Days Of Light And Shadow (31 page)

Chapter Forty Nine.

Herodan found the road to the witch’s cottage easily enough, something that surprised him. It was said that the elder, as she supposedly was, had the gift of turning people’s thoughts, and that if she chose, a man could wander round and round in circles and never find her. So maybe she hadn’t chosen against him. Then again many things were spoken of the witch. That she was a witch, a hag, and an elder of the Grove. Maybe none of them were true.

Still the path was easily found from the village, and supposedly led more or less straight to her door. Certainly every sign he passed indicating another peat cutting off to the side was just what he’d been told to expect along the way. For some reason he’d doubted the villagers’ words. But he shouldn’t have. Maybe it was the surprising mix of people that called the town home that had given him pause. Yet it shouldn’t have. If there was one thing he’d learned during his time as an envoy, it was that people of all races were mostly decent. Not just elves. Even the dwarves and trolls had some honesty and goodness in them. Of course that wasn’t a view that would be well received in Leafshade.

He couldn’t help but wonder what his cousin would make of Aellwy Te. A village in the heart of Elaris, that didn’t seem to have a single elf in it. Not one of pure blood anyway.

Aellwy Te was what was known as a wild village. A town settled by those who were not at home in the more civilised towns and cities. One of many hundreds or thousands dotted throughout Elaris. Almost all of the town’s residents were of mixed blood, which probably explained why the witch called it home. And they were poor. Almost all of the wealth of the town came from peat mining, a tough and dirty job, and the reason that the town was located in such a damp land. But that didn’t mean its people were any less honest or decent than others. Stranger for certain, and they clearly didn’t belong to any of the great houses, but not lacking in integrity.

But then the village had not been what he had expected either.

As one born of the high houses, he seldom left the great cities. He had grown up in Leafshade, and when he’d travelled, first as a young man on family business and later as an envoy, it had only been to the largest cities. There, the low born and those of mixed blood also lived, but for the most part he saw little of them. He stayed in his part of the cities with the other high born, and they stayed in theirs. But riding into the village it had taken him by surprise to realise that there was no such division. The whole town was the same. Neither rich nor poor. Neither high born nor low. Neither elf nor outsider. And it made him wonder just how many mixed bloods there really were. After all, what he knew of the realm outside of the cities was limited.

Maybe it was the name that had confused him. Aellwy Te was an ancient elvish phrase that translated best as wet lands. A fitting enough name for a lowland drenched in water. But the people were wild. Why would they choose to keep an ancient elven name for their home when their elven blood was so thin? Besides, nearly everywhere the old tongue had been forgotten. Leafshade’s old name had been Furwhy Ne Leefan, or The Shadow of the Tree. Over the centuries though, as trade with the other realms had grown, that had become Leafshade, just as the old tongue had been dropped in favour of common or trade.

So what did it mean if a great city priding itself on clinging to the old values had a common name, and a wild village filled with low born and those of mixed blood, held to an ancient name? He had no answer.

There was also the question of why the village had a ranger’s chapter house. That had caught him by surprise. The rangers roamed the forests keeping the people safe from whatever endangered them, but their chapter houses were on the outskirts of the cities and large towns. Near to the groves. Or so he’d thought. In fact the chapter house for the Black Otters stood on the outskirts of Leafshade itself by the front gate. He had passed it many times as he came and left the city and always enjoyed the artistry that had gone into their herald so proudly displayed above the entrance. The same herald he had seen above the entrance to the chapter house in the Aellwy Te. So they had a second chapter house here? Why?

Again he had no answer, save to wonder if it meant that the rangers served a different purpose to the one he had always assumed was theirs. Like the human orders of paladins they had arisen from the religious orders, nearly a thousand years before. The Grove as it had become known, had unified to face the threat of the spider demon, and the rangers had been born as their military arm. After the war they had been given a new task, to escort pilgrims safely through dangerous lands.

Over time that purpose had grown a little so that they escorted all in dangerous lands. Pilgrims, merchants, travellers. All who travelled the great forests they took as their duty to protect. And at the same time they roamed the lands, seeking out enemies, be they beast or man, and destroyed them.

Yet always he had thought that they served the Grove. That they took their orders from the priests and elders. Now it seemed that they had chapter houses in the wild villages far from the established groves. Did the priests know? And should he tell them? Or was it as many claimed, that the priests themselves had many more sacred groves established throughout the land than was realised? Some of them in the wild towns?

He had heard rumours of such. But quiet ones. Especially in the two or so years since Finell had come to the throne, and the Grove and the Throne had seemed to be heading into conflict. Maybe there was sense in that. The Grove and the Throne, and by extension the great houses and the high born, had a strained relationship. The elders believed that the high born had lost much of their connection with the Mother. For their part the high born often considered the elders as nuisances as they went about the business of building their houses. So maybe the elders had decided to keep things from them. And after all there were groves outside of Elaris.

It hadn’t come as a surprise to find that there had been a grove established in Greenlands. The humans might call it a town but it was really a small city, and an important trading town for Elaris. Many elves lived there and many more visited it regularly, so for the elders to have established Wildflower Grove there was only to be expected. The people needed a place to call home in foreign lands.

