The Coming Storm (13 page)

Looking out from where she stood at the bottom of the stair, she was still fairly high above the slope below.

In the field below were the quarters of the Hunters and Woodsmen. Their horses were loose in the pasture, hemmed in on two sides by the back walls of the castle and by the river behind it. On the third side a loose line of rope was set between the quarters and the hill, a picket for tying the horses while they were being saddled and a fence of sorts to keep them from roving.

A few folk wandered around, clear sign that some of the Hunters and Woodsmen were back to claim what rest they could.

The rope she had added was still here, knotted in places for a better grip. A bight went around one of the remaining stanchions for the stair, keeping the rope from dangling and blowing. Tossing it over the side, she shimmied down it as she hadn’t done in a few years. Old habits held, though.

A few of the horses eyed her curiously, some warily while one or two followed. Sometimes she brought treats for them when she came but she hadn’t dared to duck into the kitchen for some on her way.

“Hai, Ailith, oh fair daughter of Riverford, thou jewel of this kingdom, the rose for which all men pine,” a voice called.

Giving Gwillim a look askance, she said, with a smile, “And you are a flatterer and a scoundrel, as all know, so don’t think your sweet-talk will cozen me.”

With hand to heart he said, earnestly, “Who, I? To one so fair? Oh, my lady, were I not a married man...”

She rolled her eyes but she was grinning. The rest of the men standing about were smiling and one or two raised their hands in greeting, which she returned. In truth, although she knew it wasn’t true, it was sweet to hear all the same. Especially these days, when kind voices were few.

“How are you, Gwillim?” she said, eyeing him.

Gwillim had sharp, sun-narrowed gray-green eyes surrounded by a spray of sun-squint wrinkles, the result of long days in the sun and saddle. Nearly as tall and thin as an Elf, he had a sharp-edged face. He looked more tired than she’d ever seen him, even after that last troll-hunt some years back. He looked worn at the edges.

“Well enough,” he said. “Are you going to ride out with us, Ailith? We could use another experienced hand.”

She’d ridden out with them from the age she’d been old enough to sit in a saddle for a length of time. Her father had been explicit in his orders. They were to teach her everything, as if she were any other recruit. No coddling. So, Gwillim and the Hunters had taught her to track, what the difference was between a boggart and a boggin, how to keep her eyes slightly averted when she thought she might tracking a rare basilisk come north and the herbs and medicines that would heal the bites of all sorts of creatures. She’d been along for that troll hunt and stood guard along with the others. As had her father, then.

Twisting her head a little, Ailith pulled her hair out of the horse’s mouth. Smoke had come up behind her, as was his wont, to nibble at it.

“Leave off,” Gwillim said and pushed at the horse’s nose, “will you?”

Smoke took a step back and snorted, shaking his head.

With a sigh, Ailith shook her head. “I don’t know that I’m free to leave right now.”

It was the most ambiguous phrase she could think of, outside of sounding critical of her father. Which as his daughter she could not.

Gwillim gave her a sharp look but made no comment, instead he said with a sigh of resignation, “I’ll have to start conscripting out of the villages then. There must be one or two with visions of adventure and heroism foolish enough to want to come with us. I’ve no time to train them, though, but at least they take a watch. Once the foolishness wears off and the reality sets in fear will keep them awake. At least that way one or two of my men can get some rest.”

“Is it so bad, then?” she asked.

He looked away, as unwilling as she to criticize her father. Once he’d loved her father well, respecting his judgment. It was hard to see the changes.

Gently, she said, “I’ve heard we have new guards.”

He sighed. “You know then.”

“Yes.”

Not criticism, merely acceptance.

Smoke had waited until they were distracted to nibble at her hair. Twisting her head, she pulled it out of his mouth again.

“Leave off, you great silly beast,” Gwillim said, shoving the horse’s nose away and shaking his finger at it in mock anger. “You see, this is why the Elves didn’t keep you, you keep acting like a silly damn horse. Willful stubborn animal.”

The fondness in his voice took all the sting from it.

“You see,” he said, “it’s not the markings on them the Elves don’t have a care for, it’s that it shows the horse is a throwback to its forebears in one way or another. Smoke here, he was named for those odd patterns in his hide but also for his tendency to just blow in the wind. He’s got all the endurance and long life of an Elven horse but…” and here he pushed the horse’s nose away from her hair again, “he’s stubborn, willful and just plain foolish at times.”

“Let it go,” Ailith said, grinning. “I don’t mind, really and it needs cutting. Not that he’s really eating it, he just lips at it.”

“He’s getting horse slobber all over you.”

“Oh and me in my finery?” she said, with a laugh. “It won’t do any harm. I’ll duck my head in the river and wash it out. No harm done. I like it that he seems to like me.”

“And that’s the other thing,” Gwillim complained but without rancor, “the only person he’s supposed to like is me.”

“Jealous, are you?”

“Oh, aren’t you just feeling like you’re special?” he said, with a grin, “Although to be honest he does seem to have somewhat more of a fondness for you than any other.”

“That’s just because I bring him treats now and again.”

