by Greg Curtis
It still puzzled him that the high lord denied it was happening. It had puzzled Iros too when he brought him his daily reports. When they had reports from the survivors, pigeons bringing them news every day of the Royal Watch’s latest attacks, it seemed that the facts were not in dispute. Yet every day that Pita had come to the high lord to demand that he end his incursion, he had called him a liar.
Could he somehow not know what his own soldiers were doing? And could he also not know that his army had suffered a crushing defeat? They had received the news only that very evening. Surely he should have heard it before them. But that was a matter for the daylight, and for the moment Pita knew, they had to work out what to do about Iros.
There were friends to contact, nobles to beseech, and at some point in the morning he knew that he would have to go before the high lord himself, and beseech him to let Iros go. But the worry gnawing away in the pit of Pita’s stomach was that he would not. He had gone this far, he would not back down. And it was likely that Iros would be killed in the prison. He might already be dead.
And Saris would never understand. From time to time Pita stared at the forlorn figure of Iros’ jackal hound as she sat at the door, waiting for him to return. She didn’t understand what had happened, but she knew that her master was in trouble. He could see it in the way that she guarded the door, her round ears pricked up, listening for the sound of his footsteps.
She was an unusual pet. He had heard that many people had told Iros when he’d found her as a motherless pup that she should be killed cleanly. But they would have been wrong. She might not be quite a dog, but perhaps even more than any of those, she was faithful. Completely faithful. If she didn’t see her master again he suspected, she would die of a broken heart.
And as to what Iros’ family would do when they heard the news, Pita couldn’t even begin to imagine. The Drakes were a close family. Too close some said. They valued family above advancement. And they ruled their people the same way. So how would they survive the news that their only son had been arrested on a pretence, dragged off to a dungeon where the Divines only knew what was being done to him, and would quite likely be killed? It would destroy them. The same dark thoughts were running through all their minds.
And so he and the rest of the mission staff sat there in the oversized arm chairs set aside for guests, waiting patiently for the dawn, and the hope that it might bring, but still living in the darkness.
Unexpectedly Saris yipped a little, and then growled under her breath, jolting Pita out of whatever strange land his thoughts had been journeying, and for a brief moment the sound filled him with hope. Maybe she had heard something. Maybe the high lord had finally seen sense and let Iros go.
“Girl.” Danni went to the hound, beating them all by a few heartbeats. “Do you hear something?” But of course the hound couldn’t answer her. Her growls though didn’t sound happy.
Pita went to the window, the door was blocked by a hound, pulled the drapes open and looked out into the darkness, hoping to see something. But there was nothing to see save the twinkling lights of the city.
“I don’t see -.” There was a sound of glass breaking and then a sudden thump and a terrible pain in his shoulder, and for a moment he didn’t quite know what had happened. But then when he looked down to see the head of an arrow unexpectedly protruding from his shoulder he understood.
“Get down!” He screamed it even as he took his own advice and fell to the floor, but he wasn’t quite quick enough. Even as he lay there shouting he saw Danni stand up to try to come to his aid. A noble thought in the young cleaning girl, but a foolish one. Another arrow came through the glass and pierced her throat.
Time seemed to stop then, heartbeats seemed to last for hours, as he watched her standing there in front of him. Her mouth was open as she tried to scream though no sound came out. Her eyes were wide open in disbelief and horror, and as she reached out her hands to her throat, not understanding what had happened, he knew she was going to die. There was already so much blood.
Three more arrows found her as she stood there, striking her body in ways too horrible to imagine in a young and innocent girl, until finally she did the only thing she could, and collapsed.
After that things became a little crazy. The women were screaming in terror, Saris was growling her head off, not understanding what was happening but determined to kill someone anyway, and arrows were flying in all directions. In heartbeats surely fifty of them were lodged in the walls, maybe a hundred and fifty, and he could hear the sound of laughter coming from outside. The maniacal laughter of mad men. It was then that Pita finally understood. This was the high lord’s doing. Imprisoning Iros wasn’t enough. He wanted to kill them all. He had sent his soldiers like assassins in the night to murder them.
