Exile's Redemption Read online

  “Or, since we both know nothing you say will change my mind, we could just skip that part and move on to where I pummel you into a jelly. A very small jelly.”

  “Charming. However, isn’t that a bit archaic? Isn’t the whole purpose of having a council to facilitate communication and the exchange of ideas? Or am I mistaken and it’s really only an attempt to put a civilized face on our government while the First’s descendant continues to bully the rest of the population?”

  “I’m the bully? You’ve already made it clear you expect the collars to come off regardless of the outcome of any discussion. In fact, you used threatened violence to lure me here in the first place. So be it. It worked well enough for the First, I’m only too happy to continue the tradition.”

  W’rath had only a fraction of a second to chide himself for underestimating his nephew before the huge First Born smashed a granite-like fist into his jaw. He attempted to roll with the punch, but the lad’s speed shocked him, and W’rath felt the bone shatter. Most people wouldn’t expect someone of such size to also have the agility and quickness of a hunting cat, but W’rath, of all people, realized he should have known better.

  The force of the blow sent him flying across the room. He landed and continued to tumble across the floor until a wall brought him to a bone rattling halt. He spat out blood and teeth, but already felt his body regenerating, knitting the bone back together. Another fifteen minutes and he’d completely heal. Of course, K’hul wouldn’t allow him to regenerate in peace. His father hadn’t either.

  “I knew that without your psionics you’d lose miserably in a fight,” K’hul gloated, “but really, Exile, I still expected better. What were you thinking? Is this how you go about turning me over your knee and giving out a good paddling?”

  He swaggered over to W’rath, hands on hips. “Do you think because I’m younger than you, you can lord it over me? Or, maybe you think I’m just some big, dumb fighter you can tear apart with your self-imagined superior intellect? Lesson one, Exile, never underestimate your opponent.”

  I agree entirely. With the speed of a striking snake, W’rath lashed out with his legs, hooking onto K’hul’s ankle with one of his feet and smashing the side of a knee with the other. An resounding crack echoed off the walls as the knee exploded. K’hul crashed to the floor, howling in pain and surprise. The entire dojo shook with the force of his immense body splitting the floorboards.

  With reflexes honed from years of surviving in the Abyss, W’rath sprang up and forward, smashing K’hul’s ruined knee, causing the First Born to nearly bite through his tongue in his efforts to keep from bellowing in agony. Even so he could not help but cry out as the Shadow Elf launched himself into the air using the shattered knee for leverage. The older elf fell back earthward, smashing the elbow of the hand that had seconds earlier broken his jaw. He tumbled forward and came to rest with his knee against K’hul’s throat. He pressed just hard enough to make it clear how easily he could crush the huge elf’s windpipe.

  K’hul went to brush the Shadow Elf from his chest only to find his other arm pinned to the floor by a knife, humming with faint magic. Tendons neatly sliced, the embedded knife kept him from healing. For now the arm lay useless. He starred up into W’rath’s furious face in horror.

  “If you ever strike me again,” W’rath said, struggling to enunciate through broken teeth, and a partially healed mandible, “your current injuries will seem but pleasant memories. I shall break each joint in your body, and then march up this puffed up chest of yours to smash every bone in your face. If your bloodline to the First survives as unsullied as you claim, you may regenerate perfectly, but odds are you won’t present quite as handsome a visage as you’re used to.”

  K’hul gaped at the Shadow Elf, confirming W’rath’s suspicions that no one had ever dared speak to the young warleader in such a manner before. K’hul nearly choked on the blood from his partially severed tongue. W’rath grinned. “Oh, yes, the various races of elves may differ in a great many ways, but one thing you can always count on is our vanity. Lad, you may hate me with every fiber of your being, but by all the ancestors you hold dear, you will respect me.

  “And now … if you don’t mind, I do believe I have won our … debate.”

  Outside, a collective gasp of wonder filled the air as the solid collars around the necks of the Shadow Elves sprang open, clattering to the white stone of the arena floor. The boys touched their throats. “I can sense your mind again,” Ryld said to Caeldan, fighting back tears.

