Days Of Light And Shadow (22 page)

He was sorry for Sophelia, but still if he could have he would have applauded. But instead he let the darkness start carrying him away again, happy for the first time in what seemed like years. Peace was coming. And with it maybe he could finally return home.

Home! It seemed like an eternity since he had sipped the sweet pear cider of the local inns of Greenlands. Since he had sung with the bards and lain with the wenches. Since he had set eyes on the glorious hills of green, or the honest stone of the town. Or simply slept in the warm summer sun of Greenlands. And it was even longer since he had been with his family.

Home! He let the dream of it carry him away once more. Back to a better place.

Chapter Thirty Three.

“Her parents are going to be upset.” Y’aris’ voice brought Iros back to the world again, and he gathered more time had passed. Sophelia had gone, doubtless in tears at her fate, or at least he couldn’t hear her. And while he still lay on the hard wooden floor, someone had started tending to him. Someone with warm water and a damp cloth that he was pressing into his back.

It should have hurt. Iros was certain of that. Everything hurt of late. But it didn’t. It actually felt almost pleasant. Was that a good thing? But whether it was or it wasn’t, as he lay there feeling his pain easing as the warm water soaked in to his flesh, he was awake again. Awake enough to pay attention to what was being said, even if he couldn’t raise his head or open his eyes. But the darkness was comforting somehow.

“Let them be. They know what is expected of our family. And they have other daughters to give them decent children in time.”

“Her father may not agree. Tenir is very protective of his daughters.” Finell didn’t answer him for a bit, and the only sound in that room was that of the healer muttering under his breath as he worked on Iros. He sounded as though he was praying, but whether for him or himself Iros didn’t know.

“You have a thought?”

“Leave it with me High Lord.” Y’aris was suddenly the voice of friendship and unwavering support, and at the same time deceit. “I took the liberty this morning of sending your envoy’s latest message to the best scribes in Leafshade, and I’m confident they will be able to provide you with a document that will solve the problem.” A forgery in short. They were going to show Tenir a forged document of some sort so that he could not object. And lying there listening, unable to do anything, Iros wasn’t even sure if he should try. On the one hand this was a father about to be given the worst news possible and denied all hope through a lie. On the other it was the end of a terrible war. Maybe he was lucky to be helpless.

“The utra.” Finell suddenly raised his voice as he targeted some other unfortunate. “Will he live?”

“I’m not sure High Lord. The cruelty he has suffered is very great. Most men would have died long ago.” It was the man daubing him with the cloth who had been targeted by the high lord, Iros gathered, possibly a healer of some sort cleaning his wounds.

“See that he does, or know that you will be cleaning sewers for the rest of your days old man.” Finell was his usual vindictive self. Pettiness and spreading blame around liberally had been the hallmarks of his rule.

“Yes High Lord.” The healer said nothing more, save perhaps to utter a few more prayers to the Mother under his breath. He was quickly forgotten by the high lord and his black robed advisor. Forgotten by Iros too as he tried to pay attention.

“This is wrong. This utra has been a constant nuisance. Always correcting me, suggesting changes to my edicts. And always in those impossibly polite tones. And then if he was the one commanding the human raiders, if he sent those murderers to my sister, he should die a thousand times over. Even if he didn’t do it himself. If any one of those filthy savages should have died, it should have been him.” And there it was Iros realised, the reason for what he had done to him. For what he had done to his friends. For the war. Finell was a stupid, evil child, but he was also a little boy grieving. But why did he think he’d had any part in Elwene’s death? How could he be so mistaken?

“I could ....” Y’aris’ voice trailed off as he surely knew the decision was not his. And he was already in enough trouble having lost the war. Maybe, Iros almost dared to hope, he would lose his station over his failure if not his life.

“No. We need him. For now. But maybe in a year or two. When our cities are rebuilt and our armies stronger again. When our wise men have found an answer to those accursed cannon. An answer you should have had long ago. Then we will crush them all. And this stinking savage will be mine again.”

“Yes High Lord.” Y’aris was unusually subdued, another sign that he was in trouble with Finell.

“Don’t think I have forgotten you. If it wasn’t for your failure, I wouldn’t have to let this savage go free. Not even for a heartbeat.”

“We did not know that the cannon could be wheeled high lord.” And that was the critical mistake they had made Iros realised. A shocking mistake. A cannon was an awesome weapon, but built into the fortifications of a castle or a fort, it was still only half a weapon. But somehow the elves had missed the fact that cannon could be mounted on wheels and moved into attacking positions as well as defensive. They would not make that mistake again. And though it hurt, Iros knew that even in the throes of his defeat Finell was planning a new offensive. The scorpion would always sting. It was simply his nature.

“You should have.”

“I blame Herodan. He should have told us.” Sophelia’s brother and his opposite number in Herrick’s court. Iros recognised the name of Y’aris’ intended scapegoat instantly. And he remembered Sophelia’s visit to him in the dungeon as she asked after him. A good man and well liked if all the stories of him were true. Even if he too was cousin to Finell. But then even the best families often had black sheep. It was just that few of them sat on thrones.

