by Greg Curtis
And then there were the priests. The elders as they titled themselves. Their foul breathed goddess actually accepted the outsiders and mixed bloods among her devotees, and her servants openly welcomed them. When he had seen them in the Grove as a child he had understood that instantly. It was then that he’d realised that the so-called Mother was no Goddess of the elves. For that alone her priests had to die. But they also had to die because they opposed his plans. They stood against him, even if they didn’t know it.
And they stood against his master. In fact they were the only thing that the great demon feared. He wanted them dead too, but not by the hands of his servants. He wanted nothing to be tracked back to him. So using the mercenaries was a favoured option. If they’d succeeded.
As he stood there, leaning lightly on the hand rail, staring down over the city’s twinkling lights, Y’aris’ face was dark as thunder. Anger and worry dominating.
The elves, a once truly proud people, brought low by the toleration of outsiders, by the ravings of their deluded holy men, and the weakness of their own leaders. There had been fifteen hundred years of weakness and shame since the last true king had walked the land as the god he was. As he, his last descendant, would be again.
Leafshade! Even the name of their city was an abomination. A betrayal of everything that had once made the elves great. Furwhy Ne Leefan was the city’s true name, not this foul corruption of a word from Common. Just the feel of the word on his tongue made him sick to his stomach.
And Common itself was a foul tongue. A bastard tongue made from the words of the tongues of all the peoples and degraded by thousands of years of use. It was never what true elves should speak. Yet it was the language spoken by all. The only one. All the others had been forgotten over time. Only a very few like him had bothered to learn the true tongue. Most considered it archaic. But when he ruled it would be the only language tolerated.
The people needed leadership. They needed a king. A true king not afraid to do what had to be done. Not a high lord. Not a boy filled with selfishness and petty hatreds. A worthless creature built of false pride. Maybe Finell had some of the right thoughts running through his simple mind. But not enough of them, and he didn’t hold those truths to himself with conviction. He might be of the oldest family lineage, but in the end that wasn’t enough. He would have to die.
But for the moment he could be useful. He could be pushed and pulled in the right direction. But first his plans had to come to life. And before that he needed his man to show up and tell him that what had been commanded of him and his brigands had been done.
It was a frustrating wait.
A pebble cracked against the stone and Y’aris turned to see a dark cloaked figure almost seeming to float across the ground to him. But it was only an illusion. A trick of the night and the long black cloak the man wore over his armour. And of course his natural cat like grace.
“Finally!” Y’aris only whispered the word under his breath as he saw the huge man striding purposefully towards him, but still he was heard.
“Why? Did you miss me Y’aris?” Even in the darkness he could see the white of his teeth as the big man smiled. A cruel and sinister expression on an already ugly face. Y’aris rather imagined that his enemies saw that same smile, just before Anders put an axe in their chest. But they probably saw the terrible tracery of scars across one side of his face as well, a present from a hunting spider’s web so he had been told. It was a less than pleasant sight, which thankfully due to the lack of a moon that night, Y’aris was spared.
Soon he would be spared the rest of him as well. But not until after the fool had returned to his men, happy with his payment and unsuspecting of the fate that awaited him. Simpleton.
“It is done?”
“Yes. Exactly as you asked. I took the princess myself in front of her attendants, and then I took her head.” The man smirked a little as he said it, and Y’aris’ blood ran cold. Anders had his uses, and he had always come through when he had to. But the man was also a monster. In truth he was the very reason his kind had to be destroyed. Humans! Utra! Their very presence had to be cleansed from the land. They were more than just savages. They were evil. In sooth they made the trolls look decent.
“And the witnesses?”
“Half a dozen or so. We let them escape as you wanted and saw them spying on us from the forest. Later we watched in secret as they gathered up the fallen the next morning. They are in a wagon train heading here now. In two days perhaps three, they will be here and you can break the news to your poxy prince and start your war.”
“High Lord.” Y’aris corrected him automatically, then started. “You know my plans?” That wasn’t good.
“They are without subtlety. Sacred grove desecrated. Priests attacked and killed. Princess defiled and beheaded. And all by humans in front of witnesses. Why else would you want that save to start a war?” He said it as if it was nothing. As if he was not human. As if he would not be one of the ones killed. An improvement that Y’aris had already set in motion. When the big man returned to his camp he would discover things were not as he had left them. Just before an arrow took his life.
Y’aris tried not to smirk at the thought. Instead he concentrated on the man’s unexpected knowledge, and the worrying thought that he might have said something to someone. Even in death he could still be trouble.
“You knew and yet you went ahead with it? Why? It is your people that will be killed.” Maybe he thought that he would be spared somehow. Y’aris though would not spare him. Not once his usefulness was ended. Not after tonight.
“For the same reason that I was late here this night black blood.” Anders smiled some more and suddenly Y’aris felt a chill. This was a busy night and he had the worrying thought that the man knew of his plans. But how could he? His men had strict instructions not to act until their leader had left them for the town.
