Cavern Between Worlds
A Tale of the Far Isle Half-Elven
M. K. Theodoratus
Copyright M. K. Theodoratus, 2011
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Three whole days of freedom! Thought of her coming leave teased like a ripe plum hanging too high in a tree. Hattenel signed the last requisition with an illegible scrawl, and sent the quill to plop into the ink pot. Time for a change of scenery, free from camp politicks.
Captain Hattenel, of the Half-Elven rangers, bit her lip to suppress a smile as she listened to Aberfan, her aide, cluck in the outer room. As soon as she had announced she had decided to take her leave this time around, the man had gone all granny on her, giving her more advice than her own mother had ever dared. The sound of his stockinged feet whispered across the plank floor, and she dropped her gaze as if the supply request on her desk engrossed her attention.
Aberfan, a grizzled veteran of the ancient southern wars, grunted to catch Hattenel’s attention. He threw a letter on the cleared desk. “One last … er … urgent request. Deny it, sir, and you’re free to enjoy your leave.”
Hattenel glanced up to his scowling face and stiffened at his attempt to make her decision for her. “Deny … what?”
“Nothing worth wasting leave time on, sir, I assure you.”
“Shouldn’t I decide that?”
His lips moved his drooping mustache in and out. “Captain Voronlig, of the Sea Spray, requests permission to explore some mystery down in the southern Rookeries. Claims the enemy isn’t watching them for danger.” The veteran ranger cleared his throat. “You may not know of him, but he’s a trouble-maker. The sergeants kicked him out of camp early as a cadet. The scouts suspect his crews …”
“He’s a pirate … a debaucher of cadets …?”
Hattenel dared tease him when few were rash enough. According to Aberfan, everyone caused trouble except for, maybe, the sergeants under their command, sometimes. Hattenel stroked the scar along her cheek. She covered the souvenir of her escape from a Suthron patrol when still a stripling with her palm and ignored his inhale.
“Voronlig?” She leaned back in her chair, battle-scarred fingers tapping on her desk. “The name’s familiar. Where … have I heard … that name before?”
“Twitchy fellow.” Puzzlement filled her aide’s face. “Can’t understand how, but he captains a fleet merchant ship even if he’s as podgy as a well fed mouse. Ship always turns up where it shouldn’t be.”
“How is that important if his crew doesn’t mind?”
“This time he has some tick chewing his arse about investigating some danger to our fishing fleets. I’d say the danger’d come if he got caught disturbing the truce with the Suthrons.”
Hattenel now remembered Voronlig’s book describing his far travels in the Pashalands. The western militia captains had discussed him and his book in the mess late one night. While his observations were respected among the active military officers, most Half-Elven thought him a blithering idiot since he seldom returned to the Marches with a salable cargo. The conflicting images made her curiosity itch.
Hiding her interest, she said, “I’ll look into it on my way home. I’ll complete the paperwork when I return.”
“Not a good idea to let loose ends dangle, sir. Never know what might happen. You could scribble something and send it back. Maybe on a piece of his hide?”
“Sergeant, the paperwork can wait until I return.”
#
When she shifted from headquarters to the coastal hedge tavern indicated in the message, she found Voronlig bent over a large map spread out on a table set in an alcove. Light pierced through the grime of the line of small ceiling windows, revealing a wide, unappealing rump. His lank, unbraided hair, the grayish brown of mouse fur, brushed the table top. The man cut his hair short rather than wear a single warrior’s braid. Hattenel had never seen such a flabby person in the Marches, even among the wealthy merchants and bankers. Half-Elven tended to be lean no matter how richly they ate since using elf skills used enormous amounts of energy.
Stale ale and wood smoke permeated the air, and a stink rose from the rushes rose from the floor when she stepped nearer. Hattenel wrinkled her nose, but she heeded the prickling along her shoulders, even though she sensed no obvious magic. She shadowed her presence from his ken. The tavern was empty this early in the afternoon, but she had learned to be cautious. Hattenel hoped to glean more information before she confronted him.
