Days Of Light And Shadow (27 page)

“My lord!”

“And first I must send this message to King Herrick. He must know this truth.” Iros gestured as best he could to the guards.

“The library.”

As the guards half carried him away, Iros did not know that other ears were listening. That while her attendants unpacked, Sophelia had been seated on the balcony to her new quarters overlooking the graves, hearing everything that was spoken between him and Juna. And he did not know of the tears that flowed down her cheeks at his words.

But if he had, he would have known that they were words that she had to hear regardless. She had to finally accept of her cousin’s evil. And of his complete betrayal of her and her family. She had to accept the truth.

Chapter Forty One.

Dura was worried when she finally reached her house. Though she’d planned on visiting her parents when they’d returned to Leafshade, it would have been later, after having done her chores for the day. But to arrive back in the chapter house after months in the saddle and find her cousin knocking on her door less than an hour later with an urgent message for her to return home, that was worrying.

Naturally she’d done as asked, apologising to the captain for her hasty departure, and all but running home. She did not look as calm and unhurried as she normally did. As was expected of her people. Fortunately some things were forgiven rangers. And even more fortunately the family home, the one they’d retreated to after the loss of the family stud, was in the commercial part of the city. While there were watchmen all around, there were also traders, shopkeepers, innkeepers and customers all around. Many were of the outsider races, most of the rest low born and of mixed blood. A little more hustle and bustle was expected on this side of town, especially when the cider and mead were flowing. No one had paid her any great attention.

At the front door she stopped for a moment, straightened her clothes and knocked. The family and the house might have fallen on hard times, but her parents still expected some basic things of her. However, she didn’t wait to be asked in, simply turning the handle on the polished ash door and pushing.

Inside the house there was no entranceway or waiting room. There were no servants to open the door, greet her and show her through to her family. Those days were gone. Instead the front door opened directly to the sitting room, and her family gathered around the threadbare couch that was the best of the fine furniture they had left. But that gave her a perfect view, and it took only a heartbeat to see the problem. Allias, their one time stable hand and now general servant, the last one they had left, was lying on the couch, bleeding.

He’d been bleeding for some time she realised. The buckets full of sodden, blood soaked rags testified to that. And the swollen face, bruises just beginning to shine told her that he’d been beaten. Maybe that morning, maybe even the previous day. It wasn’t that uncommon in Leafshade these days. Not for those of outsider blood. But the level of violence still shocked her.

He was a small lad, even for a gnome. Slightly built and of absolutely no threat to anyone. Yet it looked as though someone had started smashing him with a mace. Several heavy blows to the side of his face, and more from the looks of the bandages around his chest, to his body. Blows that she suspected had if not broken them, then at least damaged some of his bones.

It didn’t take a sage to realise who the culprits were. There’d been reports of the watchmen in their pitch covered armour strutting the streets for months dishing out beatings to anyone they didn’t like the look of. Usually for no reason. They didn’t need one. The simply seemed to enjoy the act.

“Sellin?” Her little sister was sitting with him, green eyes red with tears, as she bathed his wounds.

“They caught him this morning as he was returning from the market with food. A dozen of them. Not a hundred paces from our door.” She looked up at her, a question in her eyes. “He wasn’t doing anything.”

“Of course he wasn’t doing anything. You don’t need to do anything to be attacked by those foul creatures.” Her father had entered from the kitchen with more bandages, and he dropped them off by Allias before rushing over to her and wrapping her up in his arms.

“I’m glad you’re here sevelly.” It was good to be back in his arms, and even to be called a baby squirrel again as he had when she was a child. But there was still something in his voice that worried her. She could hear the deep soothing tones he always used whenever he was breaking in a horse. Reassuring the animal even as he prepared to spring an unwelcome surprise on it. Somehow she suspected he was about to tell her something unpleasant.

“Father.”

“They caught a full dozen this morning. Those black clad demons simply caught them in the market place and started beating them. For no reason save their own dark pleasure. It has been the same every day for months.” Months she realised, while she had been away. Riding or training, she’d hardly spent any time in the city of late. He didn’t mean to criticise her choice to become a ranger, but she felt the sting anyway.

“I didn’t know it had become so bad.” Even to Dura it sounded like some sort of excuse.

“Worse. Allias here is lucky. He’ll recover. Several others this morning were killed. Beaten to death as they went around their normal business. Others were dragged off to that underworld they call a prison. They will not return.”

