Days Of Light And Shadow (47 page)

“Wadding!” The fourth man on the team pulled out a small packet of wadding and rammed it down the cannon. Strictly speaking the wadding shouldn’t have been necessary and so it seemed like a waste of time. But the cannon had one weakness, it couldn’t fire down hill. That was a problem when the emplacement was at the top of a  hill. So the wadding acted as a block, preventing the shot and the powder from rolling out of the cannon when it was pointed down. Even with it they could only tilt the cannon down very slightly, but it was only a very gentle hill.

“Aim!” Master Formain bellowed the command and instantly the first two men on the crew dropped their implements and set to turning the large wheels that turned the cannon. One tilted it up and down, the other swung it around in an arc. But both of them were slower than Iros would have liked as the men had to spin the wheels many times to make the cannon move even a small amount. That would have to be worked on.

“Fire!” This time it wasn’t one of the crew that obeyed the dwarf, it was Master Formain himself who lowered the lit brand on the end of a long pole. The others just leapt out of the way and covered their ears. There was a reason for that.

The instant the brand touched the cannon it was as though they’d all been struck by lightning. Flame leapt out of the cannon, shooting forwards at least a dozen feet like a dragon’s breath, and the noise! It was louder than thunder. Louder than any noise he’d ever heard before. It was so loud that it hurt. There was a reason he realised that the crew all had little wads of cloth in their ears. But Iros didn’t care about that when he looked out and saw the field in front of them, and the shocking damage the blast had done.

For at least seven hundred paces the little coloured sheets of timber that had been standing in for an enemy were down. Knocked down in a broad swathe of destruction. And many of them weren’t just knocked down, they were ripped completely apart. Dozens and dozens of them. By a single blast. In all his years as a soldier Iros had never seen such damage, and at such range.

“Sandara’s fangs!” It was wrong to call out the name of a demon even in jest, but it seemed right somehow to use the mistress of the night’s name as he witnessed the terrible destruction. This thing could destroy an army with only a few shots. Especially if the elves tried their normal tactic of forming a line of archers first. And he had dozens of them being installed.

“Sweet Mother!” Both of the Elders were staring at the scene of destruction in front of them, and both had turned several shades whiter than normal. He could see the look of absolute horror on their faces. And as both elders and elves he could understand why. No one liked war. No one liked the thought of death and destruction. They even less than others.

“It is only a defensive weapon.” He found himself shouting at them, probably because of the ringing in his ears, and even so he wasn’t sure that they could hear him. He could barely hear himself. “It’s far too big to move. So if no one attacks us then no one will die. And these will keep the people safe.”

It was true and yet somehow even he couldn’t quite believe it. But it didn’t matter. No matter who or what came for them, and they all agreed that someone would, his people would be safe behind these cannon.

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity Iros knew a feeling of satisfaction. He knew that he had done what he needed to do. He had protected his people.

His parents would be proud.

Chapter Seventy Three.

Finell wandered through the great forests of his homeland, filled with anger. More than anger, fury. And maybe something even more than that.

A man without a house. Without a home. Without a family or friends. Without even a place to rest his head at night. It was unthinkable. To have gone in a matter of hours from being high lord to being less than a beggar. Death would have been kinder. But no, the elders wouldn’t grant him that mercy. They said that since he hadn’t consorted with the demon himself, that taking his life was too great a punishment. So they had simply taken everything else instead.

And then they had cast him out.

Exiled! Unnamed! The very idea was a shock to him. He couldn’t believe that that could have been done to him. That the people, his people, had judged him, found him guilty of crimes against Elaris, and then banished him from the realm. And yet he had done nothing save to try and protect the people from the hated humans. The murderous beasts that had invaded Elaris, and killed his sister.

Of course it had come as a shock to see the bodies. So many of them and most of them elves. Y’aris had told him nothing of that. Nothing of how many he had locked away in that dungeon of his. Nothing of how they had been beaten to death. Tortured, and with little purpose in mind. And he had told him nothing of where he had found his inquisitors. Just as he had told him nothing of the fall of House Vora and the call for his trial.

That still made little sense to him. The man was his friend and his confidante. He had appointed him to the position of his high commander and made him his main advisor. He had given Y’aris, an elf of no family or house, everything. He had treated him as a friend, even as family. He had even forgiven him his military failures. And in return, when he thought he had his loyalty and friendship, Y’aris had abandoned him. Frightened of being executed, he had run away and left him alone to face the mess he had created. It made no sense.

The only answer he had was that Y’aris had tried too hard. That in his desperation to identify his high lord’s enemies he had gone too far. Hiring inquisitors who could do the job and find the answers he needed, even though they consorted with demons. Arresting too many and dealing with them too harshly. And then when all his mistakes had come to light, he had lost the courage to tell him the truth of what he’d done. He’d failed him.

But it didn’t matter what Y’aris had or hadn’t said. Had or hadn’t done. Finell was or had been the high lord. He should have known.  Blaming his advisor wouldn’t help him. It hadn’t helped him. Not when the traitorous black blood had run away rather than face the people. Run away to leave him to face their anger alone. That was truly what hurt. He could at least have told him first. Instead of simply abandoning him without a word. Without a hope of defending himself.

Not that he had truly had any hope. Nothing could have saved him. And nothing would help him any more.