A well fed mouse, indeed. How can he be dangerous? Hattenel touched the deep scar along her cheek, remembering her shock as the Suthron sword sliced. Her battle sense warned. Never assume.
Aberfan’s description fit. The tall sailor did twitch. First, he glanced from his journal to the map and back again. Then, repeated the process. When he stood, he waved his hands as he stared out the window, but he soon bent to consult the notes lying on top of the map. The longer she watched, the more he appeared a foolish twit. But, she had read his book. Hattenel sent a delicate mental probe to solve the discrepancy. Her eyes narrowed in surprise at the strength of his shields. The miserable image of a man projected a glamour as dense as the Wall separating the Marches from the Suderlands.
Is he avoiding military service by pretending to be an idiot? If so, the lord high commander needs to know.
With enemies surrounding the Marches, the high command needed the contribution of all the Half-Elven talent available, even the least powerful. Though tempted, Hattenel decided not to challenge him. At need, merchant ships could be commandeered into the militia so, technically, he fulfilled his military duty. His book suggested sailing the seas made a better use of his talents than keeping watch along the coasts. Yet, he wanted to waste his time exploring some off-shore mystery he refused to explain.
Intrigued where she expected to be bored, she unshadowed. “Did you loose something?”
Voron blinked as he swung around to face her, surprising her because he was as tall as she. Hattenel struggled to keep her expression blank. An ironic smile lit his face as a hint of magical energy sparked in the air. Before she could raise an eyebrow, his dampers smothered it. His voice was as soft as his appearance and barely carried in the silence.
He glanced at her honor belt. “Rehearsing, Captain.” His expression darkened as he met her stare. When she said nothing, he added, “You can’t deny me before you hear me out.”
“One question. What happens if a Suthron patrol discovers you?”
“They won’t.”
Hattenel gave an evil chuckle. “You’d bet your balls on it?”
“They won’t. Their fishing fleets avoid the rookery because they’ve already lost too many boats there. The pieces of ship prows lying in the sand first alerted me to the mystery.”
“And you want to lose your ship?”
“Who said anything about my ship? I’ll transfer to the rookery. If someone discovers me, I’ll say my skiff got blown off course and sank on a rock. There’s plenty of wreckage about to hide my lie.” His expression hardened, revealing the steel beneath the glamour. At least a century younger than she, he was uncowed by her high rank. “I’m not a fool, Captain, whatever my reputation.” His chest moved in a silent chuckle as a knowing smirk lit his eyes.
“Prove it.” Hattenel sat down opposite him, turning the map towards her. She rested her chin on her folded hands, but the ghost of amusement didn’t disappear. She pointed at the map. “Tell me, what do these arrows mean? I thought sea currents didn’t move along the coast lines so closely.”
“A vortex only swirls tightly around the northern isle. I formally request permission to explore the oddity to see if it presents a danger to Half-Elven fishing and shipping, ... sir.” His expression hardened. “There. Does that meet protocol?”
Looking about for some crew member, she asked, “Who accompanies you on this venture?”
“I can transfer alone easily enough, but I prefer having official permission to cover my arse.”
“Give me one reason why I should give it.”
“I gave it. The vortex is an unknown and could prove dangerous to all our ships.”
“And you feel obligated to save the Marches?”
“It’ll suffice for a reason.”
Hattenel shook her head, not accepting his argument. “Who will report your findings if you die? Wouldn’t it be easier to return to your ship and give up on this futile quest.”
“It’s too late to ignore the mystery. So what if I die, then, only one dies. If I don’t return, you’ll know you need to take a squad and investigate further.” Voron took a deep breath, not giving her time to respond. “The Suthrons grumble we destroy their ships. They threaten to close their ports to us. Demand indemnities for their lost shipping. Those facts alone should convince you of the need.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Whatever it is, the thing kills. Animal life on that rookery has completely disappeared.”
The sailor impressed Hattenel for not giving up in spite of the danger or her rank. The scar furrowing the length of her cheek protested when she smiled, but she still didn’t speak.
Voron’s voice turned into a growl. “Woman, give me my permission and go back to shuffling your papers like a good little officer.”
