“Would you say that government is the servant of the people, or of society?” asked the scarred goat-man.
“I don’t know,” I said. “What’s the difference?”
“Government is the servant of society, which is made up of the people. It does not answer directly to the people, but to their needs and ideals. When you put society before government, the latter can never replace the former. The government is merely a specialized tool. It cannot and should not dictate every part of a person’s life.”
“Right.” I refilled my goblet. He’d dropped the accent and I realized he’d been speaking Elvish since I took off the ring. “Where’d you learn my language?”
“My king asked me to learn. Now, what would you say a government should do? Should it protect its citizens from internal and external threats? Should it ensure fair business practices and guard against monopolies?”
“Certainly. Yes, of course.”
“Should it promote the arts and influence public tastes? Should it dictate what jobs people should have or how many children they may bear?
“Um… er… no?”
He leaned back. “Angrod, you must remember that we caprans are an artificial species—the centaurs created us as their final legacy. Our institutions were given to us fully-formed. They were tailor-made for us, as we were tailor-made for them.”
I knew that the caprans were a created race. I’d seen something of how it must have been done. To save Heronimo’s life they’d divided him into his component parts and then put his molecules back together. They’d given him a heart-shaped scar on one buttock, which indicated a certain amount of creative leeway.
“Why goats?” I asked.
“Who not goats? They’re noble creatures… You’re familiar with the four classical elements, I’m sure? How about the Four Cataclysms? Probably not, since they appear as centaurs in popular depictions. Each of them corresponds to one of the four elements.”
Famine corresponded to Earth, War corresponded to Fire, Pestilence to Water, and Death to Air. Each of them could destabilize a civilization. Together they could wipe out a species.
“The king of the Silver World has ever laboured to hold them at bay. That is his mandate—to ensure prosperity and peace. Even if it means taking prosperity and peace from someone else.”
I was mindful that the room was not secure. There weren’t any latches on the door. Secret passages were likely. So I put the ring back on and Vitus went back to speaking in capran.
“The short answer, elf, is that you’ve got something we want. Badly need, even, which is why many of us want to invade.”
“How would winning this duel stop that?”
“Arawn ain’t an absolute monarch. He’s more a military leader with some veto powers. He used them, but the prime minister insisted. Only trial by combat can break the deadlock. They—or their champions—must meet on the field to see whose side is favoured by heaven.”
“Is there no other way? This fight is to the death, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “His Majesty always told me elves were too tough to conquer. That there was more to you than your magic. He was never able to give compelling evidence, though, which is why we’re here. Like it or not, you’re fighting as his champion. Your entire race’s champion, even. And it’s to the death.”
“No pressure then. Heh.”
“Heh,” Vitus said. “No pressure. Heh.”
“Heh,” I said, as he leaned forward.
“Are you insane?” he said. “If you lose, you die! Train hard these next twelve months, elf, or everything you’ve ever known will be put to the torch.”
After Vitus left I had another glass of wine and started pacing. So the caprans wanted to invade. Arawn didn’t, but no leader has complete control over his people. I owed him a lot, so why not let me take all the risk?
I found myself wishing for someone to talk to. Like Dagonet, even. On a hunch, I whirled. There was no one behind me.
“Is he gone?”
“Yaaugh!” I fell to the carpet. Dagonet hung from the ceiling like a giant spider. “Don’t do that!” I said.
“A simple application of air magic, sir. Creates vacuums under my feet.”
“Ever get the urge to drool on people? I bet you could make your spit all sticky.”
“That’s disgusting.” She released her grip and landed on her feet.
“Are you hungry?” I’d already had dinner, but I’d sent ahead a lunch trolley ‘In case I wanted a snack.’
She fell to eating. When she’d finished, I asked if she’d had any trouble following me.
“Not after I’d gotten horses. I tracked you until I saw this place, then backtracked and left them at an inn.”
“That’s good, because you’ll need them soon.” I told her what I’d learned from Vitus. “I need you to find out whether the caprans are a genuine military threat. Can you do that?”
“I can leave tonight.”
“No, stay here awhile.”
She looked at me.
“The banquet’s tomorrow,” I said. “I’m supposed to meet my opponent. No doubt you’ll be able to find the invasion force by following him.”
Dagonet opened the closet door and peered at a sleeping Angrod. He’d offered to sleep on the floor, but the room wasn’t secure. No telling when the queen might visit.
In truth, Dagonet had been glad not to leave the palace that night. The guards were very good and their patrols were unpredictable. She’d almost been caught getting inside—better to leave another day.
