by Alex Janaway
‘It’s good news, us getting some real soldiers back into the fight,’ said Erskine.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Ernan, withdrawing a small leather flask from the folds of his cloak.
‘Hey! You said you didn’t have anything!’ protested Erskine.
‘I never said anything, you idiot,’ said Ernan. ‘Now do you want some or not?’
‘Can I?’ asked Jussi.
Ernan raised his eyebrow at Owen. He shrugged. Why not? Ernan graced him with a wolfish grin and took a pull before passing it to his brother who in turn gave it over to Jussi who took a healthy swig and almost spat it out again.
‘That’s not ale!’
‘It’s Murtagh’s special spirit.’
‘It’s horrible!’
‘You’ll grow to like it,’ laughed Ernan.
Owen waved the proffered flask aside. Murtagh’s wife, Jenni, had warned Owen very early on of Murtagh’s attempts at distilling. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with a hangover, despite the good news. A success on their first proper scouting mission beyond the Highlands; better than they could have hoped for. Eagle’s Rest had thus far gathered a host of scattered survivors, found by a systematic search of their homeland, flying in pairs over sections of the high country. Larsen and Saul were still leading parties into the deeper valleys looking for any still out there. The winter months had been hard and he’d had the brothers to train and he had been tempted to keep searching in pairs; there was safety in having a second pair of eyes. But time was moving on and they needed to cover more ground. He needed as many people who could contribute as possible. Spring was making its way towards summer and he wanted to be ready for their first offensive.
CHAPTER SIX – FILLION
‘Sabin!’
Captain Sabin Fillion, last survivor of the Tissan Imperial Scouts, looked up from his desk. ‘Hedra? What are you doing here? How did you get in here? I thought Parliament didn’t allow youngsters inside.’
The younger elf, his brother in marriage, grinned.
‘It pays to be my father’s son.’
‘I suppose so,’ admitted Fillion. ‘And you don’t have to toil here in your father’s office every day to get it.’
‘Exactly,’ laughed Hedra. ‘You are welcome to this job. I have no interest in it.’
‘Are you telling me that you are not following your father into politics?’
‘Why would I want to? It’s boring. No, you can do all that stuff now you are family. Me? I’m for the army.’
‘Really? Where has this come from?’
‘All thanks to you, Sabin. You inspired me.’
Bullshit.
‘I don’t think I was ever an inspirational warrior,’ Fillion said.
‘I wouldn’t know about that, Sabin. You never talk about it. I was referring to how diligently you have applied yourself to the task of Servant. You’ll be a Member next.’
‘The Gods forbid!’ cried Fillion, throwing up his hands.
‘Anyway, all the late nights and paperwork and politicking. You can keep it. I want a more exciting life.’
‘And you think you’ll find that in the army? Who are we at war with? You missed it.’ At least for now.
Hedra put his hands on hips. ‘You should listen to father more. He has plenty to say about that sort of thing.’
‘Oh I know.’ Fillion was sure his father-in-law, Patiir, would have a great deal to say. He stood up and stretched. ‘Anything else I can do for you?’
‘Oh me? Nothing. But my sister wants a word with you.’
Fillion raised an eyebrow. ‘My wife’s here?’
‘Hardly! She is so big with your child, she can barely stand.’
‘She’d smack you if she heard that.’
Hedra grinned and turned to leave. ‘See you at home, brother.’
Fillion shook his head and puffed his cheeks in mock frustration. He sat down and closed his eyes. Damn it but he was tired. He opened his eyes and looked at the documents laid out before him. The words swam, his vision blurred. Time was running out and he hadn’t achieved one fucking thing. Nothing to show for his efforts other than marrying a damned elf and siring another one of them – quite literally sowing the seed of his own potential discovery if it was born displaying its human heritage. If this was his attempt at gaining revenge he was doing one poor fucking job.
