Exile's Redemption Read online

  More soldiers ran past, heading west. Among them traveled two Shadow Elves, one a female in plate, wielding two short swords, the other a male clawing at a metal collar around his neck. Raven’s eyes grew wide as she sensed the power residing in the male. He couldn’t access it, though, something kept it bottled up inside him. His panic was palpable. “Get it off! Get it off!” he panted as they raced past. Blood ran down his neck where he’d raked at his skin in his desperate attempts to remove the collar.

  They flashed by, disappearing in the murk, but Raven continued to try watching them over her shoulder as she ran. She stumbled and would have fallen if Linden had not caught her. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Did you see those two Shadow Elves?”

  Linden had fallen silent since they’d escaped the area where the archers had been shooting demons out of the sky. When he finally spoke he sounded hoarse as if all the moisture had left his throat. “They’re the Shadow Elf representatives from the High Council.”

  Raven had to force herself not to look over her shoulder again. “What was wrong with the male?”

  Raven’s sensed Linden’s unease. When he answered his words came out reluctantly. “He’s collared,” he said. “It suppresses his powers. He can’t do much of anything unless two other council members, remove the collar. All of the males with significant psionic powers wear suppression collars.”

  “Oh,” she said, not trusting herself to say more. She’d assumed those Shadow Elves who continued to support the First and the Elven Nation were trusted like any other elf born on First Home.

  “I know—not exactly the idealistic vision you probably had about life on First Home. I’m sorry.”

  Any thoughts Raven might have had about replying were forgotten as an explosion ripped through the thick stone floor directly in front of them. Raven and Linden reeled back as deadly shrapnel ripped into Linden’s conjured shielding. A ghastly worm burst through the stone. The creature swelled and spurt gasses out of fissures along its putrescent body. The gasses caught a group of terrified evacuees and they died, melting into pools of gore.

  Raven felt Linden tense, preparing to launch himself at the worm. Before he could do anything, she stepped to the side and blasted the creature with her wand. It blazed with white and blue flames. Its silent scream ripped into their minds and they cried out, falling to their knees, clutching their heads. Just as suddenly, the pain left them as the fiendish worm fled back underground, leaving them panting and shaken. As their minds cleared they stumbled to their feet. “Come on, now’s our chance,” Linden said.

  They began their trek to the east once again, shaky at first but more surefooted as they shook off the last of the worm’s mental howls. All around, things leapt from the shadows and scuttled alongside, herding them. Twisted things, with too many joints, twitched and lurched toward them. Others lurked at the edge of Raven’s peripheral vision, disappearing into the gloom when she tried to focus on them.

  The elves’ fear gave them new energy and they ran as swift as deer. Nightmares reared in front of them only to be cut down by Linden’s ensorcelled sword. Raven greeted those who fell upon them from above with a blast of blue fire from her wand. They left behind them a wake of dead and dying demons. The sounds of chewing and thrashing floated after them. The fiends had paused to feast upon their own.

  “We’re almost there,” Linden panted. The stress and exertion wore them down, especially Raven who found it difficult to match the long stride of the much larger First Born. Despite their terror, they slowed, their bodies too spent to keep up the furious pace. Only then did they realize a forbidding fog crept across the ground ahead of them.

  “What now?” Linden muttered, his voice heavy with dread.

  At his side, Raven sagged. The empathic ability she so relied on when dealing with others, worked against her now. She could feel the fear and despair of those in the dark around her. Exhausted, keeping their feelings at bay grew increasingly difficult to manage. A barrage of emotions hit her, beating her down. Linden grabbed her arm, supporting her. “Just hang in there a little longer,” he said. “I promise we’re almost there. We just have to get past this fog.”

  “Sorry,” Raven said. She clamped down on the fear and tried to force it out of her mind. She’d never had any training on the use her powers, so fighting for control proved difficult, but finally she felt a little of herself return.

