Exile's Redemption Page 18

  The mystery of what happened to his ancestors would have to wait as well. For now, he had to focus on the more immediate problem of the hidden enemy who had obliterated Second Home. Knowing so little about the modern world vexed him. He doubted Reaper’s memories could have provided the answers he sought. She had led as isolated a life as most of the other elves of First Home.

  Still, he berated himself for not delving deeper into Reaper’s mind. W’rath had been in a hurry, though, and had mostly focused on learning the modern language and the basics of the elves’ culture. Discovering exactly what atrocities she and T’sane had committed would have been useful. He wished he knew how much the previous Voice of the First had involved himself in the near genocide of the First Home Shadow Elves. And had he given the order that had doomed the previous Wood Elf councilors?

  No point in fretting about such things now. While Reaper or T’sane might have foolishly kept a journal, something that would make plain the extent of the conspiracy, W’rath doubted it. For now, all his questions would have to simmer in the back of his mind until he had the opportunity to investigate further. He needed to focus on learning from Foxfire all he knew of the various existing cultures. He also needed to do whatever he could to free the Wood Elves from their conflict with the annoying King Oblund.

  He pondered the possibility that King Oblund could have instigated the attack on Second Home. He quickly dismissed the idea. If the fellow had that sort of magical firepower at his command, he could have defeated the Wood Elves ages ago. For that matter, he wouldn’t have need of siege weapons for his attack against his rival.

  W’rath sat up, frustrated, wreathing his head in the curling smoke of his cigarette. All his life he’d primarily worked as a scout and a spy, acquiring knowledge and getting the jump on his enemies. Even after being cast into the Abyss, he’d eventually ended up performing the same sort of work for the demon lord, Ruaz’Daem. While free of that place now, W’rath found himself in the unpleasant position of having to play catch-up. He still knew too little in order to feel effective. Foxfire had been dubious about his grand boast of cleaning up the human problem. Sadly, lad, I’m beginning to realize you were right to be skeptical.

  And sitting here grousing about it isn’t going to help one bit.

  Fortunately, he could control his own physical and mental needs. W’rath escaped the seduction of the soft bed and pinched out the remainder of his cigarette. He placed it in the bowl of the incense burner he’d found waiting on the dresser when he entered; no use in annoying Lady Swiftbrook any more than necessary with his annoying new habit. He settled himself on the floor, slowly willing himself into a state of deep meditation. Someone less skilled would have had a hard time blocking out the many questions and problems facing him. W’rath had practiced meditation since before he could wield a knife, or will an orc’s brain to explode. Uruvial Stormchaser had taught him. She had always been there for him.

  And so, using Uruvial, the one bright star of his childhood, as a focal point, W’rath settled into a trance and soothed his mind and body.

  Lady Swiftbrook stood on her balcony, gazing up at the night sky. The distant stars looked chill and full of secrets. Foxfire had told her they were actually suns, but so far away they were visible only at night. That seemed farfetched, but Foxfire knew odd things. Of course, his trade required a fanciful imagination, so perhaps he’d made it up. If so, it seemed a less than romantic explanation. She would have thought he could come up with a tale that didn’t sound like he’d pulled from a book written by gnomes.

  Behind, she heard someone enter her room. She’d hoped for privacy this night so she could contemplate the stars and her own shortcomings. She’d seen the disappointment and anger in the eyes of W’rath, Raven, and Foxfire. Even worse, the sight of the pitiful Shadow Elf youths as they’d stood, wavering in the fading sunlight, had punished her with shame. How could she have let this go on? In some ways, I carry even more blame than those who committed these atrocities.

  When she didn’t leave the balcony, the visitor came seeking her. “Kiara,” K’hul said. “Didn’t you hear me come in?”

  “I sought solitude,” she said, ignoring his implied chastisement for not running to him as soon as he entered the room. Right now, despite their intimate relationship, she found even his use of her given name annoying.