Remaining calm despite his display of temper, she said, “Your discovery lies outside the Marches … and my jurisdiction. I can’t give you permission.”
“The vortex grows and is three times as large as the last time I visited.”
With her curiosity rising to the lure, Hattenel spoke softly rather than in her drill sergeant’s voice. “What are you expecting to find when you go?”
“I don’t know.” Voron blinked when she didn’t shout. “Why do you think I need to explore it? I hadn’t expected the vortex to grow so large in such a short time, and my ship sails again in less than a ten-day for the Pashalands. I need to solve the mystery now.”
His jaw clenched. Frissons of energy from his mental curses raised the hair along her arms. His forward-leaning stance demanded she give him permission to investigate. She was tempted to destroy his glamour just to show she could, but her purring curiosity stopped the urge. The last decades had been filled with too far too many reports and not enough action.
If the danger is growing ... She bit her lip knowing that Linden, the lord high commander, would scour her hide if he found out what she was thinking. Before she debated any further, Hattenel stood. “You need someone at your back. I’ll accompany you.”
Beneath her shell, she grinned like a skipping child playing truant. A visit to the rookery’ll be more interesting than tickling trout ever was.
Voron sputtered. She’ll give up as soon as she gets sand in her boots.
Hattenel caught the thought without his using mindspeak and hid her amusement.
He grabbed his heavy pack and said, “Let’s get on with it, then.”
#
The two landed in the shadow of a slanting, two-column formation of black rock. The sea crooned in her ears as the breeze caressed her face. Hattenel turned on the low bluff to get her bearings. The ocean swept towards the island in long rolling swells until they crashed on the shelf to foam over the sand. Fog obscured the other islands in the chain.
Hattenel made a full circle, savoring the quiet until the alarms went off in her head. Her hand reached for her absent sword hilt. With a shock, she realized both of them were unarmed except for their boot knives. Dolt, aren’t you a little old to jump without looking? Hattenel reviewed her options. Just as well. Someone would notice if your sword went missing.
The sighing of the wind and waves in her ears nagged at her battle senses. Most rookeries teemed with life. Here, no movement caught her gaze but the sea. Scattered clumps of yellowish grass replaced the usual shrubs and trees along the approaches to the beach. Not a single sand piper chased the waves as they retreated from the shore. No gulls, terns, or any other bird circled in the sky. The island was denuded of life.
“Where are the birds?” she asked, perplexed.
Voron shrugged. “They’re gone. No seals or anything else on the outer rocks either.”
“What’s the hum? It’s calling me ... promising me ...”
“You hear it too?” Voron relaxed with her confirmation. Hattenel thought it odd his belly no longer sagged. “The pull is stronger on the other side where the cave is.”
A smile teased her lips as she shook her head, but she squashed the impulse to laugh. When he scowled, Hattenel could no longer contain herself. She guffawed. “You were going to explore a cave ... alone?”
“You think I’d endanger one of my crew here?” Hattenel grinned at him as he straightened. A leaner self flickered under his glamour but disappeared before she could capture the image. “You’ve had your laugh. Now, you can go back to your headquarters and leave me alone.”
His control of the glamour flickered like a candle. Hattenel decided annoying him was much more fun than fishing. “Show me this annoying cave. The sooner we understand its secrets, the sooner we can go home.”
The two lifted to the entrance with him grumbling under his breath. Their feet left dents in the loose bare soil. The cavern plunged so deep into a hill overlooking the empty beach that a cold waft of air encased them. The sound increased as it changed pitches. After her thoughts of fishing, she realized the hum was a lure ... calling to them ... enticing them into the cave. Voron stuck a finger in his ear and shook it as if the vibrations tickled.
“Nasty,” said Hattenel. “Have you encountered the like before?”
“Rumors only. None good.”
With a frown, she said, “I keep thinking I hear words underneath the drone. Can you?”
“It’s no language I know.”
“How clear are the words to you?”
“I hear only pitches.”
“Maybe the sounds will be clearer inside the cave. Do you have a rope?”