  She focused her attention on her companion. He was attempting to project confidence that, in truth, he did not feel. He was as out of his element as she. She fished inside herself, searching for the confidence she’d felt earlier. It endured, but had scuttled into a corner of her psyche, overwhelmed by the flood of outside emotions. It’s foretold that we will survive. Just focus on that.

  “All right,” she said at last. “I’m okay.” She flashed a smile at Linden she hoped looked genuine.

  Linden nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Umbral, hated son of the First, stood breathing in the air of a world denied him for some ten thousand years. He barely registered the horrors going on around him, so overwhelmed was he by the sensations touching him. Even with the charnel smell of demons permeating the air, the scent of plants and all things wild came to him.

  Beside him, a demon reached out, caught up a halfling and stuffed it into its maw. As the beast chewed, blood spurted, spraying Umbral, disrupting his reverie. The elf’s crimson eyes flared, and a psychic blast vaporized the demon before it could register its mistake.

  Umbral stepped away from the portal bridging the Abyss to this place of life and light. Determined he would never again pass through that doorway, he bent his will toward it. The magic which had opened it was unbelievably powerful. Most likely the work of many casters working in concert, it resisted his psionics. With a snarl, he invoked words of power and pitted both against the portal. All at once, the magic collapsed and the doorway winked out. The front half of a demon flopped onto the ground, cut off from the rest of its body.

  A cacophony, full of monstrous dismay, erupted from an endless array of throats, thoraces and bubbling oozes as the demons found themselves cut off from the world to which they were attuned. A wave of weakness flowed through Umbral. I’ve been gone too long. My body thinks of the Abyss as home.

  To his right, a mass of shimmering red scales rippled with demonic amusement. “So, little lord, you’ve cut us off from home—the better to seek revenge against your kin,” it rumbled. “Can you hear their screams? Do you delight in their pain? Have no fear. I hold no anger toward you for marooning us. Come, I would enjoy your company as we lay claim to this place and tread across the backs of the suffering and dying. Just like old times.”

  Old times? Umbral tried to place the demon, but could not. A more intelligent specimen like this one could easily wear different forms. If he had worked for Ruaz’Daem, as had Umbral, it was likely he’d spent most of his time in the guise of a less repulsive being. Ruaz had enjoyed acting the part of a genteel, sophisticated lord, and had forced his minions to adopt his mannerisms and mode of speech. He’d insisted on proper etiquette at all times. Failure to conform resulted in painful, often fatal punishment.

  Ruaz died by Umbral’s hand, and this fellow had probably lost quite a lot with the fall of his lord. Demons could not to be trusted at the best of times. Those who nursed a grudge would merely wait until you dropped your guard before striking.

  “You do realize that by coming through the portal to this plane, rather than being summoned as a spirit to serve a mage, you can truly die here? You won’t wake up whole in the Abyss. You risk more than just an injured ego now,” Umbral said, sounding bored.

  More amusement shook the demon’s bloated form. “Even so, we tread like gods among these pathetic creatures. I know the risks, and I dismiss them. Your concern, little lord, is … touching, but unnecessary.”

  “Not at all,” Umbral replied. “I merely wished to make certain you fully appreciated the situation
. For you see, you grotesque cretin, I do intend to wreak vengeance, and I’m starting with you.”

  The eruption of power from Umbral took the demon by surprise, ripping it into hundreds of tiny pieces. The wave of power continued on, spreading out in an expanding circle, tearing apart every demon still within the Western Glade.

  Umbral staggered from the exertion. Fortunately for him no enemies still breathed to witness his sudden weakness. Departing the Abyss had left him even more fatigued than he’d realized. He would have to take care not to overextend himself. He straightened his shoulders, trying to appear more robust than he felt, and made his way through the torrential downpour of severed limbs, internal organs and blood of various hues. He used just the slightest amount of power to create a protective bubble around himself to keep the deluge from covering him in a shroud of gore.

