Days Of Light And Shadow (26 page)

The Lord of Drake was home.

Part of that though was probably the bandaging. The physicians had redressed his wounds from head to foot before he had entered the town. And there were so many wounds, so much damage to a mortal body. Even after weeks on the trail, weeks of healing. She’d had to look away each time they’d done their work. Even this last time. The bandaging wasn’t enough. So then the guards had strapped him into his armour, binding it as tightly as they could so that he could not bend. The cloak draped carefully over his entire body and tied close at the neck had been the final touch as it hid much on his infirmity, and even the crutches he leaned on.

Though he was broken and perhaps close to death, there in that hall, he was Lord of Drake. As he should be. As he had to be.

Iros held up his hand for silence once more, the Mother only knew how he found the strength, and the last of the noise stopped. The murmuring, the rustling, even the loud breathing of some. There was only a hush as all eyes turned to him.

“My friends.” Iros sounded strong for once, even though he still stood only with the aid of crutches. Maybe his time resting in the wagon and being attended to by the healers had been good for him after all. Or maybe he sounded that way simply because he had to. She suspected the latter. Iros was a man of duty.

“It is good to finally be home again. A joyous occasion, and a sad one.”

“Greenlands, our beloved home, has suffered a terrible attack. We have lost so many dear to us.” And he was not only speaking of their loved ones. Iros, Lord of Drake had suffered perhaps more than anyone, and everyone there knew it. Sophelia knew it only too well. Yet he still stood there, calm and certain, somehow more than just a man in that room.

“This is a tragedy. But it is not ours alone. Many others have suffered these past months. The elves have suffered the same tragedy, and perhaps worse. And the ones who have done this are not here. Remember that. Those who gave the orders, those who are truly responsible, are far away.”

“There are no enemies here.” He repeated himself, adding emphasis to his words, making certain he was understood.

“And remember this too. We have suffered, we have lost our hearts and shed our blood to the evil of war. But we have not died. We have survived. We will recover. We will live again. And we will rebuild our home.”

“This I swear to you. You have my word by all the Divines that rebuilding and defending our home will be my only duty during these coming days and years. On that you have my word as Iros of Drake, and Lord of Greenlands.” His voice somehow seemed to resonate through the castle, gaining in power as he spoke. This was no overly polite envoy always speaking in respectful tones to the high lord and his court. This was the Lord himself, addressing his people and everyone there felt it. Standing beside him Sophelia felt it and was awed by his power.

How she wondered, could he be the same man who had offered years of considered advice and quietly spoken thoughts to her spoiled high lord? The same man who had never complained at the slights made of his race, never shown anger or even emotion? Had the shy boy suddenly become a man? Or had he always been one and she had never noticed?

“But this day as we bury our dead and mourn our losses, we will also begin the celebrations for our survival. And we shall begin those celebrations with a feast for a wedding. Our wedding.” Somehow he managed to raise an arm in a sweeping gesture that included Sophelia, and she quickly managed a small bow to him and everyone else.

“This is my wife.” For words, simple and yet profound, that seemed to run right through the castle. Everyone had known who she was long before she’d entered the town, and yet it still seemed to shock them when he announced her.

“Know that. This is my wife. The Lady Sophelia of Drake. And you will treat her as one of my family.” His voice filled the room, so powerful and filled with vigour when he wasn’t, that it set her back. And it impacted on the audience too. She could see it in their faces. She could see the profound respect shining in their eyes. Almost awe. Their Lord had spoken and they listened.

“And know this also. Sophelia of Drake and I were betrothed and wed for one reason above all, to end this terrible war. She is not an enemy. She is not an elf. She is a friend and one of us. She is a woman of courage who acted to stop the shedding of blood. She is a woman of great honour and great sacrifice. And you will treat her with the respect that she is due because of it.”

“When you see her, when you speak with her, think not of those who have passed on from this life. Think instead of those who still live because of her.”

His words carried weight. But more than that, they carried the truth, though Sophelia hadn’t thought of it in that way before. For her it had been family and duty. But for Iros it had always been about the people. His people, his family, one and the same. And he generously included her in that. Sophelia could see his message growing in the eyes of the people as they studied her. They understood it. They understood exactly what their lord was saying. A poor marriage but a necessary one. A marriage of convenience maybe, but a marriage to seal a peace. And one that would be respected no matter the cost.

Sophelia breathed deeply with relief as she knew he had saved her. She might not be happy here in this strange prison of dark stone and among these people. Her marriage might be both shameful and a sham. And danger might still lie ahead for both of them. But she would be treated properly.

For that at least Sophelia was grateful.

Chapter Forty.

The family plot was always a beautiful place. The gardeners kept it in perfect order just as the other servants kept the rest of the castle running. But it was a sad beauty. Terribly sad.