Everything was lost. His throne, his family, his home, everything. All that he had left were the clothes on his back and his life, and he wasn’t sure that that was worth very much any more. But in the end he wanted to live. He needed to live, if only so that he could strike back at those who had done this to him. At those who had killed Elwene.

And there was still one that he knew had been involved. One foul breathed human that he knew had at the very least passed the order on for the death of his sister. The envoy. He didn’t understand how the man still lived. Y’aris had told him of the witchbane he’d had rubbed in his wounds as they’d watched him being carted out of the city. But it didn’t matter.

Iros of Drake had to die. And if Finell no longer had an army to do his bidding, then he would have to kill him himself. And before he died Iros would tell him who had given him the order. And who he had passed that order on to. Who the scar faced man was and where he could find him. If Finell no longer had inquisitors to do his bidding or a prison to do it in, then he would have to do it himself. But regardless, he would do it.

And as for his traitorous advisor Y’aris! That still hurt him. He was sure that the elders had got it wrong. That Y’aris could never have done all those things they said he had. But even so Y’aris had betrayed him at the end. Y’aris had not just failed him, he had abandoned him. He had lied to him. Hidden from him the truth of what Tenir had done. His friend. Y’aris would die too. That he had made mistakes was one thing. That he had abandoned him was another.

And after him, Tenir had to die as well, for disgracing him so. For destroying his house. For unnaming him. That was an act of unparalleled evil. The blood would flow like water.

They would all die. In time.

For the moment though, he simply had to survive. Not something he knew much about. All his life he’d been looked after. Cared for. Food had been brought to him when he hungered. He had had a roof over his head to keep him dry, and a soft bed to sleep in. Being out in the forests on his own was new to him. New and frightening.

Every sound he heard was a dire wolf ready to pounce. When the leaves in the trees rustled he was certain he could see shadow monkeys in them, flashing their sharp teeth as they readied themselves to jump on him. Even the birds in the sky he feared were crested eagles and griffins, out hunting a quick meal. 

The nights were worse. With nowhere to sleep save the ground, nothing to eat since he didn’t know how to hunt, and even his fire lighting skills forgotten, each night he feared would be his last.

As those first few days and nights had slowly passed, he had relearned at least a few childhood skills like lighting a fire and building a shelter. So he could keep himself warm and dry. He had even fashioned a crude spear and harvested some berries. But as the weeks passed he knew that the dangers had not gone away. Not the important ones. It was never the cold and the wild animals that had been his biggest threat. It was people. There were many who would wish him harm. A great many people. And some would kill him on sight.

It made it hard to decide where to go. Where to hide. And in the end he would have to leave Elaris. After he had taken his revenge.

For the moment though the borderlands between Irothia and Elaris were where he would have to make his home. Where he would have to hide. And he would have to hide, because he was unwelcome anywhere. He knew that even as it scared him. But at least there were great forests to hide out in. As long as he didn’t wander too closely to either Elaris or Irothia.

In Irothia he would be instantly recognised as an elf, and after the war elves were hated. And when they saw his blue hair some would guess the rest. In Irothia the humans would hunt him down, since he was their most hated enemy. In Elaris where he should be just another elf, his face was known by all. He couldn’t hide at all. In Elaris it was his own people that would hunt him. He had been exiled after all.

And even in the wilds between them there would still be bounty hunters on his trail. As soon as King Herrick found out of his downfall, he would surely put a bounty on his head. After all if he was no longer high lord, he had no protection.

The borderlands were still the safest place for him though. There were enough other elves in them that he wouldn’t instantly stand out, and few enough that not everyone would know his face.

He would have to find ways to disguise himself so that none recognised him, learn how to hunt and fish and feed himself, and maybe ask a few questions along the way about brigands. These were after all, notoriously wild lands, patrolled infrequently, and if ever there was a place where brigands could be found, it was here.

The scar faced man might even be here. If he was lucky, he might not have to hunt down the envoy in his land to find him. And if there was one man who had to die more terribly than any other it was him. Iros, Tenir and Y’aris, could all die quickly and easily when he found them and it didn’t have to be immediately. Their deaths could wait. But the scar faced man had to die soonest and in the most terrible of agony. His death would take time. His screaming would endure. It had to. Because when it was all over and Elwene had been properly avenged, he would have to find a new life for himself somewhere else. And wherever and whatever that life was it was never going to be as good as the life he’d lost. The memory of his vengeance would have to sustain him.

Maybe when it was all over Finell would find a place to hide in the other realms. But at what cost? He was an elf. The great forests of Elaris were his home. Even if he had no great experience in living in them. And to live among outsiders was a bitter thought. And it would be hard to even find a land to take him.

He couldn’t live in the Thallion Ranges. Even though they would care less than the Father as to who he was, the dwarves would treat him with the utmost contempt simply for being an elf. They hated all elves. Solaria could never become home to him. The sprites were followers of the Mother, and they would know who he was the moment they saw him. Since the Grove had exiled him from Elaris then Solaria would do the same. As for the trolls, they had no respect for anyone who couldn’t ride a horse and swing an axe. Besides which the mountains were a hard land to survive in.

Which left only Vidoran and the gnomes. A peaceful land where none would wish him harm. But equally, without gold and finery he could never make a life for himself. Not even a servant’s life. The gnomes didn’t welcome beggars.

Thankfully before he had to worry about any of that he had his vengeance to take. It wasn’t much of a purpose for living. But it was all he had. And for the moment it was enough.