The Coming Storm (103 page)

His resolve to deny her only hardened.

The Dwarves, though, moved restively and even their women looking grim, harsh and angry.

Elon knew how ingrained was their abhorrence for Otherlings.

There were many among these who had lived through that time. Unless he could convince them Ailith was no threat, her presence alone was anathema to them. That threatened their participation in the Alliance. They hadn’t wanted it, would have preferred to stay solitary and alone in their mountain fastnesses and mines but a few had seen the need.

That tenuous hold would falter under this threat.

Goras didn’t want it, had wanted either Agreement nor Alliance.

Daran was no friend, nor was he an enemy. Elon knew the man well, knew his ambitions and his plans.

His vision of the Alliance was his legacy, it would etch his place in history forever.

More than any other thing, that drove the man.

Binding the three races together for the common good of all, that was Daran’s vision.

And his own.

In that he and Daran were of like minds. That was Daran’s plan. Elon’s place as a member of the council was set but Daran wanted him among the Three in Eliade’s place. She didn’t share Daran’s view of the Alliance nor Elon’s. She sat for the Elves, not for all.

Still, she would support Elon’s elevation so long as he worked for the good of their people. And he would. That Elon knew.

Whether he willed it or not, Daran meant to have him among the Three but Daran would sacrifice even him for his Alliance.

Without a second thought.

As he sacrificed Ailith now.

Below, the temper of the crowd was thin, the shifting of feet and the murmur of their voices ebbing and flowing through anger, rage, compassion and disappointment. A turn of phrase might perhaps sway them but the price would be high.

He was torn. It was out of his hands but it shouldn’t be.

This, though, was not what the Alliance had been meant to do, this hadn’t been his vision.

The Alliance had been formed to join the races, to provide a common rule, a voice and a defense for all the races and all of the people. He had been one of the architects of it, had set the virtues of knowledge, justice, compassion and reason above all else. That had been what the Alliance, what this place, this building, was supposed to represent.

A place of refuge. A place of justice. Someplace where the alone and powerless would have a champion.

How more alone than she, who couldn’t even claim a people?

There was no justice here.

Yet, if he demanded it, there would be no Alliance and then no justice either.

To have one he must sacrifice the other.

Then, too, he knew as well as all who had been on the battlefield that day that this war hadn’t been truly won, it wasn’t truly over. It had been a draw, at best, although in the battle itself they’d emerged victorious.

Elon was under no illusions. There would be a return.

Without the Alliance, each race would battle on its own, divided. 

Ailith. His Ailith.
The bond between them broke his heart and healed it at one and the same moment.

Her joy, that effervescent joy. The way her eyes lit when she saw him. He’d sworn to himself to protect and aid her. He couldn’t do either here. For the first time in his long life he was helpless.

He’d fought beside her, had set her at his back as he had Colath and trusted her to guard it without question. She had. As he’d guarded hers. Had said to her, do this, as he could say to Colath and she’d done it. She’d worn chains for him, had saved his life as he’d saved hers. How many times? He couldn’t count the number.

He trusted her and cared for her. Deeply. How deeply he’d dared not know. Especially in the face of this.

Elon closed his eyes. To know and then to have to let her go for the sake of all their people?

Fierce in battle and merry in peace, resolute in adversity and always true to herself, that was his Ailith. The pain of this loss was nearly more than he could bear, though he wouldn’t show it.

His foresight warned of nothing.

Would they meet again?

He didn’t know. He only knew this wasn’t over.

It offended him, it violated everything he believed in and all he’d fought for.

What had he fought for if not this? Why this Alliance, if not for this? For her. How could he forsake her? Ailith. His Ailith.

For a moment he considered it. Exile. To follow her there. He wanted it, desperately. There was Colath, though, and his honor. His responsibilities to the Kingdoms and Aerilann. His heart wanted to go. She could lift the weight of those responsibilities with a glance, a smile. How could he let her go? Or go with her?

His honor wouldn’t allow it, not in the aftermath of this war – the one she’d won for them – he was still needed here. And if she had any chance, any possibility to have her exile lifted, he must stay.

Parted from her, only to be separated again.

They had been going to do the forms, the two of them, he and she. It tore at him.

Yet he must. If only for the chance to convince Daran to lift this exile they had laid on her.

Though it take years, Elon would do it. He would bring her home, somehow. Fight this. But that was something he could only do here. If he left who would defend her, fight for her?

He couldn’t leave but he would have her back at his side. Someday. Somehow. And in the meantime, she would be alone out there, with no one at her back.

As if his gaze had weight, Ailith felt Elon’s eyes upon her. She wanted to look in them, to see the way they would light when he saw her, as they had. But now she saw the pain and felt it, too, through the bond but she saw the light, also, and the warmth.

However much they wanted it, it couldn’t be.

Turning her gaze to the High King, Ailith’s heart thudded slowly in her chest.

Cold fear and dread of what she must do turned her muscles to water.

Exile. Into the borderlands.

Alone.

She must show no sign of her fear.

Meeting Daran’s eyes, she nodded.

