Days Of Light And Shadow (32 page)

And she wasn’t dining alone.

Beside her sat a sprite, a matron of their faith by her gold robes and the leaves woven through her long silver hair. And to her side a human priest. A cleric in the long brown hooded vestments of a monk. A human cleric in elven lands, so soon after a war. That seemed somehow wrong to him.

And yet as he sat on his horse staring, he had the unexpected thought that maybe it wasn’t so wrong after all. The witch was an elder. Herodan’s magic was limited, his connection to the Mother more so, but seeing her he could feel the aura of nature flowing from her. The sprite matron also served the Mother. And several of the clerical orders of humans knew the same mistress. They called her by a different name, Dibella the goddess of life and claimed her only as one of their nine divines, but many claimed that she was really the Mother.

Taking a deep breath he tapped his mare’s flanks with his heels, and they crossed the last few paces to enter her front yard. And immediately they did the elder looked up at him and smiled.

“Welcome child.”

“Elder.” He nodded respectfully to her even as he dismounted, trying to imagine what Finell might think of the scene. A woman, an elder and one who spoke with an elder’s tongue, and a woman of more than mixed blood, being bowed to by a high born elf. He’d likely have a fit. Y’aris might drop dead on the spot. It was a pleasing thought.

She gestured at him to come and he quickly walked over to the porch, edged his way around the sleeping cats, bowed to the waiting elders, and sat at the empty seat. A seat that had been waiting for him, with a cup and plate already set out. Waiting long before he’d arrived.

“Scone?” The matron asked politely as she held the platter before him, and the cleric didn’t even bother asking as he filled his cup from the pot. It was quite aromatic smelling tea.

“Thank you Matron.”

“Here. You should wash your face child. The muddy water from the high ferns has left smudges all over.” The matron handed him a cloth and he dutifully wiped his face, surprised at how dirty it became. He’d known he was being dripped on but not that the water was so dirty. He thanked her again for her hospitality and she smiled at him.

“It’s a normal enough complaint when people take the path to Trekor’s home. In fact one of the ways people know who has visited her is by the spots they wear back.” And the fact that the matron had a cloth waiting for him said something else.

“You were expecting me?”

“Of course Herodan. The good people in the village told me you were coming hours ago, and they even gave your name.” Trekor beamed at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe to her it was. For him though it was just another question to be asked. After all he had travelled to her home by what had seemed like the most direct path and no one had passed him.

“The only thing they couldn’t tell me was your purpose.” And that he suspected was merely because he hadn’t spoken it to anyone. But if he had she would already know. Still he realised as he politely sipped at his tea, he had come to her with a reason, so it was best that she knew.

“It’s a matter of mercy that brings me here Elder. The hope that you might have a cure for witchbane.”

“Witchbane?” She stared curiously at him, and then at the others. “As it happens I do. There has been need of it of late. But the poison is very fast acting. A few days and the victim would be dead. There would be not much time to take it to someone. You should have brought them here.”

“There is still time. I hope. It was rubbed into a man’s wounds.” All three of them stared at him, maybe surprised, but maybe thinking other, darker thoughts.

“A truly great evil!” The cleric’s voice carried deep overtones of outrage. “We can guess the wrong doer for ourselves, it takes a special kind of malice to harm someone so. But who is the victim?” Herodan was half surprised that he didn’t know. They seemed to know everything else.

“My brother in law, Lord Iros.”

“Never!” The cleric shouted his natural denial at him, shocked, and Herodan could see the same look in the others’ eyes.

“Such an innocent child. Yossirion speaks highly of him and with great affection. And Finell poisoned him?” Herodan nodded.

“That pox ridden toad! He sold both Iros and your sister into marriage just to save his skin from the teeth of the rats. And even then he betrays them with poison.” The cleric was right of course, but more than that he was knowledgeable. He knew things that Herodan would not have thought he should. But he also knew the Elder Yossirion, and perhaps that explained it. Though it raised many more questions about the elder if he was speaking with human clerics.

“My cousin is without honour.” It was shocking hearing Finell being openly slighted within the boundaries of Elaris. Yet, despite it being something an envoy never did, Herodan found himself joining in, agreeing completely. It might be a betrayal of his ruler, but it was true.

“He’s without decency.”

“I’ll go to the monastery and fetch the tea. And if I ride hard I’ll be with young Iros within a handful of days.” The cleric made to get up, but a hand reached out across the table and stopped him. A huge hand with black fingernails.