Beaten to death! In Leafshade! Once, not that long ago such words would have been unbelievable. Such things unthinkable. Now they were only too real. Maybe she had been spared a lot by taking the cloak. Maybe her family hadn’t been. Dura let her father’s arms loosen as she pulled away from him, and went to Allias. She was shocked by what she saw up close. By the terrible damage that had been done to him, and simply because he was an outsider she guessed.

He was a good lad who had never done anyone any ill. Who surely could never have done anything to warrant such terrible treatment. He had come to their House as a stable hand three or four years earlier, back when they had still had a stud. At the time he had simply not wanted to go into the family business. His family had a small weaving loom in their home in Tarason and they made some rather fine carpets and wall hangings. He had wanted to learn a new craft, and at the time as she recalled his parents had had misgivings. Horses were big creatures. They could kick and buck. They’d been worried for their son.

They could never have imagined this.

“We need to get him home.” And for him she thought, home was the best place. Because if he stayed here she thought, things were going to get worse. There was a reason the markets were slowly emptying out. And it wasn’t just the humans that had fled. All of the outsiders were leaving, few returning. And Leafshade was slowly dying without them and the business they brought.

“We will.” Her mother placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “In the morning we’ll bring him back to his family.”

“Good.”

“Not good.” Her mother had told her that they would do what was both right and expected of them, and it should have been good news. But then she contradicted herself with her very next words, and Dura looked up in surprise and worry. What wasn’t good?

“In the morning we’re all leaving Leafshade. All our family. Your uncle Freta’s family has already left. And the rest of House Accora will probably leave the cities in the coming days.” Dura nearly fell down in shock at the news. House Accora was leaving Leafshade? Leaving all of the major cities of Elaris? Somehow she couldn’t quite understand it. She couldn’t quite believe it. Maybe that showed on her face.

“It isn’t just the outsiders and those of mixed blood the watchmen are attacking any more.” Her father had such a gentle voice when he had to say something difficult and didn’t want to worry her. Weren’t all fathers the same?

“They’ve started attacking members of the lower houses. Beatings, arrests and even killings. Across all the cities. The people are scared. Business has died. And I cannot have my family in danger. Not this sort of danger.”

“The wagons are already being loaded. In the morning we leave for Tarason.”

Tarason! Their old home. Their old stud. The dying farm they had abandoned nearly three years before when the weather had turned against them. It was like an admission of defeat. They had come to the city seeking to turn their fortunes around. Their father had opened a tanner’s shop. Their mother had taken up cleaning. And in time the rest of them would have found similar work. All with the dream of one day returning to their beloved family home with the coin they needed to restart the stud. To build the reservoirs they needed and divert the distant river.

But that was a dream. This was a night terror. This was running away. And yet even as she wanted to say that, to scream it at them, Dura was staring at Allias and the terrible injuries he’d received, and she knew that she couldn’t. If what they were saying was right, and in her heart she knew that it was, sooner or later this could be them. And that could not be.

So instead of arguing she sat with Allias and rubbed his forehead gently. It was a bitter truth, but it seemed that there was nothing else to be done.

Chapter Forty Two.

Iros sat at the long table in the great hall, listening to an endless chorus of problems from the people. His people. He kept having to remind himself of that as they came to him in their multitudes. They were now his people. He was their lord. After nearly seven days back in the castle, hearing their troubles every day and trying to find answers for them, it still kept catching him by surprise.

Just sitting at the head of the table felt strange to him. Wrong. This was his father’s place, his father’s table. It should be him sitting there, Juna to his right and the scribes and advisors to his left. And yet he had always known that one day this would be his place. It was just too soon. But maybe it always would have been.

At least it wasn’t a throne. That was one of the strange thoughts that had been with him ever since he had taken his place. He had seen King Herrick upon his throne many times and always been impressed by the man. But the endless duties and streams of people wanting his ear had been frightening. And the grandeur of his throne room was intimidating. All of Castle Storm was the same.

He had seen King Petrich of the Gnomes upon his throne as well, and the same had been true for him. The people were smaller and less demanding perhaps, but the finery they wore was even greater. Gold and silver and precious gems, silk and feathers and lace, huge dresses and long black suits with tails. The whole throne room was a gaudy pageant of the outrageously expensive. To a mere farmer lord like him it was absurd. He had been glad when his time there had ended and not just because of the pain in his back from bending so much.

