Days Of Light And Shadow (21 page)

Chapter Thirty One.

Summoned from her home at short notice, without her father there to give her permission to leave, Sophelia was understandably nervous. Things like this just did not happen. And it had been weeks since she had left the family home. Weeks of gardening and lessons. Simply leaving its confines without her father’s permission was shocking enough. But then to walk into the Royal Chamber and immediately be confronted by the sight of a dead body on the floor, that was too much. It took all of her practiced restraint not to simply scream in horror at the sight.

“Why is there a naked corpse on the floor?” Sophelia was shocked by the sight of the human’s bloody corpse lying on the floor of the Royal Chamber. If he was even human. The damage that had been inflicted upon his body was so great as to make even that uncertain. All she could really tell was that he was bigger than an elf and smaller than a troll. It seemed more than just wrong somehow. It seemed a violation of all that was decent. All that was of her people. Whoever he had been he should be resting under the good soil as was proper, not lying on the floor in a lake of stinking blood.

“The envoy is standing at his proper station.” Finell laughed a little under his breath, apparently finding something in the thought amusing. Sophelia didn’t find it so pleasant though, and she to restrain herself from crying out in shock. Not least because she knew the man even if she hadn’t recognised him until her cousin had named him. But how could she have recognised him? When he looked like that? It was difficult enough to even recognise him as human. And that was wrong.

Iros Lord of Drake. He wasn’t an elf, but he was of some station among his people, and he did normally speak with a considered tongue. Until that one unfortunate day when he had embarrassed himself. He also showed deference for proper customs. That was rare among his people. Rare among the low born as well. He should have been accorded some respect at least. Not just dumped on a cold wooden floor in front of the high lord.

Maybe she also knew a twinge of shame for his fate. It was her family that had done this to him after all. Finell was of House Vora. And she knew a larger portion of guilt for her having added to his suffering in that dark prison. Time had passed slowly in the house, and she had slowly grown to realise that he was not the cause of all the suffering. He was just an innocent. One of so many. He should not have been treated so appallingly. No one should.

The memory of her visit to the prison and most especially all the screams she had heard as she was led to his cell, was suddenly with her again. That place was a monstrous evil, and something that should never have been allowed on elven soil. But Finell of House Vora was the one who had created it. And it was at his bidding that she was here. But it wasn’t something that she could raise with her cousin. Not least because he didn’t know that she had been there. And Y’aris could never know that some few of his watchmen had taken silver to let her in. Their punishment would be harsh. She kept her voice calm and her face relaxed as she had been taught.

“So you finally killed him cousin. And now what? You wish to sit there and gloat at his demise? Does this truly seem worthy to you?”

“Who said he is dead cousin? He has a duty to perform yet, and I will not let him die until it is done.” And despite it being the worst sort of insanity, her cousin started laughing some more, and not under his breath.

“Mother be praised!” Sophelia was shocked as she turned back to look at him. He couldn’t be alive. No one could look like that and still live. Yet her cousin might be crazed, almost certainly in sooth, but he didn’t lie. Surely he knew, surely someone had told him that he lived. A healer maybe. Because Finell would never have touched him himself.

She knew her duty and Sophelia immediately went to the envoy. He was a noble and an innocent and if by some miracle he still lived, he should be tended to. Soonest.

She pressed her fingers to his throat as her teachers had shown her, and despite it seeming impossible, she found a pulse. It was weak and slow, and it surely shouldn’t have been there at all. But it was there.

His wounds were bad, but more than that, they were everywhere. There was not an inch of his skin below the head that was not cut and torn by the inquisitor’s whip. And much of that had then been burnt by the branding iron. Cruelty and evil were written large across his skin. But there was more. They had pulled out his finger nails, his toe nails as well. And the marks of the chains across his wrists and ankles were torn deep into his flesh. The souls of his feet were burnt black from the branding irons as were the palms of his hands.

Worst of all he smelled. The demons of fever and corruption attacked his flesh, and if he lived still, it surely wouldn’t be for long.

