Days Of Light And Shadow (52 page)

But that wasn’t what he cared about. Not when he’d heard the brigand almost name his master. And especially not when he’d all but said that that master was an elf. The very idea shocked Finell, and he wanted desperately to deny it. It wasn’t right. It couldn’t be true. And yet the brigand had no reason to lie.

“Oh but I think you couldn’t.” Finell stalled for time as he couldn’t think what to say, and he desperately wanted to know who had given this foul creature the order to hurt Elwene.

“Really elf!” The big man spat at him again, and missed by an even wider mark. Maybe his sight was already starting to fail. “We killed his entire troop when they thought they were getting ready to ambush us. We cut their heads off. Sixty of his finest soldiers, and they were little more than children with toy swords.”

“And then when I told him what we had done to his precious soldiers, he nearly wet himself in front of me. A coward as well as a fool.”

“So how did he explain that little failure to his most exalted high lord anyway? Or didn’t he have to? He did say once before after we killed the stupid little brat’s parents that he could twist that runt any way he wanted.”

“And how did he explain the price? A full jar of moon silver. Three full weights of gold pieces. Surely he had to empty the treasury to pay for us.”

Finell stood there almost rooted to the ground. His entire world seemed to go black somehow, and it was as though the floor was opening up beneath him, threatening to swallow him whole. This man had killed his parents? And his sister? For the longest time he stood there, unable to think, his mouth simply hanging open.

And the worst of it was that he knew who his master had to be. It couldn’t be him. But it had to be.

Y’aris! It was a nightmare. His closest advisor. His protector. The one who had saved him from all those enemies. His friend for so many years. And yet he was also a traitor. A betrayer. A demon follower. It all made no sense and yet it also made perfect sense.

Finell felt as though he’d just fallen into a pit of darkness. A well of despair. His misery grew as bit by bit he slowly understood it all.

Y’aris hadn’t fled simply because he’d been driven from the town. He’d feared the trial. He’d fled because he had done all those things the elders’ said he had. He hadn’t hired demon worshippers by some sort of accident. He worshipped the same demon. He hadn’t defended him from enemies, he’d created enemies out of his friends and even his family, and then killed them. And all those dead bodies, they were innocent elves. He’d destroyed his family, murdered them, all of them, and with each new death moved a little closer to him. He’d lied to him. Every day, every hour, every second he’d lied to him.

It was a long time before Finell realised that the brigand was talking to him, calling him names, abusing him, and a lot longer before he could pay him any attention. And then he didn’t want to. All he wanted to do was take his knife and stick it through the big man’s heart. Again and again and again. But that would be too quick. And first there was one thing that he needed to know. He waited for the brigand to ask.

“Elf, you said you could stop this. What do you want?”

“Want? Me? Why should I want anything from you? After all, what have you got to offer?”

“Coin, gold and moon silver, services that no others can undertake. Whatever you want.”

“You can tell me where your master walks.”

“Walks? That black hearted runt doesn’t walk anywhere. He rides with his servants, a few puny soldiers and those foul priests. We saw him a few days back, riding among them, his face a veil of anger. He rode south on the old copper trail, but where he rides too I don’t know.”

“Priests?”

“Grey cloaked men. Wrapped from head to foot in grey. Their faces masked. Hands covered in leather. Feet wrapped up in leather bindings. And they carry whips instead of true weapons.”

“Inquisitors!” It could only be them, and Y’aris had been very insistent that they hire them as he recalled. But priests? That didn’t seem right to him. Unless they were priests to the demon he followed. But it made sense. He hadn’t hired them as inquisitors at all. He’d simply brought his master’s servants into the city so that they could work his evil with him. All while he lied to him and told him that they would find his enemies. They hadn’t. They’d betrayed his friends. His family. His house. They were his enemies.

All those people dead. All innocent as the elders had said. All lies from Y’aris. And all given freely to his demon serving kin by him. Y’aris had lied to him and like a fool he’d believed him. And because of that he’d turned against his own people. His family. The elders had spoken the truth. Every word.

“My master? Not yours?” The brigand had finally realised something of the truth. Something of why Finell had poisoned him.

“So he’s your enemy, and you want him. I can get him for you. I can track them. Lead you straight to him. Their horses’ hooves marked the trail south very clearly.”

“I can track them myself.” It might have been many years since Finell had done his training in the wilds, but he still knew enough he thought. And in any case the brigand would be dead soon.

“Not like me. And even if you found them, what could you do against his forces? You are alone after all. Aren’t you? Poison is never the weapon of soldiers. And you will need soldiers to kill him. Soldiers like us.”

“I seem to be doing well enough don’t you think?” Finell mocked him, and wasn’t at all surprised to see the flash of pure hatred on his enemy’s face. “After all I got you and all your men.”

Anders screamed then, a sound of anguish and rage. A sound that pleased Finell more than he could have imagined. But the brigand controlled himself soon enough as he knew he had to fight for his life. Or at least he thought he could save his life.

“Y’aris doesn’t seem the sort to drink ale. And his priests, they don’t seem the sort to drink at all. There is something wrong with them. Something not quite of the living.” But what did a man dying in agony truly know of the living? All he really knew was that he didn’t want to die. And he hoped Finell might save him. There was no hope. And since he had told him nearly all he needed to know, there was little point in letting him believe he had a chance.

