Days Of Light And Shadow (8 page)

Sometimes though Iros wondered if he might be his grandfather. Dead many years, before he had passed on Gallis had become completely crazed. Breathing deeply of the mist of the moon maiden as they said. He had spent the final decades of his life speaking with those who weren’t there, sometimes even openly arguing with them. And every so often Iros noticed Finell’s attention wandering, as he looked away, perhaps also seeing people that weren’t there. Would that be a bad thing? Would the mist make his rule any worse? Iros couldn’t be sure.

What he did know was that thus far his rule had been a poor one. He had exercised his loathing for those not of the purest blood and the best families at every turn. The envoys were treated with disrespect, something they simply had to endure. Justice was denied to his own people as he picked and chose whom he liked. Right and wrong was decided purely on the basis of a person’s blood and family. And his laws were a travesty as he consistently punished the low born and outsiders with taxes and tariffs and rewarded the high born with opportunities they could never have dreamed of under his father’s rule. Some days he seemed to be the very servant of misfortune. Aris’ pet. Other days Iros wondered if it was Sandara the Mistress of the Night that he served. Whoever it was, he was convinced it wasn’t the Mother. She would never countenance such darkness. Maybe that was why her servants weren’t allowed in the court.

In Leafshade a low born could be fined and thrown in his new prison for daring to say something unkind about one of the high born. Property could be seized and people put in irons for disagreeing with one of Finell’s edicts. And a high born could be excused any crime including murder as if it was nothing. Not yet even a man and Finell was well on his way to becoming a tyrant. And the worst of it in Iros’ eyes, was that the people seemed to accept it. All save a few outspoken priests. The rest wandered around the city in their carefully laundered robes and exchanged pleasantries as if the world was perfect.

Iros didn’t understand that. He truly didn’t understand it.

He didn’t fully understand how a man’s house could mean so much. Yet to the elves it was everything. A house wasn’t just family and lineage, it was far more than that. It was the very reason for their existence. And belonging to the right house was everything.

“High Lord!” A man came rushing in to the Royal Chamber crying out for the high lord even before the real business of the day had begun, and everyone turned to see who had interrupted them. Even Finell looked. And when they looked they found that they could not look away.

The man was an elf, actually a priest. He should have known better than to interrupt. He should not have even been there. Priests were barred from the Royal Chamber and the Court by ancient law. Ever since the age of kings had passed. But no one said anything. Not when the man was obviously distraught, dressed in torn robes and covered in dried blood. So were the others who chased him in. Something terrible had happened.

“We were attacked high lord.” The man fell to his knees in front of Finell, the blood on his clothes obvious for all to see. And Iros knew that the same question was running through all their minds, who? Who would attack the elves in one of their sacred groves? Who would dare? But someone obviously had. Looking around at the rest of the party, and seeing them all bloodied and broken, Iros knew that someone had done just that. And worse, from the shapes under the blankets on the wagons he could see outside through the huge doors he knew that someone had even killed their people. It was an outrage.

“Who? Who was attacked?” For once Finell actually asked a sensible question instead of simply sitting on his living throne, making everyone miserable.

“The grove High Lord. The Wildwood Rose Grove.” The high lord gasped. They all did. A sacred grove attacked. That was terrible enough. But Iros, like surely everyone else there, knew that that was one of the stops on the high lord’s sister’s pilgrimage.

“Elwene!” The high lord barely gasped out her name in shock. And then he grew angry. “Who attacked you priest?”

“Humans high lord. Brigands in armour and on horses. They carried cold steel with them, and they descended on us like a pack of wolves. We were not armed.”

Iros’ blood ran cold. It had chilled from the very first word out of the man’s mouth. Humans. His people. The elves already regarded them as savages. Violent primitives with dangerous weapons. It would not take a lot to turn that disdain into loathing and accusation. And from there worse could follow if they were not very careful.

“High Lord.” Iros instantly rose before going down on one knee before Finell, hoping to stop this nightmare from becoming worse. Hoping it would be enough. It wouldn’t be but he had to try.