Voron unwound his sling from his waist and tied it to their belts. Hattenel watched as his fingers flickered from sausage-shaped to long and sinewy. Not giving her a chance to take the lead, he snapped his fingers to create a bluish werelight before striding deeper into the cavern. Hattenel followed and added her werelight to his. Voron set an unsafe pace, daring her to drag her feet or order him to slow down. Hattenel expanded the werelight so he could see several feet around the shield of magical energy she raised without him asking. The werelight revealed little. As far as Hattenel could tell, the cavern walls were as smooth and black as obsidian.
His pace slowed when they entered a rounded chamber. Their werelights reflected off thousands of multi-colored crystals protruding from the walls and ceiling. The polished floor enhanced the light until the cave seemed as bright as day. Hattenel stopped at his shoulder, looking around until their eyes met. A rapport opened between them as wonder filled both. They turned in unison, tethered close by the sling. Cool air, scented by the sea, brushed their faces from different directions, indicating other entrances. Prickling chills ran down Hattenel’s back.
“Beautiful. If this wasn’t a cave, I’d think someone placed the crystals in patterns,” she whispered. “What’s the catch?”
“Are you imagining this is a trap?” Voron cleared his throat, a superior expression in his half-closed eyes. “Nothing threatens us. The cave’s as empty as the island.”
The dark walls snapped closed. The floor tilted to hurl them through a tunnel of darkness. The two tumbled until the sling tethered them tight together. When they landed with a thud, hot and thick air pressed against them. Hattenel felt as if huge hands reached under her ribs, squeezing the air from her lungs. Voron sprawled on his back, his glamour no longer hiding his lean, muscular frame. Her eyes narrowed as she lifted her head from his chest. She scanned the chamber, ignoring him as he gasped for breath.
Hattenel rolled off of him and concentrated on sitting up. She pulled her feet back from the oily ring of pulsating darkness that hemmed them in. She scooted until her back rested against his. The smell flowing from the circle made her cough.
“Smells foul.” Hattenel tried to camouflage her fear, but her hands shook until she clenched them. “Where’s an ocean breeze when you need one?”
“Smells better than shit-covered bird cliffs.” Voron tried to sound steady, but she noticed when he gulped and licked his lips.
Flickering torches, set in sconces around the wall, lit a circular room. More sconces, set on each side, marked a wide arch with a stairway leading away from the pit or cellar. Without speaking, they extinguished their werelights and sat on the ground as far away from each other as possible. They faced the stairs to wait, their shoulders and knees still touching. The circle barely held two tall Half-Elven. The vaulted ceiling sparkled with gems set in the same pattern as in the cave. Hattenel fought for each breath, wishing again for the return of the light sea breezes.
Grim-faced, Voron stuck a tentative finger above the mist. Flames leapt and would have burned him if he had not jerked it back. When she didn’t criticize him, he struggled to his feet. Hattenel moved with him since the sling still tethered them. Flames flared again when Voron tried the maneuver higher. Taking out his boot knife, he repeated the test.
:We’re prisoners.: His mindspeak was a mere whisper. :Can you breathe? I feel like I’m shifting rocks with my lungs.:
When they heard footsteps thumping on the stairs, the two sat cross-legged, their thighs touching. They gasped for air as both shifted to face the stairway. Loud voices spoke an unknown, pitched language. A fouler odor heralded the unseen newcomers.
Hattenel shivered but was thankful Voron was more warrior than poltroon. :I think we best remain silent. If we’re lucky we’ll be able to read their thoughts without expending too much energy. Have you heard the language before?:
Voron shook his head before he coughed.
Two dog-headed creatures with mottled olive and dark green skin trudged into sight. They stood upright on stumpy legs, revealing white bellies. Both creatures wore gray kilts with gold belts. The elder wore a narrow jeweled collar over his bare, caved-in torso. The pup’s ribs stuck out like spokes in a fish weir even though his chest was twice as wide as hers. The air in the cavern turned fetid as if the creatures had never bathed in their lives.
