Days Of Light And Shadow (39 page)

“Thank you boy.” The boy might be human, there were some among the rangers, but he still intended to be polite. It was a matter of honour as much as anything else. And he had little honour left.

“You’re welcome sir.” The boy smiled briefly at him, and there was something in him that stirred up his memories. Tenir knew the boy, but he couldn’t think where.

“Do I know you boy?” And as far as he could be sure he didn’t know a lot of rangers. They were mostly drawn from the low born, those of mixed blood, and those without prospects. He didn’t know many of those people.

“Maybe sir. I am Pita. I was assistant to Lord Iros of Drake before the trouble.”

Trouble? That was a kind word for what had happened. A far too kind word in Tenir’s view. It had been madness and evil, but none had spoken against it. None had spoken against the high lord when they should have, and in that maybe they could truly be said to be the casters of their own misfortune. But at least it seemed that some had survived that terrible night.

“I am glad to see that at least one other from the mission lives.”

“Two sir. Mya, our cook escaped the flames as well though she does not walk too well yet. And Saris too. She took an arrow but the wound has healed up nicely while we have been hiding here in the Grove.” Tenir suddenly recognised the jackal hound lurking around the horses. She was the only one in the entire city. The only one he’d ever heard of kept as a pet. And he knew his son in law would welcome her return. More than welcome it. There was a strange bond between the two from what little he had seen of them. Almost the same bond that connected the rangers and their wolves. And he was a man without a family.

“Iros will be pleased for her return.” He didn’t tell the lad what Herodan had told them of his illness. He couldn’t be that cruel. All they could do was hope. That the witch could do as she claimed she had done. And that a disastrous marriage could continue lest a worse fate befell them all. And how terrible a father was he that he could wish such a fate on his eldest daughter? Even if she agreed to it? If it saved her life? Even if it saved their family?

Maybe the elder was right in one thing. He did not deserve to be a member of House Vora. The others would suffer unfairly for their loss. He would barely be punished enough for his failures.

Chapter Fifty Nine.

“What is this talk? Why do the people laugh at me?” Finell was in a bad mood. Again. And it had only been two days since the news had broken across the town.

Y’aris as usual tried to calm him down. Tried to tell him that it was all the fault of traitors spreading malicious gossip through the city, and it seemed to work. But how long could he keep lying to him? And what would happen in a week, or now only five more days, when Finell didn’t show for his trial? That time was the only thing still keeping Finell on the throne.

They were in limbo, the whole city holding its breath. In sooth Finell should already have been dethroned. But Y’aris had made sure that the Court did not meet, so that none could refuse to pay Finell the respect a high lord was due. So the words had not been spoken. Claiming traitors among his staff he had replaced most of his servants with watchmen and forced the rest to drink his master’s water. And he limited Finell’s movements, making sure that when he did demand to leave his house, dozens of watchmen protected him, making sure that none could approach him. But still in the markets, some did laugh at him, from a safe distance.

The watchmen kept the city quiet, mostly. The great houses kept quiet too as they worried about their sons and daughters in his prison. They understood that their loved ones were hostages. And everyone waited nervously for the trial. Because they knew that when it came, Finell would be proven to be no longer of a house. The outcome of the trial didn’t matter, his reign would be ended. And with him Y’aris fell.

Y’aris could never afford to go before the Grove himself. As good as his master’s magic was, it would not withstand close scrutiny by the elders. And in any case the Reaver would not allow it. His only hope was to have the charges dropped and the notice declared a forgery before the trial. But to do that he needed Tenir.

Curse the man! Curse his House! Curse the priests! Curse them all! Y’aris hated them all with everything he had, but it made no difference. They had still done the unthinkable. They had given their house to the accursed Grove. They had given it their miserable lives. It was unimaginable. It was madness. And it was brilliance. A move he had never seen coming.

What elf would do that? No elf. No proper high born elf at least. To sacrifice one’s house for a son. It was unthinkable. Elves gave their lives to protect their houses.