  K’hul in turn ignored her desire to be alone and joined her on the balcony. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “We face evil times,” he said, “none of us should isolate ourselves.”

  “I have much to contemplate, and my thoughts concerning you are not particularly kind right now.” She remained stiff, refusing to submit to the lure of his solid warmth.

  “You have invited a viper into our home and already he poisons us.” He kept his voice soft, but his embrace grew noticeably tighter.

  “It wasn’t W’rath who stood there today and argued against freeing those children from the terrible wrong done to them. When your father sat on the council, you spoke constantly to me of how you would do things differently. Yet the moment you joined the High Council, you transformed into him. Explain to me how you can rationalize treating children in such a cruel manner?”

  “Umbral was a child.”

  “So that’s what it comes down to? The actions of a single person? You can’t condemn an entire race because of the failings of one individual.”

  “While a great leader, the First made a mistake in creating the Shadow Elves. He allowed their beauty to seduce him, and he fathered a monster. He gave Umbral everything and the creature tried to murder him.”

  By now K’hul’s embrace had tightened to the point that Lady Swiftbrook felt her ribs creak protest. “You conveniently forget one thing,” she said, resisting the urge to struggle.

  “My lady?”

  “Umbral wasn’t created. He claimed both a Shadow Elfess and the First as his parents. He was half First Born.”

  K’hul sprang away as though he suddenly found himself entwined with a serpent. Lady Swiftbrook spun and stared into his furious eyes. “It’s the First Born, not the Shadow Elves, who are known for their explosive tempers. It seems to me, the boy who lashed out at his father that day, may have looked like a Shadow Elf, but it was his First Born half that lead him to attempt patricide!”

  For a moment she thought he would strike her. She narrowed her eyes and raised her chin, daring him to prove her point. At last he lowered his trembling arm, but his fist remained clenched. “I am not my father,” he said, his voice breaking with his barely contained rage.

  “Then stop standing in the way of righting the wrongs he committed. Help the Shadow Elves. Help the Wood Elves.”

  “The Wood Elves?”

  “Their ongoing war with the Kingdom of Teresland. Your father didn’t want us getting involved in the affairs of the mainland,” Lady Swiftbrook explained.

  “So much for that. We’re deeply involved in the affairs of the mainland now. Whoever attacked Second Home saw to that. We should have never built a city there. Why my father supported such a project, I’ll never understand.”

  “Normally he wouldn’t have, but your father had a weakness for books, and when the Consortium of Knowledge approached us with the idea of housing collections of writings from all over the known world, he finally agreed. With him voting for the city, we gained the votes of the Sea Elves as well as the Shadow Elves.”

  “I’ve never heard of the Consortium of Knowledge.”

  Lady Swiftbrook bit her lip to suppress the sarcastic quip that popped to the front of her mind. Perhaps W’rath had poisoned her just a bit. “They’re a group of scholars, represented by all of the sentient races of our world. I’ve heard, though never confirmed, that they even have goblinoid races among their numbers.”

  K’hul’s lip curled in derision. “Sounds like something gnomes would come up with. You can’t trust gnomes.”

  “Gnomes did start the consortium.” She smiled. “Sadly, I sha
re that particular prejudice with you. I had a cousin who had to regrow an entire arm when some ridiculous gnomish invention blew up. He was lucky he didn’t bleed to death before the vessels repaired themselves.”

  “Bloody gnomes.”

  They both laughed, and the tension between them dissipated. K’hul shook his head ruefully. “All right. We’ll revisit the Wood Elf issue tomorrow. We’ll see about putting an end to their troubles with the fool who wants their forest.”

  “And you’ll be nice to W’rath?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Well, that’s a start at least,” Lady Swiftbrook sighed.

  “You awake?” Caeldan asked his brother.

  “You know I’m awake, you git,” Ryld replied. “Ever since those collars came off, we’ve been completely aware of each other. Why are we even talking? We can send to each other.”