Voron’s jaw tightened. :Masks and paint?:
The newcomers’ jaws hung open with their curled tongues hanging to one side of their brownish fangs. Hattenel’s shields popped up. The creatures didn’t wear masks. Without asking, Voron reinforced her power, giving her the strength to stretch her mind and pick images from their brains. A queasy feeling hit her stomach, but Hattenel pushed forward until she sensed what they thought.
“The trap caught something sentient this time.” The smaller one yipped a language filled with many different pitches. “What kind of demon are they? Have you ever seen such ugly, flat faces in your life?”
“Quiet. Let me think.”
The young one cringed back a step. The older creature considered the Half-Elven, his tongue moving in time with his breathing. His long-nailed hands sketched patterns in the air. The gems in his rings blinked in rhythm with the crystals in the ceiling. Hattenel ducked her head, closing her mind off from the creatures as she pulled Voron’s head towards his knees.
:Why did you do that? You hurt my neck.:
:Big Stuff tried to spell us. We need to be close so we don’t leak energy.:
Voron tried to lift her to his lap. She slid from his fingers to drop between his legs. Hattenel wondered if he realized how much personal information she had absorbed from his contact. His fear was as great as hers. She resigned herself to Voron reading her thoughts as well.
No pretending false battle courage.
His mindspeak was a whisper as he wrapped his arms around her. :Sorry. Didn’t mean to drop you.:
Once started, Hattenel couldn’t close down the rapport flowing between them. Trickles of personal information leaked back and forth between the two underneath the impressions she relayed about their captors. Hattenel squirmed to one side, almost closed her mind when she caught the image of her stripling self in Voron’s mind. Her muscles clenched. She had thought she’d buried the image of herself cowering with fear just before the Suthron sword gave her the long scar disfiguring her face.
Hattenel cringed at her dark memories leaking between them until she discovered the stuttering, gap-toothed boy-Voron being berated by the camp’s sergeants. He flicked a booger at them as soon as their backs were turned.
Such a submissive cadet!
Voron wrapped his arms around her and steadied her on his lap.
The young creature exclaimed. “Look at the monkeys copulate!”
“Don’t be sillier than you are. I said quiet. If you can’t keep your mouth closed, leave.” The creature’s eyes narrowed as his hands waved again. Nothing happened. His hands clapped three times. “Monkey demons, I command you speak.” His voice thundered against the walls of the chamber.
When they didn’t answer, the older dog-face’s index finger sketched another series of flaming designs in the air. Both of them jerked their attention away to avoid the mental binding he tried to weave.
:How different is his magic from ours?:
“Don’t use mindspeak,” Hattenel whispered. “He might pick up the energy. Worse, he might seize it.”
Hattenel shrunk closer to his chest. Voron wrapped his arms tighter around her. While she nestled close to him in a submissive posture, she sent tightly focused probes from behind their shield to read deep into the creatures’ minds. Shared with Voron as he nuzzled her neck and stroked her arms.
“We need help. The monkeys only think of copulating.”
When the creatures left the room, Voron continued nuzzling beneath her ear. Licked the length of her throat and kissed the length of her jaw.
“You can stop now.”
:You forget we’re monkeys. We think only of copulating.: A smile grew on the lips touching her neck. :The gossip lies. Your skin feels nothing at all like raw cowhide.:
“Attend to business,” she snapped. “The creatures went to get someone strong enough to strip the minds of the flat-faced uglies. They want to know if our world is habitable.”
“How can they if we don’t want them to?”
“Pray you don’t find out.” With a snort, she looked down at the pack lying at his feet. “What’s in your pack anyway? Anything to eat? I need to replenish my energy.”
“Give me a kiss, and I’ll tell you,” he said with a broad hopeful grin. When she glowered at him, he gave up on the kiss. “Apples and ship bread.”
Hattenel closed her eyes, sighing as deeply as she could in the heavy atmosphere. Don’t men think of anything else? She held out her hand. “Care to share?”
“Your wish is my command.”
The apple crunched as she bit into it and moistened her mouth. “You didn’t happen to bring water, did you?” When he shook his head, she said, “I didn’t think so.” Hattenel searched the stairway as she swallowed. “They’ve moved beyond from my ken. The elder is ‘Runs in Circles’. The younger hasn’t earned a name yet and may never do so if Circles guesses right.”
