by Greg Curtis
“Elwene.” Finell nearly fell to his knees in front of them, only the guards holding him up, and Iros could see the heartbreak in his face. For the first time Iros felt a trace of sorrow for the elf. He was a poor excuse for a ruler, an elf or a man, but no one should have to endure such a thing.
“Was it ..quick?” When he’d regained at least a little of his strength Finell asked probably the only question a brother could ask faced with a tragedy like this. He had to have hope that maybe she hadn’t suffered. But even that hope was dashed as the priest fell down on his knees in front of him, tears flowing down his cheeks. He shook his head, but by then he didn’t need to.
“Tell me.” Iros closed his eyes as the high lord demanded to know everything. He shouldn’t know it. No one should have to hear such a thing. But still he was obeyed, and bit by bit, his voice choked with emotion, the man told his sorry tale. Of how the brigands had set upon them. Men in black steel, riding out of nowhere with their weapons drawn. Cutting the people down with axe and sword and bow. Then the leader a big man in black armour with a scared face, had violated Finell’s sister, before beheading her.
From where he was standing Iros could only see the high lord’s back. But he could still see the pain in it. He could see the anger too, and he knew that this dark day would come with penalties.
Then Finell turned, his face a mask of pain as he fixed Iros with a terrible stare, and marched for him. Iros went down on his knee again, it was the only thing to do.
“High Lord I am so sorry -.” But he wasn’t able to finish as Finell finally lost all reason.
“Get out!” He screamed it at him, his cry so loud and shrill that it could surely be heard from one side of the city to the other. And the grief, it was so terrible that it tore at everyone’s heart. Even Iros’ heart. “Get out now you filthy utra. Out!”
There was no choice of course. There was absolutely nothing Iros could do to help. There was nothing he could say. So he did exactly as he had been commanded and backed away, bowing every step of the way, Pita beside him. And all the time he was thinking that it was so unfair. That his people should be blamed for the actions of a few. That he should be blamed.
But as he watched Finell giving in to his tears, falling into his black blooded advisor’s embrace, Iros knew that the price of this terrible day had not even begun to be paid, and while he was safe enough, there were many others who weren’t. This was going to be a dark day for any human in the city. Maybe the first of many.
The traders in their caravans, so many of them, so many of them human, so many more of them with mixed human blood, and all of them at risk. The visitors to the libraries and markets. So many scholars and priests on their pilgrimages. The various shrines to the Divines dotted throughout the city. The students sent to the academies. And so many others. The families of his staff. And anyone else unfortunate enough to be wandering through the elven realm. All of them had to be warned. They had to leave. The elves would be angry. Very angry. And with the high lord even more so he had a very great fear for his people.
The moment he was out of sight of the Royal Chamber, Iros took to his heels as he ran for the markets, and protocol be damned. If a few elves stared at him, so be it. There was little time and a great many lives in danger.
In fact if someone had deliberately set out to cause problems for humans with the elves, they could not have done a better job.
Maybe they had.
Chapter Nine.
Lower Wold was a small farming village, a peaceful place where nothing ever happened. The people liked it that way. It was just large enough that the village could have three competing inns, as well as a blacksmith, a wheelwright, a school, a few trading stores and of course a market square for visiting traders. In most ways it was no different to any of the other farming villages surrounding them, and the people were perfectly happy with that as well.
They liked their lives to be simple. To tend the fields and the herds by day, and at night to be able to retire to their cottages. While to many the cottages would have been little more than shacks, they were homes to them, keeping them warm and dry and the children safe. It was enough.
The people knew nothing of the elves’ anger. They had only recently heard through the travelling bards that the high lord’s sister had been murdered by brigands, and while they were saddened by the news, it was still something that was many leagues away. It had nothing to do with them. A few of them had said prayers for her at the various altars, but there was little more that could be done.
They had no idea that the elves were on the warmonger’s trail. They had no thought that many of them were in fact creeping up on them as they went about their daily business. And they wouldn’t have understood even if they had known. Whatever had happened, whoever had committed the terrible deed, it was none of theirs.
Then the first of the flaming arrows found the thatched roofs and it didn’t matter. War had come to them.
There was panic of course, so many roofs burning all at once, and little chance of putting out the fires. But the people still tried. The wells were pushed in to urgent action as pail after pail was hoisted out of them and handed to the nearest people who in turn began racing to the nearest houses. The women and children gathered in the village square, safe from the fires and praying that the damage would not be too terrible. But as the flames leapt for the sky and the dark smoke started gathering in the calm air, they knew it would be.
And none of them realised, that the fires had been deliberately lit. Or that those who had lit the fires, were closing in on them.