  Umbral entered the city proper, but barely registered the majesty of the place. Built and sculpted with magic, it was as if an enormous forest had sprung from the white marble, but he focused his attention on the endless span of corpses stretching to the east. More demons swarmed here, busily eating and savaging the dying. The air reeked of despair and the monsters wallowed in it like hellish swine.

  A lone female Sky Elf struggled in vain to drag herself from the carnage. Already the demonic parasites consuming her from within had begun to burst from her flesh. With a final scream of agony, the newborn monsters tore her apart, swarming the remains in a feeding frenzy.

  Umbral tore his eyes away from the tableau and found himself looking into the terrified eyes of a female Shadow Elf. Enormous claws had ripped through her plate armor as if she wore cloth. She sat on the ground clutching her entrails to her gaping torso. Worse, she too had been implanted and Umbral could see the squirming parasites inside the translucent boils covering her body. They’d kill her in the same horrific manner as the Sky Elf long before she could regenerate from the evisceration.

  “I’m sorry, child,” Umbral said.

  She stared at him in confusion and said something back that Umbral did not understand. With a start he realized his native tongue had altered into something else entirely since his exile. She spoke again and gestured with her chin to a spot behind her. Umbral’s eyebrows rose as he spied a male Shadow Elf sprawled nearby. He sidestepped the dying female and stooped to examine the male.

  The first thing he noticed was the fellow’s grey skin. The female had the same condition, but he’d blamed that on blood loss. The male appeared to have died from demonic poison, or some other subtle death, as the gashes along his neck, where he’d clawed at a collar, seemed his only wounds. Umbral sensed the powerful magic within the collar and his lips curled in disgust.

  With a thought, he caused the collar to spring open and he scooped it up. He returned to the female. Tears poured down her face, either in sorrow over her companion’s demise, or because she’d realized her body’s regenerative powers could not save her.

  Umbral waved the collar in front of her face. Her ruby eyes grew wide with surprise. “Tell me about this,” he said.

  The female shook her head and babbled incomprehensibly. Blood poured out of her mouth and she choked and coughed. This won’t do. Umbral touched her in the middle of the forehead, more as a warning about his intentions, than any need for physical contact. She flinched, but her weakened condition prevented her from doing more. Umbral bore into her mind and immersed himself in what turned out to be a surprisingly short life.

  “Lass,” he said, his thoughts clear to her, though his words had not been. “Lass, I have much to learn and I need to know all you know. I need your language, your culture—everything.”

  Her mental wail of anguish filled his being. “Please, save me,” she pleaded.

  “I cannot. Once infected with the young of a Kal’gorath you are doomed. All I can offer you is a quick death, far preferable to the agony you’ll experience when the parasites hatch from your flesh.

  “I’m so afraid,” her mind wailed. “Have I been forgiven? Will the First accept me?”

  At the mention of his hated father, Umbral mentally recoiled. “What could you have possibly done that would warrant forgiveness by him, child?”

  “I’m tainted. We’re all tainted. We bear the sins of the Traitor. I’ve worked all my life praying for redemption, but …”

  Aghast, Umbral refused to listen to her further. What had happened to his people? This whining, pathetic creature bore no resemblance to the proud race he’d known before his exile. Unable to solve that mystery, he instead turned himself to the task of acquiring the knowledge he needed.

  His mind burned like a firestorm as it tore through the dying warrior’s brain. He absorbed her language, came to understand the political structure of the Elven Nation, the fate of those who had sided with him all those years ago, and bits of trivia concerning the elves. He wished he had time to absorb more, but the basics would have to do.

  When at last he pulled free he saw his intrusion had greatly added to her agony, and made her aware of whom she faced, but his fury was so great, he cared little. He nearly walked away then, leaving her to the parasites. Instead he snarled into her face, “You’re the descendants of those who stayed loyal to the First. You have no need to seek redemption in his eyes. But I will not forgive you.”

  He held the collar up before her pain filled eyes. “This stops now.”

  The last thing she beheld was his look of contempt as he reached forth and plucked the last bit of life from her and sent her spirit spiraling into the ether. She went limp and the parasites, deprived of her life force, shrieked and died. Umbral turned away from her corpse in disgust and continued on into the city.

