Days Of Light And Shadow (9 page)

Chapter Ten.

The court was full as ever, and Iros would normally be grateful for that. If Finell did not listen to him, and he was sure that the rotten little brat wouldn’t, then maybe some of the other nobles would. And the position of high lord was determined by the relative strengths of the seven great houses and the deals they had made among themselves. If Finell was shown to be deceitful or dark of heart, his house would suffer for his shame. And even a high lord had to answer to his house. House Vora would not tolerate Finell shaming them. It was always important for an envoy to remember that when he addressed a ruler he also addressed his people.

Of course this day it was him that the people did not look happy with. In fact seated in their chairs, dressed in their best robes, they looked angry with him. Angered with his words. And probably with good reason given what he was accusing their high lord of. Still he had to continue. It was demanded of him.

“Lower Wold High Lord. My king demands answers. This attack is an outrage. An offence against the codes. A shame against the very name of Elaris. Its stench reaches to the Divines themselves.” Iros had to be firm with the high lord, those were his instructions. Actually his instructions had been far harsher than that, but he would have swiftly found himself with an arrow through the heart if he’d obeyed them to the letter.

But it wasn’t difficult to show his anger when Lower Wold was a small town in Greenlands. These were his people that the elves had murdered. And it was murder. There was no war and even if there had been, the sick and the elderly, women and children would never have been fair targets. It was hard not to simply stand there and scream at him. That was partly why he had Pita standing there with him. That and just in case he ended up doing something stupid and getting himself killed, so that there was someone to report back to the king.

“And I have already told you utra. I did not send soldiers against your pathetic little village. Why would I?” Finell leaned forwards on his throne, his face a mask of anger. “Or are you calling me a liar?”

It was a challenge, and a very clear threat. Iros knew it. Everyone there did. And he knew it still had to be met.

“Whether you sent them or not High Lord, the murderers were elves in blackened chain armour. Elves with longbows. Watchmen. An army of them, five hundred strong. The witnesses have all said the same. Are you saying that you do not have control of your own army?” It was Finell’s turn to go white with rage as he realised that he was being called either a liar or an impotent ruler, and Iros knew he was about to start screaming again. The entire court knew it. He could see them bracing themselves.

Then the black hearted high commander stepped in to smooth things over, and things became somehow worse as he subtly spread his poisonous lies. The man was evil, but cunning with it. He had the tongue of a venomous serpent, and the morals to match.

“Witnesses? I thought you said there were no survivors.” His tone was soothing and conciliatory. It was a lie. And every fibre of Iros’ being wanted to leap at him and slice the elf through.

“In the town no. These murderous scum killed even the babies.” He turned to face Y’aris directly. “What sort of monstrous evil have you taught your poisonous soldiers that they should kill even babies?”

“My watchmen have no such instructions.” He was lying. Iros knew it, even if he couldn’t prove it. Black hair, black heart and black blood.

“Well they did, and there were witnesses. Those who watched the attack from afar. Those who hid.”

“So cowards then, and people too distant to see clearly.” Y’aris actually managed to smirk as he said it, and only Pita’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from drawing his blades and slaughtering the evil little elf where he stood.

“Good people. Unarmed and innocent. And people with good eyes. Not black bloods.” The entire court gasped as he openly called Y’aris that, but if his words had any effect on the black-hearted elf he didn’t show it. He just turned away, still smirking, to address Finell.

“High Lord. I think that we have our answer. Despite this poor human’s beliefs, these were brigands dressed in black armour. Perhaps even the same black armoured brigands who so brutally murdered your sweet sister Elwene.”

“You poisonous toad skin! They were elves! Your foul soldiers!” Iros finally gave in to his anger, unable to listen to such lies. He knew it was a mistake but he simply couldn’t help himself. And his cause wasn’t helped any when the trolls started stamping their feet and shouting their support. They loved a good fight, and Y’aris disgusted them. He in turn openly called them urdan, or wild animals in Common.