  “We’re out of practice,” Caeldan sighed. “Before the collars, we were one person in two bodies. Now I feel like an interloper in your head.”

  “You’re an interloper in my ears,” came a voice. “Would you two shut your traps? Some of us would like to sleep.”

  “Is that you, Seismis?”

  “I’m not saying.”

  “It’s Seismis all right.”

  “Since when did he get so bossy?”

  “Since he got a good meal. Still just as whiny, though.”

  “I really don’t think it’s bossy or whiny to want a decent night’s sleep. Between you two and the bugs, I’ll never get any rest.”

  “The bugs?” Ryld wondered.

  “Can’t you hear them? Gods, they’re horrifying! I swear they’re plotting something. I think they’re coming to get me.”

  Ryld and Caeldan exchanged looks. Seismis had always been an odd one. Among their small family of outcasts, Seismis wasn’t just the youngest of them, but the strangest as well. Well, unless you counted psychotic females hell bent on killing everyone off slowly.

  “Sorry, Seismis. We’ll leave you and the bugs in peace. We should practice our sending anyway.”

  The two fell silent and grinned at one another. Wait for it, Ryld sent.

  Three. Two. One.

  “Oh, gods, the bugs! The bugs!”

  There it is.

  The two brothers tried to stifle their laughter, but completely lost it when they heard multiple pillows slam into Seismis, accompanied by various threats and curses. He yelped. “Okay, for you,” he pouted. “Just so you know, when they’re done with me, they’ll come for you. Just you wait.”

  That prompted a chorus of disparaging remarks and finally everyone settled in again. Ryld and Caeldan lay back on their pillows, but couldn’t stop smiling.

  I do believe we’re on the mend, Ryld sent.

  Indubitably, Caeldan replied and shut his eyes to sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Like everything else W’rath had seen so far, the council chamber for the elves of First Home proved both functional and elegant. The furniture, finely crafted, gleamed, the wood shimmering like moonlight. The upholstered cushions followed a theme, depicting the settling of First Home and the raising of the protective wall of light. Each showed a unique scene, yet the weaver had taken great care to ensure the entire set went well together by using a common color pallet and a flowing design that drew the eye through the story.

  Enormous paintings adorned the walls, detailing important historical events. The artists had rendered each figure exquisitely, and assuming they had taken pains to ensure the accuracy of the likenesses, viewers could easily recognize individuals, even those not the main focus of the scene. W’rath found the poses overly dramatic and the expressions a bit too exaggerated, but he forgave the artists their excesses since the stories portrayed in the paintings were intended to fill the viewer with a grand perspective of their past. A certain amount of overindulgence was to be expected.

  The cavernous hall echoed with the click of W’rath’s boot heels as he crossed the glass-like floor, it’s cloudy translucence reminiscent of snow opals. He stopped in front of one of the paintings where another had already paused to admire it. “What have we here?” he asked the Sky Elf councilor, Kiat Icewind.

  I’ve always loved this one,” the fellow replied. The previous day he’d spoken hardly a word, but now he seemed more in his element. “It tells the story of the First’s historic defeat of the Frost Giant army. Just look at the detail! Here the First battles the giants’ leader, Jarfang Frostbeard. You can even see the steam from their breath. See the expressions on all the other people’s faces—such intensity. Even the magic and the falling snow appear swept up in a dance.”

  “Magic?” W’rath said. “That’s very odd.”

  “How so? The First manipulated fire with unsurpassed skill. Of course he would use magic in battle.”

  “Not against giants, he wouldn’t. They were notoriously magic resistant—almost immune. Even fire magic barely affected the Frost Giants. Not to mention the concussive force of many spells increased the likelihood of avalanches, which proved much more damaging to the elves than the giants. The elves quickly learned not to waste their strength tossing powerful spells at the giants. They switched to using personal enhancement magic. They bolstered their strength, put up magical shielding and heightened their reflexes.”