He had maybe six weeks of freedom left and was no closer to working out how he was going to bring the elven kingdom down. It was just too big a task for one man. He wasn’t a politician, he wasn’t a schemer; he was just a soldier. Increasingly his thoughts turned to a far simpler plan. He now had unfettered access to the Parliament and the Members and their staff. He could, if he wished, embark on one glorious day of violence. It would be easy to take down one of the guards, steal his weapons and armour and march bold as brass into the Chamber. He was sure he could wreak havoc among the cream of elven politics, sending a shockwave through the Homelands. They’d take him down soon enough, but before they did he would die shouting ‘For Tissan and the Emperor!’ The vision helped calm his nerves, brought him a small moment of pleasure. Yes, that would be some moment. But it would be a short-lived act. The guards and mages would soon bring him down and the Parliament would recover, replacing their dead members with other worthies. And they would commemorate the day and clap each other on the back for being right about the barbarous humans, and wasn’t it good that they had all been exterminated. Fillion sighed. If it came to it, he would do it rather than risk discovery and execution. But he mustn’t give up hope. And things were not as bad as they appeared. He just happened to be related by marriage to one of the most influential Members in living memory (which was long for an elf), the actual elf who had instigated the genocide in the first place. He was his trusted Servant, husband to his daughter. That was impressive in anyone’s book. Right, get over yourself and get to work. He stood, gathered up the sheets in front of him and placed them into the satchel hanging off his chair. He looked towards the closed door of his father-in-law’s private office. The Member had meetings elsewhere and would not be returning today. He stepped out on to the main concourse and shut the outer door. There was no lock. There was no need. This was the Parliament of the elves. The might enjoy the cloak and dagger of politics but they never condescended to outright skulduggery, a fact that Fillion kept close to his heart. There might well come a time he could use that against them.
He walked along the concourse towards the entrance, nodding at acquaintances and colleagues. The hour was late and the building was almost empty. Parliament itself was in recess and many Members had already returned to their home estates in outlying provinces. Fewer of the Servants who continued to maintain the administration of government bustled about. He would have liked to go for a drink, but Kanyay had already returned home to his people in the east, and without him, Fillion would end up having to deal with the other patrons of The Silver Chalice alone. It would only sour his mood. Instead he made straight for home, hurrying along the parade. He heard the night dirges from the Temple echo through the warm air. The low male tones intermingled with lighter, female ones, mixing and swirling around each other, creating a hypnotic sound, so unlike the loud, bright prayers of the Imperial religion. Fillion breathed deep, the warm evening air helping to divert his thoughts. If he ignored where he was, it could even have been a pleasant evening.
A short time later he entered the house and made straight for the inner courtyard. As expected, Nadena was reclining in a large wicker chair, gazing at the water fountain that was the centrepiece of the courtyard. A large whiskered fish wound its way around the central pole hunting a smaller fish. The water erupted around both, giving a frantic, dynamic feel to the hunting scene. It struck Fillion as something of a metaphor, though it may well have escaped his elven family. He walked quietly behind Nadena, leaning in close to kiss her cheek.
‘I can hear you,’ she said with a mock-stern tone.
He closed the dista
nce, placing his lips on her skin for a moment, and moved round to face her. She was wearing her hair loose about her shoulders and was dressed in a simple white shift – a tradition among pregnant elven women. Her hands moved slowly over her stomach, the bulge pressing against the fabric. She smiled up at him warmly.
‘You need to stop working so late,’ she chided.
Fillion crouched before her and placed a hand on the bump.
‘I’m trying to get the hours in now so maybe your father might let me enjoy the birth of our child.’
‘I think you know him better than that. Even so, I want you here.’
‘Yes, mistress,’ Fillion said, bowing his head.
‘That’s better.’
Fillion stood and helped himself to the decanter of iced water.
‘Talking of which, I was speaking to father today,’ she said.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘We are leaving for the estate the day after tomorrow for the summer. Father is keen that you come with us; he is anxious you do not miss the birth.’