Iros sat on the bench that had been thoughtfully laid out for the living members of the family to pay their respects to those passed on, uncomfortably aware that he was alone. Completely alone. The last living member of his family to draw breath, and thanks to his improper marriage, there would be none to follow him either.

Yet that was the least of the pain that assailed his soul. The sight of the three freshly dug graves in front of him tore his soul apart.

He had known of course, that they were dead. He had been told by the evil little toad of it even before they had left Leafshade, and there had been such malicious glee in Finell’s eyes as he’d said it, that Iros had had no doubt of his words. But still seeing the graves somehow made their deaths real. And his failures worse.

His parents, good and decent people who had loved him dearly even as they had deplored his early failings, now lying there under the cold earth. He would never get the chance to prove to them that he had truly turned his life around. That he had become the man they had always wanted him to be.

And his baby sister. Luella. So young and carefree, and filled with the joy of life. If anyone should have survived this terrible war it should have been her. And if anyone should have become Lord of Drake, it should have been her. There was never a cruel bone in her body. But now she too lay under the cold damp earth, never to smile again.

He would have cried. He should have. But no tears could find his cheeks. No sobs could push their way past his throat. It was as if some harsh taskmaster held them back. And so instead he just sat there, knowing only the misery of failure. Endless failure.

“My lord.” His steward gently reminded him that he was still there, and that there was work to be done. A lot of work. A land to rebuild, people to heal, lives to make whole again and law to be restored. All of which had to flow from his hand as the Lord of the land.

Juna was good at subtlety. It was from him perhaps even more than his father that Iros had learned diplomacy. The art of the gentle word correctly placed. So odd in a man who had once been a weapons smith. But after he had first been hired to look after the guards armour, he had slowly risen through the ranks to become the castle’s steward, and his father’s right hand.

He had also become family, if not by blood. And seeing him standing there before him, hair white with age, skin heavily wrinkled by years in the sun, and a small pot belly forming from too much sitting, brought back something of home to Iros. His family was dead, but still with Juna standing there, he still had something of them remaining.

“Of course Juna.” He wanted to stay there and grieve. Just as any man would. But he had no time for that. He had no time for anything. He was now Lord of Drake. His word opened the coffers of the province for whatever needed doing. His seal allowed things to be done that no others could authorise. And his name gave the people hope. Above all else they needed hope.

He only prayed that he could provide that hope. For whatever time he had left.

“You know that I am ill?” It shouldn’t even have been a question. Even a blind man could see the sickness that racked his body. And the steward had surely received the reports of the guards who had brought him home.

“Of course my Lord, I will send for the physicians.”

“No.” Iros shook his head and then wished he hadn’t when the fire burst into life between his every vertebra.

“I will see them later. For now there is another matter that you must attend to. You must send forth to see if my cousin Heriot still lives, to find him and bring him here.”

“My Lord!” The exclamation was torn out of the steward’s throat. Juna was no fool and he understood exactly why he asked it of him. But still Iros could see the pain and disbelief written on his long face. He had not realised that it was so bad. That the line was so close to its end. Plans had to be in place for when it did finally end. Centuries of Drake family history, would soon be closed like a book. There had to be a new book ready to be opened before then.

“I will see to it immediately.” And he would. Juna had spent his entire life in service of the province. He had served his father and his grandfather before him. And he had done all of that with never a thought of reward or glory. Only the reward of service. There were few men who could claim such honour, but Juna was one of them.

But soon Iros knew, Juna would have to serve another Lord of Drake. A lord who had not only never been in line to become one, but who would never have wanted the job. For all his loyalty and dedication, he would be hard pressed to turn Heriot into a proper lord of Drake. And that was if he still lived. The family had lost track of his second cousin years before. He could be dead too, another victim of the war.

“Is it so bad?” Juna stared at him as he whispered the question, his eyes almost seeming to tear up, and probably with good reason. In the previous months he had already lost three dear friends. Family in sooth. Juna was not of Drake blood but he was family. He had been with him his whole life.

“Worse. I’m sorry.” Juna’s always long face fell even further as Iros told him the sorry truth and he wished he didn’t have to. But he had to know. He had to be ready. If he fell early then someone had to be there to hold the land together until his cousin could arrive.

“But who knows? Maybe the physicians will be able to do something.” He doubted it though. He just had to give his friend hope.

“For the present though, I will do my duty for as long as I can.” And that was something the steward would understand. They were both creatures of service. Still how long he continued wasn’t important just then, and he wanted to change the subject. There was still a question he had to ask. One thing he had to know, even if he didn’t want to.

“How did …?” Iros’ voice failed as his throat choked up for a moment and it was difficult to get the words out. But Juna understood him perfectly.

“It was the beginnings of the war. We had heard word of it, but little more, and we dared to hope that it would pass us by. But it didn’t and we weren’t ready.”

