The Coming Storm (30 page)

In the outer room, Colath watched the door.

He’d seen Jareth get up, had sensed the hum of magic. His eyes had gone to Jalila, who met his gaze evenly. If Elon had need of them, he would have called. He hadn’t, so they waited. Such was their way.

The Hunter Gwillim came in through the outside door. “How is she?”

“Well enough, Elon says,” Colath said, to assure him. “How does the horse?”

“Smoke? He’s a tough old beast,” Gwillim said, fondly. “I cleaned the wounds. Like all of that of your people, he heals fast. A little rest, some food and he’ll be right as rain.”

The door opened behind them.

Jareth stepped out with Elon at his heel.

Colath started to ask but then saw Ailith’s face peer between Elon and Jareth.

She caught his eye and gave him an uncertain smile.

“Hai, Ailith,” Gwillim said, both startled and pleased to see her so well.

Bowing, he swept his hat off.

“Oh light of my day and joy of my heart. What beauty you bring to us this evening. Ah, it does my heart good to see you so well.”

Trust Gwillim
, Ailith thought with a grin.

Even Colath and Jalila gave him strange looks.

Oblivious to their reactions, he was mad but not in a bad way.

Jalila rolled her eyes.

Bemused and amused, Jareth just stared at him.

Shaking her head, Ailith said,  “He does go on so. As you say, Gwillim, leave off, would you? For all the stars in the heavens, Jalila is prettier than I. For that matter Colath is prettier than either of us.”

With an impish look at Jareth, she added, “Jareth, however, is not.”

Amused, Jareth said, “Should I be offended or not?”

“Not, someone in this room should be less pretty than I,” she declared.

Even she wasn’t so daring as to include Elon in that group, although she gave him a quick and merry sideways look. He raised an eyebrow at her, a slight warning. Her mouth twitched as she smothered a smile.

With a quick glance at Colath, Gwillim sighed sorrowfully. “I’m afraid on that I’ll have to agree.”

Ailith laughed.

Colath just shook his head, amused.

Do it quickly and get it over with, Ailith thought.

“Good, then that’s done,” she said, more soberly. “I have a thing to tell you.”

Sensing the seriousness, Colath put aside his sword and Jalila her arrows. Both looked quickly at Elon but he shook his head. This was for Ailith to do and he found himself unsurprised that she took it on herself to do it. She spared herself little this one.

“It seems,” Ailith said and took a deep breath, “there’s a secret my family has kept even from me. Most folks in these parts know my father had mixed blood.”

Gwillim went still and wary. Most folk around the castle knew of it but never spoke of it. Those who had known King Geric’s mother had spoken well of her but more than a few hadn’t mourned much when she died. This, though… He had a terrible feeling about what he was about to hear. Especially in this room, among these.

Ailith, though, Ailith went on with that calm steadiness he’d always known in her. As a child she’d been a minx and a sprite, driving many to distraction but always with that impish grin that made you want to both hug her and spank her at one and the same time.

She’d grown into a merry, calm and sensible young woman, though.

“Few knew,” she continued, evenly, “my mother did as well.”

Straightening slowly, Colath looked at her warily.

Was she saying what he thought? His blood went cold.

He looked at Elon. Who nodded, once.

Colath froze.

It took a moment for Jalila to understand the implications, to put together the inference.

Not because she wasn’t bright but because she didn’t want to see it.

Ailith saw the look pass between Colath and Elon, the dawning comprehension on Jalila’s face.

It took an act of will to say the next words.

“I’m Otherling.”

As a child, Jalila had, of course, heard the tales, no Elven child could grow up without them. When the bards spoke the histories, drawing their pictures in the air, she’d been as horrified as all the others. But that was a different life. These things were not hers to know. What she knew was the one who’d stood in the doorway at the old ruins alone with Elon and Colath both occupied with the ogre. The one who’d fought a firbolg to guard their backs. It had been half again as tall as she.

For her it was enough.

There was a moment and then Jalila gave her an assessing look and said mildly, “Well, I knew you must be mad, to have ridden all that way just to fight some boggins.”

A look passed between them and then Ailith laughed.

The sound rang rich and warm.

Colath liked Ailith, had liked and trusted her from the start.

If she went mad, as Otherlings were said to, he would deal with it when it happened. Until then she was just Ailith.

Taking his cue from Jalila, he said, with a small smile, “It couldn’t have been the company. Elves are known as a dour folk.”

Even Elon was caught off guard.

But then, both were younger and didn’t have his memories. Colath had been a child and Jalila unborn when the Dwarven Otherling, Amarok, had died. That had been a little more than two hundred years ago.

The relief was enormous but Ailith couldn’t let it go, seeing the glint in Colath’s eyes.

“Nah,” she said, “It was just the chance to see that handsome face of yours again.”

Lifting an eyebrow and in the same tone, Colath said, “You seemed not that much impressed when last we met.”

“Jealousy, is all,” she said, lightly, “and to find it’s not the looks that matter but what’s behind them.”

Colath bowed his head a little at the compliment.

Those words, though, however innocently said, were at the heart of Elven philosophy.

