Exile's Redemption Page 7

  Raven captured the sponge floating near her and vigorously scrubbed herself. Lady Swiftbrook put down the clothing she had brought and sat down on a nearby storage chest. She had changed out her bloodstained and savaged armor for a blue gown. Her silver tresses shown in the light cast by some magically created glow balls floating along the walls. “How long was I out?” Raven asked, trying to ignore the heaviness of her past.

  “A few hours. W’rath’s blast knocked us all out, but you must have taken the worst of it, being so close to him. Fortunately, nothing came along and finished us off.”

  Raven bit back her instinctive inclination to correct her. W’rath probably thought nothing of misleading people, but it felt unnatural to her. But he’d said she shouldn’t allow others to find out about her new talent for magic. Sadly, he was probably right. “And the ship? How did we get here?”

  “When we awoke, we activated the Eastern Glade portal and fled the city. One of our trade ships, The First’s Dream, had just left port from the human city of Ulan, and made a detour to Second Home to retrieve us. So few of us survived the attack, we easily fit on board. We abandoned our city. What have we become?” She turned her eyes toward the ceiling as she tried to maintain her composure. The tears spilled down her cheeks anyway, and she brushed them away with quick, angry sweeps of her elegant hands.

  Raven looked away. She had asked much the same question as she watched the people of her city go about their tragic lives. That she’d escaped that place of horrors still seemed a miracle to her, made all the more amazing by her savior—her father.

  Most denizens of her former home considered Raven’s mother, Isil Eledhwen, lenient, even soft. She didn’t lobotomize her males. Instead, she kept their heads encased in helmets that suppressed their powers. In that sense the helmets acted much in the say way the containment collars the elves of First Home used. However, the helmets had the added ability to administer punishment when desired. Raven cringed in her bath as the sobbing screams of the males filled her memory.

  Soft or no, Isil remained merciless in one area when dealing with her males. Those she took to her bed, who failed to give her the one thing she desired most, a female heir, did not survive. Dozens died because their seed resulted in yet another unwanted son. Once her fury cooled, Isil would regret the deaths, not because she felt anything for those who had died by her hand, but because the deaths meant money wasted. To regain some of her losses she sold the boy babies as breeder stock to other households. It wasn’t until she acquired a male during a successful raid on a rival city, that her dream finally came true. While not particularly gifted in the psionic area, Raven’s father managed to do what no other male had—provide his mistress with a daughter.

  As a reward, and because Isil deemed him harmless, she freed him from his helmet and allowed him to wander about the household freely. Isil even provided him with a pair of gnome servants. Most considered him privileged to the point of being spoiled.

  Of course, regardless of the small kindnesses, he was still no more than chattel. He had endured many indignities, but Raven thought the worst humiliation came from her mother loaning him out to friendly households for stud services. One family in particular, Raven recalled, had experimented with adding Shadow Elf hybrids to their numbers. They had acquired female surface elves from somewhere and used them as broodmares in the hopes of breeding natural born Shadow Elves with a talent for magic. She had never seen any of the resulting offspring, but she’d heard they inherited their mother’s greater strength and height. Very much like my transformation.

  “You ready to come out of there? You’re going to shrivel up.” Lady Swiftbrook’s had forced her earlier distress from the surface, and she seemed as elegant and gracious as someone who hadn’t just lost thousands of her people to a senseless attack. She held up a towel for Raven to wrap herself in.

  While Raven dried off, Lady Swiftbrook put out the clothing she’d brought in. “I’m afraid it’s not going to fit well. You’re built more like a First Born, but the ship’s crew is made up of Sky Elves. It’s going to be a tight fit.

  Raven accepted the tunic and pulled it on. Indeed, it proved very tight in the shoulders and chest. Less than a day had passed when she had been as scrawny as a stick. Now she stood over two feet taller, and found herself endowed with both muscles and curves. Suddenly self conscious, she crossed her arms over her new breasts. Thank the gods she didn’t have to face K’hul now. She doubted she could keep her voice steady. She sat down on a storage locker, certain her legs were about to betray her.

