Dockalfar (12 page)

“Morning’s light to you,” Leanan greeted them. Some of them answered likewise, some merely settled back to observe as she and her human ward joined them. She settled him down at the end of the table, placing him between herself and a silver haired male. A bendithy placed a platter of sliced fruit before him, and a goblet of dark liquid. He had no appetite in such company, under such scrutiny.

Leanan sipped from a goblet of her own and urged him to eat. He picked at a piece of fruit, staring diligently at his plate. The silver-haired male beside him was regarding him too closely for comfort, leaning forward almost inquisitively. If he touched him, he would bolt.

“Not at all like a bakatu,” his observer finally commented. “Rather more refined.” There was agreement from down the table. “Not terribly bad to look at,” someone else offered opinion. “Pretty mouth.”

“Will Azarel let us have him, do you think?”

Alex cast a desperate glance to Leanan. She patted his hand and looked past him.

“Mind your manners, Deigah. He is a guest of Azeral. Treat him as such.”

The silver one inclined his head, gray eyes sparkling. In amusement? In contention?

“Ignore them,” she said to Alex.

“They’re a spoiled lot and given much to their own pleasures. I think you’re little inclined to eat, so we might as well show you around.”

He followed her eagerly enough out of that room. They walked the ways of the keep. He was amazed and overwhelmed by the sheer size. Most of it was illogical.

Stone stood or perched where it had no support. Bridges spanned spaces or spiraled upward with no regard to the laws of physics. There were pools in almost every room, waterfalls and streams that cut through stone, or divided rooms.

Sidhe roamed the halls like predators, eyes always following Alex. The servants far out numbered them. Bendithy were the most common, but there were an assortment of races. Spriggan, gnomes, the occasional dwarf, although Leanan claimed that dwarves made poor servants.

Ogres stayed to the outer halls, armed and ominous. Too clumsy and odious for personal servants, he was informed. They made good guards. He asked what they guarded against and she silently smiled at him and went on to point out another facet of the sprawling keep. Her talk concentrated wholly on the keep. When he tried to ask her questions of his own, she either ignored him, or if he became too insistent, made him temporarily forget his train of thought.

He saw nothing of the lord of this keep. She showed him the mammoth dark chamber, deep within the bowls of the mountain that was Azeral’s throne room, but the lord himself was not in evidence.

“You’ll see him at feast tonight,” she promised, when he asked. “Only he can tell you what you want to know.”

He had to be contented with that.

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Warm fingers touched her face.

Victoria turned into them, brushing her cheek against soft flesh. She murmured Alex’s name and reached out to find him.

He was not there, only phantom, silken cloth, lighter than crêpe and softer to the feel. There was great pleasure in the texture of the stuff. She drew it towards her, seeking its comforting softness.

The fingers moved to her mouth and the touch intensified. Hard and smothering, they pressed down. She struggled out of the daze of sleep, starting in alarm at unfamiliar hands on her.

Hurtful hands that covered her mouth and cut off a cry of protest. She struggled, tearing at the offending hand, her fingers still clutching the wonderful cloth.

Something sharp pricked her throat. Her eyes widened in the darkness, and her hands froze.

She could not see. The darkness was complete. She knew not where she was, or with who or what. That confusion of place and situation scared her almost more than the physical threat to her person. She needed to remember.

She was pulled up, and held firm against a hard body. Her fingers, at her sides, felt the wispy folds of cloth. With the blade still at her throat she was forced forward, her steps guided as if she were a child, or more accurately, a blind woman.

They made not a sound in the darkness.

Not a scuff or a whisper of breath. She could hardly breathe at all with the hand covering her mouth. She was pushed against a earthen wall and held there with the hand still over her mouth. The blade moved away. There was the soft sound of earth moving on earth and blue light peeped in. Moonlight. She found herself standing on the sloping side of a round hill, with a star filled sky looming overhead.

Vaguely, she remembered now.

Going to the hollow hill with the Sidhe girl, Aloe. Eating the wonderful food, talking with the sage, young/old being who was Father to the sidhe that lived under the hill. She could remember little more.