“No Pietre. You have important duties in town to keep you busy. I will take the tea to the young lord. I’ve been meaning to make the trip anyway. And Talos and Vir need to take some exercise. They have been quite lazy of late.” The cats didn’t answer her. They were too busy sleeping in the sunlight, snoring gently with only their tails occasionally twitching. Some things took priority.

The cleric nodded to her and Herodan had to wonder why. Surely she wasn’t his primate, and it seemed unlikely that she could reach Iros as quickly as he could. Even if she had a horse to ride, and given her size it would have to be a powerful beast, the cats couldn’t ride, and they didn’t run long distances. But she seemed to have other questions on her mind as she sipped at her tea and it wasn’t his place to question an elder.

“Tell me Herodan. What are your impressions of Iros of Drake?” The elder fixed him with a stare that made him uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable than when he’d been before King Herrick. He gathered she thought the question important in some way. That set Herodan back a little as he tried to think.

“He is a man of strength and duty. But also dead inside. He has suffered the most terrible losses, sacrificed himself without a thought of refusal, and burns with pain, but he shows nothing. He believes he will die soon and thinks nothing of it. He seems to think of nothing but his duty.” And that was a frightening thing. He had seen little of Iros in his short time in Greenlands. But what he had seen had made him wonder if the man was even human. It did not bode well for his sister’s marriage. Not if a man could be that dispassionate about his own suffering. But at the same time his sense of duty promised that Sophelia would still be treated properly.

“So he masters his pain.”

“Yes elder.”

“And that worries you.” It wasn’t a question but Herodan nodded anyway.

“Yet he’s married to your sister and you’ve hurried all this way to save his life?” That was a question.

“It was the right thing to do.” The elder smiled at him, and exchanged a few cryptic glances with her companions, who were also smiling. But what she thought of his words he didn’t know. He had the strangest feeling that it had been some sort of test, but he had no idea if he’d passed or failed. Or if it had even been about him. Before he could ask she changed the subject.

“You know I met the young lord once. Though he would never have recognised me. He would not know me now. But as a boy I liked him very much.”

“He was a child then, a young boy of maybe ten. Running around the town barefoot, laughing and playing with his friends, while the poor guards tried desperately to keep up with him. A good child, a bright spirit, and so much vitality. I thought even then that if he were to grow up into a man and harness that vitality and spirit, he would make a good lord.”

“Alas I heard later that he fell into trouble and that his parents sent him away for his education. And from what Pietre tells me, he became a very quiet, polite man. I feared his spirit may have been crushed. Often parents do such things as they fear what their children may become instead of looking forwards to the blessings to come.”

“But if you are right, his spirit is stronger than ever. It takes true resolve to continue when so much has been taken from you. When you have suffered so greatly. And that can only come from within.” Herodan hoped she was right, but the man he had seen did not sound like the one she described. Maybe she saw that doubt in his eyes.

“Come child. You can help me hitch up the wagon, and I will tell you of your brother in law. It will I think, surprise you.”

Chapter Fifty.

“My lord!”

Iros was in the great room with his aides pouring over the plans for the fortifications, when the soldier came rushing in, disturbing them. In some ways though, it was a relief to see him, even if he surely had bad news. What else was there of late?

But the work was slow and painstaking as they went over the details of the gun emplacements, trying to find a design to allow them a useful field of fire without the possibility that when they were overrun as they would be, the cannon could not be turned against them. A limited track system was the best that they could come up with, the cannon placed on steel wheels and chained into a bunker dug into the hillside. But that was something hardly ever seen outside of a true castle, and never did they build such things into a hillside.

And as for the walls they were finally nearing completion, a century or more after they had started being built, but at a huge cost. Hundreds of masons working all the hours of the day demanded a lot of gold. Still it was something to celebrate. Of course even when they were finished it would only be the first step as they then started building the ramparts, cannon emplacements and towers into them.

Naturally it was going to be expensive. Everything was expensive and the treasury was being depleted at an alarming rate.

Nor did the army of physicians and aides attending him help him with his woes. All they did was annoy him as they kept telling him to rest, forced him to drink their foul concoctions, and wiped away the blood dripping from his eyes. That was as much as they could do. They could do nothing at all for the fever that sent him to the underworld every night or the fire in his joints that reminded him of it every day. Some days he wished it would be all over already. Other days he knew that there wasn’t far to go.