  From across the way, two figures emerged from the dojo and approached. “I think K’hul’s limping,” Foxfire said.

  “That’s blood on his sleeve, too,” added Kela. For first time since her arrival, she sounded cheerful.

  Lord W’rath looked worse for wear himself, the twins noted. His fancy ponytail had come completely undone, attesting to a violent encounter. That and the way he gently tested his jaw suggested a very large First Born had thrown a few punches.

  “A master of diplomacy,” sighed Lady Swiftbrook.

  “Sometimes violence is the only answer,” Kela said.

  Lady Swiftbrook frowned. “Not for us. We evolved. We rose above this sort of thing. Rolling about in the muck, scratching at each other like savages, is beneath us.”

  “Someone forgot to tell those two,” Raven said.

  The new First Born councilor, Lady Culna’mo, bent down and retrieved one of the fallen collars. Her shadow had more substance than the fragile youngsters before her, the tallest of whom came up to her waist. “Perhaps their fisticuffs are a good thing,” she mused. “This elevated lifestyle you speak of, Councilor Swiftbrook, where all controversy finds resolution through rational conversation, can only work if the entire world thinks the same way. The events at Second Home make it clear we’re dealing with someone who does not embrace your ideals. If we wish to prevail against this enemy, we need individuals who retain the fighting spirit of our ancestors.”

  “Or we could acknowledge that establishing a city on the mainland was a poor idea, and stay here on First Home away from the rabble.” This last remark issued from the new Sky Elf councilor. When the others turned their attention upon him, he shrank back from their scrutiny.

  “Councilor Icewind,” Lady Swiftbrook said, finally putting a name to the cringing fellow, “as much as I abhor violence, I refuse to believe we should allow others to drive us from the world.”

  The group fell silent as K’hul and W’rath rejoined them. K’hul went to join his female counterpart, more dour than ever. W’rath combed out his freed hair, inscrutable until he came to stand next to Raven, where Ryld and Caeldan caught sight of the sly wink he gave her. The brothers grinned. For the first time in over two decades they felt a tiny spark of respect for their leadership.

  With the young elves at his back and Raven at his side, W’rath addressed the rest of the council. “Lord K’hul and I discussed our differences. He had many valid arguments, but in the end we both agreed, it is in the best interest of First Home if none are denied access to their gifts.”

  K’hul, who had been growing redder by the second, on the verge of erupting, relaxed upon hearing W’rath’s words. Lady Swiftbrook raised an eyebrow, surprised and impressed. She’d half expected W’rath to gloat. She didn’t doubt he understood the value of sparing K’hul embarrassment, but found it amazing his ego hadn’t won out over good sense.

  Lord W’rath fell silent, allowing Lord K’hul a chance to speak. The First Born nodded as if he and the Shadow Elf had indeed participated in a civil debate that ended in a solid agreement built upon respect. “As we go forward in our quest to name our enemy and bring them to bay, we will have need of the skills all our people wield. All of us will have a part to play in avenging our fallen and in rebuilding our nation.”

  The twins pursed identical mouths. “Has nothing to do with it being just plain wrong to collar a fellow elf,” Caeldan muttered to Ryld.

  He bit back a cry of surpr
ise when an instant later an elbow connected with his ribs. It wasn’t intended to hurt, just get his attention, but in his condition even the air chafed. He glared and found himself locking gazes with Lord W’rath. The councilor didn’t say a word, but the steely gaze spoke volumes. Your collars are off, you foolish magpies—use your gift to communicate your sarcasm.

  Caeldan swallowed, feeling blood creep into his face. “ Sorry boss,” he sent.

  Lord W’rath’s angled brows rose in surprise, and for a moment Caeldan thought he’d blundered by acting too familiar, but then surprise turned to amusement. Caeldan sighed in relief, and Lord W’rath, now grinning, turned his attention back to his fellow councilors.