“That, too.” He sobered. “It’s bad out there, Ailith. I don’t know what’s going on, truly I don’t. It seems as if all we do is run in circles to no effect. My people are tired. Random boggins and boggarts. The last week it was an ogre. We found the trail but only caught glimpses of it. We cut it off before it got too close to settled land and then chased it all around the country up there until finally it went back to the borderlands where it belongs. There was a gremlin the other day. While they’re mostly a nuisance in the main, they can and do kill the cats and rat-catcher dogs that keep vermin out of the barns. So, we have to find them. The Woodsmen have lent me some of their people but they have their own problems. With boggins and boggarts, ogres and gremlins loose in the upper hills, the bears, mountain cats, wolves and foxes have been driven down into the farmlands. We’ve lost two head of cattle, a fair number of wool sheep, dozens of chickens and such.”

“I wish I could help, I truly do. I’ll ask but I don’t know that I can offer any hope.”

“What’s happened to your father?” he blurted finally, in exasperation and weariness. “He isn’t the man I used to know.”

“I don’t know, Gwillim,” she said, in a quiet voice, “I really don’t know. I don’t know who he is any more.”

“Tread lightly around him these days,” Gwillim cautioned worriedly. “He’s become a man of uncertain temper. He threatened to unseat Caradoc when he protested those new guards. I don’t know him anymore, either.”

“I already do, I’ve seen his temper.”

He looked at her.

There was little either of them could do. Geric was King.

Smoke nibbled at her hair again. She stroked his nose, seeking some comfort.

Above them the castle towered. Few windows looked out this way. With the river at its back, the castle had little need of defense from this side. The river ran too high and fast this far north and east of the lowland heartlands. The gray walls loomed, uninviting and forbidding.

“I should go back,” she said, halfheartedly.

She should prepare for another silent dinner. With Tolan, her brooding father and her ghostlike mother. Perhaps she could sneak a meal from the kitchens. She couldn’t do it too often but she suspected the cooks would be sympathetic. She didn’t want to cause them trouble, however.

He hesitated. “If you have need…”

She shook her head and smiled crookedly. “It hasn’t gotten so dire yet.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his sharp eyes on her.

She couldn’t answer that.

Smoke followed her to the river, nearly sending her into it when he nudged her as she rinsed the ends of her hair. She splashed him, which startled him into backing up a bit, to look at her warily. First through one eye, then the other. Scooping a handful of water up, she tossed it at him. He hopped back a step, ears up, head bobbing. Another splash. He danced out of the way. She grinned. Waving goodbye to Gwillim she turned for the castle and the rope dangling from the bottom stair.

Jareth was perched in his usual place on the rail, a scroll in his hand. The one thing he could be certain of when visiting the Elves was something new to read, like this simple tale, or to learn something new. Although much of their history was oral, kept by bards in astonishingly detailed exhibitions of memory, Elves also had their own writing, an amazingly complex, graceful flowing script he was only beginning to learn – hence the simple story. He glanced up from his reading as someone came through the door.

“Ala, Colath,” he said, in surprise.

Intent on the reports from Doncerric, Elon looked up.

They’d only returned yesterday but their people healed quickly. He looked more closely. Colath was himself, but he’d changed. It was subtle but it was there. He was a little thinner, the hollows of his cheeks a little more pronounced. It was something in the eyes. He’d lost one of his people and it had marked him. As it must mark all who led. Elon knew something of it, for it had been his loss as well. For Colath, though, it was the first.

“Ala, Colath,” he said, his eyes on his true-friend and aide.

Looking in those eyes, Colath saw the understanding and something within him eased. He had no fear of condemnation, that was a thing for men, it was the shared knowing. The understanding of loss in them.

Jareth saw it, that look, and settled back to his usual spot perched on the rail with his back against the wall.

“So,” Elon said. “Tell me.”

Taking a breath, Colath nodded. “As you’ve guessed, no doubt, it’s worse than we thought. What once we took for the edge of the borderlands is gone. All manner of creature roam the highlands now. At first, it was alarming but I miscalculated the speed with which they’re moving eastward and we found ourselves behind the advance. I sent no warning through the bond, Elon, for fear of no way to warn you what you might be riding into.”

Elon sighed and nodded. Now he understood. It had been a wise decision, as he could expect from Colath.

“You make it sound as if it’s a war,” Jareth commented.

With a nod, Colath said, “It seemed so and it was best to think of it that way.”

Clasping his hands behind his back, his customary position whether he was keeping his thoughts to himself or sharing them, Elon listened. It wasn’t yet time to share his concerns but that time was drawing very near.

“To the south it hasn’t yet become as serious, which may have deceived me. To the north was another matter. It took us far longer to make our way north than I had expected. There was sign of many borderland creatures. Add a manticore, or something like it, to the list of creatures to beware of, Elon.”

“Manticore,” Elon said, surprised.

“Or something very like that creature from tales. Catlike and large. We took it for a solitary male, once we saw what seemed to be females hunting in a pride. They’re very hard to kill, Elon.”

The memory twisted at him but he wasn’t yet ready to speak of it.

“Thick skinned, with a ridge of thicker skin around their face and neck. It would take a good shot to get an arrow behind that ridge to the throat. Or in the eye. At the jointure of leg and body there seems to be a weak spot as well. To cripple it.”

He paused for a moment then shook off the memory and continued.

“Making our way back, with so small a party, ogres ahead of us, unknown and unpleasant surprises waiting, slowed our pace. Boggarts surprised us in camp, crippling one of the horses. Once they screamed, we had little choice but to make a run for it or every predator, large and small, would come looking for their share.”