“This attack is an outrage. Innocent people attacked. It is unforgivable. And I know that King Herrick would agree that such a crime cannot be allowed to go unanswered. Whoever has done this, he will hunt them down if they are in our lands, and bring them to you for your people’s justice.” He would send a pigeon this very afternoon to confirm that, though in truth he didn’t really need to. Herrick was a good man and a wise king. He would know what needed doing. But as he looked up he realised that Finell wasn’t paying him any attention. Instead he was looking out through the far doors at the wagons loaded down with the fallen, horror in his eyes.

“Elwene?” It was just a whisper, but everyone heard it. Iros heard it, and his stomach jumped into his mouth as he realised the terrible truth. There were so many bodies under those blankets.

“I’m sorry High Lord.” The man could not even look at his king as he forced out the words. But he had told him all that he needed to.

“No.” Finell looked shaken, possibly for the first time since Iros had known him. “It cannot be.”

But even as he said it his eyes returned to the wagon, and then he jumped down and his feet started marching him there. The rest of the court followed in complete silence. Iros followed too, when he’d found his feet again, fearing what they’d find. Fearing it more than anything he had ever known. The high lord’s sister. Murdered by brigands. Human brigands. In one of her people’s sacred groves. There were no words for how terrible that crime was. And yet as he followed at a respectful distance he had the terrible foreboding that it was only going to get worse.

“Remove the sheets.” It was probably the very worst thing Finell could have wanted to see, but the guards still obeyed their high lord’s command. They had no choice.

“By the Divines!” Iros was shocked by what he could see, and he was nowhere near the wagon. But even from the distance he could see the blood and the dismembered bodies. It was like the meat market. Someone had chopped up the fallen, butchered them. Who would do that? Who could be so evil? And the high lord’s sister among them. Someone had placed her dismembered body upon the top of the others, and he instantly spotted her blue hair.

“Elwene.” Finell nearly fell to his knees in front of them, only the guards holding him up, and Iros could see the heartbreak in his face. For the first time Iros felt a trace of sorrow for the elf. He was a poor excuse for a ruler, an elf or a man, but no one should have to endure such a thing.

“Was it ..quick?” When he’d regained at least a little of his strength Finell asked probably the only question a brother could ask faced with a tragedy like this. He had to have hope that maybe she hadn’t suffered. But even that hope was dashed as the priest fell down on his knees in front of him, tears flowing down his cheeks. He shook his head, but by then he didn’t need to.

“Tell me.” Iros closed his eyes as the high lord demanded to know everything. He shouldn’t know it. No one should have to hear such a thing. But still he was obeyed, and bit by bit, his voice choked with emotion, the man told his sorry tale. Of how the brigands had set upon them. Men in black steel, riding out of nowhere with their weapons drawn. Cutting the people down with axe and sword and bow. Then the leader a big man in black armour with a scared face, had violated Finell’s sister, before beheading her.

From where he was standing Iros could only see the high lord’s back. But he could still see the pain in it. He could see the anger too, and he knew that this dark day would come with penalties.

Then Finell turned, his face a mask of pain as he fixed Iros with a terrible stare, and marched for him. Iros went down on his knee again, it was the only thing to do.

“High Lord I am so sorry -.” But he wasn’t able to finish as Finell finally lost all reason.

“Get out!” He screamed it at him, his cry so loud and shrill that it could surely be heard from one side of the city to the other. And the grief, it was so terrible that it tore at everyone’s heart. Even Iros’ heart. “Get out now you filthy utra. Out!”

There was no choice of course. There was absolutely nothing Iros could do to help. There was nothing he could say. So he did exactly as he had been commanded and backed away, bowing every step of the way, Pita beside him. And all the time he was thinking that it was so unfair. That his people should be blamed for the actions of a few. That he should be blamed.

But as he watched Finell giving in to his tears, falling into his black blooded advisor’s embrace, Iros knew that the price of this terrible day had not even begun to be paid, and while he was safe enough, there were many others who weren’t. This was going to be a dark day for any human in the city. Maybe the first of many.

