by Greg Curtis
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.
Chapter Seventy Four.
Herrick sat on his throne reading and rereading the message and wondering if he was reading it right. Wondering if old age was finally stealing the sense from his thoughts. It couldn’t be. It simply didn’t make sense. It was so evil that he couldn’t even believe it of his most hated enemy. And yet there it was in his hand, the black ink bold against the white tissue, and every word so clearly written.
“Majesty.” He looked up to see the envoy standing before him, her face more than serious. Maybe she’d heard. Certainly Luree’s face was as pale as he had ever seen it. But then she was also young, new to the position, and only supposed to hold it until Herodan’s replacement finally arrived. If he ever did. Already it had been too long.
“You know of this?” He thrust the message towards her, and watched her green eyes widen in shock. She almost took a step back her long red hair flying in all directions, before she regained her composure.
“What is that Your Majesty?”
“The instructions from your high lord regarding the exchange of prisoners.” He saw nothing in her face to suggest that she understood what he meant. Nothing other than a faint, quickly covered, hint of relief. She knew nothing. Like her predecessor she was simply an emissary given only the knowledge of the mist.
“I was aware that the arrangements would be made Your Hig
hness, but I have not seen them. But surely it is a good thing?” Then she saw the anger in his face, and suddenly there was a hint of worry in her face. “An acknowledgment that the war is finally over, and a chance for both our peoples to rebuild as our soldiers return home.”
“Soldiers!” Herrick almost spat with anger at the word. Soldiers didn’t do what the elves’ armies had done. And they didn’t hold such unrelenting and violent hatred in their hearts. It was as though they had given themselves to the wrath demon. All of them.
Among the thousand or so of the elves that had been captured, Herrick had been told there was not a single one that could be considered safe. They attacked anyone and everyone they could, and many of the gaolers considered them as little more than wild animals. It was one of the reasons he had been so looking forwards to sending them all back to their homeland, a long way from his, even if they had to be manacled hand and foot and escorted all the way by an army. Surely she knew that? Even if she didn’t yet know what her precious high lord had ordered.
“Read it!” He handed the paper and its four terrible words to his aid, and he in turn carried it to her. Then he watched her face drop as she saw what was written.
“No!” She gasped out her denial for all to hear, but there was no possible denial. Not when the letter had arrived that morning, delivered by slow courier instead of pigeon so that its authenticity could be checked doubly, still sealed with the emblem of the high lord.
“Read it out loud.” Herrick was angry and maybe it was wrong to demand such a thing from a young woman surely in a terrible position, but he felt the need. It had to be done. The Court had to hear it. They had to know just what Finell had demanded. And they had to hear it from the mouth of his own envoy.
“Majesty please no.” The envoy was actually shaking as she held the piece of bleached papyrus in her hands, one step away he guessed, from falling down. Almost as if it was her own life on the line. But it still had to be done.
“Yes.”
She swallowed nervously, and then slowly and with infinite horror in her trembling voice started reading.
“My high lord says that his army failed, and that they should be executed.” The Court let out a collective gasp. But she was being too kind as she interpreted what he’d said. Far too kind. And Herrick wasn’t in the mood to allow her to get away with that.
“Read it word for word.”
“He says ‘they failed, hang them’.” There was silence after that, the silence of complete disbelief. No ruler would ever say such a thing. No ruler ever had. And just the idea was pure poison. Treason, by a lord for his subjects. Luree was the one to break the silence. She had to.
“Surely this is some sort of mistake. A poor jape. It cannot be.” Her eyes were wide with horror, and for the first time since she had taken over from her former master, she looked flustered. Herrick found that he believed her completely. And it didn’t help.
“And yet it is true. Signed by Finell himself, sealed by his hand. These are his orders.”
“It can’t be.” Luree looked at him, her face full of horror, and then at the ground and everyone surrounding them, hunting he guessed, for someone to tell her what to say. And then she fell to her knees in front of him, realising that there was only her.
“Highness, I do not understand. But I implore you, do not do as the high lord has asked. It would be a crime of the worst sort.”
“Asked girl? Does this look like a plea of any sort? Is there a single word of pleading in it?” But he was asking the wrong person. She was just a child, her face a picture of misery. She had no clue of the evil of her high lord.