Her mind was fuzzy and she wondered idly if she had drunk too much of the sweet wine.

She was being led down the hill at a brisk pace, her arm in a cruel grip. She could hardly see him in the dark and the scant blue light of the night sky. He blended so very well with his surroundings. But his presence was concrete, and from the grip on her arm and the way he moved, she thought he was annoyed. She blinked slowly, trying to work up indignity. She twisted her arm, trying to free it, then tore at his fingers with her free hand. Her nails bit down into flesh and he suddenly stopped and turned on her, grabbing both arms above the elbows and shaking her like a child. There was a tiny crack in the composure of his oh-so-beautiful face. She cursed at him as her head snapped back and forth. Words she had never used in her life spilled from her lips. Tears streamed down her cheeks in shock and frustration.

He let her go, shoving her back and she sat down hard. The breath left her. She covered her face with her hands, shivering. She was losing her mind. Her memories were running through her mind like sand through her fingers. Thoughts were too elusive to hold. Something was wrong. So very wrong. Being shaken by an assassin who had no concept of gallantry or politeness did not help one bit. She wished lightning down upon him.

She, who had never dreamed harm on another living thing, wished him dead on the spot. The violence in her mind felt good. The violence welcomed something that shyly coiled and unfurled its wings in the center of her being.

She peered up at the assassin, glaring.

He was looking over her head, behind them. She wondered if it were pursuit he feared.

“Did you kill them all?” she sneered. “How many deaths to get me out?”

He looked down to her, face all in shadows. He pulled her to her feet and into a walk with a less painful grip. She hated his silence. His aloofness. As if she were so inconsequential, that he need not answer her questions.

“Damn you! Did you kill them all? Answer me!” She was screaming.

“No,” he said, barely above a whisper, eyes casting her a warning. “There was no need.”

She drew a breath, stared at his profile. “But you would have –“

He inclined his head. She held back a scream of outrage.

It began to rain. First a drizzle, then a heavier downpour. It matched her mood.

She willed thunder and lightning into the sky. She willed winds to tear past the tall grasses. She willed it all to descend on her captor, whom she could not elude on her own. And the winds did howl, and in the distance thunder did boom. But none of it tormented Dusk. It was more of an inconvenience to her than him. She glared and tried to see the blackness of his soul.

Not caring how improper it was, or how rude. She wanted to see how coiled and dark he was in comparison to her friends that he insisted on taking her away from.

She saw nothing. No spark, no light.

No hint of inner life and power that all the others had. Even the sprites had soul lights. Dusk had nothing. She drew back, as far as she could, with him holding her arm, finding him suddenly abominable. He was incomplete, unfinished.

Lightning flashed and hit the ground ten yards to their left. She screamed, blinded and electrified. Her hair, wet though it was, stood on end. Her fingers and toes tingled. She was free. He had both hands to his eyes, all his colors suddenly pale in the aftermath of brilliant electricity. She ran into the rain. Blindly and directionless, she stumbled and slipped on wet grasses and sloshed through streams that had not been there scant minutes before the flash storm.

The rain hurt. It beat down with pent-up passion. Hair streamed into her eyes, obscuring vision even more. Her chest burned, her legs ached. She ran through water up to her ankles. Water that rushed with a powerful turbulence, threatening her balance. Lightning flared and she found herself teetering at the edge of a mud sloped drop. She windmilled her arms for balance, and lost it as the ground gave way under her feet and she was slipping down in a crash of mud and water.

Hands grabbed her, wrenching her arm painfully. Frantically she clutched at the support, scrambling ineffectually at the mud under her feet. He almost had her up.

Almost had her on relatively solid ground, when the whole section of earth gave way completely under the onslaught of water and sent them both plunging downwards with it. He wrapped himself around her, taking the brunt of the fall, shielding her when he could not control the descent, which was most the way.

For as hurtful and rough a ride as it had been, it was over too quickly.

Victoria had very little breath left her. Her mouth was full of hair and mud, and her shoulder throbbed painfully. Her vision was swimming and making her nauseous.