The traders in their caravans, so many of them, so many of them human, so many more of them with mixed human blood, and all of them at risk. The visitors to the libraries and markets. So many scholars and priests on their pilgrimages. The various shrines to the Divines dotted throughout the city. The students sent to the academies. And so many others. The families of his staff. And anyone else unfortunate enough to be wandering through the elven realm. All of them had to be warned. They had to leave. The elves would be angry. Very angry. And with the high lord even more so he had a very great fear for his people.

The moment he was out of sight of the Royal Chamber, Iros took to his heels as he ran for the markets, and protocol be damned. If a few elves stared at him, so be it. There was little time and a great many lives in danger.

In fact if someone had deliberately set out to cause problems for humans with the elves, they could not have done a better job.

Maybe they had.

Chapter Nine.

Lower Wold was a small farming village, a peaceful place where nothing ever happened. The people liked it that way. It was just large enough that the village could have three competing inns, as well as a blacksmith, a wheelwright, a school, a few trading stores and of course a market square for visiting traders. In most ways it was no different to any of the other farming villages surrounding them, and the people were perfectly happy with that as well.

They liked their lives to be simple. To tend the fields and the herds by day, and at night to be able to retire to their cottages. While to many the cottages would have been little more than shacks, they were homes to them, keeping them warm and dry and the children safe. It was enough.

The people knew nothing of the elves’ anger. They had only recently heard through the travelling bards that the high lord’s sister had been murdered by brigands, and while they were saddened by the news, it was still something that was many leagues away. It had nothing to do with them. A few of them had said prayers for her at the various altars, but there was little more that could be done.

They had no idea that the elves were on the warmonger’s trail. They had no thought that many of them were in fact creeping up on them as they went about their daily business. And they wouldn’t have understood even if they had known. Whatever had happened, whoever had committed the terrible deed, it was none of theirs.

Then the first of the flaming arrows found the thatched roofs and it didn’t matter. War had come to them.

There was panic of course, so many roofs burning all at once, and little chance of putting out the fires. But the people still tried. The wells were pushed in to urgent action as pail after pail was hoisted out of them and handed to the nearest people who in turn began racing to the nearest houses. The women and children gathered in the village square, safe from the fires and praying that the damage would not be too terrible. But as the flames leapt for the sky and the dark smoke started gathering in the calm air, they knew it would be.

And none of them realised, that the fires had been deliberately lit. Or that those who had lit the fires, were closing in on them.

The first they knew was when some of the men began falling as they ran with buckets in hand, and it took a while to understand even that. Why were they falling? Had they tripped? And why weren’t they getting up? Then some of the closest could see the arrows sticking out of their bodies and they understood.

“Brigands!” Someone yelled out the warning and it seemed to waken a few to the danger. But too late. Heartbeats later arrows started raining out of the sky in their hundreds, and the men with their buckets fell before them like wheat being scythed. Hundreds fell and lay on the ground, bleeding, while those in the centre of the village began running for the square, with no idea what to do when they got there. Very few of them made it even that far, as the enemy finally began appearing, marching into the village with their longbows held high. As they marched they launched more and more of the arrows at the backs of the fleeing men, cutting them down in the streets.

And then finally they reached the heart of the village, and there were only the women and children left. Huddling in fear in a circle as the elves approached them from all sides.

“Please.” Some of the woman cried out, frightened, as the black clad elves came closer and closer, the children pushed behind them. But it was of no use. Even as they screamed someone gave an order and the longbows sang once more, cutting them down where they cowered. Women and children, the elderly and infirm, all were targeted.

And when the elves were finished with their longbows, they took out their swords and started hunting among the fallen, looking for any survivors. There were some, mostly children who had been saved by their mothers flinging themselves on top of them with their dying efforts. But that wouldn’t save them. The elves pulled the bodies of the dead off the children, and stabbed them all though the heart.

The song of death did not stop until not a body so much as flinched.

Then after gathering up their arrows and looting the corpses, they left. They simply marched out of the burning village as if it was nothing. As if nothing had happened and they hadn’t just murdered maybe a thousand innocent people.

But then they had places to go, and more towns and villages to attack. They didn’t have time to celebrate such a minor victory. They had a war to win.

There were so many more humans to kill.