“High Lord. Clearly this pitiful human is distressed beyond his ability to reason. These were not our soldiers. I know where my watchmen are at all times and none of them are within the human realm. I can furnish you with the records. Besides, everyone here knows that no elf would ever do such a thing. We are not savages.” He turned back to him, and Iros could see the amused smirk still sitting on his face. The triumph dancing in his eyes. The black blood thought he had won, and maybe he had. Iros had fallen into his trap.

“I am fully capable of reason black blood.” Was it too far? Probably. But Iros had the deaths of a thousand Greenlander’s in his heart. He didn’t care if he gave offence. Not to that toad.

“But not of keeping a civil tongue in your mouth. Especially when speaking with your betters.”

“Betters Y’aris of no name?” He struck deeply with his barb, reminding everyone of who Y’aris was, and Y’aris of his lack of a house. He could see the flash of anger in the high commander’s eyes. But the black blood controlled himself.

“High Lord, while I truly accept that this poor human is distressed, I beg of you not to allow him to speak to you in this way. It is an offence against all of Elaris. He should return to his quarters and stay there until he is calm.”

The high lord nodded and that was as much as it took. A heartbeat later Iros felt strong hands grabbing him around the shoulders, and was abruptly pulled from his seat.

“What! Unhand me!”

But instead of unhanding him more of the guards arrived and suddenly he was actually lifted off the ground and then carried out of the Royal Chamber to the sound of thunderous applause. Hundreds of elves applauding his eviction. This, Iros realised as they passed through the double doors at the rear of the Royal Chamber, was not a good day for diplomacy.

And then when they actually threw him out, tossing him on the ground like a piece of rubbish, he knew that it was worse than that. Diplomacy had completely failed. He had completely failed. He had allowed himself to be out-manoeuvred by a sewer rat.

And he had to report his failure to King Herrick.

Chapter Eleven.

All was quiet in the forest as the troop leader gave the signal for his watchmen to advance. No beasts heard them. No birds were startled and made a noise as they flew away. No twigs snapped underfoot. Terwyn was pleased with that. His watchmen were well-trained, good soldiers, and they understood what was needed.

He would have liked to have been able to claim the credit for that, but in his heart he knew that it was simply that they were elves of the purest blood. Lord Y’aris was right in that. Their skills came naturally to them. Not like the foul outsiders they were advancing on.

He could see them so clearly as they crept closer, and the sight was sickening. Human for the most part, though there was other blood in some of them. Their brutish forms were an offence against decency, their rough speech more so. And of course the natural savagery of their animal nature shone through. The sooner the world was rid of these things, the better.

But he was nervous these days. He had not heard news of the main strike force for some time. No doubt they were simply advancing too far and too fast into the enemy lands to send back messengers, but still he would have liked to know of their mighty victories. And then he knew that it might not be an easy fight. There were soldiers among the enemy. Not true elven soldiers, but still wild men a step up from the simple beasts and barbarians they had encountered thus far. Men in armour. Men carrying weapons, crossbows with almost the same range as a proper longbow.

Fortunately they were unprepared. They didn’t know that his troop was nearby, and they were distracted. Loading up wagon after wagon with the loot that they had no doubt plundered from decent elves. Maybe even the loot from the obscenity that had been the raid on Lady Elwene.

Just thinking of that attack threatened to drive his sense away. The very idea of an unclean human forcing himself upon the purest of the pure, defiling her, and then foully killing her. It was all he could do not to just scream with rage and charge them. He so wanted to stick his sword into their still beating hearts and watch them die screaming as he twisted the blade. But that would be a mistake. It might get his watchmen killed. And the filthy humans might even get away.

He had to be disciplined. He had to follow the plan.

And so even though it took all his self control, as he knew it did that of all his watchmen, they continued their cautious advance through the trees, getting closer and closer, until finally they were in range. That was a glorious moment. Knowing that finally they could take the lives of these savages, and in doing so protect the true people of the land. But still it had to be done right.

He gave the signal with both hands, ordering his soldiers to draw their longbows and notch their first arrows. Then the signal to take aim. It was vital that they made their first shots count. There were only a hundred of them and at least fifty of the enemy in front of them were soldiers. Armoured soldiers. They had to die quickly.