She looked at the slumbering prince. He lay faceup, with his head upon his arm. It was the left arm, the flesh-and-blood arm. Her fingers twitched—she was aware of the knives in her belt. It would be the work of a moment to stab his heart and cut his throat.
The banquet was surprisingly small—you could seat all the guests at one table. The king was already supposed to have gone into seclusion so this dinner wasn’t anything official. It was simply the last chance for the combatants to settle their differences peacefully. With Tamril on my arm I received the guests in the main hall. Vitus stayed close at my request.
First to arrive was Grahothy, captain of Arawn’s personal guard. Those were three hundred of the best riders and marksmen I’d ever seen and their captain was very possibly the best of them. He wore competence the way most people wore clothes.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed. “I hope I’m not too early.”
“Not at all,” I said. He lived in the barracks.
Next were four young women who looked to be sisters. They were covered in tattoos and I realized they were the priestesses who’d saved Heronimo’s life. Vitus whispered, “Morgawse, Cerdwen, Nivian, and Sophia. The Sorceress-Queens of Capra.” They glided toward me in thin, high-waisted dresses.
Tamril pouted. “I can’t believe you didn’t let me dress centaur-style. I’ll be upstaged at my own party.”
“You wanted to go topless? With a pair of snakes as fashion accessories?”
“Plus skirt and sleeves. I wouldn’t have shown that much skin. Are you saying I don’t have the breasts for it?”
“No, I—”
“Or maybe you want them all to yourself?” She pinched my cheek. “You’re sweet.”
“My king,” said Morgawse, the tallest priestess. She had green tattoos and a hard beauty. “Blessings of the earth be upon you. May the road rise up to meet you.”
“May the sun shine warm upon your face,” said Cerdwen. Red hair and tattoos.
“May the rain fall soft upon your fields,” said Nivian. Orange tattoos and deep liquid eyes.
“Hello!” The last priestess waved. “I’m wearing a party dress!” She laughed. Her blue tattoos shimmered. “It’s my first party dress, and this is my first party. Will there be cake? Ooh! And games?”
“Sophia,” Morgawse said. “Let’s look at the tapestries, shall we?”
And they led her by the hand.
“You’ll recall what they did
the last time you were here,” Vitus said. “Sophia got the worst of it.”
Caprans were able to break a man down into his component molecules and put him back better than before. There was a price, however. Arawn told me the priestesses risked losing their memory.
“Is she—?”
“She was in a coma for five years. Then seven years of physical therapy, learning to walk and talk again. Part of the job.”
I frowned. I owed Arawn a lot.
“Stennik the Magnificent and Bedvir,” Vitus said. “Your court alchemist and field marshal.”
“Your Highness.” Stennik was short and had a headful of curls. “I’m pleased to be part of the mix.”
“Your Majesty.” Bedvir wore the same kind of tunic and trousers as I did, but seemed to stand as though in full armour.
“Field marshal,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here. Now the party can begin.”
He bowed and moved on. I watched him go. “I’ll bet he saves a lot of money on backrests.”
“Now we wait for Prime Minister Medroth and his champion,” said Tamril.
“Could you go see the other guests, dear? I would speak with my adviser.”
When she had gone I turned to Vitus. “I still don’t know why your government wants to invade. Care to help me with that?”
“Did Arawn tell you? Then I can’t tell you. My instructions were to train you and to reveal as little as possible. Why should I speak state secrets when we could be at war a year from now?”
“Why must it be war? Can’t we work things out?”
“You control things I cannot name but which caprans badly need.”
“It’s not souls, is it? Just wondering. You know, the horns and the hooves.”
“We are not demons. We are caprans. Long-lived but ultimately mortal. Don’t rely on mythology so much.”
We heard another carriage pulling up. The last of our guests.
“I don’t suppose they know why they’re invading, do they?”
“I wouldn’t advise asking them,” Vitus said. “You could get lucky and it will come out in conversation. But if you’re a man of your word you will do your best to avoid discovery.”
I turned to get a look at the man I was supposed to kill.
CHAPTER 13: ANGROD
No man may call himself brave until he has been tested—until he has stood before danger and found his courage. I have fought Elendil assassins. I have faced wyverns of the sea and forest. I considered myself reasonably brave, but any man can be a coward in the right circumstances.
And apparently, these were the circumstances I had. I’d watched the prime minister and his champion from a distance. “Medroth is small for a capran, isn’t he?”
“What are you talking about?”
As the two approached I saw that Medroth was taller than I was, and I’m not a short guy. He only looked small next to his companion. The champion stood head and shoulders above him, but he was so well-proportioned you couldn’t tell how big he was from a distance. He didn’t lumber. Neither did he walk with the exaggerated caution large men develop. He simply moved. As though the world was the right size for him and we were the pygmies.
