Kinked (Elder Races #6)(14)

“Overwhelmed” was a massive understatement. Two months after the battle in Lirithriel Wood, the Elven demesne in South Carolina remained devastated. One of the ancient Guardians of Numenlaur, Amras Gaeleval, had apparently gone mad and enslaved all the Numenlaurians in a Powerful enthrallment, driving them to attack the Elven demesne just outside of Charleston.

Gaeleval had tricked his way into Lirithriel then tried to enthrall the Elves there as well. He did not manage to capture everybody, but he drove those Elves he did enthrall to attack their own people. Friends cut down friends, and families were decimated. Gaeleval had set fire to Lirithriel Wood, killing its spirit in an attempt to drive the High Lord Calondir and those Elves he had not managed to capture over the crossover passageway to their Other land, where they would have faced extinction at the hands of Gaeleval’s army had not Dragos, Pia and the Wyr become involved.

For the first time in decades, Dragos himself had called the Wyr to war. In a confrontation in the Elven Other land, Dragos killed Gaeleval and broke the enthrallment. In the process, Calondir, the High Lord of the Elven demesne in Charleston, had also been killed. So had at least a third of the Numenlaurians.

Of those who had survived, a significant number were still catatonic. Others failed to recover. They were lethargic, distant and without appetite, and many were physically malnourished and ill from a multitude of problems that had occurred through long neglect and lack of proper shelter.

The surviving Lirithriel Elves that Gaeleval had captured ended up faring better overall than the Numenlaurians. They had been enthralled for only a short time, and they were physically healthier and more robust. Even so, many struggled to reconnect with life. A few, unable to cope with losing so many friends and family, had committed suicide.

Quentin had lost friends and family members too. The High Lord Calondir himself had been his uncle by marriage. The Elder tribunal had deployed a Peacekeeping presence to Lirithriel, setting up a small city of Quonset huts as field hospitals, and aid continued to pour into the Elven demesne. The Elves faced a long, hard road to survival.

Dragos had continued speaking. “As far as I know, Numenlaur continues to be abandoned. It has occurred to me that others may also have realized this, and may be interested in what they can find there. I want you two to go and assess the situation.”

Quentin swiped at his face with the back of one fist as he glared out the window. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. He said, his voice low and savage, “If this is some kind of order to loot in disguise, I won’t participate.”

In the glass of the windowpane, he watched Dragos’s blurred reflection turn to him. After a moment, Dragos said in a measured tone that spoke of self-control, “If I felt the desire to loot for Elven treasures, I would not send others to do it. I would go myself. What I want you to do is prevent others from looting. Check the land. Secure anything you might find dangerous. If anyone has trespassed, kick them out. From my understanding, Numenlaur has only one crossover passageway that leads to central Europe. Secure the entrance if necessary. If you haven’t killed each other by then, report back to me.”

Of all the assignments Dragos could have picked, this was actually one that Quentin wanted to do. Marginally calmer, he asked, “Have you contacted Ferion about this?”

“I haven’t bothered to,” Dragos said. A hint of bite had entered his voice. “Numenlaur does not belong to Ferion. Besides, he’s in over his head as it is.”

Quentin couldn’t disagree. His cousin Ferion was a good man and would eventually make a fine High Lord, but too much had happened, and the losses and destruction were catastrophic.

After a moment of silence, Dragos asked, “Any questions?”

Quentin turned to face the others but kept silent. Aryal wore a scowl, but she said nothing either, only shook her head.

Dragos said, “Kris has your plane tickets. You’re departing out of JFK, and your flight leaves soon. You’d better be on it.” He paused. “Close the door on your way out.”

Quentin’s gaze clashed with Aryal’s. Her stormy gray eyes promised him anything but peace. So be it. He gave that promise right back to her in a thin-lipped smile.

It might be harder to engineer a fatal accident in what had become a virtual ghost land, but it could still be done.

And he was an expert at covering his own tracks.

Let the war games begin.

Dragos’s assistant Kris was waiting outside his office, plane tickets in hand. The young dark-haired male handed one envelope to Aryal and the other to Quentin. Aryal yanked out the contents of her envelope and scanned the pages. Her eyes rounded. “You booked coach?”

Kris shrugged. “Only seats available to Prague at short notice. Dragos said to book the first flight out, and that’s what you got. Meanwhile the corporate jet stays parked in the hanger. You guys must really be in the doghouse.” He looked at them sidelong. “Erm, just so you know, I’m supposed to verify that you both get on that flight. There’s a car waiting downstairs for you.”

“Oh hell, no.” Aryal’s shoulders twitched as she gave Quentin one last glare. “Nobody said we had to ride to the airport together. I’ll meet you there.”

Quentin watched her leave then looked back at Kris, who had settled at his computer again. “You ever take a vacation?” he asked the other male.

Kris shrugged, eyes on his screen. “This is my vacation.”