Days Of Light And Shadow (57 page)

Black horses, small and fast, riders to match them with silver armour and silver hair flying free, and double recurved shortbows of white ash. The sprites had arrived.

Sprites! In Elaris! It made no sense. This was an elven realm. It wasn’t Solaria. And the sprites seldom bothered to cross the border. And as more and more sprites thundered up the trail on their black steeds, he realised that they weren’t simple visitors. They weren’t traders or pilgrims. They were soldiers. A dragoon of wind riders, a hundred men and women at arms, maybe even from Widdens Heart.

Why were they in Elaris? Was it some sort of invasion? But Halders discovered that he didn’t care. Not when he knew there were no more abominations coming.

But he did care when he spotted one among them that he knew. A human in a brown monk’s robe, carrying a simple quarterstaff at his side, and waving a glowing hand in the air. Brother Pietre had returned home, and just in time. And he, Halders guessed, was the reason that the sprite army had come and that the villagers’ lives were saved. He was also the reason that the abominations had stopped moving, just before some sprites had put a few arrows in the backs of their heads. The priests had said they could do that.

Happy chaos ensured as people ran around, screaming, crying, laughing and singing. The sprites were trying to pretend that they were a little more in control of themselves, but that was never in their nature, and soon they were singing their strange melodies. Someone had struck up a lilting air on the wooden pipes, which in no way resembled anything that was being sung, and the children were running around, dancing and yelling in excitement.

For his part though, Halders couldn’t join in. He was simply too tired. And so instead he walked over to his smithy, wading through piles of bodies to get to it, and collapsed on the bench he kept for customers. Having trollish blood in him meant that he rarely needed to sit down. But it seemed that for the moment the blood had run dry. He felt the need. Maybe it was the wounds and the blood loss getting to him, but if it was it didn’t matter. There were many far more terribly injured than him, and they could use the healers’ touch first.

Besides sitting there, watching the others, he felt at ease in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. It was enough to watch and listen while the afternoon sun slowly set. In time he noticed, others were doing the same. Finding porches to collapse on, railings to lean over, even walls to collapse against. Exhaustion was claiming them one by one.

But along with that exhaustion there was also sadness. It took a while to let it sink in. To hear the words that were being spoken by their saviours. But little by little he understood more of what Brother Pietre was saying. That the threat wasn’t over. That the Reaver was truly back. That more of these things were coming, and in greater numbers, and that sooner or later they wouldn’t be able to defend their home. They had to leave. That they had to find new homes with strong walls and lots of soldiers.

It was a dark thought. Aellwy Te was their home. It was where he’d been born and raised. Where most of the villagers had. It was where he’d met his wife, and they’d raised their children. It was more than just their home. It was their entire world. And they had to leave.

Brother Pietre was adamant about that. He said there were more coming, and he was always honest. The sprites said the same thing. That a dozen dragoons had been sent west from Solaria to evacuate the border towns in Elaris, and bring the people to safety. Ten towns, the most southerly of them, were being brought back across the border in to Solaria. Six more were to be escorted north into Irothia.

Aellwy Te was heading north.

Chapter Eighty Nine.

King Herrick was seated at his desk when the bell finally rung, and all he could think as he heard the sound ringing through the private library was that it was about time. The damned girl had been slow to drag her feet across the city, and he suspected that was as much about fear as it was the simple fact that she had no instructions. Since the dismissal of her precious high lord, she had no one to report to. No one to instruct her. An unfortunate position for an envoy to be in.

A guard in his ceremonial bronze armour appeared at the door and before he could even open his mouth Herrick yelled at him to go out and show her in. Grumpiness was one of the prerogatives of age, and he was starting to enjoy it. His servants possibly weren’t so thrilled, and the man vanished even more quickly than he’d appeared.

“Majesty.” Tara looked worried, but then she always looked worried. Being the high priestess of the Dibellan faith tended to add worry lines to a person. And it didn’t help that she was his aunt.

“Don’t look at me like that woman. I know what I’m doing.” Herrick growled at her, assuming a confidence he wasn’t sure he felt.

“I didn’t say anything Heri.” She smiled a little sadly at him and for a moment he thought she was going to pat him on the head as she had when he was a little boy. After all she was already addressing him as she had all those years ago. She did that a lot.

