with a frustrated sigh. King Ostin, who had a sizable holding in the heartlands, swore that his neighbor had moved the boundary markers. A whole herd of some of his best cattle were on the wrong side. Ostin claimed that Queen Talisha had moved the marker. It was well known Talisha coveted Ostin’s carefully bred cattle. The matter would have been more easily resolved if Ostin had simply gifted her with a bull for breeding but he hadn’t.

In any case, she couldn’t have moved the markers. It was impossible. The bloody things  were bound by magic to the earth in which they were planted. They couldn’t be moved.

Even so, Ostin had demanded Avila swear that none of her people would do it. As if that was likely with that stiff-necked woman. Unsurprisingly, she’d refused. Her people wouldn’t have moved it she said, rightly, and that was the only way it could be done.

That Daran believed, and since there was no wizard who’d wish to chance that particular Master’s wrath he knew it hadn’t been done. Those boundary markers had been set at his command and at her predecessor’s. None of her people would breach that, none of them would have dared.