The first they knew was when some of the men began falling as they ran with buckets in hand, and it took a while to understand even that. Why were they falling? Had they tripped? And why weren’t they getting up? Then some of the closest could see the arrows sticking out of their bodies and they understood.
“Brigands!” Someone yelled out the warning and it seemed to waken a few to the danger. But too late. Heartbeats later arrows started raining out of the sky in their hundreds, and the men with their buckets fell before them like wheat being scythed. Hundreds fell and lay on the ground, bleeding, while those in the centre of the village began running for the square, with no idea what to do when they got there. Very few of them made it even that far, as the enemy finally began appearing, marching into the village with their longbows held high. As they marched they launched more and more of the arrows at the backs of the fleeing men, cutting them down in the streets.
And then finally they reached the heart of the village, and there were only the women and children left. Huddling in fear in a circle as the elves approached them from all sides.
“Please.” Some of the woman cried out, frightened, as the black clad elves came closer and closer, the children pushed behind them. But it was of no use. Even as they screamed someone gave an order and the longbows sang once more, cutting them down where they cowered. Women and children, the elderly and infirm, all were targeted.
And when the elves were finished with their longbows, they took out their swords and started hunting among the fallen, looking for any survivors. There were some, mostly children who had been saved by their mothers flinging themselves on top of them with their dying efforts. But that wouldn’t save them. The elves pulled the bodies of the dead off the children, and stabbed them all though the heart.
The song of death did not stop until not a body so much as flinched.
Then after gathering up their arrows and looting the corpses, they left. They simply marched out of the burning village as if it was nothing. As if nothing had happened and they hadn’t just murdered maybe a thousand innocent people.
But then they had places to go, and more towns and villages to attack. They didn’t have time to celebrate such a minor victory. They had a war to win.
There were so many more humans to kill.
Chapter Ten.
The court was full as ever, and Iros would normally be grateful for that. If Finell did n
ot listen to him, and he was sure that the rotten little brat wouldn’t, then maybe some of the other nobles would. And the position of high lord was determined by the relative strengths of the seven great houses and the deals they had made among themselves. If Finell was shown to be deceitful or dark of heart, his house would suffer for his shame. And even a high lord had to answer to his house. House Vora would not tolerate Finell shaming them. It was always important for an envoy to remember that when he addressed a ruler he also addressed his people.
Of course this day it was him that the people did not look happy with. In fact seated in their chairs, dressed in their best robes, they looked angry with him. Angered with his words. And probably with good reason given what he was accusing their high lord of. Still he had to continue. It was demanded of him.
“Lower Wold High Lord. My king demands answers. This attack is an outrage. An offence against the codes. A shame against the very name of Elaris. Its stench reaches to the Divines themselves.” Iros had to be firm with the high lord, those were his instructions. Actually his instructions had been far harsher than that, but he would have swiftly found himself with an arrow through the heart if he’d obeyed them to the letter.
But it wasn’t difficult to show his anger when Lower Wold was a small town in Greenlands. These were his people that the elves had murdered. And it was murder. There was no war and even if there had been, the sick and the elderly, women and children would never have been fair targets. It was hard not to simply stand there and scream at him. That was partly why he had Pita standing there with him. That and just in case he ended up doing something stupid and getting himself killed, so that there was someone to report back to the king.
“And I have already told you utra. I did not send soldiers against your pathetic little village. Why would I?” Finell leaned forwards on his throne, his face a mask of anger. “Or are you calling me a liar?”
It was a challenge, and a very clear threat. Iros knew it. Everyone there did. And he knew it still had to be met.
“Whether you sent them or not High Lord, the murderers were elves in blackened chain armour. Elves with longbows. Watchmen. An army of them, five hundred strong. The witnesses have all said the same. Are you saying that you do not have control of your own army?” It was Finell’s turn to go white with rage as he realised that he was being called either a liar or an impotent ruler, and Iros knew he was about to start screaming again. The entire court knew it. He could see them bracing themselves.
Then the black hearted high commander stepped in to smooth things over, and things became somehow worse as he subtly spread his poisonous lies. The man was evil, but cunning with it. He had the tongue of a venomous serpent, and the morals to match.
“Witnesses? I thought you said there were no survivors.” His tone was soothing and conciliatory. It was a lie. And every fibre of Iros’ being wanted to leap at him and slice the elf through.
“In the town no. These murderous scum killed even the babies.” He turned to face Y’aris directly. “What sort of monstrous evil have you taught your poisonous soldiers that they should kill even babies?”
“My watchmen have no such instructions.” He was lying. Iros knew it, even if he couldn’t prove it. Black hair, black heart and black blood.