How very gracious of him.
‘So I don’t have to stay here?’
‘The privilege of marriage to me, my love.’
Fillion leaned forward and kissed her again. He had not been sure what Patiir would have him do. If they were away from the capital and their child was born a human, he would lose the opportunity to act.
A male voice behind him. ‘Sabin?’
Fillion turned around to see Rabi standing respectfully behind them.
‘Yes, Rabi?’
The master would like to speak to you. He is in his study.
‘Very well, thank you, Rabi.’ He watched the old retainer disappear and turned back to his pregnant wife. ‘Your father calls me,’ he said.
Nadena reached out a hand and he took it.
‘When you are finished talking, can you persuade him to come to dinner.’
‘We’ll be there.’
He let go and walked back into the house proper, heading for the east wing. At the end of the corridor Patiir’s study door was closed, though as he drew near he could hear voices within. He paused to listen, and recognised the gruff tones of Marmus, the dwarf ambassador. An unlikely late night visitor but no doubt he would still be all business, dressed as he always was in his trademark brown robe of office and his wide leather belt embossed with the geometric shapes that marked the dwarf style. He knocked.
‘Come in,’ came Patiir’s muffled response.
Fillion opened the door to find Patiir sitting behind his desk and Marmus to one side, dressed as he had envisaged.
‘Come in, Sabin, shut the door,’ said Patiir.
Fillion joined Marmus and nodded a greeting.
‘Ambassador, it is good to see you.’
The dwarf returned the nod, his usual scowl in place. Despite the fierce shrewdness behind his eyes, Fillion doubted that this dwarf elder realised the extent to which Patiir distrusted him. ‘Sabin,’ he growled back.
‘Sabin, I have been discussing some trade and business matters with our honoured guest,’ said Patiir. ‘As you probably know, we are returning to our estate for the summer recess, but the Parliament is keen to continue cementing our new trade relationships. To that end, a deputation has been asked to travel north to inspect some of the new mine-workings that have opened up since the end of the war.’
‘I see,’ said Fillion. In truth he had no idea where this was going.
‘I have been tasked with selecting the members of that deputation. I would like you to go.’
Oh.
‘In fact, the Ambassador was most pleased when I suggested you.’
Fillion looked at the dwarf, who tilted his head in acknowledgement.
‘I am honoured, truly. But what of Nadena and the child?’
Patiir raised a placating hand.
‘Sabin, I understand. It pains me to risk you being absent for the birth of your first child and I know that Nadena will not be happy. But I cannot afford to go and in my stead must go someone trusted and valued. The dwarfs would expect nothing less, is that not so, Ambassador?
‘Aye, quite so,’ the dwarf agreed.
Patiir smiled reassuringly. ‘Nadena will remain at the estate with her sister as company when I return to Parliament. It is my hope that this will be a short trip. If it goes well you will be back in less than three months, just in time for the birth. Believe me, the Ambassador and I are in agreement that this is nothing more than an exercise in due diligence. I am sure our dwarf friends are conducting their affairs as … honourably as they have always done.’
Fillion was filled with conflicting emotions. There was every chance he would be caught and imprisoned if the babe was born human. He could use this chance to escape, to accept the fact that, despite his best efforts, no plan he could come up with was going to work. But neither had he come this damned far to just give up. It took every ounce of control for Fillion to maintain a straight face but he had no choice but to accept the assignment. He bowed low and said, ‘Then I will do so gladly, I am honoured to be asked.’
‘Thank you, Sabin. You are a good Servant and by representing the interests of the Parliament in this matter you do our house a great service,’ said Patiir, smiling indulgently. ‘If you will be so good as to see the Ambassador out, you and I can discuss the details of the trip after dinner. You will be leaving tomorrow.’
‘Of course.’ Fillion opened the door and ushered the Ambassador through. Together they walked in silence, through the house and out into the entrance courtyard.