  Umbral passed through a dying city. All around, the dead lay in piles and pieces. The elves had killed thousands of demons, but the invaders grossly outnumbered the elves, and even magic had its limitations. Umbral thought of the male Shadow Elf. Even dead, Umbral had sensed the power that had lain trapped within. Free of the collar, he could have cleared the glade as Umbral had. He couldn’t have won the day, but he could have easily given the elves a chance to retreat without such heavy losses. Instead, you fools let a crime several millennia past kill you. Kill him.

  His mind churned, awash in pain and anger. He thought he’d stopped caring about his people long ago. Apparently, he’d merely deceived himself. Worse, he had to shoulder some of the responsibility for the current state of the elves.

  His youth and stupidity had brought them to this point. If only he had known patience. Used subtlety. Planned. But no, his arrogance and temper had controlled him that day, made him reckless. Oh, he didn’t regret trying to kill his father. He regretted failing the attempt. He hated that his people hadn’t had enough faith in him to fully support him. Those who had sided with him had become exiles themselves, and had warped into a people so vicious, they were no better than the demons running rampant through the city street he now walked. And those who had stayed true to the First? Their descendants had grown sickly, practically crippled with self-loathing.

  The shrieks of a female Sky Elf interrupted his mental turmoil. Clearly out of her mind, she staggered along the road, waving at unseen horrors. Her screams served to make the demons stalking her giggle like errant children. She spun around, but seemed incapable of recognizing the real threat just a foot away from her. Her eyes rolled and she nearly fell. She spun around again, arms pin-wheeling, her shrieks turning into hysterical hiccups.

  Umbral took stock of his energy levels. He definitely wasn’t at his best, and in truth he wasn’t in the mood to take mercy upon anyone. But as he gazed upon her, he felt a twinge of something. Guilt? Or just a distant memory of the one person who had shown a foolish child kindness? Despite her mania she did bear a strong resemblance to Uverial Stormchaser.

  Uverial Stormchaser: The first civilized elf, as he liked to call her. She had created the first written version of the Elven language. She had invented poetry, and written songs which the elves could en
joy for their beauty, and not just as battle hymns. She had done and been many things, and Umbral owed her much.

  “Very well,” Umbral said to her memory. “However, if I die doing this, I shall be quite cross with you, Uverial.”

  Umbral breathed in deeply and opened his mind. He focused his power and allowed it to spill forth as he scythed his arm through the air. In an instant the gibbering elfess stood within a circle of eviscerated corpses. Her hiccups turned to a series of hyena laughs and giggles. She waved in childish delight at the rain of demon blood splattering down on her.

  Umbral marched up to the female, and without ceremony, reached into her mind. A powerful psychic attack had left her in this pitiable state. Umbral ignored the nightmares charging at him. He had lived with the real thing for too great a time for phantoms to hold any fear for him. He sorted her thoughts, arranged her shattered psyche back to its normal state, and erased the images the attacker had planted. Then, satisfied, he retreated back to his now trembling body. Killing was easy. Healing was exhausting.

  Lady Kiara Swiftbrook stared down at the diminutive Shadow Elf before her. She’d never seen a being so wild and savage looking. It didn’t appear that he’d ever washed or combed his white hair. Thick and matted, it hung down his back, trailing along the ground behind him like some great serpent. His only clothing was a leather kilt, studded with bone, and pieced together from the skins of numerous creatures. And boots. Boots that smoked as if they would burst into flames at any second. Ancestors! The stench!

  “Madam?” he said.

  The incongruity of his deep, cultured voice and his barbaric appearance left her speechless for a moment. Lady Swiftbrook realized she was recoiling from him. Embarrassed, she straightened and tried to take a dignified step back. Breathing through her mouth, she tried to lessen the effects of his odor. She had the sudden suspicion his kilt had been made from something thoroughly unwholesome and improperly cured.