“Accepted,” Daran, High King, intoned.

Elon’s heart seemed to stop. Beside him, Jareth went still.

Silence filled the Square, but only for a moment.

Daran wanted this over with and quickly, before there was another interruption.

He gestured.

“Master Avila.”

She glided out from among her people, stalked forward as a heron would stalk a fish, step by careful step. Her robes made it appear that she floated forward. Not tall, only of medium height for a woman of men, her brownish hair was cropped short and streaked lightly with gray. Neither pretty nor homely, she was known for her sharp mind and sharper tongue. In a crowd, she would go unremarked, only her magic set her apart. There was nothing otherwise that spoke of threat, of how very dangerous this seemingly average woman was.

In the back of Ailith’s mind she heard her father’s voice, that ancient promise.

‘
Child, make no promises to any, not to myself or your mother, none, none and swear to it, none until and unless you have made clear judgment as to the repercussions of what you do. You have magic, child, use it carefully, cautiously and secretly. Don’t let any see. None. Don’t speak of it. Forget even that you have said this, until the day of your majority, when you will be free of it, but promise me, Ailith. Swear it to me.
’

She had and it had held her.

It was ingrained in her.

Until the day Tolan had come and her father stopped asking.

From the first time she’d sworn to it in her fierce love for her father and her warm love for her mother, she’d been bound to it, bound as no other could be. Her father had known that. Wild magic decreed it. He’d known that promises and vows would be etched on her soul. By the magic that filled muscle, bone and blood, her word was, absolutely and literally her bond. Her father had known, had used it, had bound her with it to keep her safe. That one secret, the last one. The last curse of her gift. Did Avila know it?

“Ailith of Riverford,” Avila said and the taste of sweet satisfaction in her mouth was clear.

If she couldn’t control this magic then no one would. Certainly not Elon of Aerilann and definitely not Jareth. Though her shot had gone awry, there was a satisfaction in the pain both suffered in this.

Inwardly, Ailith shuddered as the woman stepped forward. Outwardly, she was calm.

The surge of pride in Ailith caught Jareth off guard even as he quailed inside.

Even he hadn’t known just how much Avila loathed Ailith until he saw the expression on Avila’s face. She hated any power she couldn’t control. He could see that clearly now. It wouldn’t have done to give Elon yet another reason to detest her, inasmuch as any Elf was capable of such, so Jareth hadn’t told him what he suspected. He’d disliked keeping secrets from Elon but this wouldn’t have helped.

Ailith knew. He could see she hadn’t mistaken it, she knew just how much Avila hated her yet she gave no sign of it. She was as still and serene as an Elf, her face expressionless.

That was the source of his pride, that she gave no sign of fear or trepidation as Avila stalked toward her. He’d grown as close to Ailith, nearly, as he was to Elon and Colath. Boon companion and dear friend.

The reality crashed over him, the crushing knowledge of her fate.

He could do no less than she, though, and stood straight and tall. He was glad now he’d worn his robes, to give this horrible occasion the bitter dignity it required.

“Do you swear to renounce all claim to your father’s lands, names and titles?”

There was a gasp from some of those in the crowd.

To men, name was paramount, you did honor to your family or not. Some among them may have known her father had already disowned her but now they demanded that she must also give up her name as well. No longer Ailith of Riverford. What then?

Another problem solved, Jareth thought bitterly, they would have a new heir for Riverford, and with no dispute.

That would suit Daran well. Those of Riverford had always been an independent lot, now he could choose someone more amenable. So, he had a two-fold justification for this. Plots within plots, that was Daran. In that he was much like Mornith. That isolation had left Riverford’s King vulnerable. The problem of Riverford was now solved. It would probably be someone from her mother’s family, as a sop to their wounded pride at discovering the father who’d raised her mother wasn’t the one who’d sired her. That they were also a more biddable clan would only stand in their favor. At the same time it would be a slap to those of her father’s family, punishment for having both a traitor and Otherling bearing their name.

Among Elves it wasn’t family for which you carried honor but yourself.

Home, however, was another matter. Not the land itself but the place itself, what had been made and carved there over the long centuries. The place of your people. Where you belonged and where you returned. It was part of your identity and precious to them. To be cast out from your Enclave was unthinkable. What worse punishment could be meted out upon an Elf than to be separated from their home. You could join another by choice or for soul-bond but the Enclave where you’d been born, in which you’d been raised, still had a place of reverence in every Elven heart.

Death was more merciful than exile.

In Elon’s memory he couldn’t remember a time when such a punishment had ever been set and only once in history. A moment in history of which no Elf had ever spoken, until Talesin had spoken of it.

Mornith.

This, this sent shudders through his soul. Did Ailith, with her Elven blood, feel it?

The bond quivered, aching. Yes.

“You are exiled to the borderlands. You may not tarry in the lands of Elves or Dwarves or Men.” Avila enunciated each word clearly.

A loophole, an exception perhaps? She could cross but not stay. Charity, or mercy? Or merely the appearance of it? Elon didn’t know but each word was like acid on his soul.