  “I’m sorry,” Lady Swiftbrook said, misreading her distress. “I didn’t mean to dredge up so many terrible memories. Still, I admit, I’m curious how you managed to escape your city. For that matter, what made you realize you could leave?”

  Raven gave a wan smile. As bad as her past had been, she welcomed the distraction. This new life she’d stumbled into filled her with so much uncertainty, she didn’t want to focus on it. Better to deal with things she’d come to terms with years before.

  “Believe it or not, my father helped me escape,” she said. “My father played his role as the docile male perfectly, and tricked my mother into thinking him harmless. It turned out, while he wasn’t much gifted in terms of psionics, he had other talents. Clever and patient, he insinuated himself into my life as much as possible. When my mother wasn’t looking, he’d give me small gifts—lovely minerals, a jar of subterranean glow mist, a book about surface world insects—over the course of many years.

  “On their eighteenth birthday every female in my city undergoes a ritual. Only about half survive, but those who do gain demonic power. They’re forever tainted with the essence of the demon they … absorb, but for most the lure of power generally overcomes any qualms they might have.

  “I was terrified. I wanted no part of the ritual. My mother must have realized I wasn’t of the proper mindset as she went to great pains to deceive me about the ritual’s nature. My father, of course, made sure I knew every gruesome detail. I begged him to help me. He said, despite the dangers, he could have me smuggled out of the city, and escorted to the surface world.

  “I realize now he’d already made the arrangements—probably years in advance. I was too naïve at the time to understand, so when my father’s people attacked my escort on the way to the ritual, I was just as surprised as those tasked with taking me to my doom. The attackers didn’t make a single sound. They executed every single servant and guard. They knocked me unconscious and spirited me away. When I awoke they told me they implicated a rival of my mother’s. Supposedly, the two families have fought ever since.”

  Lady Swiftbrook had sunk down onto another storage chest. Belatedly, she realized her mouth hung open and shut it with a sharp click of teeth. “That is one of the most incredible stories I’ve ever heard,” she said. “Whatever happened to your father? He didn’t suddenly gain incredible psionic ability?” The Sky Elf looked toward the upper deck.

  “W’rath? Oh, gods no.” Raven burst out laughing. “I’ve never seen him before today. I have no idea what to make of him. Even my father, who plotted to steal my mother’s most cherished possession, always remained quiet and differential—even to me. I believe this one would tweak the nose of the Traitor himself.

  “But my father? I don’t know what happened to him. He wasn’t there when I woke up. I asked, but all his people would tell me was that he still had a lot of work to do, and couldn’t see me off. From what little I learned, he’s only one of many who help Exiles escape so they can start new lives away from people like my mother. I think they hoped I would join them, but the lure of the surface world pulled at me, and I insisted they take me there.

  “Once there, I made contact with some Wood Elves and they introduced me to others who had made their way to the surface to start over. I spent three years there and then made my way to Second Home to study. And now …” She shrugged, bemused.

  “I’d like to tell you that your trials are
over,” Lady Swiftbrook said. Finally remembering the leggings she held, she passed them to the Shadow Elf. “But you’ll have your work cut out for you once we reach First Home. Despite the passage of so many years, quite a number of the People, especially the First Born, don’t easily trust Shadow Elves. Some ten generations have passed, yet most First Born act as if Umbral tried to assassinate the First just yesterday.”

  “I noticed. Lord K’hul seemed less than pleased to make my and W’rath’s acquaintance.”

  “He takes his role as descendant of the First very seriously. His father was among those who perished at the Eastern Glade, and K’hul desires to step into the position of First Among Equals. While all members of the High Council receive a vote for all major decisions, the closest blood descendent of the First provides the deciding vote for any ties that occur.”

  Raven sighed. “That explains his hostility. How awful to lose his father like that. If only we had arrived sooner, we might have saved him.”

