fewer than most knew. The numbers remaining had dwindled dangerously low. Shalár knew she must take action soon or her people would face a cruel winter.
It was to her they looked, and not only because she provided kobalen to ease their hunger. It was she who had gathered the straggling, starving remnants of Clan Darkshore after they had been driven across themountains by the combined armies of the other ælven realms. She had been young then but determined to survive. Because of that determination and because she had carried her father's sword, they had followed her.
Morshalan had been head of Clan Darkshore and governor of Fireshore. Shalár had collected what remained of his people and had led them westward, away from the danger of ælven pursuit, until at last they had arrived at Nightsand. They had no love of the ocean, but the black sands of the bay reminded them of the shore at the foot of Firethroat, north of Ghlanhras, the city that had been the governor's home. It was both strange and familiar, and in their exhaustion Clan Darkshore had halted there to rest. They had never left.
She turned to Dareth, who stood patiently waiting. Constant Dareth, ever watchful. One of the few left from Fireshore.
Many of the original refugees had given up the fight, unwilling to face the cost of survival. Dareth himself had wished to return to spirit at one time. She had persuaded him against it by seducing him, and he had been her chief companion ever since.
She reached out a hand to him now. He bowed as he took it, deferential as always. His khi tingled against her flesh, waking her hunger. She fought back a craving to draw upon him. Dareth was too important to be used so.
“To the pens.”
Dareth escorted her from the chamber, outside to the stone shelf that gave access to the Cliff Hollows, her home overlooking the city of Nightsand. They paused there to gaze out over the bay.
The sun was down now, and the dusk swiftly rising. Westward a ruddy smudge hung over the oceanhorizon. To the south Nightsand Bay sprawled inland, its waters black in the growing darkness, stretching southward to lap at the feet of Blackheart, that restless mountain whose rumblings and belchings of smoke also reminded her people of home. Small points of firelight gleamed here and there along the bay's eastern shore, marking lesser villages and homesteads outside the city. Nightsand itself was brighter, the more so as folk stirred and opened their windows to the night.
Across the bay there were no lights. Kobalen sometimes roamed there, but though Shalár's people never crossed the bay to gain that shore, the kobalen rarely showed themselves. They knew they were hunted, though perhaps they did not know that her people would not cross the water to reach them. It mattered not. They would reach them in any case, though it meant a long trek around Blackheart.
“I must summon a hunt soon.”
Dareth nodded, his smile fading. “You will excuse me, I hope.”
“It would please me to have you along.”
“But the governance of Nightsand would suffer. Remember the last time I hunted with you.”
She nodded, sighing. It had been many de cades since, several hunts since. True, the chaos of petitioners and problems that had met their return had annoyed her, but she would accept that gladly as the cost of hunting with Dareth at her side.
He stood gazing at the last blur of light on the horizon. She watched him, wishing for the boldness he had once shown. He turned to her, a wan smile on his lips. “I used to watch the sunset every day. Do you ever miss it, Shalári?”
Anger flared in her. She turned cold eyes upon him.
“Never call me that! I have no ælven name, nor have you, Dareth!”
She gathered her khi, focusing it in a spot in the center of her torso, then sent a hot pulse forth toward Dareth and saw him wince as it penetrated his own khi. She sent her khi flowing through him, around him, tightening her hold on him. Her hunger sharpened at
It was to her they looked, and not only because she provided kobalen to ease their hunger. It was she who had gathered the straggling, starving remnants of Clan Darkshore after they had been driven across themountains by the combined armies of the other ælven realms. She had been young then but determined to survive. Because of that determination and because she had carried her father's sword, they had followed her.
Morshalan had been head of Clan Darkshore and governor of Fireshore. Shalár had collected what remained of his people and had led them westward, away from the danger of ælven pursuit, until at last they had arrived at Nightsand. They had no love of the ocean, but the black sands of the bay reminded them of the shore at the foot of Firethroat, north of Ghlanhras, the city that had been the governor's home. It was both strange and familiar, and in their exhaustion Clan Darkshore had halted there to rest. They had never left.
She turned to Dareth, who stood patiently waiting. Constant Dareth, ever watchful. One of the few left from Fireshore.
Many of the original refugees had given up the fight, unwilling to face the cost of survival. Dareth himself had wished to return to spirit at one time. She had persuaded him against it by seducing him, and he had been her chief companion ever since.
She reached out a hand to him now. He bowed as he took it, deferential as always. His khi tingled against her flesh, waking her hunger. She fought back a craving to draw upon him. Dareth was too important to be used so.
“To the pens.”
Dareth escorted her from the chamber, outside to the stone shelf that gave access to the Cliff Hollows, her home overlooking the city of Nightsand. They paused there to gaze out over the bay.
The sun was down now, and the dusk swiftly rising. Westward a ruddy smudge hung over the oceanhorizon. To the south Nightsand Bay sprawled inland, its waters black in the growing darkness, stretching southward to lap at the feet of Blackheart, that restless mountain whose rumblings and belchings of smoke also reminded her people of home. Small points of firelight gleamed here and there along the bay's eastern shore, marking lesser villages and homesteads outside the city. Nightsand itself was brighter, the more so as folk stirred and opened their windows to the night.
Across the bay there were no lights. Kobalen sometimes roamed there, but though Shalár's people never crossed the bay to gain that shore, the kobalen rarely showed themselves. They knew they were hunted, though perhaps they did not know that her people would not cross the water to reach them. It mattered not. They would reach them in any case, though it meant a long trek around Blackheart.
“I must summon a hunt soon.”
Dareth nodded, his smile fading. “You will excuse me, I hope.”
“It would please me to have you along.”
“But the governance of Nightsand would suffer. Remember the last time I hunted with you.”
She nodded, sighing. It had been many de cades since, several hunts since. True, the chaos of petitioners and problems that had met their return had annoyed her, but she would accept that gladly as the cost of hunting with Dareth at her side.
He stood gazing at the last blur of light on the horizon. She watched him, wishing for the boldness he had once shown. He turned to her, a wan smile on his lips. “I used to watch the sunset every day. Do you ever miss it, Shalári?”
Anger flared in her. She turned cold eyes upon him.
“Never call me that! I have no ælven name, nor have you, Dareth!”
She gathered her khi, focusing it in a spot in the center of her torso, then sent a hot pulse forth toward Dareth and saw him wince as it penetrated his own khi. She sent her khi flowing through him, around him, tightening her hold on him. Her hunger sharpened at
Similar Books
Frozen
Richard Burke
Exposed: The Secret Life of Jodi Arias
Jane Velez-Mitchell
In His Alien Hands
C.L. Scholey, Juliet Cardin
The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1)
Clarissa Draper
Suspicion of Rage
Barbara Parker
Taking Tessa
Aria Cole
It's a Girl Thing
Grace Dent
The Darkling's Desire
Lauren Hawkeye
Turning Forty
Mike Gayle