She was lying in a tangle of limbs and wet cloth, atop Dusk, who was not making any efforts to move. His face was half turned into the soupy mud at the bottom of the gully. She thought he might drown in the mud. She momentarily encouraged it. He had attempted to protect her on the trip down, though. She did owe him that. Just turn his head so he wouldn’t breath in mud, then she would leave while he was senseless.

She managed that, but the movement had her head reeling. Her vision grayed and she slumped forward.

~~~

It was not raining when she came to.

It was still dark, but the stars were obscured by satisfied clouds. Victoria was still damp, but not dripping, so she assumed no more than an hour had passed.

She was still lying on top of Dusk, who was still not moving. He was half submerged in mud. They were both coated with it. Disgusted with her state, she carefully moved off of him, sinking into welcoming mud as she did. Her shoulder hurt mightily and her hip was starting to ache. She had a headache, but not a terrible one, so any damage to her skull was minor. She sat in the mud for a long while, trying to clear her head.

The storm, the flight. Her raging emotions. How nicely the elements fit her mood. She cast a glare at the sky, her accomplice. How fickle it was to let loose its frenzy at one woman’s urging. How easily manipulated. She had done it. There was some glint of satisfaction deep inside her that smugly took blame for the violence. That gloried in it. She pondered the alter ego that was fast developing from embryo to fully fleshed persona. How quick it was to rage, how quick to calm.

She could hardly feel it now, in the aftermath. It was dormant within her. Like the ocean, it crested and waned on a schedule she had yet to figure out. She needed to know. She needed Aloe and her wisdom and the wisdom of her friends.

Folk who dealt with magic everyday and could tell her what this power was that grew inside her. Grew into her. She put a hand to her abdomen, breathing deeply, delving inwards. It was there.

Comfortable, at peace while she was at peace. It was part of her. Not a foreign thing, or an intruder. Just a piece of Victoria that she had never noticed before.

A black shape scurried furtively through the dark at the far side of the gully. She gasped and scrambled backwards, pulling her knees up and squinting into the dark. Feral eyes glinted out of shadow.

She could hear the tiny clicking of teeth.

Another something scurried through the mud, short legs made it run close to the ground. It was as big as a basset hound, covered with dark skin or very short dark fur. A long, whipping, rodent tail trailed in the mud. A small head housed a long, tooth-filled snout. There were perhaps a half dozen of them. Hunger seemed predominant in their gazes.

Her fingers found a rock in the mud. She threw it at them. They moved aside just a bit to avoid it, but did not back off.

Scavengers, she thought. Waiting for prey that could not defend itself. While she stared at them, they did not advance, but let her attention wonder, and when she looked back they were closer.

She wondered where the power was that had called down a storm. It was certainly nowhere that she could reach, when all she wanted to do was smite a few measly rodents from the face of this earth.

She backed up the slope a few steps, slipping in the mud. Once she was moving, they would hardly stalk her. She hoped. It was hard going up the muddy slope, steep as it was. Every pace she moved, they advanced. Then they reached Dusk and stopped all together, milling in rodent excitement around unmoving flesh.

They hadn’t been stalking her after all, then. Merely waiting until she moved far enough away from prey that could not fight back. Damn! Damndamndamn! Leaving the assassin, plague on her life that he was, lying half-submerged in mud, was one thing. Leaving him to be eaten by rat things was quite another. It turned her stomach. It galled her and frustrated her almost to the point where her lurking power paid attention.

She tossed a rock down at them, yelling to drive them off. The rock hit the assassin, and the rodents stared up at her as if she were quite insane. She certainly felt it, slip sliding back down the slope to drive the scavengers away from her captor and her enemy, who would certainly not feel inclined to repay her efforts with freedom should he wake up. She stalked about in the mud, raging at the rodents, who would not take flight more than a few yards from where she was. They glared at her indignantly. She called herself every kind of fool. Turned in a fit and kicked mud on Dusk, then flopped down in the spongy earth beside him and matched glares with a band of rodents.