  Lord K’hul continued on for a bit, warming to the idea that, despite his earlier misgivings, this was a magnificent opportunity for the elves to come together and remind the world of their greatness. Fortunately, he paused just a bit too long between refrains and Lady Swiftbrook took the opportunity to come to everyone’s rescue. “Thank you very much, Councilor,” she said, leading the group in a round of applause. “Now it’s getting late and these boys look ready to collapse. It’s not right they’ve had to stand all of this time. They should be recuperating after their long ordeal.”

  “Councilor,” Caeldan interjected, “we’re in better shape than most of the others who didn’t make it to the surface.”

  “I already have someone taking care of that,” Lady Swiftbrook assured him. “Lady Sera, the head of the House of Healing, has put together several teams of healers and casters to head down there. As soon as the healers can transport the others safely, they will join you. In the meantime, we must find you quarters and work on getting you properly fed.”

  “Better late than never,” Ryld muttered under his breath.

  “I have another elbow, lad,” W’rath hissed over his shoulder, and the boy abruptly fell silent.

  Just then a retinue of Sky Elves arrived carrying stretchers. Half of them headed toward the archway leading to the caverns below the surface of First Home. The other half set about tending to the youngsters already topside. a flurry of activity followed, with the healers quickly checking over the young Shadow Elves. The healers loaded the weakest of the group onto the stretchers and whisked them away. The rest, including the twins, walked alongside with their Sky Elven guides, the healers either excitedly chattering at the boys, or shyly peering at them, curious about their strange appearance.

  Raven started to follow the boys as they left the arena. Already she felt protective of the pitiful youngsters. Letting them out of her sight made her nervous. W’rath laid a hand on her arm to stop her. “Let the healers do their work,” he said. “We have business elsewhere.”

  “Oh? Where?”

  W’rath gestured with his chin toward the archway leading deep into the island’s belly. Already, the Sky Elves who had entered moments before had disappeared, swallowed up by the darkness. “We have more people below and a domain to inspect.”

  “You two ready?” Lady Swiftbrook asked. She walked up to them, popping globes of light out of a wand. They bobbed about her as if excited to explore the long hidden world of First Home’s Shadow Elves.

  Raven restrained herself from groaning out loud. When she’d fled her home to relocate to the surface world, she’d prayed she’d never have to traverse the paths of such a place again. Either W’rath was right, and no gods existed to hear her prayers, or the rat bastards just didn’t care. She sighed. “Very well. But I’m not going anywhere until I get out of this damn armor. I’ve had enough of impressing people for one day.”

  Chapter 8

  The journey down held none of the dangers inherent to the world Raven had called home. Aside from meeting up with small groups of Sky Elves, carting filled stretchers to the surface, they met no other living creatures. Peace and solitude held sway here. The silence was one of the few things Raven missed about her former home. She’d had no difficulty in finding secret spots to curl up and escape her life for a brief time. The surface world held too much life for it to ever grow truly quiet. While she cherished this bright, vibrant world, at times she wished she could shut it all out—the pulsing stars, the insistent crickets, the constant caress of the breeze.

  The faces of the healers, transporting their patients out of the tunnel, clearly said they saw absolutely nothing to love about this subterranean world. The mage globes lighting their way highlighted their expressions—from extreme discomfort to near panic.

  Raven had seen those expressions before. The surface elf captives brought to her city had worn those same looks. Her father had explained to her, for those not born to it, most found the idea of having miles of stone above their head terrifying. He told her that they felt as though they’d been buried alive.

  She found W’rath peering at her. “You’ve grown contemplative,” he said.

  She nodded. “Traveling underground again brings back a lot of memories. Most of them not good.”

  “I could see why you would find living in pitch blackness oppressive,” Foxfire said. Aside from Foxfire and Lady Swiftbrook, no other councilor had joined them on their expedition.