“Healers!” She called for them, knowing that if there was ever a man who needed their help it was Iros of Drake. But even if they came, she knew it might still be too late. Far too late.

And maybe it was too late for her as well. She had visited him in the prison, she had seen him then, seen much of the terrible damage that had been done to him, and she had said nothing. She had done nothing. She had even blamed him for what could never have been his fault. Some of the last words he might ever hear were of her calling him a liar and a savage. And he was neither of those things.

But her crimes had started long before that. Long days of being locked away in her house had given her time to think on that. She had not protested when Finell had put forwards his plan to open the old stone mountain as a prison. She should have. Elves needed no prisons. But it had seemed like a small thing at the time, and there had been questions of trade to concern herself with. Then when he had hired dozens of men at arms to act as guards and inquisitors in his new prison, she had still said nothing. It had been the foolishness of a young royal she had thought. A strange whim, nothing more.

Later, when she had come to see the envoy, when she had walked through those dark, damp tunnels lit only by a few torches, she had heard the screaming. So much screaming, so much weeping, so many voices. And she had not said anything. She had not even asked who they were. All those prisoners, where had they come from? Who were their families? Their houses? Did they know of their loved ones’ fates? But she had not asked. She had not spoken out. And now lying on the floor in front of her, was the true price of her silence paid by another. He was her shame.

“Healers!” She screamed again, worried when no one had come. Worried more when she heard Finell laughing, while his black robed advisor calmly told her that they had been sent for. But if they had been sent for then why weren’t they here? And why was he smiling? Like a spider?

Now there she knew stood an evil creature.

Chapter Thirty Two.

A woman’s voice woke Iros once more, or at least the part of him that could listen. The rest of him remained in the peaceful darkness, free at least of pain. And warm too. There was something warm covering him. A blanket maybe. But he was less concerned with that than he was with what was being said. His family had always said he was a curious child, and he knew the voices.

“This is monstrous evil!”

“What you have done to this man. What you have done to all those others in that accursed prison of yours. It is not of our people. It is of darkness.”

“Tell me cousin. Is there nothing left of you save anger? Is there nothing of goodness? Nothing of our family? Nothing of House Vora?” Iros recognised the woman. He knew her voice, a little. And he knew her house.

“Silence Sophelia!” Finell was angry and for once not with him. Not that Iros really cared as he lay there, listening. He didn’t care about much at all. He was in a comfortable place, the pain had eased and the blackness was soothing somehow.

“We are losing this war. These filthy utra come closer every day with their accursed cannon. Towns and cities fall. The people are routed. The forests burn. Our people are in danger. And some of us have conspired with the enemy, assuring our defeat. We need to know who they are and what they’ve done.” Actually they were losing because Finell was a poor leader and Y’aris had no grasp of strategy. At least that was Iros’ thought on the matter. But he was really just glad to hear them admit that they were losing. It felt good somehow.

“No one conspires! We lose because you called a war you shouldn’t have, and Y’aris is inept! Stop blaming others for your own failings!” By the Divines she was blunt, and Iros liked that. He liked it a lot. That someone could speak so to Finell was a blessing. But he hated the thought that she would be punished for speaking the truth. And she would be. Finell had no concept of decency.

There was silence for a while after that. A long while. And Iros could just imagine that Finell was sitting there perched on his throne, reeling as he tried to accept that someone had said such things to him. He must look absolutely devastated. Iros wished he could open his eyes to see.

Eventually though, he had to start talking again. Finell loved to speak.

“Still cousin the time has come for peace.”

“Praise the Mother!” Sophelia sounded relieved, and Iros knew that was a mistake. He didn’t know what it would be, but he knew that something bad was coming for her. Finell could never let her get away with what she’d said. But lying there half dead he had no way of warning her.

“We must sue for peace before it is too late. And we must make sacrifices.” But not him. Never him. Iros knew that. He would have yelled it at the jumped up little lord if he could have, and damned be the impropriety. Finell would never willingly pay the price himself. Not even for his own mistakes. Especially not for them. But instead all Iros could do was lie there, face down on the floor in darkness, listening and bleeding.