“There is no cure.” Finell spat on the big man as he writhed in agony on his bedroll in front of him. “But for the knowledge of his path I can take your mind off the pain of the poison for a bit.” He drew his belt knife carefully, concealing it in his sleeve so that he wouldn’t see, already knowing what he wanted to do. What he needed to do. For justice for his sister if nothing else. It could be the only righteous act he would perform in his entire life.

“Please. Anything.” The scar-faced brigand was in no position to argue, and he knew it. But he also didn’t understand. He still thought Finell might do something for him if he gave him what he asked for.

“Then close your eyes and pray.” Unbelievably the big man did just that, though Finell had to wonder which god he prayed to. One of the humans’ nine divines? The Mother? Or more likely some demon. But it didn’t matter as he saw his enemy lying there, completely helpless before him, and he knew that his moment had come.

He raised his knife high above his head in both hands, and then with every hate filled muscle and tendon in his body he brought it down straight into the man’s groin, tearing his entire manhood free with a single lusty blow.

The big man screamed. An ear piercing shriek that would have woken the dead. A sound that warmed Finell’s soul. And then he shrieked some more as he bucked and writhed and finally brought his hands down to the gash between his legs. He would have reached for him if Finell hadn’t backed away, and maybe harmed him. But no amount of rage and hatred would let him reach him. After that he fell back and screamed a lot more, all while Finell stood there and watched. And most importantly, while no one from the rest of the camp came rushing to his aid.

In time the screaming stopped, and instead he actually began crying. For the pain, for the loss of his manhood, or maybe even in fear of the darkness coming, Finell didn’t know which, and he didn’t really care. It was enough that he suffered. That he suffered as no man before him.

“Why?” It was little more than a whisper. Between the poison and the blood loss he probably didn’t have that much strength left. But he had enough to ask. And Finell had a need to tell him.

“Because that young woman that you raped and murdered was my sister.! Because those two parents that you killed, were my parents.! And because you need to go to the underworld screaming in agony for your evil!. So that you can be gnawed on for eternity by the demons and know that it is what you deserve.”

It should have been a victory, and in a way it was. The understanding slowly growing in the brigand’s eyes was heart warming, as was the fear behind it. But it still didn’t bring back his sister. It didn’t undo what had been done to her. And it didn’t bring back his parents either. The world was dark and cold and this little spark of warmth would not last him long he knew. But maybe when he found Y’aris and did the same to him, it would last a little longer. And in the end, that was all he had left.

“Oh and the poison, it’s witchbane. A soul poison. The pain you feel now is only the start. Your bones burn now during this first day and that will only get worse. At night your blood will catch fire as well. Tomorrow or maybe the next day, you will start bleeding from the eyes and soon after you will go blind. Darkness will be your world. From then on, three or four days perhaps, you will be delivered screaming to the underworld. Though it will seem like an eternity before you finally arrive.”

There was silence for a while after that, as the brigand took in what he was saying. But then to his surprise the big man started laughing. Not a merry sound though. A bitter laugh filled with pain and hatred. A laugh dredged up from the bowels of the underworld. And a laugh that spoke of recrimination and damnation. For both of them.

“So boy, you’ve finally found an enemy to strike at. Good for you.” He laughed some more and something in Finell’s intestines started squirming. He knew something bad was coming, and he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop him speaking without killing him and he couldn’t kill him, not yet. Not before he’d suffered everything a man could know.

“But what about all those others? All the innocent blood on your hands? Humans, elves. So many dead because of you. Oh Y’aris may have pushed and pulled you. He may have played you like a puppet as he brought about his war. But in the end it was you who gave the order.”

“Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? More? So many dead. So many mothers who won’t have their children return home. So many wives whose husbands will never step through that front door again. So many other innocents that your soldiers killed in your name. Children and babies too if what the bards say is true. And all of it because of you.” It was Finell’s turn to cry out, and he screamed with fury as the big man laughed at him. And he wasn’t finished.

“You blamed the humans for the crime of your own advisor. You launched a war against them when they had done nothing. What else did you do simply because your troll skin adviser told you too?”

“No!” Finell screamed his denial at him with all his strength, but only because he knew it was true. He had done those things. And out of the mouth of his most hated enemy, a creature so foul that he should never have drawn breath, was being spoken the truth. Worse than that, the very truth his own dear sister had spoken to him so many times.

“Yes.” The big man laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, and Finell shrivelled inside.

“I have only a few more hours or days of this, and then I will be in the blackest of underworlds. The demons will sup on my bones. So be it. I always knew they would.” There was nothing of fear or regret in his words. Only bile.

“But my crimes are small compared to yours. Tiny. And you young poxy prince, you will be joining me in the underworld. And when you arrive, after the demons have finished with us both, I will sup on your bones in turn. I have only a few days to wait. But you have a lifetime. A lifetime of fear ahead as you know that I will be waiting for you, and that there is nothing you can do. Your precious Mother will not save you. The nine Divines have washed their hands of you already. There can be no forgiveness for you. And the demons of the nine hells rub their hands with glee as they wait for you. You will live in fear, and die in fear, and dwell in the pits for eternity as my prey.”