And then he had seen Finell sitting upon the Heartwood Throne, and discovered even worse. He had seen arrogance and disdain, pettiness and intolerance. If that was what it was to sit on a throne, he wanted no part of it. A table, a comfortable chair, friends seated with him, and more friends seeking his aid, that was enough.

And at least he could find answers for some of the people. The practical problems at least. So he’d allowed the western forest to be milled a few years early for the carpenters. It was a waste of the trees but they needed the wood to rebuild half the town. Stone could be cleaned and repointed, but wood once burnt had to be replaced. He’d sent out patrols of guards to help with the body recovery. Now that the war was over, at least for them, they had the time on their hands and the people had to be able to say farewell to their loved ones. He’d paid for the markets to be open longer and removed the tariffs on merchants. Trade was the best hope his people had of replacing all that they’d lost and maybe bringing a little of their old life back.

Some answers were easy enough, though of course costly, and he was grateful that they’d had two good seasons behind them. If nothing else they would need the food. Replanting the fields would take time, especially when so many of those who worked the land were dead, and it was already late in the season. Even if the weather was perfect for the third year in a row, the harvest would not be good.

Other matters were more difficult to deal with. Completing the town’s walls and installing the defences was a project that had been planned for but never completed in over a century. To do it now in a matter of months instead of the decades he would have expected it to take was going to be hard, and it was going to cost every ounce of gold the treasury had. But it had to be done.

Then there were things he could never fix. There were so many missing people, and there was no way of knowing if they had simply fled or their bodies were lying in a ditch somewhere. He could do what he could, his soldiers and scribes could help, but in the end the task was simply too great. He could never find all the answers people needed about their loved ones.

And there were other things he had to prevent at all costs, even if in doing so he upset many. Even if it cost more pain and suffering. Lawlessness and anger. They couldn’t be allowed.

He understood the anger. Too well. In his private moments it consumed him. He understood the desire for vengeance. It raged in him. But it simply couldn’t be allowed. He couldn’t restart a war just because the people wanted revenge on those who had attacked them. And he couldn’t allow the people to bring harm to innocent elves who had long called Greenlands home. Even the king had been forced to end the war because of the need for the rule of law to be upheld. But he understood the people’s pain and anger perfectly. Their pain was his. Their anger too, though he somehow held it at bay. And he sent all of his guards out every day not just to prevent the violence, but to carry that message.

Greenlands had long been an open land. Everyone was welcome, people of all the races. As long as they came in peace and agreed to the rule of law, they were welcome. And so the land had been settled for centuries by people of all races, and he suspected that humans were in the minority. Pure humans that was. Those of mixed blood probably numbered the most. And that was as it should be.

But now, thanks to the actions of an angry child perched in a tree in Leafshade, all was not as it should be. Close to a thousand elves and maybe another several thousand people with elven blood, called the town home. And now instead of being neighbours and friends, they were considered enemies. The bitter irony was that many of them had helped to defend the land, and many of them had fallen in the fight as well.

Iros’ duty was clear. He had to protect the people. All of them. And he had to protect them from themselves as well as others. So every day he sent his guards out with that message. And every day when he sat in judgement on yet another fight, he repeated it. This was Greenlands and the rule of law held. His punishments for violence were necessarily harsh, and he made sure that his words were heard.

The prisoners were of course the most terrible problem to deal with. One hundred and twenty five elves, wounded and captured during the attack, and still locked away. He could see that they were fed and treated fairly. He had to. It was expected of a lord. Demanded by the codes. Even if secretly he harboured the dark desire to kill them all. But what he really needed was for them to work in the fields as other prisoners did. At the least they should help to rebuild what they had destroyed.

He couldn’t do that though. The prisoners were still wild, unreasoning in their hatred, and he knew that without weapons and armour, chained hand and foot, they would still attack the innocent. There was something very wrong with them. Something that was becoming worse as time passed, not better. But then the people were still angry too. They wouldn’t have tolerated the sight of the same elves that had attacked them and murdered so many children walking freely among them, even as slave labourers. There would be violence. But they would be even less happy in another few weeks or months when the war was officially ended.

Then the king would send his message and in time the prisoners would all be sent home. Free and without punishment for all that they had done. No matter what, the rules of the conduct of war would still apply. And prisoners of war were not criminals. Even if they committed criminal acts.

Iros knew that the people would be very angry when that time came. He would be angry. Especially when he knew that there would be no human prisoners released from Elaris. They hadn’t taken any prisoners. They’d killed them all.