Then, his mouth suddenly dry, Terwyn dropped his hands to the ground, the signal to let the arrows fly, and the battle was joined. It was joined well. Surely thirty of the soldiers fell to the ground instantly, dead or dying, and most of the rest were wounded.

After that panic ensued as he had expected. People were running and screaming, with no idea what was happening, and they were even knocking each other down in their hysteria. And of course while they ran around like headless chickens, his watchmen took more of them down. They made such easy targets.

The soldiers though were the only real threat, and the surviving arms men quickly took cover behind the wagons, just as he had expected that they would, but it wasn’t enough. Not when the soldiers and maybe two hundred others were sheltering behind only twenty or thirty wagons. And not when he already knew what to do about them.

Terwyn gave the signal to his soldiers, and instantly they drew the arrows they’d prepared in advance just for this moment. Then they drew their flints to set the cloth strips on their ends alight, and soon a hundred elves were standing there, tall and proud, bows drawn and flaming arrows notched as they waited for the command. It was a sight to behold. A sight to strike fear in the hearts of their enemies. A sight that could almost bring a tear to a proud soldier’s eye.

He dropped his hands again, and watched as the flaming arrows flew in a glorious arc across the sky to land exactly where they had to.

Not an enemy soldier was killed by the fiery arrows, but then they were never the targets. The flight of fire arrows was aimed directly at the wagons, and everyone of them hit. Fire from the oil soaked cloths quickly spread to wagons, and swiftly set whatever was in them alight. And that in turn frightened the horses. They were already nervous from the people screaming and running all around. They could smell the smoke and the blood, and they had no idea what was happening. And worse their masters, when they tried to calm them, stepped out from behind the protection of the wagons and were quickly brought down.

It was a stampede. The horses, still yoked to the wagons tried desperately to flee, and as they did so they took away the shelter that had been protecting the enemy. After that the battle was over.

His watchmen screamed with excitement as they launched arrow after arrow into the bodies of their enemies, knowing that the battle was theirs. And the humans, they were too stupid to know what to do. A few fell to the ground and fired back at them with their crossbows, but not many. Most of the rest ran, never realising that as they did so they simply became easy targets.

Within a matter of minutes they were all down. Fifty soldiers, two hundred and fifty others, all down, dead or dying, and the battle was over.

Terwyn gave the signal to put the long bows away and draw swords. It was time to finish it. To make certain that none of these savages ever harmed another elf. And so as a troop they advanced on the fallen, emerging from the forest and walking proudly through the long grass as they prepared to end it all. But there was little left to do. So few were still alive.

The troop leader did his best, sticking the tip of his sword through as many hearts as he could find, but few made so much as a sound when he did. It was disappointing. He had so wanted to hear a few of the utra scream at least. But it was still for the best. Dead, they couldn’t attack them.

After that it was just a matter of looting the dead. Reclaiming their arrows and looking for anything that might be of value to their Lord. But for half an hour as he stood there watching his soldiers carefully doing their duty, little of value was discovered. The wagons were loaded down with clothes and food for the most part. No weapons or stores of black powder. No gold or silver. Just domestic goods. But then maybe that wasn’t surprising when so many of the fallen were women and children, priests, simply fleeing from some sort of monastery. Poor military targets at best.

Yet eventually his wait was rewarded as one of his men further up the line shouted to him, and he quickly headed for him.

When he got there he soon discovered what the soldier had found, and it thrilled him. For there among the bodies were three in expensive robes and cloaks. An older man carrying a sword with a silver hilt embossed with the image of a fire breathing drake. And two woman, one his age and one younger, wearing green garments with the same herald.

“Nobles!” It was ill-disciplined but he couldn’t help but let out the joyful news for all to hear, even as he slapped his watchman on the shoulder in a show of congratulations. They’d killed some of these filthy human nobles. Maybe even a lord and a lady of the land. It was a great day, and he knew that his Lord needed to hear of it as soon as possible. Y’aris always wanted to know these things.

And from here it was on to Greenlands itself. And there while the main strike force smashed its way through the southern cities, they would surround the city and cut it off from the outside. They would cripple it so that when the time was right, the walled city would fall quickly.

These utra would rue the day that they had first drawn breath.