“Well they did, and there were witnesses. Those who watched the attack from afar. Those who hid.”
“So cowards then, and people too distant to see clearly.” Y’aris actually managed to smirk as he said it, and only Pita’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from drawing his blades and slaughtering the evil little elf where he stood.
“Good people. Unarmed and innocent. And people with good eyes. Not black bloods.” The entire court gasped as he openly called Y’aris that, but if his words had any effect on the black-hearted elf he didn’t show it. He just turned away, still smirking, to address Finell.
“High Lord. I think that we have our answer. Despite this poor human’s beliefs, these were brigands dressed in black armour. Perhaps even the same black armoured brigands who so brutally murdered your sweet sister Elwene.”
“You poisonous toad skin! They were elves! Your foul soldiers!” Iros finally gave in to his anger, unable to listen to such lies. He knew it was a mistake but he simply couldn’t help himself. And his cause wasn’t helped any when the trolls started stamping their feet and shouting their support. They loved a good fight, and Y’aris disgusted them. He in turn openly called them urdan, or wild animals in Common.
“High Lord. Clearly this pitiful human is distressed beyond his ability to reason. These were not our soldiers. I know where my watchmen are at all times and none of them are within the human realm. I can furnish you with the records. Besides, everyone here knows that no elf would ever do such a thing. We are not savages.” He turned back to him, and Iros could see the amused smirk still sitting on his face. The triumph dancing in his eyes. The black blood thought he had won, and maybe he had. Iros had fallen into his trap.
“I am fully capable of reason black blood.” Was it too far? Probably. But Iros had the deaths of a thousand Greenlander’s in his heart. He didn’t care if he gave offence. Not to that toad.
“But not of keeping a civil tongue in your mouth. Especially when speaking with your betters.”
“Betters Y’aris of no name?” He struck deeply with his barb, reminding everyone of who Y’aris was, and Y’aris of his lack of a house. He could see the flash of anger in the high commander’s eyes. But the black blood controlled himself.
“High Lord, while I truly accept that this poor human is distressed, I beg of you not to allow him to speak to you in this way. It is an offence against all of Elaris. He should return to his quarters and stay there until he is calm.”
The high lord nodded and that was as much as it took. A heartbeat later Iros felt strong hands grabbing him around the shoulders, and was abruptly pulled from his seat.
“What! Unhand me!”
But instead of unhanding him more of the guards arrived and suddenly he was actually lifted off the ground and then carried out of the Royal Chamber to the sound of thunderous applause. Hundreds of elves applauding his eviction. This, Iros realised as they passed through the double doors at the rear of the Royal Chamber, was not a good day for diplomacy.
And then when they actually threw him out, tossing him on the ground like a piece of rubbish, he knew that it was worse than that. Diplomacy had completely failed. He had completely failed. He had allowed himself to be out-manoeuvred by a sewer rat.
And he had to report his failure to King Herrick.
Chapter Eleven.
All was quiet in the forest as the troop leader gave the signal for his watchmen to advance. No beasts heard them. No birds were startled and made a noise as they flew away. No twigs snapped underfoot. Terwyn was pleased with that. His watchmen were well-trained, good soldiers, and they understood what was needed.
He would have liked to have been able to claim the credit for that, but in his heart he knew that it was simply that they were elves of the purest blood. Lord Y’aris was right in that. Their skills came naturally to them. Not like the foul outsiders they were advancing on.
He could see them so clearly as they crept closer, and the sight was sickening. Human for the most part, though there was other blood in some of them. Their brutish forms were an offence against decency, their rough speech more so. And of course the natural savagery of their animal nature shone through. The sooner the world was rid of these things, the better.
But he was nervous these days. He had not heard news of the main strike force for some time. No doubt they were simply advancing too far and too fast into the enemy lands to send back messengers, but still he would have liked to know of their mighty victories. And then he knew that it might not be an easy fight. There were soldiers among the enemy. Not true elven soldiers, but still wild men a step up from the simple beasts and barbarians they had encountered thus far. Men in armour. Men carrying weapons, crossbows with almost th
e same range as a proper longbow.
Fortunately they were unprepared. They didn’t know that his troop was nearby, and they were distracted. Loading up wagon after wagon with the loot that they had no doubt plundered from decent elves. Maybe even the loot from the obscenity that had been the raid on Lady Elwene.
Just thinking of that attack threatened to drive his sense away. The very idea of an unclean human forcing himself upon the purest of the pure, defiling her, and then foully killing her. It was all he could do not to just scream with rage and charge them. He so wanted to stick his sword into their still beating hearts and watch them die screaming as he twisted the blade. But that would be a mistake. It might get his watchmen killed. And the filthy humans might even get away.