“And I didn’t say you did.” Foolish words exchanged, they waited impatiently until the envoy arrived. The Divines only knew what his other guests thought of the exchange. But sprites were very good at showing little of what they were thinking, especially if it was sad or awkward, and Herrick knew better than to ask. The one was an envoy trained in saying only the right thing, and the other, her far seer never said anything at all.

“Your Majesty.” Luree appeared at the door, trying to look calm as she bowed to him, but even a blind man could have seen the worry in her face. She was little more than a child, not much older than his grand children, and placed in a difficult position. And that was before she’d been summoned to his private library, something even her predecessor had never experienced. Herrick liked to keep his private library for himself.

He grunted at her and waved her in. Elves weren’t his favourite people of late even if it seemed the war wasn’t entirely their fault. By all nine of the Divines he hated that. He’d had an enemy. He’d defeated them. And now the accursed priests were telling him that he’d only defeated their hapless victims. He really hated that. But with the endless reports of disappearances and abominations roaming the lands, he couldn’t deny it.

“Is there any word yet of a replacement for your high lord?”

“No Your Majesty.” She bowed again, this time in sadness. “The great houses have not been able to agree.”

Unable to agree! Herrick tried not to snort too loudly. According to the bards and the few traders that had crossed the border, the elves were brawling in the taverns, and some were spilling blood. There was talk of assassinations too. Elaris was in chaos. And for some reason the Dibellans seemed to think he should help them!

The very idea still made his seventy year old blood boil. But Dibella was the goddess of life, and they thought everyone should be saved. Even their enemies. And he owed them. It was they and the elven elders that had found the cure for the watchmen, so that they could be sent home safely. Of course they’d also proclaimed long and loud to the court that the men were innocent of their crimes. That had not been well received.

“Then who are you sending your letters to?” And he knew from his people that she sent pigeons away daily. But that not so many returned.

“To Elder Varial in the Honeysuckle Grove, and Petral of House Pria, the Master of the Envoys.” In short to the priests who had no authority in matters of civil order or the military, and a man who could speak well but had even less authority than the priests. But maybe he at least knew who to speak to within the city if things had to be done. Herrick said nothing of his doubts though, knowing that there was no point. There was still only one thing to do and one person to do it.

“You know these people.” He gestured to his other guests, not wanting to waste time on pointless introductions. “They have something to show you and a message that needs to get back to Leafshade.”

“Highness.”

The far seer immediately began waving his hands above the silver bowl filled with holy water and mumbling something under his breath. A prayer, a spell, or even a favourite verse, Herrick had no idea what. But what he did know was that it worked, and within a few moments an image began appearing in the still water. An image of another face, a far seer in Widdens Heart, three hundred and some leagues south east of them. It was a useful magic even if only the sprites had it.

The far seer’s face disappeared from the water, his job done, and Aquina, queen of Solaria and the most silver of her people, appeared in his place. At the same time the far seer in his library also backed away, while the envoy indicated for Luree to step up to the bowl. Poor kid, he thought. She looked absolutely terrified. And it was only going to get worse. For all of them.

After that he simply sat back in his chair and listened quietly as the Queen of Solaria told Luree exactly what she’d told him less than an hour before. That she had dragoons of her windriders riding through the borderlands between Solaria and Elaris. That they had crossed the border and were evacuating all of the smaller towns. That more and more  abominations had began to appear.  That they were growing in numbers, travelling up it seemed from somewhere in Southern Elaris. She told her of the battles they’d fought, and the towns her people had come across that had also been attacked. She told her also of the towns that had already lost those battles, and the streets empty of everything except bodies.

After she’d finished, it was Herrick’s turn to tell Luree of the actions he had taken, and the commands he’d sent to all five of his southern realms to take in refugees. He hated it. He hated giving succour to his enemies. He hated having to command his lords to take in refugees when their lands were in ruins because of those same people. He hated knowing that it was only going to get worse.

But most of all he hated seeing the look of absolute horror in those big green eyes as a stripling girl learnt that her home was soon to be overrun by abominations. That her family and friends were in peril. Maybe she was an elf, but she was also little more than a child. And no girl should ever have to hear such a thing.

No one should.

Chapter Ninety.

Argan looked down upon the body of his cousin and a great flood of sadness washed over him. Sera of Durlan had been a good woman and a good friend. Now she was just another body lying on the ground like so many others. Murdered, and though those around him were desperately trying to claim that it had probably been done by some brigand creeping around the city robbing people at the point of a knife, he wasn’t fooled. No one was.