“True, and he will pay for that failure if he still lives. After he has reported his sister’s marriage to this vermin.”

Words that had meant nothing to Iros before, suddenly made sense as he realised the high lord was referring to him. He was the vermin. He was the Lord of Drake she was to marry.

It came as a shock. Almost enough of a shock to make him open his eyes. And something deep within him wanted to scream out his denial. But he knew there was no denial. There could be none. He could hear his father’s voice so clearly as he had told him over and over again of his responsibilities. He had told him the same every night as a child, mostly after he had done something bad. And when he had finished, his place had been taken by the tutors, and then when the tutors had been sent away it had been the turn of the masters of the academy. All of them with the same words. Nobility and titles, they weren’t honours and they weren’t prizes. They were duties.

He was to wed. There was no escape. Save death, which he was certain was close.

“If she goes through with it.” Y’aris sounded as though he doubted her. He shouldn’t have Iros knew. If he knew nothing else of her, he knew that Sophelia was always one elf of proper morality. She would do her duty no matter the cost. He respected that in her. He hoped that when the time came, if he survived, she would respect the same in him.

He did not love her, hardly knew her at all in sooth, but he would wed her for the same reason. Anything to help stop the accursed war. Anything to help his people. It was his duty.

“My cousin will do as she’s told.” Though from what Iros had heard he suspected it would take time for her to be convinced. And her father would not be easily convinced either, depending of course on whatever forged document Y’aris was planning to use.

“High Lord I must urge caution.” Why did the war chief sound so sinister when he spoke? Probably for the normal reason Iros decided. He always sounded like that.

“Are you certain you can always be sure of your family’s support?”

“What are you saying?” And more importantly how did he dare to? That was Finell’s meaning as the anger grew.

“I’m sorry High Lord. I would never wish to speak ill of House Vora. But I think you must be prepared after today to expect hostility from them. I’m sure they will do their duty as they must, but I fear they will blame you for having to. They will be angry.”

“We are one house. That can never change.”

“Yes of course High Lord. But perhaps not one house of a single mind. After all your uncle and aunt did speak against your ascension to the Heartwood Throne. And now it would seem Herodan has not mentioned something so obvious that he must surely have known. He must have seen the cannon on their carriages. And even now, in this chamber, knowing her duty, Sophelia has refused you in front of these others.”

“My family are loyal!” Finell snapped at his war chief, but even lying on the floor half dead, Iros knew that the damage had been done. The accusations had been laid, and they would linger in the back of Finell’s mind. That was always the intention. To sew the seeds of doubt. And to shift Finell’s attention from his failures to his family’s loyalty.

“Of course High Lord.” But Iros knew he didn’t mean it. Y’aris was playing a game. He knew that. He had always known that the High Commander had plans of his own. Ambitions. But he didn’t know what they were. He still didn’t. But lying there on that wooden floor, hearing what he was surely never meant to hear, Iros suddenly understood that at least a part of them was to drive a wedge between Finell and his family.

Why?

It was a question to puzzle on as the darkness returned to claim him once more.

Chapter Thirty Four.

“Pita, Mya.” Yossirion called the children, and they looked up from the stream where they were busy laundering their clothes, and came to him. They were good children he thought, well raised and well spoken. And they had good hearts as well. Even while they grieved for their friends and worried for the master, they found the strength to care for the other refugees now calling the grove home. It wasn’t only their clothes that they were washing. So it was good that he could finally bring them some welcome news.

“Iros is alive and free.” Their faces lit up at his words and made him happy. He only wished the rest of his news was as good.

“Is he well?” Mya was the first to ask the obvious question, perhaps because she was a woman.

“No. From what I’ve heard he is gravely ill. But the healers are tending to him and they hope he will make a good recovery. The high lord does too.” If only so that he didn’t swing from the battlements of Tendarin. And sadly the elder knew it wasn’t an unworthy thought. Finell cared nothing for peace, only his life.

“He is to be wed tomorrow, to Sophelia of House Vora, as part of a bid for an end to this terrible war.

“Wed?” Pita and Mya both looked shocked.

“Yes. Here in the Honeysuckle Grove. It is an unworthy reason for a marriage, but they will both agree to it. They are both of honour and duty above all else.” And in that he prayed to the Mother that they would both find acceptance. He doubted that they would find love, or that their marriage would bring forth children. But maybe they could find solace in their shared fate.

“Then they will go home?” Pita was quick to understand the consequences. A sharp mind for one so young.

“Yes but you will not be able to travel with them. Nor attend the wedding. You are both thought dead by Finell. And his watchmen will surely be in attendance and will provide an escort back to Greenlands. They would kill you on sight and then discover how many others we are hiding within the Grove. Both of you and Saris too, will have to remain hidden. I’m sorry.”

“No need Elder. You are right to say it and I should not have thought so quickly of myself. We will remain hidden and hope that this will end the war and then we can go home.”

“Thank you child. Iros should be proud of you.” Iros had trained the boy well he thought, but then that was his gift. He inspired. Though he pretended otherwise, even to himself, he was noble of soul.

The world needed more like him. And less like Finell.