There had been a grove established decades ago in each of the five southern lands of Irothia, and another in Tendarin. But within Elaris itself there were supposedly established groves only in the cities and largest towns, and a few wild ones out in the great forests. And each grove and each city had at least one chapter of rangers who called it home. But if a chapter of rangers had a house in a wild town, did that mean that there was also a grove there? And if there was a grove established in Aellwy Te, how many more were there? After all there were hundreds if not thousands of towns dotted throughout Elaris.

He had no proof of such a thing of course. But Herodan would have wagered good moon silver that it was so. And still more moon silver that Finell had no idea.

It smacked of a power struggle of course. A test of strength between the priesthood and the Heartwood Throne as each sought the hearts of the people. And it was just that. It was a struggle that had been going on for millennia. Ever since the age of kings. The authority of the holy against the rule of the nobility. Fifteen hundred years ago that struggle had torn the people apart.

Then Elaris had broken into two. Solaria and the people now known as silver elves or sprites, had taken the path of the Grove, and the priests ruled. They would never allow a king to rule the faith again, and though they had a queen, she was actually an elder with civic responsibility. What had remained as Elaris had kept the path of nobility and the holy. The last king had been deposed and the first high lord had replaced him, and strict laws had been set down to prevent the two powers from ever yielding to one another. Never again would a king try to usurp the power of the holy to rule alone.

But it was a balance. The people relied on both to make their lives worth living, and neither side could dominate. Now that balance was gone, and the struggle between the Heartwood Throne and the Grove was fast becoming a battle.

A battle that was fast coming to a head. It had to. As Finell descended further into darkness, and the practical law that should have been the hallmark of noble rule was twisted into something unrecognisable, the Grove had to stand against him. They were the only ones that could. And if what he had heard was correct, the elders were becoming more outspoken against him, something the high lord surely didn’t enjoy. That was why he was taking action against the Grove, locking the elders away in the groves, restricting their access to the people.

Y’aris had probably had a hand in that, Herodan reflected. Finell might be an arrogant child filled with intolerance, but Y’aris shaped that intolerance into hatred. And when the Grove openly accepted those of mixed blood among their number, that had to turn him against them. Why he hated those of mixed blood so, Herodan didn’t know. But what he did know was that Y’aris was one elf who refused everything to do with the faith. If he had been at Sophelia’s wedding as he surely had been, it was likely the first time he had been in the Honeysuckle Grove in twenty years. And somehow Herodan was sure, he wouldn’t have accepted a blessing.

Thinking on that Herodan suddenly realised that he hadn’t asked Sophelia who had performed her wedding service. He hadn’t thought of it. But many of the elders were of mixed blood, and the thought of Finell and Y’aris having to sit there and listen politely to a service given by such an elder brought a little cheer to his heart. And among those of mixed blood there were some who’s blood was more mixed than others. It was claimed that the witch herself was an elder, and someone whose blood was of all races. Had she performed the ceremony the hearts of the two of them would likely have stopped beating.

It was just a pity that she hadn’t. He would have enjoyed watching the two have them having a fit.

Still it was a pleasant thought to keep him amused as he headed for the witch’s house. Better than worrying whether or not he was doing the right thing in seeking her out. The right thing for Sophelia anyway. And at least the path was good and the journey easy to travel.

The land was better than he expected as well. It was a fen in truth with ferns and grasses everywhere. Willows also abounded, lining the path in their gold and green glory. Here and there a few mighty oaks, unafraid to get their feet wet stood out from the rest. But it wasn’t truly a swamp as the stories claimed. The footing underneath was soft but his horse’s hooves didn’t sink down into it. They just made small squelching sounds. And neither could he smell the fetid odour of dead things that made most swamps particularly unpleasant. The fen smelled of fresh dew, cut grass and wild flowers. It was actually quite pleasant to breath the air. And it was pretty with wreaths of pink and purple sun bells hanging down from every tree, while the fated doves filled the air with their sad, sweet song. Of course it was summer. In winter when the rain fell, it could be a very different place. Especially for those who made their living from digging up the peat.

Then he turned the final corner, emerged through the overhanging ferns into the bright sunshine, and saw the cottage right in front of him. And he saw the witch.

“By the Mother!” Herodan was shocked when he finally set eyes upon Trekor. If Aellwy Te had caught him off guard, then the sight of her very nearly knocked him out of his saddle.

Troll blood! The tales were true. She had troll blood in her veins. A lot of it. The tusks, smaller than they would be in trolls, could speak of nothing else. But that was barely the beginning. Her ears were round, human shaped, her skin was far too brown to be of anything save the sprites, and her wrinkles spoke of gnomes. And yet even so her eyes were as green as those of any elf he had ever seen while her hair was the colour of grass. She had all the bloods flowing through her veins. Yet the stories had said that of her. He should not have been surprised.

Then there were the cats. He identified them quickly when he realised they weren’t pieces of furniture covered in golden furs. Furniture didn’t snore. Two crag cats as large as ponies, sprawled out over the front porch, sleeping. Each of them could have bitten his head off with a single bite. And yet he didn’t feel threatened by them. Neither did the horse, and she should have been galloping away in terror.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t that that startled him so. Maybe it was the fact that the witch was sitting on the front porch to her cottage, comfortably ensconced in an oversized wooden rocking chair, dining on cups of tea and scones and covered in berry jam. Such an ordinary even pretty setting for someone so extraordinary.