Days Of Light And Shadow (35 page)

Chapter Fifty Four.

Y’aris would have screamed with rage had it been proper. If it wouldn’t have been heard by others and discussed at length. If it wouldn’t have got back to the court and the high lord. But it would have been all of those things and he couldn’t let them happen. So instead he forced his rage back down into those dark regions of his soul where it normally simmered.

No more did he behead the man as he should have. As he so desperately wanted to. That too would have been seen, and then he might well have had to answer some more questions. Besides, it was not the man’s fault. Even though he was of mixed blood and a lowly caravan guard, he only carried the word. He did not create it.

Instead, as if it was the most normal of events, he paid his agent the promised silver, and sent him back to the wagons. There he could continue to ride with the merchants, travelling through the human towns, learning more information. Useful information. Maybe even information that he wanted to hear.

Then Y’aris turned on his heels and marched calmly out of the market heading back to his quarters, wanting to run all the way, but holding himself back so as to appear unconcerned. And all the way there the same thoughts kept running over and over again through his mind.

The boy! The pox ridden boy! He should be dead a month or more ago. So why was he still alive? And the hag. As her presence in Greenlands answered the first question it raised more. Why had she interfered? Why had she saved the boy? It made no sense. The boy was a nobody. A minor lord from a farming province. In all his life he had never mattered to anyone save his parents. But suddenly the hag had left her precious fen to save him. Why? Did he matter in some way? Was it a matter that the Grove cared about?

And the girl. Sophelia. She should have been a widow by now. An elven widow living alone in a barbaric land, an elf claiming a human seat that could never be permitted her. Her only value should have been in leaving open a claim to the family title, maybe starting an internal war, and weakening one of the utra’s southern provinces in preparation for their next attack. But instead she was suddenly a proper wife and maybe soon to be a mother. That could not be. It could not be allowed.

It was only a minor set back in his plans. But it was still a set back, and he hated that. His master would hate it more. And he would want to know how it had happened. The Reaver always wanted to know how things had gone wrong. He wanted to have someone to blame.

At least there was one who might be able to shed some light on these strange events. An elf not so many weeks returned from the Human king’s court, and the brother in law of the unexpectedly surviving Lord Drake. A brother in law who could quickly become the next step in his plan to the complete destruction of House Vora.

It was time Herodan got to spend a little time with his inquisitors.

Chapter Fifty Five.

Iros was in the north courtyard, practicing his swordsmanship, and for the first time in what seemed like years, enjoying his work. Perhaps it had only been a few months since he had been in the mission yards, going through the motions with his swords, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

Of course, then he had been better. He had been stronger and fitter. His body not so burnt and scarred. His skin hadn’t itched and pulled whenever he stretched himself a little too far. But after months of slowly dying by painful inches, just to be outside in the sun, swords in hand, feeling the joy as the blades danced in their proper arcs, it was still pretty good.

It would have been better if he’d had his old blades, but they had been lost in the mission fire along with his friends. It would have been better too if he’d been better also. But his skills had wasted away as had his body, and while he still knew the routines, his flesh seemed to have forgotten them. His strikes were not clean, his parries not as fast and straight as they should be, and his footwork was slipshod. Against any opponent not completely untrained he would have to rely on the luck of Duran Timos. In the Royal Academy Master Atimis would have been at him day and night for such poor technique. But he would improve and at least he could finally hold the blades in his hands again.

As with everything, the key was practice. Practice and more practice. So he stood there in the courtyard, going over every routine he knew. The forwards overhead lunge, the dancing backwards side parry, the riposte with the parrying blade and forwards counter strike. So many routines. Hundreds of them. All of them needing to be relearned. All of them needing to be perfect. And all of them would be in time.

“Husband.” Iros looked up to see Sophelia standing there at the doors to the courtyard, looking somewhat bemused. “Why are you dancing in the courtyard?”

Dancing! As if! The word irked him. And yet he knew that she had the right of it. Combat was a dance. A dance of blood and steel. And those who could master the steps with grace and speed, would be the ones to walk away from the battlefield.

“Because I am a soldier.” And that was the fact of it. He might have been an envoy for a time. He might once have been a spoilt little child. He might even be a lord. But first he had to be a soldier. A man willing to place his well being on the chopping block to protect the people.

“You have plenty of soldiers of your own, and they seem well enough versed in the deadly arts. One more will not help them, and you are still very weak.” Was it that she hated the thought of who he might have to fight? Or that she was actually concerned for him? He still wasn’t completely clear on that, though he was happy that she shared his bed each night. Nothing might have happened between them, yet, despite what the servants whispered. But just to have her there, to have someone to talk to, to hold in the dark of night, and to keep the bed warm, that was a joy. A joy that he had thought he would never know again.

“I am a lord. Lord of Drake, Lord of Greenlands, and one day I may be forced to lead my men into battle. I may have to ask them to kill and die at my word. The least they can expect of me is that I will stand beside them on those dark days. That when I give the commands of death, I know what I am doing. That it is for the best.”

“For glory?”

“There is no glory in war. No glory in killing or dying. On the field of battle there is only survival. Bards sing of glory. Soldiers celebrate surviving.” It was one of those things that people who weren’t soldiers never understood, which was why there was always a bond between soldiers not found among others. His words didn’t meet with his wife’s approval however.

“Too many of my people have not survived.” Of course she was upset. She had seen the remains of the huge bonfires where the bodies of her people had been burnt. She had seen the piles of blackened armour lying in the streets, stripped from the bodies of the fallen and simply tossed away. It would not burn and was of little use to anyone other than an elf. But he had sent people to collect it and carry it to the smiths. Maybe they could use the steel.

“I know.” He went to her, and though it seemed somehow inappropriate even then, held her in his arms.