“Soldier.” The man came to an undignified halt in front of him, his armour clattering away. Obviously it hadn’t been tied down correctly, another matter he needed to attend to. Many of the guards didn’t tie it down fully. The armour restricted their movements and made it hard to carry out some of the more basic functions of life. But when war was coming it still wasn’t a choice. Loose armour allowed a sword to strike more easily at the unprotected flesh.  Then again, maybe it would be a matter that Heriot would attend to instead. He wasn’t a soldier, but he knew enough to hire a war master. He hoped.

If only he would hurry up and arrive. Bearsport was only two hundred and fifty leagues away. If he rode fast he could be here in less than a month. But of course he wouldn’t. He didn’t ride. He would take a wagon, probably a train loaded down with his expensive passions, and when he finally reached Tendarin he’d spend a few days there, meeting old friends. It was likely to be three months before he reached Greenlands, and Iros was unlikely to be still be alive by then. Juna was going to be very busy pulling his white hair out by the time the new lord of Drake arrived.

Perhaps it was good for them both to be distracted just then. It stopped the fretting for a time.

“There is a -…” The soldier seemed to flap around like a fish on the dock for a bit, obviously distressed and unsure of himself. Something a soldier wasn’t supposed to be.

“There is a?”

“Woman?” Why did the man say the word as if he was not certain of it? How could you not be certain if someone was a woman? Iros looked into the soldier’s face and saw the confusion and alarm written all over it.

“There is a woman? Go on.”

“At the gate.” He looked relieved to have got that much out, and then he blurted out the rest. “She says you sent for her.”

That made no sense to him. All it did do was raise more questions. Things like who was she, since he had sent for no one? And why was she at the town gate? People were not normally kept there. The town was free to all save known brigands. Could Estelle have somehow arrived ahead of her husband? But she didn’t ride either as far as he knew, and she was in no more hurry to arrive than Heriot.

“Does she have a name soldier?”

“A long one my lord. Trekor Aileth. She calls herself the Seer of Bogreth, the Elder of Aellwy Te and a druidess of many other places.”

The name meant nothing to Iros, though seer and druidess meant hag or witch as far as he could be sure. And obviously a strange one from looking at the soldier’s face. Probably of unusual blood. They weren’t usually restricted from the town, though often people kept a respectable distance from them. He looked at his physicians and advisors and they looked straight back at him. None knew the name.

He shrugged. “I did not send for her.”

“No I did, honoured husband.” He turned, they all did, as Sophelia’s demure tones came from the large dining hall to their side. “Trekor Aileth is a healer of some repute among my people, and an elder.”

“She’s an elf?” Maybe that would explain at least a little of the soldier’s fluster.

“No? Yes? Maybe? In part?” Suddenly it was his wife’s turn to seem uncertain. “The blood of many flows through her veins, as does the magic. And it is said that there is at least a little troll in her. She is no more at home among the elves than among humans. But she has knowledge of many herbs and spells not known in civilised lands, and she is known to the Mother.” That last mattered to Sophelia he knew. It mattered to all elves. And if she was known, then she carried the status of an elder among them. An honoured profession no matter her blood.

“I asked my brother to seek her out as he returned home.”

“Let her in.” Iros gave the order immediately. The choice was easy, not because he believed that the hag could help him, but because his wife had sent for her and it would have been unacceptable to speak against her. Their marriage might be a facade, but it still had to be honoured.

“And the cats?”

“Cats soldier?” But it wasn’t the soldier who answered him.

“Trekor Aileth travels everywhere with two crag cats at her side. Fearsome beasts as large as horses but I have not heard of them attacking anyone without her command.” But then Sophelia wouldn’t have he thought. Those who had seen such an event were probably dead. Eaten by the cats. Iros kept his thoughts to himself though.

“The cat’s too.” He really didn’t want wild animals in his castle, but he couldn’t really deny them access if they travelled as her pets. Still at least if the cats attacked, it would be quick. Better than this dying by painful inches.

“My lord.” The soldier immediately ran off, heading he guessed for the town gate, and leaving behind a very confused court. The advisors were silent because they didn’t know what to say. The physicians for the same reason. And the guards never said anything at all anyway.

“You did not speak to me of this.” He wasn’t upset. If anything it was nice to know that she cared enough to try. But he was curious.

“I did not know how to husband. Forgive me. I did not know if the druidess could help, or if she would even come. For the most part she holds to her own company and what is known of her is through whisper and the drunken tales told by bards around firesides.” And if she was of mixed blood then he guessed she wouldn’t have been welcome among the high born, so they would have little more than gossip to work with. Often it had been his experience in Leafshade, the low born knew more than their betters.