  “Don’t start down that road. K’hul held no love for his father. He’s wanted onto the council since before he turned a hundred. His father had no interest in stepping down from his position. Today’s disaster not only removed Councilor K’hul as an obstacle, but gave his son a chance to shine as War Leader, and ensure no one will deny him the chance to fill the vacancy his father’s death opened up.”

  Raven grimaced in disgust, but refrained from speaking out against K’hul. If Raven’s mother dropped dead at her feet, she wouldn’t shed a tear. She had no right to judge K’hul.

  “K’hul is a difficult person to fathom. I won’t claim you’ll come to love or even like him, but I expect you’ll come to know him as a worthy representative of the First Born. He and whomever we choose for the other vacancy.”

  “You lost both First Born representatives?”

  Lady Swiftbrook nodded. “All told we lost five councilors today. In addition to both First Born and both Shadow Elf representatives, we lost Lady Stormchaser for the Sky Elves. If not for W’rath, I would have perished as well. Fortunately, neither the Wood Elf or Sea Elf councilors were present during the attack. Even so, we’re faced with replacing half of the High Council.”

  “Who could have done this?”

  “Determining that, Councilor Raven, shall be our first order of business when the council next convenes.”

  So, who did you lot annoy? W’rath tapped his chin and gazed out to sea. Despite the knowledge he’d picked up from the dying female Shadow Elf, terrible gaps in what he knew about the current state of the world left him frustrated and uncertain. When he’d last walked this plane, no glorious Elven ships swept across the seas. The ocean had been deadly with volcanoes and undersea earthquakes. Boiling chemicals, more akin to acid than sea water, covered the planet. The politics had been simple. There were elves and then everyone else. The goblinoid races and their allies sat at the top of the hate list, but in truth any being competing for the limited resources of the savage world could expect to get smashed down by Elven magic or weapons. He vaguely remembered humans. Pitiful and primitive, even compared to orcs, they had found themselves at a terrible disadvantage. The dragons had briefly taken the humans under their wing and begun to teach them. W’rath had personally ensured that alliance dissolved quickly. Dealt a terrible blow, the surviving humans had loped back to the caves and swamps to hide from the world. Even as his father had forced him through the gateway into the Abyss, W’rath had felt certain he’d ensured the extinction of the ape-like humans.

  Well, you called that one wrong, old boy. As best he could tell, the humans had not only survived, but had become one of the most dominant races the world had ever seen. Their cities covered the lands. The elves even traded with some of the friendlier human countries. Countries! Yet another concept he didn’t quite grasp.

  A contingent of Sea Elves swam past the bow and W’rath watched as they continued down along the starboard side. They’d traveled with the ship since they’d left the mainland, keeping alert for trouble for several miles around the ship. He’d yet to meet one, but at least he was familiar with them. The Wood Elves he’d heard the ship’s crew mention, were completely new to him. He had a great deal to catch up on, but he’d have to take care to hide just how little he knew. Even a former Exile like Raven knew the basics of the world. If he didn’t cover his ignorance well enough, people would notice. Curiosity would eventually lead to suspicions. Things would deteriorate from there.

  He inhaled and nearly choked. So used to the ash laden filth that passed for air in the Abyss, his lungs rebelled against the invading sea air. Everything ached too, and his head felt ready to explode. You’re a mess. Don’t you dare pass out with that golden-haired half-nephew of yours watching.

  From out of the corner of his eye he saw a group of young Sky Elves huddled together. One of them slouched and broke away from the pack, dragging his feet as he came across the deck toward W’rath. Even though he towered over W’rath, he twitched with nerves.

  “You draw the short straw, lad?”

  The youngster turned scarlet and glared over his shoulder at the others who watched expectantly. When W’rath switched his attention to them, they split up and started to fuss with jobs that didn’t need doing.

  “So, did Lady Swiftbrook order me thrown overboard after all, and you’re the poor wretch who has to deliver the news?”

  “Oh, no, Councilor—nothing like that!” the boy said, almost in a panic. He fidgeted and tugged at a silver lock of hair as he struggled to find the proper words. “It’s just, um, sir … Well, no one is much fond of standing downwind of you.”

