The Coming Storm (82 page)

“For now,” Elon said. “I would like a bath, since I didn’t take the time for one yet. Then, I think I would like some exercise. We may not get another chance for some time.”

As one, both Colath and Ailith turned to look at him. Ailith smiled.

They were waiting in the garden for him when he was ready, swords in hand.

As pleasant as the bath had been, this was what he truly needed.

Watching Elon walk down the steps from the upper verandas with his swords in hand, Jareth ran to get Olend and Itan. This they would have to see.

The three formed up in the center of the garden, Elon in the center this time.

As one, without the need to speak or prompt, they began.

Their swords rose and fell in the slow smooth movements of attack and defense, like the sands of the dunes as they blew and shifted. There was a rhythm and a cadence to it the three seemed to know without speaking. Side by side, turn and shift, their swords glittering and shining in the sun, sending coruscating shimmers across the garden to spark light off the sandstone walls. Breathing as one they moved as one. Faster, their movements still smooth, still flowing gracefully. Faster as they found their harmony, spirits merged, souls met, as their hearts beat a slow even rhythm.

Elon stepped forward as Colath stepped back and Ailith stepped forward to complete the circle and the first ring of sword against sword chimed, to echo off the sandstone walls, then another and another until the swords rang like a chorus of bells. The pattern shifted and a different melody would ring out before another would begin. Faces serene and at ease, their bodies shifted and swayed in automatic response of one to the other. The pace quickened, going faster and faster, their swords blurred and the sound merged until it seemed there was not six swords ringing but only one chord. Harmony found and balance achieved.

They slowed and it slowed. The sound separated. Six bells rang, one after another, a slow regular tolling, it slowed and stopped.

They looked at each other, each content and at peace.

Elon sighed. He’d needed that.

On the balconies above Olend, Itan and Jareth stepped back to give them privacy.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Olend said, on a long, slow breath of awe. “You said it but I didn’t believe it.”

“You were right, Jareth, it’s magic,” Itan sighed.

With an enemy army approaching, they shared a quiet dinner over maps and discussed the battle plan once more, looking for holes, something they’d missed or hadn’t considered, taking advantage of Elon’s fresh eyes.

“So, Elon,” Colath said, “do you see anything we’ve missed?”

Considering it, Elon shook his head slowly. “Not that I can see. It remains only to see what Mornith will do.”

“Battle plans,” Ailith said, with a wry smile, “being only good until first contact with the enemy. Who had their own plans and haven’t consulted yours.”

Olend chuckled. “I hadn’t heard that amendment before.”

Amused, Elon gave Ailith a glance askance. Her eyes twinkled.

“It’s true enough, though,” Elon said.

With a wistful grin, Ailith said, “I can’t take credit for it, it was one of Gwillim’s favorite sayings.”

She still missed him intensely. He’d been a friend. The thought that she would never see him again still pained her.

Remembering the man he’d known, Elon nodded. “It has the sound of him.”

He looked at Ailith.

She met his gaze, took a breath and smiled.

A runner came with a message for her.

Young and eager, he said, “Commander’s respects, my Lady but we’ve some stores gone missing. He wants to know if you’ve any idea where they might have went.”

Ailith sighed. “That sort of thing is inevitable with so many on the move. Tell the Commander I’m coming.”

Bobbing his head, the young man took off running.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Jareth said, “That young man has too much energy.”

“I’ll be back shortly,” Ailith said, fastening her longsword in place. “It shouldn’t take long.”

The streets of the city were nearly and eerily deserted since most of the population had left. It seemed odd for it to be so quiet. In all the days she’d been here, the streets had always been full of hustle and bustle, full of noise, voices calling and shouting. Looking around her at the darkened windows, with empty wash lines still strung across some streets, it seemed a city of ghosts, dead and lifeless.

If they succeeded, it would be brought back to life again. She couldn’t consider the alternative.

Ailith wasn’t watching the stars in her mind in a mostly empty city.

When they came, they came in a rush and they hit her hard.

The bond to Ailith shrilled, shrieked. Elon felt it and was up to run after his swords, Colath a second after him. Both felt the pain shoot through her head.

Startled, Olend and Itan stared.

“Something’s happened to Ailith,” Jareth said, even as he scrambled to follow.

It was the only explanation.

A chill went through him.

“Something bad, something very bad.”

Olend grabbed for his sword, hung by its scabbard from his chair and went after them with Itan behind him.

At a gesture a servant ran to summon the Guard. Olend’s own Guards were on his heels.

They found a dead man in the street along with Ailith’s swords. Named swords, they hadn’t been able to take them.

Ailith’s swords and blood. Nothing else. She was gone.

Elon looked at Colath, his jaw tight, fighting despair and a terrible fear as he cast about, looking for something, any clue, hint, trail or indication of where they might have taken her.

The streets around them were empty, dark and lifeless, with not even a glimmer of light.