“Go on.”
“There was an accident, a foolish misunderstanding, as some of your soldiers suddenly started raining arrows down upon us, thinking we were their enemies instead of their allies.” Y’aris froze, trying to think of something to say that would not sound like a lie, and failing. He wondered briefly if he could reach for his belt knife, but he knew he would never be fast enough. Anders was more than just quick, he was deadly. For a brief moment he wondered if the brigand had decided to kill him this night instead. He was human after all, and they were known for their treachery.
“Not to worry little troll skin. They had clearly lost their minds so we quickly relieved them of their heads in sympathy.” The brigand chuckled quietly to himself as if it was a great jape.
“What!” Y’aris was shocked and very frightened. Not that his soldiers had attacked the brigands. Only that they had lost. And by the looks of things if their leader was still bold enough to wander into Leafshade alone, lost badly. So what did that mean for his plans? Who would he tell? Or was he going to stick that huge axe of his in his head right now?
“Do not pretend. You gave the order elf. The last of them told us that before they died. And we questioned them … most carefully.”
“I …” Y’aris’ voice trailed off before he’d even begun as he ran out of words, and the sweat started peppering his brow. He looked around desperately, wondering if he could run. If he could cry out.
“Why so frightened little elf? If I wanted to kill you your head would already be rolling around on the ground. You know that. It’s why you paid me.” He was right. When Y’aris had needed the services of a capable cut throat he had paid for the best. There was a certain irony in that.
“So?”
“You can live for today. Your secrets will be safe for the moment. As long as you have the payment you promised.”
“I do.” Despite his training as a soldier, Y’aris spat the words out like a frightened little child, his voice almost a squeak. But then he had never been the bravest soldier in the watch, despite what the tales said. He had realised early on
that the brave ones who ran forwards, were also the ones who died early. Far better to hang back, loose a few arrows, and survive.
“Good. Then we are happy, though you may need some new soldiers. Better ones. And a lot of them.” The big man laughed some more, a sound that echoed up straight from the bowels of the underworld.
Abruptly he became serious. “You think to start a war elf. And you may well succeed. Your plans have been most cunningly thought out like any swamp rat’s. But in all your scheming you forgot to consider one tiny little matter. The same thing you forgot tonight. You could lose. And you will lose. Badly.”
“No.” But the denial didn’t make it past Y’aris’ lips.
“Your soldiers are pathetic and you have far too few of them. They will be cut down like stalks of wheat before the scythe. You will lose your war and then you will lose your head.” At least he didn’t guess all of the truth Y’aris realised. He didn’t understand that winning or losing the war was of no great importance. It was simply starting the war that mattered, so that he could use it to advance himself and ultimately as an excuse to take the Heartwood Throne. The big man wasn’t so clever as he thought. Like all utra he was far too proud.
“Now my moon silver and gold if you please. I would hate to have to leave word with your soldiers of your treachery. The Divines alone know what your prince would do to you when he found out.” But Y’aris did, and the last of his blood drained from his face as he thought of it. The human wasn’t bluffing. He wasn’t clever enough to bluff.
Reluctantly, but knowing that he had no choice, Y’aris handed him the heavy pouches filled with gold and the jar of moon silver. He’d always intended to of course. The riches would have been payment to his men for having killed the human disease on the doorstep to the city. A payment they would have returned to him. Now it seemed that plan was in tatters.
“You will not tell?”
“Not for the moment. My men and I would still prefer to leave this land peacefully rather than having to fight our way through it. So you will keep to your agreement this time elf, and you will keep the patrols away. But should you fail -.” The man left the sentence hanging in the air as a threat, while he stowed the riches away in the pockets of his long coat.
“It will be done.” Y’aris knew he had no choice. He didn’t like it, and the bitterness was obvious in his voice, but he had no choice.
“That’s better then.” Unexpectedly the human reached out and slapped his cheek gently as a father tenderly slapped a child. But the intent was very different. He was simply telling him that he had been outplayed. “Besides, you are going to need our help again, and soon. When King Herrick’s armies come knocking at your door, they will be asking for a donation of blood. Your blood.”
“Send for us when you need our help to flee. And you will. But make certain you have plenty of gold and moon silver. And do not ever think to betray us again. It will not go so well for you next time. And you have such a pretty neck.”
With no more than that brutish threat left hanging in the air he turned on his heels and strode off, a huge black figure quickly disappearing into the distance. Y’aris breathed a quick sigh of relief as he watched him go, then ground his teeth in silent frustration and anger.
It always amazed Y’aris how Anders could simply wander through the city unnoticed, even by night, but he did it time and again and no one seemed to say anything. Maybe he was as he claimed, once a ranger. Certainly his feet made no sound on the cobbles when he walked, and despite his size he had a certain grace to his movements. Of course that just added to his danger. And the trouble he’d caused him this night.