“He sounded rather sure of himself to be running in circles.”
“The name refers to the herding of lesser beings. We arrived at an inconvenient time. His bitch is in heat, and he’s hurrying to send for someone more powerful to torment us.” Hattenel bit on her lip, worried she was having so much trouble breathing. “We have to get out of here.”
Voron hissed through his teeth, but he handed her the larger apple. “I know that. How stupid do you think I am?”
“Stupid enough to kiss me.”
While her gaze skewered him, Voron chewed his second apple down to the core. His face tight with anger, he threw it at the misty fence confining them. The charred core sailed through to the other side of the circle and disintegrated as the torches in the sconces flared wildly. Debris erupted from the floor in a whirlwind, lifting a section of wall away from the rest. The door pivoted back.
“Did you see the wall move?” asked Voron. “Do you think we can blast our way out of the circle if we combine?” Thumping footsteps came from the stairs. “Here take a couple apples. They seem to be the only weapon we have.”
When two different creatures wearing wider, more elaborate jeweled collars entered the room, the Half-Elven were sitting side by side, cross legged with apples concealed in their hands under their knees, facing the stairs. The newcomers argued, gesturing towards them, their voices growing louder and louder. One tried the finger waving trick again, but the Half-Elven captives fixated on the creatures’ knees and blanked their minds.
When nothing happened, the other captor gave an explosive yap. “I told you so. These beasts are as stupid as all the others. Runs in Circles is a fool.”
Hattenel leaned sideways and whispered. “I almost lost the shield.”
Voron’s muscles clenched. “Best throw the apples at them. On three.”
Shielded for the moment, the apples, one after the other, exploded through the circle’s barrier, each hitting the nearest dog-faced creature square in the chest and stuck. While their captors imploded into an oily, misty pillar of flame that melted them into a puddle, the captives struggled to their feet.
Coughing, Hattenel leaned against him. “My lungs are collapsing. Throw the pack through the circle. Reinforce our shield with all you’ve got. I’ll do the transfer.” Hattenel grabbed him tight around the waist. “Think on the black pronged rock. The red star in the bear just above the horizon.”
As soon as Voron threw his pack, Hattenel launched into the air, carrying them through the swinging door in the wall. Heat and darkness surrounded and weighed them down. Hattenel focused on the rookery landmark, willing their bodies to surface into the light and fresh air as if she swam through water. The smell of singed hair surrounded them, clogging her throat. The farther she pushed, the tighter her lungs became, until she thought she’d drop dead from fright.
#
The Half-Elven tumbled onto the beach at sunset, their clothing and hair smoldering. As soon as their knees touched the sand, Hattenel lifted them both into the surging waves where the remains of their charred shirts and her binding floated away, leaving her bare breasted but unharmed. The hair on Voron’s chest smelled like burnt chicken feathers. Their thicker breeches were scorched but in one piece.
“You could have given me a chance to take my new boots off.” Voron grumbled, staring at her breasts.
Hattenel chuckled. “Be glad your bacon didn’t get sizzled.”
“How do you know I’m not maimed under the leather?”
“Your breeches would be in as many pieces as your shirt.” Hattenel grinned. “Where’s the nearest bath? I’d like to be presentable when we learn “when” we are.”
“You’re certain we’re safe from the dog-heads?”
The thought of the creatures following them sent shudders through her as she stumbled to her feet, using his shoulder as leverage. “Come. We need to close the cave entrance first.”
Gathering energy from the wind and waves, they built a ball of flashing, but contained power. When Hattenel judged the ball as large as it could be and still roll through the cavern, she held up her hand. “Link to me. We’ll push the ball down the tunnel. Then, we’ll engorge and explode it.”
The minutes dragged as they guided the sparking sphere through the depths of the earth.
“We should have located the other entrances,” said Voron.
“I think we can destroy enough of the bluff for the whole system to collapse.”
“How can you be certain?’
“I assume it’s much the same as blowing up a sea wall.”