  Raven, the Wood Elves and Lady Swiftbrook joined them. “Well, I expect the artist merely wanted to make the scene more dramatic. The fire magic also helps break up the predominantly blue and white of a winter scene,” Kiat said.

  W’rath let that go. He’d already said more than he should, so he refrained from commenting further concerning the accuracy of the painting. Raven had no such qualms. “That doesn’t explain why the painter chose to show the First facing off against King Frostbeard.” She cocked her head and tapped her lip as she studied the painting, puzzling over its flagrant inaccuracies.

  “Well obviously,” Kiat said, trying to sound authoritative, but managing only thin-lipped petulance, “because of all the battles against the giants, this one decided everything. Every last one of Frostbeard’s thanes met their end that day.”

  “But that’s not how it happened at all. I assume by your robes you’re a scholar—you should know that.”

  Kiat’s cheeks grew pink, but Raven didn’t seem to notice, her interest focused on the painting. “Lord W’rath is right, magic was useless against the giants. Their immense size and strength also put them at a distinct advantage over the much smaller elves. The elves, in order to have any chance against the giants, had to swarm them. Their massive losses forced the First to call a retreat.”

  “That’s outrageous! The First would never back down from such rabble. I’ve never once seen any of the things you claim in a history book.”

  “Then you’re reading the wrong history books,” Raven replied.

  “We don’t read books written by Exiles,” K’hul said, his huge frame casting a shadow over the rest of them as he approached.

  “How about books written by the respected scholar, Prentice Steamcaller?” Raven challenged.

  “Sounds like a gnome name. They’re all mad, you know.”

  W’rath chuckled. The others looked at him. “I apologize,” he said, “but he has a point—they are all mad.”

  Raven scowled at W’rath, and he smiled back, all innocence, before turning his attention to K’hul and Kiat. “That being said, the lady is correct in pointing out that others seem to have a more accurate grasp of our own history. Did your ancestors form a committee and go through every written word, rewriting anything that made the First appear fallible? While a great War Leader, the First didn’t single-handedly march across the world slaughtering all comers. He sometimes had to do what all leaders do—delegate.”

  K’hul snorted in derision. “Our ancestors lived in simpler times. They had no need of complex strategies.”

  W’rath silently scolded himself for opening his mouth again. No point in falling silent at this juncture, though, he’d
merely give his nephew the impression he’d won. And we can’t have that now, can we? “For the most part you’re right, but when going up against an enemy like the Frost Giants, he found his usual tactics didn’t work. He didn’t have any choice but to seek out new ideas. Like you, old boy, he had an enormous ego. Even so, he managed to master it once in a while and utilize the strengths of others.”

  “Next you’ll claim the First asked Umbral for help in defeating the giants,” Lord Icewind said

  “I don’t think ask is the right word,” Raven said. “According to Professor Steamcaller, the First demanded his son attend him, and then tasked the boy with the seemingly impossible job of defeating the giants. Umbral, who had grown tired of his father’s poor treatment, demanded in turn that if he took this challenge and succeeded, his father would publicly acknowledge his deed, and elevate him to the same status as Lady Stormchaser. The First agreed, and while no one can know his mind for certain, the professor believed the First expected Umbral to not only fail, but to perish in the endeavor.”

  “Ridiculous!” Kiat said, K’hul’s presence bolstering his confidence. “Where did this professor gain his information?”

  “He cites many sources,” Raven said. “He even claims to have interviewed an ancient blue dragon who watched as these events unfolded. The dragons hold no love for Umbral, so there’s no reason to believe any of them would lie for the purpose of making him look good.”

  “Assuming he interviewed a dragon at all, and this gnome scholar of yours didn’t just make it up to give his tale the ring of truth,” Kiat scoffed.

  “First it’s Exile propaganda, and now it’s lying gnomes, falsifying their sources,” Foxfire said, matching Kiat’s skepticism with an equal measure of disgust. “Frankly, this corroborates a story I heard while up north in Clan Craig’s lands. I’d like to hear the rest.”