Hammer and Feather Ch. 22-32

"What if she just steps out?"

"She can't. No one with power can move across it. It has to be wiped away with something created by a god but holding neither power nor blessing. I don't think any of us carry something like that, it's difficult to make. What you create resonates with your power. You aren't supposed to lay those. They're doing things against the rules."

Nali closed her eyes. "I knew I should have stayed. As soon as I went through the door I knew it. Can you send me back? I can find a way to help her. I know I can."

The dwarf gave her a warm smile, "No. But your father can be proud that you offered."

"Why did she tell me to go if she needed me?"

"She doesn't want you to come to harm. Orsas said she made a wager on your answer. If you'd abandoned her she would have poured her life into trying to heal the huntress' daughter. But because you chose to stand by her she asked for mercy for the girl to ensure your safety. Either way the huntress would win something. Syreilla didn't want her to say no.

"She's enough like her father, I suspect she has a plan."

*Twenty-six*

Rielle stood in front of her smirking, "And what now, Lady Rook? I hold far more power than you can imagine and you have a few paltry flames. I am older than your father, what can you do?"

Syr grinned mirthlessly, her hands moving in the motion Orefinder had shown her while mouthing the elvish siphoning spell. There was no frame for it other than the walls and the ceiling but if she was pushing her luck she was going to push it to the very edge. Before the elven goddess could react she was caught in the web. Drawing her talons, Syr began to draw as much power from the elf as quickly as she could. As Rielle tried to escape the web, it held her, something Syr hadn't expected. The elven goddess began to shriek in an indecipherable language and cast something of her own but her efforts were drawn into the web.

When the elf fell to her knees, panting, Syreilla took hold of her threads and followed them to the source of power the woman had been drawing from. The elven stones were still being kept together and she understood why. Together they resonated with power. She opened a fiery doorway and stepped through, taking them and putting them in any pocket that would hold them. As she took Nimphon's, she held it in one hand against the hilt of her talon, and last she took up Rielle's in the other the same way. Going back to where the helpless elf waited she used the power of the two stones together to remove the web.

The elven goddess attempted a look of defiance where she knelt but Syr grinned viciously and touched her talons together, "Rielle, goddess of desire, betrayer, and condemned. I sever your connection to your few remaining worshippers. I sever your connection to power. I sever your connection to life." She brought the blades together three times, the edges ringing as they scraped and came free with each proclamation. "Go to Nimphon. He's waiting for you."

Opening a doorway to his shores Syreilla blew dragon's fire between her talons as she gave the horrified elf a push. Rielle shrieked as she went through the door in flames. Left alone for a moment, she took the power left in the milky lavender stone and put it into her talons. She dropped the empty stone into a pocket, and, juggling Nimphon's stone as respectfully as she could, put her talons away, grabbing her pants and boots before opening the door to Finwion's home.

The large-eyed elf blinked at her as she appeared in the middle of his occupied clearing again and started untying and pulling her pants back on.

"I have something for you." She grinned and held out Nimphon's stone. "I need you to take it back to him and I have most if not all of the other elven stones here. No one told me how many I was looking for and I can't remember how many of you there are." Syr began fishing them out of pockets with her free hand for him to look at as his mouth fell open.

He took a green speckled stone, like a polished river rock, from her, tucking it in his shirt before he grinned and took Nimphon's, vanishing with it. The moment she'd gotten her boots back on, he was back, grinning and beckoning to her. When she hesitated, he made an annoyed face and grabbed her by the hand dragging her into the doorway.

On the other side was a chamber similar to the one where they'd had the first meeting about the stones she'd stolen. Nimphon was waiting with a smug look on his face.

"Where did you learn that spell, Syreilla the Rook? You're one of us whether you wish to be or not."

"Fainor said if I helped them they'd take me and no one said I couldn't have all three." She shrugged and Finwion broke into laughter wagging his finger at her.

"Lay out for me all that you have and I will summon them."

Syr began pulling the stones from her pockets again, laying them on the table one after another. The red one, Ruthaerion's, she recognized. The others, a shimmering pale blue gem, a vividly green emerald, a glittering black stone, and a clear yellow gem, she laid out next to the empty lavender gem looking at Nimphon for direction.