“And by we you mean everyone else but you, cousin. A war you started but will not answer for.” Sophelia at least understood Finell’s evil heart as she hurled her accusation at him. Maybe she even understood something of the true darkness of her lord’s soul. It would be about time that someone did. But the only thing that mattered was what he expected her to sacrifice.

“And a war that we would have won had not Y’aris failed.” Sophelia hurled the accusation at her cousin, anger in her words. Naturally Finell heard only the part about himself, and he swiftly defended himself as he always did, by blaming someone else.

“These utra would be gone from our world, driven all the way back to the seas, their towns and cities burned for their treacherous attacks upon us, and the great forests in time would once more grow proud. But instead Y’aris’ armies have fallen one by one and our forests burn.” Y’aris said nothing he noticed. If he was even in the chamber Iros didn’t know. But what he did know was that failing the high lord was treason as far as Finell was concerned. And he dealt harshly with treason. Y’aris’ days were probably numbered. Iros could feel quite happy about that. The High Commander of the Royal Watch was likely the one who had given the order to kill his staff and burn the mission. And he was the one who had abducted him. He could be very happy if the elf suffered a little. Or a lot.

“Stop blaming Y’aris’ ineptitude! There should never have been a war in the first place! You should have called for justice to be done! Not war!” Sophelia wasn’t about to let him off so easily, and Iros had to wonder if she had any idea just how dangerous a game it was that she was playing.

“They butchered my sister!” The high lord suddenly shouted and even in his strange half sleep Iros could hear the fury in his voice. It still surprised him, even in his strange place. Finell actually had some true feelings. Not just arrogance and hatred, actual feelings for another. “They defiled her! Cut off her head! They should all die in flames!”

“Those who did that terrible thing, yes. But not the rest.” If Finell was pure blind rage, Sophelia was the cooling wash of the ocean trying to drown the fires. He suspected though, that her words and even her tears would fail. Finell was young and angry. Rotten nearly all the way through. Only much time and great wisdom would let him find reason. Somehow Iros suspected, he had little left of either. His people would not easily forgive him his failure. And calling a war and then losing it was abject failure. “Not this one. Not his friends at the mission. Not the people of the border towns. And not all those others locked away in your foul dungeon. They were innocent.”

“They were utra!”

“They were innocent!” At least someone could stand firm against the high lord. Someone could tell him when he was wrong. Even if it was too late. Even if it was going to get her hurt.

“Farmers, miners, shopkeepers, women and children. Not soldiers, not people who had ever caused anyone any harm, and certainly not the brigands who harmed Elwene. Why do you think Y’aris’ prideful soldiers marched through their towns so easily? After centuries of living in peace they were unarmed, defenceless. They thought we were their friends. They trusted us! And you betrayed that trust!” She had the right of it too Iros knew. The towns had fallen and burned, the people had died because they had never expected a war. They had never imagined armies of elves with their longbows and blackened silver chain, marching upon them, laying waste to everything and everyone around them. And they had paid for that innocence with their lives.

He felt a flash of pride for the elf maiden and her courage as she spoke the truth to the high lord’s face. And more than a little fear. Sophelia would pay for her defiance he knew. One way or another Finell would get back at her. It had been the mark of his short rule thus far. It was why he had opened the prison in the first place, and established the inquisitors. He always meant to get back at his enemies. He was a child, but not a good one. Not one his parents would have been proud of.

“We did not march through their towns cousin. They marched through ours!” Finell screamed it at her. He was an angry child one step away from a tantrum.

“Lies! Yours or his, but lies still. The humans were attacked. They told us this daily until you murdered them.”

“They lie! They sent their soldiers in to Elaris long before the war. They murdered Elwene, seeking to weaken me. They murdered our soldiers just outside the city days later. And if it wasn’t for the survivors of their evil, we would never have known until they took the city.”

Sophelia angrily muttered something under her breath that Iros couldn’t make out. But he guessed it was rude from the gasps. And from the fact that Y’aris finally decided to say something.