“Yes it is a crime, as was everything else your pestilent high lord has done. That his armies did in his name.”
“And my healers, and all the healers of the southern lands say the same thing of the prisoners. They say that they are crazed. Possessed of some terrible evil. Demon ridden. They say that they know of no way to heal them.”
“So yes it is a crime. And were I to do as your foul high lord demands, that crime would still be his and his alone.” But there would be plenty of shame for them to share as well. It might be lawful, it might even be merciful, and the Divines alone knew how many people would welcome the execution of the prisoners, but that didn’t make it right.
“Your Majesty.” Luree bowed low again and he wondered if she was going to fall over. Her legs were trembling so terribly.
“What High Lord Finell did was truly a crime.” For a moment Herrick almost couldn’t believe that she’d said what she’d said. She’d admitted her lord’s crime? No matter how desperate she was, that simply wasn’t done. Not by an envoy. But she was a child, in a strange and surely frightening place. Maybe she had succumbed to her fear. Still he didn’t care. Not if maybe there was finally going to be an admission of guilt. By the Divines, even an apology.
“Go on.”
“There is something more you should know. I received a message this morning from the Grove.” She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a rolled up piece of tissue paper with a broken seal to show to him.
“I know that this does not bring the dead back to life. It does not make up for the wrong that was done. And I regret that it took the elders so long to send this message. The situation in Leafshade must be very confused. But I beg of you, when you consider Finell’s terrible words, that you also consider these.” She handed the piece of paper to the guard and he carried it back to him.
Instantly he had the message in his hands Herrick started reading, wondering what could allow an envoy to speak against her lord. Her predecessor wouldn’t have. It was a failing in some ways, his loyalty, but also something praiseworthy. But when he read what was written, Herrick understood her perfectly. She had been freed of her duty.
“Finell is gone?” For some reason it shocked him. It should have pleased him, and maybe in part it did. But it shocked him more. After so much time spent hating that poisonous little elf, he simply didn’t know how to react.
“Yes Your Majesty.”
“Tried, convicted and exiled?” It didn’t seem enough somehow. The foul child should still have been fed to the rats. And at the very least he should have been brought before him to apologise. But now he guessed, that wasn’t going to happen.
“So it appears Your Majesty.”
“But not executed.”
“No Your Majesty. He was found not guilty of consorting with demons. That crime it appears was purely of High Commander Y’aris.” But was that any reason not to execute him? He had to ask.
“If he is foolish enough to enter Irothia Your Majesty, you may deal with him as you choose. He is not protected.” But of course she was right. It would be foolish and he surely wouldn’t be that stupid. So his chances of feeding him to the rats were slim. Still a bounty would not go astray.
“So no high lord to apologise for his crimes. Once again justice is denied.”
“No. I’m sorry Your Majesty.” Herrick watched as the girl’s face fell, and he knew that she could do nothing. Not only was she only an assistant envoy, now she no longer even had a high lord to direct her words.
“At least the priests finally overthrew him.” It was something to cling to in the face of so much suffering. Some slight hope that there was some decency among the elves. But maybe not. Not when he saw the envoy’s eyes start staring intently at the floor, studying the cracks between the huge white tiles as she didn’t want to risk contradicting him.
“They did not?” He growled at her, not really wanting to, but unable to help himself.
“They did what they could Your Majesty.” But wasn’t she saying? That was the question on Herrick’s mind. On everyone’s minds.
“And?”
“They could not overthrow the high lord. It is beyond their province. The Grove and the Heartwood Throne cannot overrule one another. They could only try Finell for offences against the Mother and consort with a demon. And they could not have done even that if he were sti
ll high lord.”
“Then how?”
“High Lord Finell was undone by his own house.” She was still staring at the floor, and her voice was starting to waver. “No high lord may rule who is not a member of a house.”
“House Vora? They cast him out?” It made sense, though he still didn’t understand what was upsetting the girl so greatly. It seemed almost reasonable.
“Yes and no Your Majesty. House Vora could not cast him out. Not quickly enough. Not without a trial, and then perhaps appeals, and maybe a hasty marriage to another house. And not without a great many deaths along the way.”
“So what did they do girl?” Herrick was getting tired of having to keep asking.
“Tenir, the First of House Vora, seceded the house to the Grove. House Vora is no longer.”