Elon looked at her as they rang through him. She was Ailith, who’d ridden through the night to aid them.

Whatever misgivings he’d had, for now it was enough.

For a minute, Gwillim had been concerned, he sighed with relief.

Ailith looked at him.

With a shrug, he said, “I’ve known you since you were a sprite, sweet Ailith, which you were. And a minx as well. I’ve never known you to do harm. I’ll trust it stays that way.”

Ailith sighed. “Good. Now, is there any food? I can’t remember when last I’ve eaten. And then I have a story to tell.”

“Dear heavens, have none of these heathen fed you?” Gwillim exclaimed in theatrical horror as he hurriedly fetched her a bowl of the stew that hung over the fire. “You’ll waste away to nothing.”

With a roll of her eyes and a lift of an eyebrow that would have done Elon proud, she said, in a dry voice, “Oh, yes, that’s likely.”

“There’s more? What happened after you left us?” Jareth asked, as she dipped spoon into bowl.

“I told you what I planned,” she said, taking a swallow. “It worked better than I expected. I went to my chamber relieved  it had gone so easily only to find that Tolan had left me a trinket tucked into my bed.”

Elon looked at her sharply and Jareth sat up a bit.

With a small shrug, she said, “I sensed something amiss, I don’t know how. An odd itch that wouldn’t go away.”

“It seems you have more magic than you know,” Elon commented, carefully.

She looked at him.

“Was it that? If so, why didn’t I sense Tolan? I sensed something was amiss with my father but didn’t know what it was. Yet Tolan escaped me. From the first I disliked him but I thought it was because he’d supplanted me at my father’s side.”

“He escaped me as well,” Elon said, frowning. “I sensed nothing about him at all.”

Sitting back in his chair Jareth said, “He seems not to have alarmed any of us, including me. I should have felt something but didn’t. That worries me. Are there more Tolans around we can’t see or sense? What then?”

He looked at Elon, who shook his head. “That concerns me as well.”

“Perhaps it’s just the talismans?” Jareth suggested.

Ailith shook her head, remembering the vision in the cellar. Her appetite was suddenly gone.

That figure…

“No,” she said, “there’s more. I’ve seen…”

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.

“I get ahead of myself. Best to tell it in order. Tolan has always had an odd sing-song voice. It’s compelling.”

“I think,” Gwillim said, “ he tried to use it on me once. Then someone called me. I think I’ve rarely seen an angrier man than he was at that moment.”

“Chance. Caradoc and Korin weren’t so lucky,” Ailith said, sadly. “I know Korin suspected something and yet still he was caught.”

Grief for her friend touched her voice again.

“I’m not certain if there were others. I didn’t get out much after I returned. If truth be told I’m not certain I wanted to see others change. Not after Korin.”

She took a breath.

“Once I found the soul-eater, I thought I would go to their expectations and learn more that way.”

“What did you do with it?” Jalila asked, with an inward shudder at the thought of the thing.

She had no great love for the things after that one brief encounter and wished Elon could find a way to dispense with the one he had. It made her uncomfortable each time she thought of how easily it enticed her.

Ailith grinned. “I put it down the garderobe. I think he has it back now but he’s not well pleased.”

“A good place for it,” Jareth said, amused. “The stone would mute its effects, I would guess.”

“It seemed to do well enough,” she said with another grin, “especially since I wrapped it in what was left of my mother’s dress. A poor end for lovely cloth, though. But I get ahead of myself again. So I gave them what they seemed to want and played them the pretense. I had my mother as my example. Those last days…”

For a moment she had to stop to take a breath and collect herself. The pain of that loss was still very deep.

Gwillim asked, puzzled, “What of your mother?”

Startled, Ailith looked at him. It had been so much a part of her life she hadn’t realized he didn’t know.

Very softly, she said, “They killed her. She’s gone, Gwillim.”

He looked stricken.

Gwillim grieved, deeply. Selah. That lovely sweet woman. She’d stood at his wedding like any other guest, though she was Queen of the Kingdom, so she wouldn’t overshadow his bride. His wife Danalae was here in the north, his men were bringing her and the children here on their next sweep.

“I didn’t know,” he said, quietly.

Selah had come the moment she’d heard one of his children was ill. It had been late, the chirurgeons could offer no help, but the Queen herself had come when she heard, with her potions and such. It had been a long night, but Kela had come through it in the end.

“Who was it that did it? Was it that Tolan? If so, he’ll answer to my sword for that some day.”

The room went quiet as Ailith went white and her eyes dropped. For a moment, she struggled with the words. Her voice was very soft when she answered.

“In a way. But it was my father who held the knife.”

“What?” Gwillim said, breathlessly, stunned. “Are you sure?”

It didn’t make sense, if any couple could be said to have been a life match, it was Geric and Selah. They’d been so in love. Though Gwillim had heard tales of the antics of some lesser Kings, Geric had never indulged. His eyes had never strayed from his gentle Queen. It seemed insane.

Ailith couldn’t say it, the words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t look at him. All she could see was the knife rising and falling, and the blood. As if the pain were new.