Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries - By Valerie Douglas Page 0,55

hair around his head, his face narrow, Arlis of the High Reaches was far from his own lands. He sat his saddle with the ease of many days spent in it. So far from his own lands he felt himself safe from censure for his actions. He cared little whether another took the blame so long as his own lands were secure, but he didn’t care to be called greedy for wanting some of Lothliann’s lush green lands. Few would seek to blame him for this so long as no one knew where he was this day.

“Go back to your Enclave, Elf. Forget this Agreement. Don’t draw a line in the sand you don’t want to cross.”

It would serve him well if Elon did; having an Elf - especially this one - break the Agreement, which he would do if he gave up his mission.

Even if he would have, though, Elon couldn’t have. Foresight had spoken.

The first step on this path had already been taken, for him there was no turning back or turning away. Doing so would be the death of his people as men encroached more and more on their lands with nothing to hold them back and Elon knew it. The first act of backing down or backing away would only cede power and give credence to those who fought against him.

His people would suffer if men were allowed to spread unchecked, despoiling everything they touched.

They wouldn’t die easily but they would die and then the races of Elves and Dwarves would die as well. All for the greed and hate of men like this.

Arlis hated Elves, hated Elon’s gentle people with a passion Elon couldn’t understand.

He couldn’t allow a man like this to win, not if his people were to survive.

Now was their only chance for a peaceful resolution. Even if they had to fight for it, as ironic as that was.

Few would know of this solitary battle but it must be won if the elder races were to continue.

He looked to Colath, resolute.

Colath dared not take his eyes from those before him but he didn’t need to, it was there in the bond for Elon to know.

Elon could feel the pain in his old friend, deep and terrible, the waves of weakness that battered him that he wouldn’t show to these.

Although it pained him deeply, he knew Colath would fight until his last breath.

He looked to Jareth.

These were his folk, his people.

Meeting that look, Jareth nudged Zo a little closer to Elon, making his allegiance clear to Elon as well as to Arlis and his men.

“I would have peace, Elon,” Jareth said, quietly, “even if I have to fight and die to achieve it.”

He was more than aware of the irony of their position, too.

Elon met those deep brown eyes.

Jareth was no swordsman but he was strong and sure, determined.

It was no less than Elon expected, knowing Jareth as he did. As young as he was, Jareth knew Honor as most of his kind didn’t, he had courage and strength of purpose.

All right.

“We would as soon not fight, Arlis,” he said, “but if we must fight, we will.”

He spun his swords around his hands in a glittering arc.

A challenge, if Arlis chose to take it.

Behind them, the fire spread, closed. Flame now blossomed to each side of them, hemmed them in further. Their choices narrowed.

“Last chance. Go back to Aerilann,” Arlis said. “Forget this nonsense of borders…”

Sheer hypocrisy from a man who pressed tiny Lothliann - his real motive for being here. It wouldn’t serve him to have borders set that he couldn’t encroach upon without reprisal from the High King as he did now. No more would the High King send the armies of the Kingdoms against Elves for the actions of men like Arlis, thanks to the Agreement.

An agreement Arlis had signed.

With a sigh, Elon said, nearly regretfully, “I cannot.”

Borders.

Jareth had been frantically seeking a solution. Maybe there had been one before him all along.

Casually, Arlis gestured.

A bowman behind him lifted a bow as another lit it from the torch he carried.

The arrow arched into the sky, trailing smoke.

Jareth incinerated it before it reached the sky.

“Wizard,” Arlis said, furiously, “you try me. This is none of yours. Remember who and what you are.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Arlis of the High Reaches,” Jareth said, slowly gathering power. “I’m the motherless bastard who once lived on the streets of Doncerric. A beggar that men like you kicked away with their boots.”

As no Elf