What he’d expected Tenir to do was unname Finell. To cast him out of House Vora. That was the logical thing. It was what he should have done. And when he’d done that Y’aris would have started the legal defences while arranging a quick wedding for Finell to another, lesser house. Finell’s position as high lord would have instantly become tenuous at best. A legal fiction that no one would have believed but none could argue. After that Y’aris would have had a clear path to destroying House Vora, and making it look as though Finell had ordered it out of vengeance. Sooner or later Tenir would have named him kin slayer, and Y’aris would have had the chance to kill him and claim the throne. The people would have welcomed the removal of a tyrant. They would have welcomed his rule.

So why hadn’t Tenir done that? Why hadn’t he played his part? Why had he done something so mist ridden? It was almost as though he guessed his plans. Though how could he? The man was a greedy merchant, not a military strategist.

The answer didn’t matter though. The only thing that mattered was finding the family. Finding them and breaking them. Breaking Tenir until he recanted everything, and then ripping his beating heart out of his chest, followed by those of the rest of his accursed family.

But Tenir knew that, and the family were gone. Long gone.

They had fled during the night, and the first he’d known of it was when the people started laughing at him the next morning when they had read the notices. When the bards had started singing their songs. When the criers had started shouting the news. The family would pay for that. But first he had to find them, and that would not be easy.

The only clue he had was the report that a party of rangers had left the city during the night as well. Y’aris knew in his bones that the family was with them. It was the only thing that made any sense. They were the only soldiers not under his command, and they were of the Grove. They stood firmly against him. But where had they gone? He would have sent his depleted forces against them if he knew. And pigeons had been sent to every town and city in Elaris, commanding his watchmen to find them and bring them to him at pace. But their chances were small. He had asked his master to send out his armies as well, but their chances were no better.

Rangers were masters of the forests. They would not take the roads, they would take the wilds instead. And they would hide well and travel fast. His armies could not match them in that. Not through the forests. And in five days if he did not have them, he would have to make a decision.

To flee, something he hated with every fibre of his being. Or to try to take the throne directly. But he simply wasn’t ready.

Everything had happened too fast. His armies had failed him in months instead of years. And then they had failed decisively. Fifty thousand watchmen dead, and not a single city taken for their dying. He hated them for that. Even as he desperately tried to build up their numbers again. Without a conscription. And that after peace had been called for and he had no mandate for anything from the pox ridden high lord. Finell still fretted only about having to go before King Herrick.

And even if he could have gotten his wish with Finell and persuaded him to begin a conscription, it was too late. Finell could not make a proclamation of anything without assembling the court, and the moment he did that he would be challenged and his throne would be lost.

In some ways it would have been the perfect time to strike. To kill Finell and take the throne. The land was in chaos, the high lord had no right to rule, and the people were worried. Perfect save that he had been named as consorting with demons. It was the perfect time to strike, - for anyone except him. For him it was a disaster. Only Finell’s untested status as high lord kept him safe.

Besides there were still too many high born left out there. Each house with its own guards. He had tried to capture them all, to bring all seven of the great houses to their knees. But his soldiers had to act within the bounds of the law, even as much as he twisted it. He could not arrest them all. Especially not now. Even Finell would not believe that they all conspired against him. The boy was angry and stupid, but not completely stupid. To do that would be to show his hand openly. And he would lose.

Besides his dungeon was already full to overflowing. In the last two days his soldiers had arrested every bard and crier in the city, closed down all the inns and public houses and arrested the owners, and then everyone who had dared to post a notice advising of the trial. Anything to try and keep the news quiet. They had failed. Miserably. And now every path he walked down he could see people laughing at him. They knew. All of Leafshade, all of Elaris knew.

And he could not march against the elders. Even with all his soldiers he could not move directly against the Grove. Thirty thousand elves in Leafshade alone would rise up against him if he dared. Every other town and city would join them. And worse, the elders had magic at their fingertips. His master’s curse might even be undone. The Reaver had told him many times that he did not let him take that step, and he suspected that was why. For all his power, the demon dared not take on the Mother directly himself. Not yet at least.

Y’aris had to work hard to contain his fury in front of Finell. Now more than ever he needed the boy to be  malleable. To have confidence in him. To listen to him. All his plans were unravelling in front of his eyes and the boy was his only hope of holding them together for a time.

