by Greg Curtis
“They butchered my sister!” The high lord suddenly shouted and even in his strange half sleep Iros could hear the fury in his voice. It still surprised him, even in his strange place. Finell actually had some true feelings. Not just arrogance and hatred, actual feelings for another. “They defiled her! Cut off her head! They should all die in flames!”
“Those who did that terrible thing, yes. But not the rest.” If Finell was pure blind rage, Sophelia was the cooling wash of the ocean trying to drown the fires. He suspected though, that her words and even her tears would fail. Finell was young and angry. Rotten nearly all the way through. Only much time and great wisdom would let him find reason. Somehow Iros suspected, he had little left of either. His people would not easily forgive him his failure. And calling a war and then losing it was abject failure. “Not this one. Not his friends at the mission. Not the people of the border towns. And not all those others locked away in your foul dungeon. They were innocent.”
“They were utra!”
“They were innocent!” At least someone could stand firm against the high lord. Someone could tell him when he was wrong. Even if it was too late. Even if it was going to get her hurt.
“Farmers, miners, shopkeepers, women and children. Not soldiers, not people who had ever caused anyone any harm, and certainly not the brigands who harmed Elwene. Why do you think Y’aris’ prideful soldiers marched through their towns so easily? After centuries of living in peace they were unarmed, defenceless. They thought we were their friends. They trusted us! And you betrayed that trust!” She had the right of it too Iros knew. The towns had fallen and burned, the people had died because they had never expected a war. They had never imagined armies of elves with their longbows and blackened silver chain, marching upon them, laying waste to everything and everyone around them. And they had paid for that innocence with their lives.
He felt a flash of pride for the elf maiden and her courage as she spoke the truth to the high lord’s face. And more than a little fear. Sophelia would pay for her defiance he knew. One way or another Finell would get back at her. It had been the mark of his short rule thus far. It was why he had opened the prison in the first place, and established the inquisitors. He always meant to get back at his enemies. He was a child, but not a good one. Not one his parents would have been proud of.
“We did not march through their towns cousin. They marched through ours!” Finell screamed it at her. He was an angry child one step away from a tantrum.
“Lies! Yours or his, but lies still. The humans were attacked. They told us this daily until you murdered them.”
“They lie! They sent their soldiers in to Elaris long before the war. They murdered Elwene, seeking to weaken me. They murdered our soldiers just outside the city days later. And if it wasn’t for the survivors of their evil, we would never have known until they took the city.”
Sophelia angrily muttered something under her breath that Iros couldn’t make out. But he guessed it was rude from the gasps. And from the fact that Y’aris finally decided to say something.
“Sophelia the high lord speaks only the truth. The humans started this war in secrecy and evil while we were unready.” Finally Y’aris had spoken. By the divines he sounded sinister when he spoke, and even lying there Iros wanted to rip out his poisonous tongue.
“In the days following the declaration of war I sent some few of my watchmen into Irothia, hoping to spot their army and slow them down, but against an army of fifty thousand at least they were unsuccessful. Ever since then ours has been only a defensive action as the humans drive us ever backwards.”
“Your tongue knows no truth.” For a brief moment Iros thought he could hear the sound of Sophelia spitting at the high commander. But it couldn’t be. No high born would do such a thing.
“And you cousin. Sitting there on your throne, do you truly believe this foul creature’s lies? Or do you just hide the truth with him?”
“I’m glad you feel that way cousin.” Suddenly the cunning, evil little rat was back, and Iros knew that the high lord was about to say or do something nasty to Sophelia. The time had come. Finally. Finell always adopted that same terrible tone when he ordered someone’s demise. Sarcasm mixed with arrogance, a terrible combination in anyone. Worse in anyone who held the lives and destinies of others in his hands. And usually when he did something truly terrible, Finell smiled. A sly and horrible expression that would have been more at home on a cobra as it prepared to strike its unwary victim. Iros had hated seeing that smile. Maybe it was lucky that he couldn’t see anything for the moment.
“It is good that you should find these utra worthy.”
“I did not say worthy, only innocent.” Sophelia finally sensed a trap ahead, and Iros couldn’t fault her for speaking cautiously even if she suddenly abandoned his people’s cause. In her place he might have done the same. But it was too late. He knew that. Surely she did too.
“Still, you speak for them. You are my only unwed female relative of marriageable age. And I have only one utra lord I can bend to my will.” Sophelia gasped as she suddenly realised her fate, and even lying on the ground half dead, Iros felt the same shock as he realised what was being asked of her. Not asked, demanded. It was a terrible sacrifice to make. To demand of her. But he understood it.
A state marriage. Finell was about to marry his poor cousin off to some unfortunate lord he’d no doubt captured in the war, as part of his desperate attempt to sue for peace. It was logical, but it was also horrible. At the very least he should have asked. But the high lord never asked. He could never have abided the thought that someone might have said no to him. For Finell asking was akin to begging, and he just didn’t do that.