‘Just so you know, I asked for you. Patiir just agreed,’ said Marmus.
Fillion raised an eyebrow.
‘Really?’
The dwarf shrugged.
‘I’m heading back with you. Affairs of state have to be attended to and I have got to report back to the Council. If I have to share the road with an elf, I’d rather have one I can at least tolerate enough to have a drink with.’
Fillion took that as high praise indeed. He had cultivated a relationship with the dwarf over drinks at The Silver Chalice facilitated by an introduction by the wood elf Kanyay. The three of them all outsiders, drawn together for support; not that they knew the truth of it as far as Fillion was concerned.
‘Are we taking ale with us, then?’ asked Fillion with a smile.
‘We better bloody be,’ grunted Marmus. He stood by the gateway and inspected Fillion. ‘Get yourself some proper travelling gear. It’s hardy country where we are heading, not all pretty forests and the like. But, if you are lucky, when we get back to my lands, you’ll get a chance to drink some proper beer.’ With that, Marmus headed off into the dusk.
Fillion closed his eyes and took a moment to take stock and move beyond his conflicting thoughts of earlier. He was going to the Dwarf Nations. This was unexpected. He had to embrace the opportunity it offered. If he were to do well during this trip, it would further cement his reputation. It all had to head towards that. If he could prove just how invaluable he was then surely an audience with the King became that much more possible. There was just the one small matter of the pregnancy. Always that.
‘Sabin.’
Sabin turned. It was Patiir.
‘Are you well?’ the elf asked.
Fillion forced a sigh.
‘Sorry, I find myself a little tired today.’
‘Then it is the right time for us to take a break from the city,’ replied Patiir. ‘Come, let us go to dinner.’ He beckoned Fillion to join him and placed an arm around his shoulder. ‘There is another reason I wish you to go.’
‘Oh?’
‘It has come to my attention that the dwarves are using humans to work their mines.’
Fillion stopped in his tracks.
‘What?’
Patiir lowered his arm and looked at him gravely. ‘I understand your shock. I felt the same thing when I discovered this. If this proves to be true then it concerns me greatly. It was never part of the terms of our alli
ance. The dwarves were welcome to any wealth and goods they could acquire from the campaign and the humans were to be wiped out. That was the agreement.’
‘How could they have hidden this from us?’
‘When the war ended we withdrew quickly. There was no need for us to remain; we had no interest in booty. It was left to the dwarves, gnomes and our other allies to scour over the remains, to seek out those last pockets of human life and eliminate them. If they chose to hold humans captive, it would have been possible to hide this from us.’
Humans left? Working for the dwarves? Fillion had started to believe he was the only one left.
‘And what do I do if that this is the case?’
Patiir folded his arms.
‘This trip is genuine. You are there to inspect the mines and their produce. If you see any signs of human labour, do not acknowledge that they have strayed from their agreement, but return and report to me any truth in this matter. I will relay this information to the Parliament, to the King himself. The dwarves will no doubt feign outrage and deny all knowledge, but raise it with them we will.’
‘And what will we do?’
‘That much should be clear, Sabin. We will demand that the dwarves act in good faith and respect the spirit of our original terms. We will demand they put down every single human they have in their employ. We cannot risk them building some kind of slave population, breeding them as a workforce. Because, believe me Sabin, I wouldn’t put it past them if it profits them to do so.’ Patiir leaned in close and studied Fillion. ‘Sabin, you have gone quite pale.’
‘Forgive me … It’s just … I thought it was all over.’
Patiir reached out and squeezed his shoulder, a fatherly act. ‘I understand. I too had thought we had put this unpleasantness behind us. It is alright, we will deal with this in due course. Come, let us eat.’
Fillion allowed himself to be guided inside. Once more his mind was in turmoil. Humans, maybe hundreds of them. There was no way would he assist in their final annihilation. He could never betray his own kind. In fact, Patiir had just handed him a gift.