He saw a matching despair cloud Colath’s eyes.

Olend sent one of his guards running.

“Close off the city, “ he ordered. “No one leaves.”

Those who had taken her wouldn’t take her anywhere near the barracks, Elon knew, there were enough folk there who loved Ailith that would kill them for what they’d done.

Itan cast about, trying to find Ailith’s mind.

There was nothing.

She didn’t want to say it but she knew she must.

She looked at Elon, saw the grim look in his dark eyes, looked to Colath and saw the bleak apprehension there.

“I can’t find her,” she said. “she’s either unconscious or drugged.”

Bending down, Jareth touched the small drop of blood on the stone, rubbed it between his fingers. It was fresh and new, still wet, but no longer warm. There was a fierce anger in him. He knew Ailith, knew her blood. This wasn’t a magic he had tried in a while. He hadn’t much needed of it.

He couldn’t conjure her, one didn’t conjure the living. There was something else he could do. It wasn’t only dark wizards who knew blood magic.

He whispered an incantation.

The blood started to glow in a long trail.

“I can,” he said.

At first Ailith was stunned. They’d hit her all at once, taken her down by sheer numbers. Even as she was swiftly bound and gagged, she tried to fight, then squirmed, bucked and struggled as they carried her through the narrow streets.

They ducked into a noisome alley, down some stairs into a cellar or basement, some big dark room a little below the level of the street and dropped her on the floor. Four of them pinned her down. She fought as they untied her and retied her wrists and ankles to huge wooden pegs driven into the dirt floor.

Spread-eagled, she was exposed, vulnerable.

Braziers burned, there were irons in them.

Then she felt it, something even more frightening.

Discordant magic
.

Her stomach churned.

She’d felt this before.

Frantically, she glanced around, searching the walls for signs of the Door.

And found it, a shimmer, an un-making. Coldness formed in the pit of her stomach, sent out tentacles through her limps.

On the wall, the Door formed, took shape, shimmered on the rough stone.

The Door to the South, except it led somewhere much closer now.

Far too close.

“Lord Mornith wanted to see you, you have something he wants,” one of the men hissed. He had a mask on, but she could see his eyes glitter behind it through the eyeholes. “He wants to know what your plan is and you will tell us. He says you have magic and a big heart. He wants them both. He’ll take your magic and drink your soul.”

Remembering that dark form standing in that Door, watching as they tortured and tormented Elon and Colath, she believed it, but silently swore he’d get nothing from her without a fight.

The man smiled. “Your heart is ours, he says, he’ll use it to make us trackers.”

Leaning close, his body heavy over hers, his mouth so close to hers she could feel his breath against her lips, he said, “I can make it easier on you, quicker. Tell us what we want to know, otherwise I’ll have to persuade you.”

She pressed her lips together and refused.

The walls were stone, the floor earth. Twisting her wrists inside the tight bonds, Ailith fought to get contact with it. Even as she did, she could feel the dark magic swell, grow stronger. She laid her hands as flat as she could and willed the walls to stay the same. She could feel Mornith trying to get through but she held.

The man’s hand spread on her stomach, pressed her to the floor.

Something cold and sharp pushed against her, pierced both shirt and shift. The pain was sharp as the blade touched skin, pressed against it as he twisted the knife a little and pressed a little harder. Ailith bit back a cry as she felt her skin gave way, felt it part beneath the blade, the pain sharp, an exquisite agony.

The pain of it  made her shudder.

“Tell me what I want to know,” the masked man demanded, pushing on the blade steadily, driving it into her.

The blade slid into her, bit by bit, deeper and slowly deeper.

All her breath left her and she couldn’t catch more. Agony pierced her, speared deeper. As it filled her, she felt a sudden and horrible draining…

Ailith shuddered and looked up into the eyes of her captor.

He smiled, his expression nearly ecstatic as he drove the blade a little deeper, turned it.

A Dark wizard. He drank in her pain, wallowed in it.

All but Olend felt the bitter hum of discordant magic grow in intensity as they ran.

Mornith
.

There was something else, too, Elon knew it from a dark hole in the ground, from bitter memory. His eyes went to Colath, knowing he would recognize it, too and saw his jaw tighten.

More magic, sweeter.

Hold, Ailith, hold, Elon said, willing her strength through the bond.

Then the pain hit.

And the weakness. Familiar weakness. Elon fought it. Beside him, Colath did the same.

Desperately, Ailith held her hands flat, clawed at the dirt with her fingertips, as Mornith battered against her will. A surge of strength came through the bond.

Elon. Colath
.

She could feel him, them, they were coming. Hope gave her strength as she wrenched at the heavy ropes that bound her.

New pain, sharper, an intense, blinding pain as the blade sunk deeper.

Involuntarily she twisted to escape it, her body’s desperate effort to save itself, and lost contact with the floor.

Discordant magic flowed.