  “You Sky Elves have very delicate noses,” W’rath said, sniffing at his shoulder. He grimaced. “All right, I do seem a bit ripe. Slogging through demon entrails can have that affect on a person. I assume you have a solution for this terrible state I find myself in?”

  The sailor visibly brightened, W’rath’s attitude taking him by surprise. “We’ve prepared a bath for you below decks,” he said. “And we have someone who knows several handy cantrips. She thinks she can, um, detangle your hair.”

  “Or we could just shave the whole mess off and let you start from scratch,” purred Lady Swiftbrook, joining them. Behind her a freshly scrubbed and dressed Raven fought to hide a smirk.

  “I’ll have you know, madam, I am rather vain. I merely misplaced my comb a few years back and have not had the opportunity to acquire a new one. If you don’t mind, I shall forego the sheers, and enlist the aid of the young lady with her arsenal of cantrips.”

  Lady Swiftbrook gaped. “You actually have the gall to stand there and claim that solid mass has ever known the kiss of a comb?”

  “It was a very trying few years.”

  Raven hid a smile behind her hand and Lady Swiftbrook rolled her eyes. She stepped aside, waving to the young sailor. “Please, sir, get him to his bath. And while he’s soaking, do us all a favor and burn that thing he’s wearing.”

  “I made this myself,” W’rath said, for all the world sounding hurt.

  “You’re supposed to cure the leather before fashioning it into clothing. If you stand there much longer it shall simply rot off and we shall never manage to scrub that sight from our minds.”

  “Since that is your attitude, I suppose I’d best return these to their owner,” W’rath said, digging about in what was turning out to be a kilt with some amazing storage capacity. He withdrew the three slim books he’d retrieved from the gore-covered ground of Second Home. He presented them to Raven.

  Raven accepted them gratefully. “Thank you,” she said. “With all that happened I forgot about them. Losing them would have been awful.”

  “Your smile is thanks enough, lady,” W’rath replied. “Pity though …”

  “What?”

  “Ah, it just occurred to me I rather prefer your earlier state of dress over this one.”

  “But I didn’t … Oh!”

  W’rath deftly sidestepped Lady Swiftbrook’s atte
mpt to slap him, pausing just long enough to bow to the two flustered females before drawing himself up regally, and following after the young sailor to the promised bath.

  The water was so hot W’rath thought he had probably burned off a couple layers of skin. Even so, he found it the most wonderful of experiences. The heat of the rising steam eased his lungs, and the aches that had assailed him all but disappeared. His head continued to scream, and he suspected he had done quite a lot of damage to himself by overusing his psionics. Even so he couldn’t recall ever feeling so content.

  When the sailor had first brought him to the room, the young lady with the cantrips had waited by the door. She explained to him how she normally used her spells to straighten out nets, tangled rigging and rope, but saw no reason why she couldn’t apply the same principles to hair. In the end, she’d had to cast her little spell eleven times, but her efforts paid off. W’rath sank beneath the surface of the water and let his freed tresses float about the top. Yes, this was very close to pure ecstasy.

  When he surfaced, he found Lady Swiftbrook standing a few feet away, in the doorway, a wry smile on her face. “I thought for a minute you had simply dissolved,” she said.

  W’rath pushed his hair out of his face. “Merely enjoying the full experience.”

  “The full experience includes the use of soap and a sponge. If you can’t manage, I’m sure I can find someone with too much free time to come ensure every nook and cranny gets scrubbed.”

  “You seem intent on playing mother, madam. You’re more than welcome to scrub my back.”

  “Careful, or I’ll ask Lord K’hul to come down here and bathe you. Somehow I don’t think you’d much enjoy his attentions.”

  W’rath made a face. “A decidedly unpleasant character. It’s tragic that a lady of your obvious intelligence would …”

  “Do not finish that sentence. My personal life is of no concern to you. However, that does bring me to another subject—Lady Raven.”