Y’aris cursed a little more under his breath as he remained on the bridge looking over the unsuspecting city.
It should have been so easy. Anders and his men should be dead, and in a few days time after the high lord had dealt with the tragic death of his sister, his men should have found their bodies near the city and reported them. They should have found the markings of the utra king’s soldiers upon them. Proof that despite their words, the loathsome humans were planning an attack. And with that, war should have been called for by the heart broken child. A war in which a man like him could find true glory, so that when it was over, and after the high lord and his remaining family were dead, he could assume the Heartwood Throne unopposed.
Then his master’s temples could reappear throughout the land, and once more he would rise to greatness. And as he did so, he would provide Y’aris with the armies he needed to wipe the lower races from the world.
Now though, instead of being able to show a dead human patrol running through elven lands, killing innocent elves, he would have to make do with a dead elven patrol. His own men. And he had no proof to present as to who had killed them. But still it was something. Enough that maybe even that moon silver tongued human envoy would no longer be able to sway the high lord to his ends. The man was a constant nuisance, and living proof that even an utra could be smarter than you would guess. But like his mercenary, not as smart as he thought.
And hopefully neither of them would be breathing the precious air of Elaris for that much longer.
Chapter Four.
Back in his quarters Y’aris carefully locked the door behind him. If anyone saw him he would hang. Then he hurried directly to his bedchamber and the locked chest that always sat at the foot of his bed.
He didn’t want to, his plans had not gone so smoothly as he’d hoped, and his master would know his failure. He knew everything Y’aris knew. But that was the coin Y’aris paid for having his power behind him. And the Reaver’s power was undeniable.
It was only through him that Y’aris had managed to rise as far and as fast as he had. To be promoted through the ranks from the most lowly watchman to the High Commander of the Royal Watch in a mere twenty years. A feat that should have been impossible. Especially for someone like him who’s house had been first broken by his father’s disappearance and then further sullied by his mother as she debased herself with an outsider.
How could she have done that? The memory of that day when she had told him of her plans to wed the utra trader, would stay with him forever. The shock still dwelled in his heart. And the understanding that in that act she had destroyed not just her future and her name, but his as well had sparked a fury in him that would not stop burning.
It was a betrayal. Of him, of his father, of his people. Killing her had not been easy, but he had forced himself to do it. When she had told him that she was with child, there had been no choice. Killing the utra on the other hand, that had been pure joy, and he only wished he could have stabbed the man to death as he slept in the wagon many more times.
It was that that had made him a man, even as a child. But it had also left him without a house or wealth or a family or even a name. And an elf without a family was sad, but without a house he was nothing. Unnamed. And still it could have been worse. If anyone had found the wagon, instead of ignominy he would have found a prison cell and a life of hard labour in chains. Even so his years spent as a farm hand, all that he could become as a fifteen year old unnamed orphan, promised him no future. It was for that reason he had joined the Royal Watch when he was eighteen. The hope of advancement.
Even there he had had few prospects. His chances of promotion were few, his choice of possible wives just as limited, and they would never have included any woman of the great houses.
He would have been a watchman for his entire life had he not found the artefact. But on the day that he had, his life had changed forever. On that day he had discovered a future, and one far grander than anything he had dreamed possible. He had discovered the Reaver, and a deal had been forged.
The spider demon wanted souls, something that Y’aris was happy to feed him, provided that he could pick the souls. And he needed servants, but not the normal obedient sort he favoured. He needed a servant with a mind. It seemed that most of his servants, his priests had only limited freedom. In turn Y’aris wanted p
ower. And power meant control and knowledge. Things the demon was happy for him to receive, provided he got fed. It was a simple but mutually beneficial arrangement, and Y’aris had never regretted it. Not for a heartbeat.
Without the spider demon’s magic behind him he would still be a lowly watchman from a disgraced family sitting out on a distant hill hunting for incursions of dwarves and trolls into Elaris. But with it, there was no end to the heights he could scale. If he was careful. And if he didn’t try to deceive the demon. Deceive him and he would break their deal, and if he broke their deal Y’aris would soon find himself with nothing. Or even less if someone discovered what he had done. Consorting with the Reaver was punishable by only one fate, death.
Carefully he pulled out the small bundle, surprised as always at how much it weighed. And then he carefully started unwrapping it until finally he could see the shining black surface of the tile, and through it his master.
What the artefact actually was he didn’t know. A piece of a temple wall maybe, polished smooth until the blackness of it somehow shone. A relic. A tablet. Or even just a strange rock with a side of flat black glass. All he really knew was that it was magic. And that through it he had access to the Reaver’s vast power. And that it shone when he held it. In truth it didn’t so much shine or reflect light as it did absorb it, and whenever he held it in his hands he could see the darkness all around it, growing. The thing somehow ate light even as it somehow seemed to shine. Could darkness shine? Because that was what it seemed to do.