She’d been assassinated.

As she had gone about her daily business shopping in the market, someone had taken the opportunity to stick a knife in her back, and remove House Durlan’s best hope to claim the Heartwood Throne. There was no robbery and no brigand. Just as there hadn’t been so many times before.

This was Elaris, the home of the elves. It was Leafshade, home to both the Heartwood Throne and the Grove. This was supposed to be the most cultured place in the world. The nobles the most refined and civilised of all. And they were murdering each other in the streets.

“Coo coo.” Ariane was bent over the body of her daughter, openly weeping and calling her by the pet name she had called her when she was a baby. Tears ran down her cheeks, as she sat on her knees in the grass, cradling her daughter’s  head in her lap, rocking back and forth in her grief. Argan doubted that she even knew anyone else was there. Such a display of emotion was very unelven. To show such uncontrolled emotion, to allow her robes to get dirty, to lose control of her words, and  yet it seemed right somehow. A mother should weep for her only daughter. The humans had that right at least.

Beside her her husband Vana stood, his face completely white with anger, and though he said nothing, working hard to maintain his composure, Argan knew the dark direction his thoughts were travelling. Vengeance. Vana wanted vengeance. And as First of House Durlan he usually got what he wanted.

What they needed though, was justice. They would not get that though.

Though the best of the city watch were on the job, speaking with stallholders and shoppers and asking questions of those who might have seen something and getting nothing, he knew that the assassin would not be caught. The chances were that he had already left the city. And as for the man who’d paid the assassin, he could well be  standing among the crowd of onlookers surrounding them. Many of them were high born. Most of them, even the ones who hadn’t been involved, were probably celebrating the death of another rival for the throne.

“We should speak to the elders,” he said to his father standing beside him. 

“Hush Argan. There will be time enough for that tomorrow. Today we should allow Vana and Ariane their time to grieve for their daughter.” His father was looking to be not that much more in control of his anger than Vana, though he hid it better. But he didn’t understand.

“Not for the funeral. To find the one who did this.” Suddenly everyone stared at him. As if he’d suggested something disgusting. And maybe he had. This was the business of House Durlan not the Grove. And its resolution had to be theirs as well. Even if they never found the actual murderer and simply exacted their revenge on anyone and everyone they suspected. Which was exactly what would happen. Which was what had already happened too many times. Each death, each assassination begat more. But while the Grove would find the assassin and his employer they would not allow them to be executed. Blood would not be shed for blood. And the First wanted blood.

Then too, there was the other problem. That the Grove, once they became officially tasked with the duty, would investigate fully, and no doubt turn up some dark secrets from within House Durlan. Other deaths perhaps, secret dealings, pacts between houses.  None of the remaining great houses wanted the Grove involved.

“Does the mist cloud your thoughts son?”

“No father. I see clearly. We cannot continue like this. Murder after murder, brawls in the open, the great houses at war. Death begets only death.”

“The Grove does not concern itself with the affairs of the great houses,” His father replied stoically. By tradition he was right. But this wasn’t a traditional situation. Not when the great houses were at war.

“Does not is not the same as should not or cannot.”

“In this case it is.” His father turned to face him. “We will speak no more of this.” It was an order. But Argan wasn’t in a very obedient mood.

“So we will just leave it as it is and lose more of our loved ones? We will allow Leafshade to go without leadership? Without even examples of what it means to be high born for the people to see? How many of us have been killed so far? And how many more will die before this madness ends? How many more funerals will you attend while the innocent are killed for crimes they did not commit and the guilty walk free? All in the name of pride. Pride that none of us are worthy of.”

“Go to your chambers!” His father let loose a little of his anger for all to hear. Something he normally never did. But his words fell on deaf ears. Seeing that anger, seeing that grief and rage, Argan could see the demon within him. Within all of them. The demon of wrath.

“No.” Argan took a deep breath and stretched up to his full height as he faced his father. “This evil, this darkness, this demon that dwells within us can no longer be borne. I will go to the Grove instead, and the only way you can stop me is by killing me or unnaming me.”

Having laid down his ultimatum, something he had never done before, Argan turned on his heels and headed for Honeysuckle Grove, wondering as he did so whether he would be stopped by a knife in his back, or by the sound of those most terrible words.

He wondered if he would ever be able to go home again.