He smiled and touched them in turn, "Ruthaerion, Gilither, Amdirthor, Gruithon, Navisse. Come fetch your stones."

Syr didn't have time to blink, the elves swarmed in, pushing her aside as they rushed to the table.

"How, Nimphon? How did you-"

"Syreilla the Rook fetched your stones and brought fire and vengeance to Rielle." He gestured behind them where she was standing.

As they turned, giving her incredulous and baffled looks, she felt the urge to leave. Vedhethrah was touching her threads and she'd accomplished enough here.

"Wait, Syreilla. You have never been embraced by your elven kin, I would have that changed."

"I like you and I like Finwion. I don't need to know the rest of them. Make sure they don't keep all of their stones in one place ever again and let them know what happens if they-"

One of the elf women stepped forward and embraced her. Syr tensed and looked at Nimphon aghast as Finwion doubled over laughing.

"This is Navisse, the goddess of truth, song, and firelight."

"There will be songs of your deeds, Syreilla the Rook." The elf woman stepped back, beaming. "They call you the Lady of smoke and flame? It suits you."

"Thank you."

The elf who'd taken the black stone stepped forward and extended his arm. "I am Gruithon, the god of war, bloodshed, and wine."

Syr tilted her head as she took his offered hand, "That seems like a strange combination."

He snorted and adjusted his grip grabbing her by the elbow in a greeting she'd seen soldiers use. "As strange as a soft-hearted goddess of vengeance? Most of my soldiers are carrying feathers for luck."

She gave him a wide grin, "I used to have thieves carrying feathers."

"I want to take back the land that was taken from us, and then some." His eyes glistened like firelight on blood or perhaps a dark wine. "To the shore of the Acrine. You can help me steal that."

"I have nothing to do with that unless someone calls on me to protect a gentle soul or to deliver fire and vengeance. Thieves would ask me for luck and to intercede with-"

"The goddess of vengeance, protection, and luck." Gruithon broke into a smile.

"Righteous vengeance, and protector of gentle souls." Nimphon corrected him, "A harsh and hard-hearted soul who asks for her protection or luck will wish he hadn't."

"Very true." Syr inclined her head and felt Vedhethrah pull impatiently at her threads. "As oddly nice as this is, we don't have time for me to meet everyone."

"She should know who we are. She was there for the introductions." Another goddess looked at her with a faint frown.

"Nimphon and Finwion weren't there. Why would I bother paying attention to the rest of you?" Syreilla tried not to laugh as Finwion began to strut. "I'd only ever met two elves I liked and not many elves liked me."

"You stole from us and threatened us." Ruthaerion smiled wryly. "I was baffled that they were fond of you."

"Rooks are friendly birds if you're kind to them." Nimphon held out his hand to her. "And they have long memories if you aren't. Elves were unkind to her for all of her mortal life. Her tender heart was wounded."

She gave him a sullen look as she took his hand and Finwion bounced up to her, embracing her from the side.

"There will be time to put things right. She will have a nest among Finwion's trees. The war must be brought to an end and the huntress must be sent before Ahevhethrah as a supplicant."

"I have a few ideas." Syr tried to shrug and Finwion kissed her cheek. "But if I could borrow-"

"A few of my more clever dead?" Nimphon smiled smugly. "I have some to lend you. The dwarves gave you a raven, your grandfather has given you rooks, I will lend you a handful of crows."

"They'll be looking for more black birds."

"These will not be solely black." He gave her a warm smile. "I will ready them for you. And I will give you a small gift in addition to that which you took from Rielle. You'll know who to share it with."

*Twenty-seven*

Syvezar looked at the crowd gathering around Edun's tent. The elven priests had all gone in to see if they could offer assistance with the bird once they had gathered themselves and many of those now ringing the tent to offer tearful or terrified prayers for Lady Rook's safety and return were those she had freed from the human soldiers.

Cyran placed a hand on his shoulder. "Would the elven gods mind if we gave them aid?"