“High Lord, no. Please.” Sophelia would have begged for her freedom, and Iros couldn’t have blamed her. But she couldn’t truly say no. Even if it hadn’t been her evil little cousin demanding it, it was still the best hope their two people had for peace. He would have said the same to whatever unfortunate lord they’d captured. For maybe the first time in his short rule, Finell was thinking with the wisdom of an adult. Even if it had taken mortal fear to make him do it.
Maybe that was why they had brought him. Maybe that was the high lord’s intent. That he persuade whoever they had captured to marry. And he would have, had he had the strength.
“Yes cousin. You will do your duty and defend the people with all you have. This is your honour. Your vow.” It probably would have been so much easier for Sophelia to hear if the high lord hadn’t been almost laughing as he said it. Even in the darkness Iros could imagine the smirk on his face.
“My honour is to Berris of House Allel. I am promised to him.”
“Berris is of a good house and a good man. Another will be found for him. Your little sister perhaps.” Iros could imagine the evil little smirk growing on that nasty face as he said it. He’d already plunged the dagger in deep, now he was twisting it, for fun. He heard Sophelia abruptly gasp and start struggling for breath. It was a long time before she could say anything.
“Who?” A small voice, almost like that of a frightened child.
“Lord Drake.” There was silence after that. The silence of pain as no one knew quite what to say to lessen it.
Who was that? Iros knew the name but for some reason he couldn’t quite place it. It had to be one of the lords of the border towns, a minor lord not one of the inner circle of the Court. And as such Finell’s chances of influencing Herrick with the wedding had to be small. But at least he was finally trying. It might have taken burned and sacked cities, refugees flooding the land and the Divines only knew how many tens of thousands of lives, but he was finally trying to do the right thing.
He was sorry for Sophelia, but still if he could have he would have applauded. But instead he let the darkness start carrying him away again, happy for the first time in what seemed like years. Peace was coming. And with it maybe he could finally return home.
Home! It seemed like an eternity since he h
ad sipped the sweet pear cider of the local inns of Greenlands. Since he had sung with the bards and lain with the wenches. Since he had set eyes on the glorious hills of green, or the honest stone of the town. Or simply slept in the warm summer sun of Greenlands. And it was even longer since he had been with his family.
Home! He let the dream of it carry him away once more. Back to a better place.
Chapter Thirty Three.
“Her parents are going to be upset.” Y’aris’ voice brought Iros back to the world again, and he gathered more time had passed. Sophelia had gone, doubtless in tears at her fate, or at least he couldn’t hear her. And while he still lay on the hard wooden floor, someone had started tending to him. Someone with warm water and a damp cloth that he was pressing into his back.
It should have hurt. Iros was certain of that. Everything hurt of late. But it didn’t. It actually felt almost pleasant. Was that a good thing? But whether it was or it wasn’t, as he lay there feeling his pain easing as the warm water soaked in to his flesh, he was awake again. Awake enough to pay attention to what was being said, even if he couldn’t raise his head or open his eyes. But the darkness was comforting somehow.
“Let them be. They know what is expected of our family. And they have other daughters to give them decent children in time.”
“Her father may not agree. Tenir is very protective of his daughters.” Finell didn’t answer him for a bit, and the only sound in that room was that of the healer muttering under his breath as he worked on Iros. He sounded as though he was praying, but whether for him or himself Iros didn’t know.
“You have a thought?”
“Leave it with me High Lord.” Y’aris was suddenly the voice of friendship and unwavering support, and at the same time deceit. “I took the liberty this morning of sending your envoy’s latest message to the best scribes in Leafshade, and I’m confident they will be able to provide you with a document that will solve the problem.” A forgery in short. They were going to show Tenir a forged document of some sort so that he could not object. And lying there listening, unable to do anything, Iros wasn’t even sure if he should try. On the one hand this was a father about to be given the worst news possible and denied all hope through a lie. On the other it was the end of a terrible war. Maybe he was lucky to be helpless.
“The utra.” Finell suddenly raised his voice as he targeted some other unfortunate. “Will he live?”
“I’m not sure High Lord. The cruelty he has suffered is very great. Most men would have died long ago.” It was the man daubing him with the cloth who had been targeted by the high lord, Iros gathered, possibly a healer of some sort cleaning his wounds.
“See that he does, or know that you will be cleaning sewers for the rest of your days old man.” Finell was his usual vindictive self. Pettiness and spreading blame around liberally had been the hallmarks of his rule.
“Yes High Lord.” The healer said nothing more, save perhaps to utter a few more prayers to the Mother under his breath. He was quickly forgotten by the high lord and his black robed advisor. Forgotten by Iros too as he tried to pay attention.