“Too many of all our people have died, and the one responsible for all their deaths still sits snug on the Heartwood Throne.” Sophelia didn’t like hearing that it was her own high lord that had started the war, her own cousin, but for once she didn’t pull away at the words. And it was nice to feel her in his arms. She was warm and soft where his world had become so cold and hard of late. He still didn’t truly understand her, but he understood that.

“How can you be so simple and yet so wise?” She murmured the question into his chest but still he heard it.

“Stern teachers and a crippling lack of ale.” For some reason his answer made her laugh a little and he was glad of it. Sophelia was surely more alone here than even he had been in the high lord’s dungeon. There at least he had heard the cries of the other prisoners and known that they too shared his suffering.

They stood there for what seemed like ages, simply enjoying the moment.

“What’s on your mind?” He hated breaking the silence, but he felt he had to. Sophelia wouldn’t have come to him without reason. And he still didn’t understand the reason that she came to him each night, that she shared his bed. It made things difficult. Awkward. The more so because he knew that she wanted more. And because he wanted more.

At first it had been his injuries and the endless bandages that had kept them apart. But his injuries were healing at pace and the bandages he wore fewer and fewer. The tea it seemed was a blessing from the Divines themselves. But for a while it had been mainly his doubt that had held him back.

Lying with her as a husband and wife changed things for them both. It crossed a line between the formal but distant marriage they had and something far more intimate. Something that came with complications like children.

He wasn’t ready for children. Nor even for a family. And Greenlands wasn’t ready either. Children would forever change the line of succession and one day the people would have to bend their knees to a half elven lord.

Of course his cousin would be overjoyed by the news. Still on the trail, his last pigeon had spoken of his spending some time in Tendarin before completing his journey. The moment he heard that Iros had started recovering, Heriot would be gone. Iros was certain of that. He had wealth and a life of ease in a comfortable city. He could spend his days reading or painting, passing time with other nobles, and being served. All without ever having to lift a finger. The last thing Heriot wanted was to return to a simple farming realm and have to do some work.

“That you have not yet made me your wife as you should.” Iros winced as the accusation hit home, and he didn’t know quite what to say. Sophelia had been sharing his bed now for more than three weeks, and his health was improving daily. It was hard to keep her at arms length when he was a man and she his wife. It was already bad enough that some among the servants had started a rumour after that first night she had shared his bed that she was with child. A rumour that had spread further through the town with each passing day.

“I do not wish to dishonour you.”

“I am your wife!” She stood up to her full height, which was barely above that of his shoulder, and stamped her foot. By the divines he had to admit that she looked good when she did it. And things swayed that were supposed to sway on a woman. Every day that passed seemed to add to her appeal. “You dishonour me by leaving me untouched.”

“But -.” There was no but as she spoke over the top of him.

“It is true that this is a marriage that neither of us would have chosen. But it does not matter. It is our marriage, witnessed by the Mother. You are my husband. I am your wife. Some things are expected of a husband and wife.”

She reached up to kiss him, and when his arms instinctively wrapped themselves around her waist, she put her hands on his, pushed them down and the swords with them. They fell to the ground with a clatter, all so that she could wrap herself around him. And by the Divines she felt good when she did.

“Those are not the swords that a husband should hold against his wife.” She whispered the cheeky words into his ear and sent shivers down his spine. He would have denied it but the sword she was speaking of was already standing ready and she surely knew it.

“I’m still weak.”

“If you’re strong enough to dance in the courtyard with your swords, you’re strong enough to dance in the bedchamber with your wife.” She was determined he realised as she suddenly grabbed his hands in hers and then started pulling him back inside the castle, and he had no idea how to say no to her.

“I could get you with child.”

“Is that not the Mother’s purpose in creating men and women?”

Soon she was all but dragging him through the kitchen and the hallways as if her life depended on it and giving the servants short words if they foolishly asked a question about what she was doing with their lord. Very soon she had him at the door to their bedchamber and was pushing him inside.

“The people will talk.” It was a desperate tactic and they both knew it.

“They already do.” She slammed the door shut behind them. Sophelia was right of course. They had been gossiping since the first night she had shared his bedchamber and half the town already had her with child. “Besides, it would be nice if they actually gossiped the truth for once.”

“Are you -.”

“You are the only man I will ever know. I am the only woman you will know as well. Surely we should at least know one another or ours will be a very long, very boring marriage.” And her hands were at the strings to his cuirass, untying them, hastily. He gave up resisting her then, and settled for kissing her instead. There seemed little else to do and she hungrily returned his passion. But she didn’t stop undressing him, and his armour soon clattered on the stone floor. His vest followed quickly before she rushed over to the bed demanding that he hurry.

He looked up as his leggings finally hit the floor to see Sophelia already completely naked and on her hands and knees on the bed, waiting for him.

“Why are you like that?” By the Divines it wasn’t what he wanted to say, she looked so very good, and far more rounded than he had expected.

“Is this not right?” She stared at him, her big blue eyes open so very wide as if worried that she’d done something wrong, and he knew he didn’t want her to ever think that.

“Not for our first time.” He went to her, sat down on the bed beside her, and wrapped an arm around her waist, amazed at how soft and warm her skin was. It had been a very long time.

“Come.” He pulled her to him, and gently kissed her on the lips. Soon she was lying on the bed beside him, her body melting into his, and he was letting his free hand explore her, surprised at how good she felt. He let his lips gently follow the curve of her neck. And when his hand found her perfectly round buttocks she gasped and slid her leg over his.

“You are so very beautiful.” Iros murmured it into her ear and was rewarded with a smile.

“Are you sure?” She had asked it so many times already, for some reason doubting her beauty, and yet she still had to ask again.

“Very.”

“Then you are a very lucky man.”