“I try to stay friends with the people I meet on my voyages.” Voron clasped her shoulder to allow his energy to transfer to her easier. “Make more money that way.”
“Don’t exhaust yourself, but give me all the power you can spare. Now!”
The explosion ripped the hill apart. Dirt and rocks flew into the air and rained down on them. Their ears buzzed when the hill imploded into a crater that consumed the bluff. The slanting rocks landed inland where they toppled to the ground, laying like coffins in the sandy soil. Voron sank to his knees. Hattenel leaned over, drawing in great gulps of air as she rested her hands on her knees for support.
When their breathing returned to normal, Voron searched the empty beach. “We can’t be too far away from when we were, can we?”
“Depends on how true the stories are.” Hattenel refrained from commenting that shifting planes was illegal, one of the few capital offenses among the Half-Elven for fear of angering the true elves. In all her years of service, she had never broken the rules so flagrantly. “If we’re lucky, no one will ever guess where or when we’ve been.”
“What if a ship was close enough to see the explosion?”
“Hopefully, we’ll be gone before they can arrive.”
With a step forward, Voron picked her up and transferred to a cottage on the western shore of the Marches. Gulls wheeled in the green-tinged sky, and a curious seal poked its head out of the rolling waves. Across the bay, Hattenel saw thousands of birds dart back and forth along a sheer cliff face. When she took a deep breath, she knew Voron had spoke from experience about bird stink. Instead of the warm bath she wished for, Hattenel got dumped in the stream behind the shack where a waterfall made a rocky pool before flowing down to the beach.
Hattenel cursed at the unexpected cold. “You didn’t give me time to take off my boots.”
“Tit for tat, woman.” Before she could snarl back, he transformed back into the doughy version of himself as pebbled came bouncing down the cliff. He shoved her towards the cottage. “Inside. Quick.”
Surprising herself, she obeyed.
A wizened sailor came sliding down the bluff in his haste. “Voron, where the blazes have you been? I’ve been here twice trying to warn you.”
“Why do I need a warning? We don’t sail for several days yet.”
“That Captain Hattenel, who went looking for you, disappeared. If she don’t return to duty tomorrow when her leave is over, the scouts are going to skin you alive. Her aide’s threatening to nail your privates on a pole in the middle of the ranger camp.”
As the sailor ranted about the dire fates waiting for Voron, Hattenel relaxed. They had only been gone three days, but Voron still needed her at his back. Quickly she stripped. Pulling on a man’s shirt she picked up from the floor, Hattenel made certain it was obvious she was naked underneath.
As she stepped into the last of the sunlight, she assumed a soft, puzzled manner. “Is there something wrong, Voro?”
The sailor stared at her opened mouth before he tugged at his ear. “Oh, strike me down for a fool. Sorry, Captain. Won’t take no more of your time, sir. I’ll jest get me going.”
With a wave of his hand, he clamored back up the bluff. Both watched as he scampered to the top, too bemused to dodge the falling scree.
“The man gossips like a fishwife. The entire Marches will know you’re with me within the hour.” Voron swallowed as he paled. “The gossips’ll assume you spent your leave with me.”
“Didn’t I?” Hattenel arched an eyebrow. “I like that explanation rather than the truth.”
“Don’t you care for your reputation?”
Hattenel’s shoulder shook. “Look on the bright side. You get to keep your privates.”
The two exchanged uneasy glances until their lips started twitching. Hattenel tried to contain the annoying tug at her scar but could not resist the wave of merriment caused by getting home free of blame. Both were roaring with laughter when Voron shed his glamour and pulled her into his arms. Hattenel stiffened, then relaxed and returned his kiss.
#
Thank you for buying Cavern Between Worlds. If you would like to read more about the Far Isle Half-Elven, look for the sample of Taking Vengeance at the same venue. Taking Vengeance blurb: When privateers murdered their daughter’s family, Mariah and Ashton go hunting for vengeance, but the pirates present a greater danger to the Half-Elven than they imagined.
M. K. Theodoratus blogs at http://kaytheod.blogspot.com. The Half-Elven website can be found at http://www.half-elven.com.