Then, without warning, matters became worse.

“Y’aris, find me one of these seditious bards and bring him before me. I wish to know the lies he spreads about me.” Finell ordered him as if he was a dog, to do the one thing he could not afford to do. And Y’aris tried desperately to think of a reason not to. Something, anything to convince the troublesome child that he did not want to hear such terrible lies of himself.

He had to die.

“Yes High Lord.” He went down on his knee before him, hoping he wasn’t sweating, as he started his lies. Maybe he could find a bard, pay him to speak his lies, and then kill him before he could recant. Anything to keep the truth from Finell until he had Tenir in his grasp.

At least for the next five days.

Chapter Sixty.

“We must act.” Trekor stood in the middle of the circle of elders, putting forward her case as she knew she must. They knew it too. But they were unwilling to put aside their time honoured traditions even in the face of absolute evil. Centuries of tradition could not simply be forgotten so easily. It felt as though she was trying to push a mountain.

“We must keep to the old ways.” Elder Varial stood beside her, arguing the alternate. That too was tradition. Whenever a new, important or difficult action was proposed, a hearing was called to determine the strength of the argument and another was chosen to stand against it. “In fifteen hundred years the Grove has not involved itself in the workings of the Throne, and the Throne has not involved itself with us. Not since the age of kings. This is not something to be lightly tossed aside.”

“Even when the Reaver is working through the Throne?” And that was the crux of it. They knew the spider demon was working through Finell and Y’aris. They could see his dark designs upon the people. They could feel his hand upon the life blood of the land. There was not one among them who did not know it for the truth. That did not know he had to be fought tooth and nail.

“Besides my friends, we have both crossed those lines.” Yossirion spoke up even if it might be against tradition to argue from the audience. We have protected the innocent victims of Finell’s madness, healed them, kept them safe and hidden, and now sent some of them away to safety in outsider lands. And in turn Finell’s watchmen have restricted us to the Grove, and they have even forcefully removed many of us from the city. The time to respect this tradition is gone. It is time to act openly.” He should not have said it of course, and the other elders all stared at him, vexed. After all he was the brand that had started the fire. Or at least helped it burn brighter. Trekor carried on before the others could put their annoyance into words.

“Besides, when we asked Tenir of House Vora to sign that piece of paper, we showed ourselves. To the people, to the Mother and even to our enemy. We took a stand for all to see. We cannot back away from it. We cannot betray House Vora’s sacrifice. The people would lose faith in us when they most need it. The Mother herself might turn away from us for our cowardice, when we most need her. And the Reaver would grow in strength.” And that was key. No matter what, they had to defeat the Reaver. It was that or death. For all of them.

“You hear the screams. You feel the suffering coming from that evil pit Y’aris and Finell have created. There is no denying this. You’ve seen Y’aris here in this grove, and you know that whatever spell he’s used to conceal his truth from us, his soul is still black. And you’ve seen the watchmen, and the terrible darkness that has possessed them. The darkness that has made them commit the most terrible acts. Acts that cut to the very heart of what it is to be of the people.”

“And you know they are tor var. Demon ridden.” And that was the worst of it. The terrible crimes that had been committed by them were an offence against all that they knew. But their souls, the evil that ate at them, that was an offence against life itself. Against the Mother. And they all felt it.

“We don’t know that it is Y’aris who has done this thing.” But Elder Varial wasn’t being completely truthful in that, and she knew it.

“Yes we do. We can’t prove it. We don’t know how he’s doing it. But we know it’s Y’aris.” Elder Varial didn’t argue, and she knew he couldn’t.

“Time is upon us. If we do not act tonight, Y’aris will surely have all the prisoners put to death over the coming days. He may already have begun. His evil is already known to us, it will be exposed by the trial, and he lets the prisoners live only in the hope that they might be of use to him. But that hope has all but vanished. The last of it disappears by the day. Soon he will have no reason to keep them alive, and good reason to kill them. If they live after all, they will unite the houses against him. Dead they will break the houses, leaving his master with an easy victory.”