"I don't believe they would." Syv took a deep breath, "But I think the people have to invite us as they invited Syreilla."

The tent behind them opened and Amtalia stepped out hesitantly. "How can you help them?"

"Cyran is a god of mediation and healing. I am a god of purification and rebirth, if he cannot heal their wounds perhaps I can help to remake some part of them."

"If we worked together, cousin," Cyran smiled warmly, "I believe we could do magnificent things."

"Help them." Amtalia clasped her hands. "If you can, please." She blinked as if realizing something, "You-do you need an offering? I..." Hurriedly she stepped back into the tent.

Belthamdir's voice came faintly to him, "Mama? What are you looking for?"

"I need an offering to invite Cyran and Syvezar to help the ones who have been hurt, my sweet one. Lay back down."

"You can give them something out of my box."

There was a pause.

"Help me choose something. It's generous of you to offer, my sweet one. I know how much you love your treasures."

After a few moments, Amtalia and her daughter came out with smiles on their faces and two small items. "Belthamdir chose two of her treasures to offer you both." One was a delicate, if slightly battered, silver ring of elvish design, engraved with leaves and holding a small green gem, the other was a piece of clear crystal with strings of gold inside it.

"These are gifts beyond price." Cyran took the crystal with a warm smile.

"They're perfect." Syvezar nearly laughed as he slipped the ring onto his little finger and it fit. It also sent a welcoming wave of power up his arm. Whether the stone held a small gift from another god within it or this was what it felt like to be sustained by the hopes and beliefs of mortals he wasn't certain. "I will put it to good use." He turned to Cyran with determination. "Let us see what we can do, cousin."

"Do you want them to try to help you?" Belthamdir had gone up to one of those praying. "They're nice, and they ask before they take things."

The elf looked at her in confusion.

Amtalia stepped in, "They're friends of Lady Rook. They want to help in her absence but they need you to let them."

"I don't know what they can do but..." The man gave a small shrug and a half-smile. "I do remember them. They came with her when she freed us."

Cyran and Syvezar stood on opposite sides, each placing a hand on the elf's head and shoulder. Syvezar closed his eyes, purification and rebirth, making new. Holding firmly in his mind the desire to heal as he once had before he had become a King, he felt the elf shudder.

Gasps came from all around them.

Opening his eyes he saw why. The elf's ears had healed. They had been remade, new and perfect.

"My ears..." The elf reached up and touched them tentatively before bowing his head and pressing them tightly, as if holding them on. "Thank you. Both of you. What gods do you serve?"

"They are gods," Belthamdir spoke up cheerfully into the silence before either of them could. "Like Lady Rook, except they're nicer gods. She's not a bad god, but she only likes children and birds. And she takes things without asking and when she gets angry she sulks or sets things on fire. She's rude."

Syvezar broke into laughter, "She protects all gentle souls, but she does get along best with children and birds. And you shouldn't fault her for her thieving or her temper, little one. It's like faulting water for flowing downhill. She can't help it." He smiled as the girl giggled.

The elf with new ears stood still touching them. "What are your names? What can I give you in thanks?"

"This is Cyran the god of mediation and healing-"

"And he is Syvezar, the god of purification and rebirth." Cyran surprised him by interrupting, preventing him from introducing himself. The gold strung stone he'd been given must have had a different gift than power.

"As for offerings and thanks..." Syv glanced at Cyran hoping he had an idea.

"All I would ask for is that you perform a kindness for another in my name, no matter how large or how small it may be."

Brushing his fingers over the ring, he glanced down at the leaves engraved on it. "I would have you plant a seed with a pinch of ash."

"You both ask such simple things for a-a miracle?" The elf looked from one to the other.

"All Lady Rook asks is that you be kind to children and occasionally feed her birds." Cyran gave him a smile. "We want to help."

"She also wants to look at your feathers if you have them." Belthamdir sighed, "She likes feathers."

"If you have a feather for her she'll give you good luck." Syvezar laughed again. "Especially if you're stealing something."

One of the rooks perched on a tent roof made a sound like laughter. The elves smiled and looked at one another.