  Surprised, Raven asked him, “Is that what you think? The Exile cities are dark but lit with many different colored lights. They also have what we call sun stones. My mother taught me to take very good care of ours. She said without them, we couldn’t survive. Apparently, while we can see perfectly well in total darkness, we were never intended to live that way for an extended time.”

  They passed a sconce carved out of a natural mineral formation, though no light emitting stone rested there. W’rath searched around the area and found some sparkling shards. “What’s left of a sun stone?” he asked, showing Raven a few glittering fragments.

  “Maybe. Someone destroyed it, though. There’s no way of telling exactly what it was now.”

  “I don’t think there is any doubt that it was. We can be pretty certain who destroyed it too,” Foxfire said. “Reaper. Or T’sane at Reaper’s behest.” He spoke their names as if he were trying to get a bad taste out of his mouth.

  Lady Swiftbrook had forged farther ahead, but returned now to find the little group examining the sconce and the shards. “There are more of these at regular intervals along the way. I’m not sure what the point of destroying them was. Shadow Elves don’t need light to see by.”

  “But other elves do,” Foxfire pointed out. “It’s a means of helping isolate the Shadow Elves from the rest of us. Not all of us can conjure balls of light.” The accusation hung in still air.

  Lady Swiftbrook’s normally perfectly straight posture wilted. She turned pained eyes to them. “I knew things weren’t right down here, but I swear I had no idea Reaper and T’sane would stoop so low.”

  “You weren’t meant to know,” W’rath said, dusting the fragments from his hands. He started down the tunnel and the others followed.

  “I should have made the effort to come down here and see for myself. Councilor Stormchaser told me my interference would do more harm than good. I shouldn’t have listened to her.” About her the mage lights fell into a chaotic jumble, reflecting her distress.

  “Perhaps,” W’rath mused. “Tell me, madam, what field of study did she specialize in?”

  “Divination. She read the future through various means. It’s one of the most difficult of the magical domains to master. It requires the caster learn how to interpret symbols and seemingly incoherent visions. Even what appears as a clear sign of future events, can mislead the diviner if taken out of context.” Lady Swiftbrook’s voice grew unsteady. “Like all of her family line, she had a gift.”

  “If she was so gifted then why didn’t she know what went on below her feet?” Raven said, unable to hide her bitterness.

  “I expect she did know what took place down here. She kept it to herself for the same reason she did nothing to stop the annihilation of Second Home,” W’rath replied.

  That stopped them all in their tracks. “What?”
W’rath said, turning back to regard their shocked faces. “How is this not obvious? Raven, lass, back on the ship you told me she spoke to you right before walking directly into the explosion that killed her.”

  “Gods!” Raven gasped. “Linden and I discussed it later, but only in terms of her knowing our fates as individuals—not that she had known about the attack. Linden knew she’d seen his death. It just didn’t sink in that she had foreseen the whole travesty.”

  “So we must ask ourselves, when exactly did she know about the attack?” Foxfire mused.

  Lady Swiftbrook’s eyes had grown large with realized horror. “Weeks,” she said. “At least three weeks.”

  The others stared at her silently, willing her to enlighten them. “I noticed a change in her a few weeks back. Often when we met, she had swollen eyes, red as if I’d just interrupted some terrible bout of grief. I asked her several times what troubled her, but she waved off my concern. She’d claim she had fallen into a foolishly sentimental mood, and that I need not worry. Then, just a few days ago she came to me. She told me I would meet two strangers whom I would learn to trust with my life. And then she gave me a gift.”

  “Well, you don’t have to train as a diviner to figure out who she meant,” Foxfire said, rolling his eyes. “You’re just now recalling this?”

  Lady Swiftbrook blushed. “Really, there’s been quite a lot going on. We were at Second Home a week prior to the attack. I hadn’t seen much of any of the councilors. I completely put her words out of my mind. For all I knew, I wasn’t to meet these strangers for another hundred years.”

  They’d started moving again, Lady Swiftbrook’s floating light globes throwing strange shadows along the walls of the cave as they slunk along beside their mistress, seemingly as depressed as she.