“This is wrong. This utra has been a constant nuisance. Always correcting me, suggesting changes to my edicts. And always in those impossibly polite tones. And then if he was the one commanding the human raiders, if he sent those murderers to my sister, he should die a thousand times over. Even if he didn’t do it himself. If any one of those filthy savages should have died, it should have been him.” And there it was Iros realised, the reason for what he had done to him. For what he had done to his friends. For the war. Finell was a stupid, evil child, but he was also a little boy grieving. But why did he think he’d had any part in Elwene’s death? How could he be so mistaken?
“I could ....” Y’aris’ voice trailed off as he surely knew the decision was not his. And he was already in enough trouble having lost the war. Maybe, Iros almost dared to hope, he would lose his station over his failure if not his life.
“No. We need him. For now. But maybe in a year or two. When our cities are rebuilt and our armies stronger again. When our wise men have found an answer to those accursed cannon. An answer you should have had long ago. Then we will crush them all. And this stinking savage will be mine again.”
“Yes High Lord.” Y’aris was unusually subdued, another sign that he was in trouble with Finell.
“Don’t think I have forgotten you. If it wasn’t for your failure, I wouldn’t have to let this savage go free. Not even for a heartbeat.”
“We did not know that the cannon could be wheeled high lord.” And that was the critical mistake they had made Iros realised. A shocking mistake. A cannon was an awesome weapon, but built into the fortifications of a castle or a fort, it was still only half a weapon. But somehow the elves had missed the fact that cannon could be mounted on wheels and moved into attacking positions as well as defensive. They would not make that mistake again. And though it hurt, Iros knew that even in the throes of his defeat Finell was planning a new offensive. The scorpion would always sting. It was simply his nature.
“You should have.”
“I blame Herodan. He should have told us.” Sophelia’s brother and his opposite number in Herrick’s court. Iros recognised the name of Y’aris’ intended scapegoat instantly. And he remembered Sophelia’s visit to him in the dungeon as she asked after him. A good man and well liked if all the stories of him were true. Even if he too was cousin to Finell. But then even the best families often had black sheep. It was just that few of them sat on thrones.
“True, and he will pay for that failure if he still lives. After he has reported his sister’s marriage to this vermin.”
Words that had meant nothing to Iros before, suddenly made sense as he realised the high lord was referring to him. He was the vermin. He was the Lord of Drake she was to marry.
It came as a shock. Almost enough of a shock to make him open his eyes. And something deep within him wanted to scream out his denial. But he knew there was no denial. There could be none. He could hear his father’s voice so clearly as he had told him over and over again of his responsibilities. He had told him the same every night as a child, mostly after he had done something bad. And when he had finished, his place had been taken by the tutors, and then when the tutors had been sent away it had been the turn of the masters of the academy. All of them with the same words. Nobility and titles, they weren’t honours and they weren’t prizes. They were duties.
He was to wed. There was no escape. Save death, which he was certain was close.
“If she goes through with it.” Y’aris sounded as though he doubted her. He shouldn’t have Iros knew. If he knew nothing else of her, he knew that Sophelia was always one elf of proper morality. She would do her duty no matter the cost. He respected that in her. He hoped that when the time came, if he survived, she would respect the same in him.
He did not love her, hardly knew her at all in sooth, but he would wed her for the same reason. Anything to help stop the accursed war. Anything to help his people. It was his duty.
“My cousin will do as she’s told.” Though from what Iros had heard he suspected it would take time for her to be convinced. And her father would not be easily convinced either, depending of course on whatever forged document Y’aris was planning to use.
“High Lord I must urge caution.” Why did the war chief sound so sinister when he spoke? Probably for the normal reason Iros decided. He always sounded like that.
“Are you certain you can always be sure of your family’s support?”
“What are you saying?” And more importantly how did he dare to? That was Finell’s meaning as the anger grew.
“I’m sorry High Lord. I would never wish to speak ill of House Vora. But I think you must be prepared after today to expect hostility from them. I’m sure they will do their duty as they must, but I fear they will blame you for having to. They will be angry.”
“We are one house. That can never change.”
<
br /> “Yes of course High Lord. But perhaps not one house of a single mind. After all your uncle and aunt did speak against your ascension to the Heartwood Throne. And now it would seem Herodan has not mentioned something so obvious that he must surely have known. He must have seen the cannon on their carriages. And even now, in this chamber, knowing her duty, Sophelia has refused you in front of these others.”
“My family are loyal!” Finell snapped at his war chief, but even lying on the floor half dead, Iros knew that the damage had been done. The accusations had been laid, and they would linger in the back of Finell’s mind. That was always the intention. To sew the seeds of doubt. And to shift Finell’s attention from his failures to his family’s loyalty.
“Of course High Lord.” But Iros knew he didn’t mean it. Y’aris was playing a game. He knew that. He had always known that the High Commander had plans of his own. Ambitions. But he didn’t know what they were. He still didn’t. But lying there on that wooden floor, hearing what he was surely never meant to hear, Iros suddenly understood that at least a part of them was to drive a wedge between Finell and his family.