"For my kind deed, I'll carry the word through the camp of the miraculous healing you can perform and what you ask. I'll see your offerings begun, my Lords." The elf bowed.

"My Lord, my son..." An elf woman with mutilated ears brought her child. "Could you..."

"Yes."

*Twenty-seven and a half*

His treasure was gone again and Vedhethrah was not confined to a chamber of his grandfather's realm. He took flight, seeking a target for his rage.

The human soldiers had been returning, he saw them and they saw him. Some at least seemed to have a sense of self-preservation; a few managed to flee but many of the would-be deserters were herded with flails back toward the front. The elves were out of position with the reunions and shock over the state of some of those returned to them. After reforming, the enemy began to cross the field.

Vedhethrah circled wide as if flying away and came from behind them, ripping out a pair of tents and dragging them along the ground like ineffective nets, dropping them, after having bowled over a great many men, on top of the human archers grouping toward the front. He landed on top of them to vent some of his rage on their flesh but instead of attacking him most of the soldiers tried to run in the other direction.

He roared in fury and frustration, going after them, and what had been a charge driven across the battlefield toward the elves by officers and men loyal to Isca became a battle in itself with men fighting each other to punish deserters or to be able to flee from the dragon coming for their blood. The human line was in utter disarray and to his disappointment, someone with sense began to call for a retreat.

The dead and dying were left on the field and instead of taking flight once more, he stalked back toward the elvish line resuming his less impressive form sourly. The elves who had witnessed his fury bowed but it did little to help his mood.

"Send someone to find your commanders. Your line needs to remain watchful."

"At once, my Lord."

The elf he'd spoken to bolted. Vedhethrah rolled his shoulders, perhaps he should have sent him to fetch the-

"My Lord!" An elf dove with a silvery shield extended and an arrow shattered on it.

He turned to see the human, intending to go rip him limb from limb in this form but a volley from the elves who'd either returned to or remained at their posts struck the man first. Elves began returning to the line and one brought him his steel garment. Vedhethrah stood scowling across the field at the enemy.

After a time, Fainor approached with the look of a man who'd seen something miraculous. "Lord Vedhethrah... I thank you for your help. Lord Syvezar and Lord Cyran are healing the wounded and you-you've kept us from being overrun in our ill-timed distraction. Had we known Lady Rook would bring so much help with her... I should have sent Kwes to find her the first time he asked."

"You should have. My wife..." Vedhethrah lifted his face and inhaled deeply. For a moment he had caught her scent on the breeze. Touching her threads, he could feel she was still keeping them close and protected but she was much less angry now. She felt... pleased with herself but cautious. He pulled on the threads to let her know she was required to return.

"My Lord?"

"She will return soon."

*Twenty-eight*

After the first few elves outside of Edun's tent had been healed, Cyran and Syvezar had been taken to the side of those more badly injured. Their power was beginning to wane after healing a handful of those in direst need.

Word reached them of Vedhethrah protecting them all as someone came to fetch Fainor. The General offered a deep respectful bow and hurried out.

Cyran rubbed his hands and looked at Syvezar's grim expression. "There are so many."

"We can help a few more before we need to rest."

"Why haven't our gods come to help us this way?" An elf woman, Ninnien, they'd healed had remained to reassure the others.

"I can only tell you what my father told me." Cyran gave her a small smile, "When the gods were young they spent a great deal of time among their people. They claimed their priests, they performed miracles, and then over time, they realized that their miracles were expected. They were no longer miraculous.

"So they pulled away. Doing so made the people angry, some gods found themselves struck from mouth and memory, their power faded and, as we young gods were once mortal and became more, they became less. In this crisis of mortal faith, they gathered and created rules. Once they had fought amongst each other, that was not required to stop but there were now rules to follow. And rules about miracles, how many, and how often.

"The stones of power were created and given to the gods to this end. Their priests could call upon their power and use the stone to perform blessings and miracles at certain times. The power of the gods could still be felt, belief could be rewarded, but the gods would remain apart from their people because to do otherwise might upset the balance they needed to create."