“That’s Hafgan,” Vitus said. “Medroth’s son and our greatest warrior after the king himself.”
“And Arawn knew it would be him?” I was about to curse, but then the two guests were before me.
“Your Majesty,” Medroth said. “Blessings be upon this house.” He bowed deeply and his son did the same.
“Gentlemen,” I said. “Welcome.”
It was easy enough to get along with them. I’d dabbled in politics for years so I was used to dealing with people who might want me dead. Medroth’s and Hafgan’s honesty was refreshing.
“I would not have chosen my son if I weren’t serious, my king,” said Medroth. “But then, you already know why we need what the elves have.”
“Of course. I’ve heard your reasons before.”
“Which is why it saddens me that you disagree. Surely, as protector of our race you care about securing its future? We cannot move forward unless we invade.”
We sat around a circular table in the Great Hall. Vitus was on my right and Morgawse was on my left. Sophia was next to her, and Morgawse was cutting up her food for her. Bedvir and Stennik discussed military potions and I wished I could hear them better. Medroth, Tamril, and Hafgan sat opposite from me. She was doing her best to enliven the party but Hafgan mostly picked at his food. Grahothy sat between Cerdwen and Nivian and told them about army life.
The food was good and well-presented but nowhere as elaborate as what an elven aristo would demand. There were no dishes chosen for novelty rather than taste—no viands that would poison you unless you ate them properly. Nothing was dusted in gold and nothing held its shape thanks to a wizard’s will. It was all simple, rustic, and delicious. The vegetables were fresh from the king’s own garden. The meat was from the nearby forests. I recognized the venison stew and game pie from my last visit. Soon I was pleasantly full.
“My father ith right.” Hafgan had a slight lisp. “If we do not take drastic steps we shall stagnate and go the way of the centaur. As our king you should be leading us through the portals.”
“It is not the capran way to strike from ambush.” I hoped it was true. “It is dishonourable to attack a kingdom without declaring war. It is also a recipe for bitter fighting.”
“The elves have no stomach for prolonged warfare,” Bedvir said. “A few decisive battles and they shall roll onto their backs and present their bellies.”
I almost stood up, but Vitus brought a hoof down on my toes. I managed to keep a straight face. “The elves fought the dragons to a standstill. They drove the dwarves underground. I’d say they have the stomach for centuries of warfare.”
“Ancient history,” Medroth said. “They are long past the days of empire. We, on the other hand, are nearly at our peak. Let us take what we need from these decadent fey and ensure a future for our children.”
“Oh dear.” Tamril laughed. “Aren’t we too serious? And you’re all repeating the same old arguments. Can someone offer any new points? Ladies?”
“My sisters and I will do what we’ve always done,” Morgawse said. “We will go onto the field once the fighting is over. We shall gather the honoured dead and bring the home.”
“It’s, like, our eternal calling,” Sophia said.
“What interests me is the chance to develop new potions.” Stennik’s dirty blonde hair made a scruffy halo. “I have often wondered at the properties of elven blood.”
“Please let me know before you begin,” Grahothy said. “I shall be sure to stay well away from your experiments.”
They laughed. Capran magic was unpredictable and I’d never heard of them using it in combat. Apparently they specialized in potion-making. Instead of risking everyone’s lives on the battlefield, a capran alchemist risked only his own. I’d toured an alchemist’s workshop on my last visit. It had three strong walls and a lightweight roof, to minimize the danger from the inevitable explosions.
Tamril told them something and they laughed again. Their horns glittered in the gaslight. Even at arm’s length they smelled faintly of goats. I drank deeply and choked down the urge to rush straight home.
The dinner was a success, or as much as such an occasion could be. I didn’t back out of the fight, and neither did Hafgan, but at least we survived a meal. Nobody died over brandy and cigars. Soon enough Tamril and I saw our guests out the door.
“Till next we meet, o king,” said Nivian.
“Great party!” Sophia said. “We should do this again!”
Medroth grasped my arm with both hands and shook it. “You’re a man of principle and I admire that. I’m sorry it has to be this way. I would not have nominated my own son as champion if I didn’t think it was important.”
His gigantic son nodded at me. “It’s nothing personal. But I’m going to kill you.”
And they le
ft.
“Heh,” I said. “That went well.”
Vitus walked up. “I’ll see you in the morning, elf. We start your training early.”
“Unless you can teach me to be seven feet tall, I don’t see how it’ll do any good.”
He fixed me with a look. “Quitting so soon, boy? You don’t even know how the duel’s set up.”
Iron Elf - A Race Reborn (Book 2) Page 8