“A mother with a dead child in her arms was the first true word we received, and when she arrived in the great room with her baby in arm, it shocked your parents to their core.”

“The elves had attacked Lower Wold, and they had killed everyone. Men, women, children. It was as if a great darkness had come over them, an evil of the demons themselves. They had killed from afar with their bows and then marched through the small farming town making sure that none survived. Five hundred men at arms we were told, against a town of maybe a thousand, with only a few town guards to protect them and no warning. They stood no chance.”

“The woman and a handful of others survived by hiding deep within the copper mine. And then when they returned to the surface, it was to find the elves gone, their families dead and their town burnt to the ground.”

“It was then that we realised the terrible truth. That this was not a war of conquest or political advance. It was purely of murder. The elves were on a campaign to kill all the people. That they would not respect any of the normal codes of conduct. And they did not.”

“Pigeons were sent with haste and patrols without number dispatched to bring warning to the nearest towns. Men were called to arms. And at the same time your father gave the command to evacuate all the smaller towns nearest the border. They could not defend themselves and he could not protect them all. We simply didn’t have the men.”

“Then he too set forth, riding with his patrols, knowing that the people would not readily abandon their homes. Julius knew that his word and his presence both would be needed to convince them.”

“So for a week or more he rode, sending back word as he could, and scores upon scores of villages and smaller towns were emptied out, their people sent fleeing for the larger and more northerly towns of Greenlands.”

“Then word was received that the elves weren’t just attacking towns. The towns were often already empty giving the enemy only the satisfaction of burning them. But they were also wandering through farms and crofts, trappers huts and logging camps, killing all that they found, burning everything behind them. They had even attacked temples, monasteries and sanctuaries. The most sacred of places, the most pure of hearts, all defiled.”

“Your mother became concerned about the convent school of the Sisters of Silene, as she knew it was directly in the path of the advancing elves. She rode out and though it was against her instructions, her daughter, rode with her. Luella was ever a wonderfully stubborn girl. And when she believed that she knew what was right she would not be swayed.”

“After that things become unclear. But somehow your father must have heard of her actions, and ridden for her. And at the same time the elves had advanced further than was known. One of their advancing patrols caught them while they were still packing the wagons and loading the children on to them.”

“There were no survivors.” Juna stopped for a moment and looked down at the ground as if wondering if he should continue. This was surely not easy for him. Eventually though he carried on.

“Riders found them later. All of them. One hundred and sixty children, fifty sisters, fifty men at arms, all dead. Their bodies looted. The school and temple burnt to the ground.”

“A week after that the first wave found our gates, and our old broken walls. Fifteen hundred elves with longbows against maybe as many guards and two dozen cannon. They were held back, that time, but at a terrible cost. Maybe a thousand of our people died that day. Maybe as many of theirs as well.”

“The second attack we were better prepared for, our defences stronger, but they had three thousand men at arms. Only the fortune of Duran Timos himself saved us. They broke through our lines, poured through the gaps in the walls, and there was fighting in the street. Terrible fighting.”

“Street by street, house by house they advanced, losing men at every step. We had lined the roofs with archers, all the towns folk who could hold a crossbow. But where they went they killed. The old and the young, the infirm, women and children. They left no one alive. Three maybe four thousand fell that day, though the attack was beaten back. And almost no elves survived.”

“They fought to the very end. They did not retreat even when they had lost. And when we had won through we could only take maybe a hundred and some prisoners. Most of them had fallen, wounded, and were captured as they lay in the arms of Sandara’s darkness. None of them when they awoke, showed the slightest sign of remorse. None surrendered And all of them attacked the very physicians attending them. They had to be restrained.”

Juna stopped for a moment and let his gaze return to the distant gardens. His tale was done Iros knew, but he had not yet finished. He was just working up the courage to speak the rest.

“They are still in the town prison, still the same. The only thought they seem to know is hatred. The unreasoning fury of the Wrath Demon.”

“What sort of evil is it that can so completely corrupt a soul? What darkness can make a man kill even an innocent baby?”

“I don’t know.” And yet even as he answered his old friend, Iros had the image of Finell in his thoughts. A spoilt child, hurt terribly, and so very angry. Maybe that was all the evil it took.

“All I know is that we must be ready for it when it returns.”

“My lord?” Juna looked shocked as he asked the question, and worse than that he looked ill. Almost as ill as Iros felt.

“This peace that we have secured, it is not one to last. It is merely to grant the high lord enough time to regroup. While I lay on the floor of Finell’s throne room and he thought me lost to the dark mistress, I heard his shameful plans. His hatred for us is also beyond reason, and his only advisor is a creature of blackest heart. Finell sacrificed his own cousin for merely a reprieve. For the chance to find a way through our cannon.”

“In time, be it a month or a year or even two, he will send forth his armies again, and Greenlands will stand once more alone, stuck between the two kings. We must be ready for that day.”