“Sophelia the high lord speaks only the truth. The humans started this war in secrecy and evil while we were unready.” Finally Y’aris had spoken. By the divines he sounded sinister when he spoke, and even lying there Iros wanted to rip out his poisonous tongue.

“In the days following the declaration of war I sent some few of my watchmen into Irothia, hoping to spot their army and slow them down, but against an army of fifty thousand at least they were unsuccessful. Ever since then ours has been only a defensive action as the humans drive us ever backwards.”

“Your tongue knows no truth.” For a brief moment Iros thought he could hear the sound of Sophelia spitting at the high commander. But it couldn’t be. No high born would do such a thing.

“And you cousin. Sitting there on your throne, do you truly believe this foul creature’s lies? Or do you just hide the truth with him?”

“I’m glad you feel that way cousin.” Suddenly the cunning, evil little rat was back, and Iros knew that the high lord was about to say or do something nasty to Sophelia. The time had come. Finally. Finell always adopted that same terrible tone when he ordered someone’s demise. Sarcasm mixed with arrogance, a terrible combination in anyone. Worse in anyone who held the lives and destinies of others in his hands. And usually when he did something truly terrible, Finell smiled. A sly and horrible expression that would have been more at home on a cobra as it prepared to strike its unwary victim. Iros had hated seeing that smile. Maybe it was lucky that he couldn’t see anything for the moment.

“It is good that you should find these utra worthy.”

“I did not say worthy, only innocent.” Sophelia finally sensed a trap ahead, and Iros couldn’t fault her for speaking cautiously even if she suddenly abandoned his people’s cause. In her place he might have done the same. But it was too late. He knew that. Surely she did too.

“Still, you speak for them. You are my only unwed female relative of marriageable age. And I have only one utra lord I can bend to my will.” Sophelia gasped as she suddenly realised her fate, and even lying on the ground half dead, Iros felt the same shock as he realised what was being asked of her. Not asked, demanded. It was a terrible sacrifice to make. To demand of her. But he understood it.

A state marriage. Finell was about to marry his poor cousin off to some unfortunate lord he’d no doubt captured in the war, as part of his desperate attempt to sue for peace. It was logical, but it was also horrible. At the very least he should have asked. But the high lord never asked. He could never have abided the thought that someone might have said no to him. For Finell asking was akin to begging, and he just didn’t do that.

“High Lord, no. Please.” Sophelia would have begged for her freedom, and Iros couldn’t have blamed her. But she couldn’t truly say no. Even if it hadn’t been her evil little cousin demanding it, it was still the best hope their two people had for peace. He would have said the same to whatever unfortunate lord they’d captured. For maybe the first time in his short rule, Finell was thinking with the wisdom of an adult. Even if it had taken mortal fear to make him do it.

Maybe that was why they had brought him. Maybe that was the high lord’s intent. That he persuade whoever they had captured to marry. And he would have, had he had the strength.

“Yes cousin. You will do your duty and defend the people with all you have. This is your honour. Your vow.” It probably would have been so much easier for Sophelia to hear if the high lord hadn’t been almost laughing as he said it. Even in the darkness Iros could imagine the smirk on his face.

“My honour is to Berris of House Allel. I am promised to him.”

“Berris is of a good house and a good man. Another will be found for him. Your little sister perhaps.” Iros could imagine the evil little smirk growing on that nasty face as he said it. He’d already plunged the dagger in deep, now he was twisting it, for fun. He heard Sophelia abruptly gasp and start struggling for breath. It was a long time before she could say anything.

“Who?” A small voice, almost like that of a frightened child.

“Lord Drake.” There was silence after that. The silence of pain as no one knew quite what to say to lessen it.

Who was that? Iros knew the name but for some reason he couldn’t quite place it. It had to be one of the lords of the border towns, a minor lord not one of the inner circle of the Court. And as such Finell’s chances of influencing Herrick with the wedding had to be small. But at least he was finally trying. It might have taken burned and sacked cities, refugees flooding the land and the Divines only knew how many tens of thousands of lives, but he was finally trying to do the right thing.