It was a shocking crime, one of many. But those were the orders the watchmen had been given, and they had obeyed them to the letter.

That still shocked him. It appalled him. The elves, always such a polite, decent and law abiding people, engaging in such monstrous acts. A people so restrained in their passions, burning with the hatred of the demon of Wrath. And still there was nothing that he could do about it. The king would give the order, and they would go free. And worst of all, he feared that with their return Finell would have more of his army back to start regrouping. Maybe it was only a few thousand across all the southern lands, but that was still too many.

All he could hope for, was that by the time Finell was ready for his next attack, Greenlands would be as well.

“My Lord.” A woman’s voice made him lift his head as he realised the next petitioner was waiting. And the strange thing was that he knew the voice. He looked up and when his eyes finally saw her, he knew her too.

“Sophelia?” The sight of her standing there made no sense to him. Why was she standing in the queue with all the other petitioners? He rubbed at his eyes, wondering if he needed more sleep to help him see straight. Maybe he was simply too tired to understand but it made no sense at all.

“My Lord.” She bowed to him and that seemed wrong too. It was wrong. Wives didn’t bow to their husbands.

“You have no need to petition me Sophelia. You are my wife, you can just ask.” He tried to be understanding and considerate as a husband was supposed to be, but he was tired and the pain was growing worse by the day. His words came out as a criticism, at least that was how it sounded to him, and he instantly regretted them. Sophelia said nothing however. Maybe she guessed the reason.

“Thank you my lord.” She bowed her head and he found himself irked by even that gesture.

“Please Sophelia, there is no need for titles between us. Just address me as Iros, and speak whatever’s on your mind.”

“There is a large balcony outside our quarters, and an endless stone floor bare of green.” Iros stopped her with a gesture, understanding immediately what she wanted. After two years of life in Leafshade he knew how the castle must seem to her. A prison built of dead stone. She surely hated it.

“A garden. Of course. Forgive me my thoughtlessness.” He turned to Juna.

“Please see to it that my wife has some workers sent to her quarters to help her with the building of a garden on her balcony. And whatever she wants, pots, soil, plants, it will be paid for out of my personal funds.” Juna nodded and Iros knew that he would do exactly as he had been ordered. Loyalty was his very essence.

“Thank you.” He winced a little as he turned back to his wife, unable to completely stop the pain from reaching his face. As Lord of Greenlands he tried to. It was important that the people not see his illness or know him so close to death. But no matter the potions the physicians gave him or the effort he made, some still showed.

“Now Sophelia, is there anything else that I can help with? Clothes, furnishings, perfumes?”

“No, thank you Iros.” She used his name and he liked that. It was maybe the first time that she had. The first time in ages that anyone had, and he was sick of titles. Heart sick of them. She turned away to leave for her chambers and await the workmen, before she abruptly turned back to him.

“Your wounds, they still trouble you?” He looked into her blue eyes and saw what he almost dared to believe might be concern.

“A little. But the physicians have hope.” Actually they didn’t. They scratched their heads and muttered uncertainly among themselves when they thought he didn’t notice. But he noticed. And Koran’s face was as troubled as a lake in a storm. Something was wrong with him. Seriously wrong. And all their potions and salves and magic didn’t help. Even the ones to blunt the pain didn’t really help. They just dulled his thoughts instead. But in the end it didn’t matter. He would recover or else he would die. Either way the pain would end. And until then he would do his duty.

“Good. I’m glad.” Did she mean it he wondered? Or was it simple politeness as she waited for him to die? But he sensed nothing of mean spirit in her. She might not be the wife a man would dream of, but she was a good woman.

And as he kept having to remind himself, she was not her cousin. She had stood up to him. And if his last memory in this world was of her calling her cousin a failure and black of heart, it would be a good one.

Sometimes it was hard to do the right thing. It was hard to even know what was right. But as his father had told him many times, that did not excuse him from trying his absolute best to do it. He was in the end a Drake. He had a duty. And until the day that death finally relieved him of his burdens, he would carry it out.

And as he watched Sophelia nod her acceptance of his words and then leave the great hall calmly, he knew that those duties included her. When the court was over for the day he resolved to speak to Juna about her.

Death would take him soon enough he figured. And when he died she could not be left in the invidious position of trying to rule a realm her people had just been at war with. He would have to make arrangements to see that she was properly looked after when the time came.