“There is nothing to forgive good wife.” Save maybe himself for having doubted her decency. His wife was always a woman of proper heart. Somehow he kept forgetting that when he saw her blue hair.

It was hard to know that she was not only an elf but cousin to Finell, and at the same time that she wasn’t like him. Maybe it was just the sickness talking but every time he saw her walking the hallways or out in the garden, for the first few moments he saw only her evil cousin. He felt the cold of the dungeon clutching him, and heard the crack of the whip. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and that that time had passed.

Of course it would be back with him every night as his dreams kept bringing him back there. And sometimes when he woke in the morning, he wasn’t completely sure that he was awake. Was he in Greenlands remembering the dungeon? Or was he in the dungeon still, dreaming of home?

Maybe if the healer could do nothing else, and he doubted there was much that anyone could do any longer, she could at least ease his fears.

Instead of asking foolish questions that Sophelia couldn’t answer, he changed the subject, and passed the time as they waited for the healer to arrive asking about her progress on her garden. He hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t invade her private quarters, but the servants said it was very pretty. And though it was probably inappropriate he quite enjoyed seeing the smile return to her face when she spoke of it. She had suffered enough for her sacrifice. It was nice that one of them could rediscover some happiness in life.

Soon though, as she was telling him of the roses she’d planted, they heard the sound of horses outside the great hall, and turned their attention to the entrance.

“By the Divines!” Iros was shocked when he first set eyes on the hag, and he could suddenly understand his soldier’s hesitation in describing her. The rest of the assembled knew the same surprise. He heard their collective gasp. Even Sophelia who had sent for her, seemed taken aback.

His first thought when the doors swung open wide and she strode in was that an ogre had arrived, tracking half the forest floor with it. The serving people were not going to be happy with so much mud being tracked across the nice clean stone floor. But he couldn’t really worry about such trivial things just then.

She was an imposing figure. So tall and so broad of shoulder, that she almost dwarfed every other man there. In one hand she held what looked like a small tree trunk as a walking stick. And what he could see of her arms through the tears in the greenish rags she called clothes, showed powerful muscles. Knotted muscles rippling such as a warrior should dream of. Was she even a woman?

Then there was her hair. Green eyes and curly green hair. Who save elves had green eyes and brightly coloured hair? And even if they did what elf would let it hang long and unkempt down to her waist, with leaves and twigs sticking out of it? But that was only the beginning of what was unexpected about her. Her skin was oily and smudged with dirt. Covered in it, just like her clothes. If he’d had to guess he would have thought that she’d been wallowing in a mud hole just before arriving at his door. Maybe she had. The denizens of the various fens were known to be strange.

Most striking though were the tusks, both upper and lower, that protruded from her face, dominating it. Though they were nowhere near as massive as those of the trolls, their blood flowed through her veins for certain. As did that of the dark elves. The blackened fingernails that looked more like claws extending from those disturbingly long fingers could be from no others. And her toes. As he stared at them he suddenly realised that she wasn’t wearing leather shoes on her feet. What he was seeing was her own bare skin and a healthy covering of dry mud.

Though she seemed in good health, the deep wrinkles that dominated her face suggested she was very old. Or as he suddenly realised, that she was also of gnomish blood. Why not? She had every other blood.

But Iros found himself less concerned with her a heartbeat later when her cats padded in. Two huge crag cats, each as large as two men, and both of them looking distinctly hungry. Golden panthers as large as lions, but with eyes of green. All around him hands went to swords immediately, but true to his instructions, none were drawn. Instead they just let her approach, though a few looked askance at him as she did so.

Sophelia though surprised him as she went down on one knee to her. Clearly whoever or whatever she was, she had his wife’s respect.

“Trekor Aileth?”

“At your service boy.” The hag actually managed a small, ridiculous looking bow, which didn’t fit at all with her addressing him as ‘boy’. But oddly he didn’t mind that. Not when he was too busy staring at the cats as they padded around her, snarling quietly to one another. Maybe they were looking for mice. Maybe very big mice. Mice that walked on two legs.

The practiced diplomat in him slowly realised one other thing about her, she had some education behind her. Her voice itself was guttural, a sound something between that of a woman and a bull snorting, but her language, even in those few words, showed evidence of some learning. And he knew it was only proper that he should respond to her in kind. Especially if she was an elder.