But understanding didn’t help them. Not when he could see Danni still lying on the floor in front of him, bleeding lakes of blood as she gasped her last, trying to breath. Not when he could hear Saris growling as loudly as she could, hysterical and with an arrow in her side. Not when he could see Taniya lying on the ground on the far side of the room, half a dozen arrows sticking out of her body as well. She was trying to crawl to him, her hands outstretched, her face filled with horror, but it was a journey that he knew she would never complete. There were just too many wounds. Too much blood.
Valeria had died more quickly, an arrow through her heart and another through her eye. But seeing her draped over the side of the chair, that understanding did not make it any better. Who would care for the pigeons now? Who would tend to the gardens? Who would tell her family?
And where was Briana? Their cleric of Silene. He looked all around, terrified that she too would be dead, but couldn’t find her anywhere. Not near the chair where she’d been sitting, not anywhere else. He called her name, and heard nothing back from her. And then he called again, and got the same answer. Wherever she was, alive or dead, the cleric would have to look after herself. For the moment they simply had to get to safety, and there was only one safe place he knew.
“The cellar!” For some reason he could still speak clearly, and he could even shout, and at least one other heard him. Mya called out. She had arrows in both legs, but she was still moving, crawling along the floor as she made for the back door. But when he yelled she changed direction, heading for the cellar. Pita did the same, pausing only long enough to grab one very angry jackal hound to him, and start dragging her along with him.
It was lucky that they had a cellar. Iros’ predecessor had had it dug out maybe ten years before as a place to store meats and things that needed to be kept cold on a summer’s day, and he could only hope that Finell didn’t know about it. And that it was air tight. When the next volley of arrows streaking through the remnants of their windows were covered with flames, and he saw the fire taking hold, he knew that would be important.
Mya reached the hatch before him, but then she’d been closer and hadn’t had a hound to drag with her. She lifted up the thick woven rugs covering it, tossed them aside and then pulled at the handle. Normally they’d use a long stick that was kept in the kitchen to open the cellar cover, but these were not normal times and she had all the strength she needed even without it.
Then, though it was surely madness as the flames were starting to leap up the walls, she called to him, even waited for him as he dragged himself and Saris along the floor. Luckily it wasn’t long before they were both with her, and she could slide down the wooden staircase to the cool embrace of the earth below. With arrows in her legs it was the best that she could do.
Pita slid Saris down the stairs after her, something the hound was unhappy about from the sound of her yelps and growls, and then carefully started lowering himself after them.
“Briana!” Half way down, one hand on the hatch, he called for her again, hoping against hope that the young cleric was still alive, and still heard nothing back. He couldn’t hear much though, not over the roar of the flames as they took hold, or the la
ughter of the soldiers outside.
It was time. He knew that. It was time to close the hatch and pray that they would be safe in the cellar while the mission burnt above them.
Pita took one final look around at the mission house and the dead bodies of his friends, and he knew he could never return. The mission was ended and the time for peace had passed. It was now the time for war, and those with the moon silver tongues as the elves called them, had failed. They had failed terribly.
All they could do now he knew as he closed the hatch above him, slid the bolt into place and stepped down the last few rungs to the soft earth, was try to survive. Try to get both of them out of Leafshade alive. Two humans in an elven city, and a jackal hound that the entire city would recognise.
“Master Pita?”
Mya was frightened and he knew that she had every reason to be. But there was hope. He could see the path ahead unfolding in front of him as clearly as he had ever seen anything. All those lessons with Lord Drake had been of use after all.
First the arrows. They had to be pulled and their wounds treated. But they could do that. They kept strong spirits down in the cellar and bandages too. It was a storeroom as much as anything else. And while the fire burnt above and the soldiers laughed, no one would hear them cry out. Then clothing, long robes to disguise them, and again they were lucky in that they kept a couple of large working men’s robes down there as well, just so that Iros could walk around the markets unnoticed some days as he spoke with the traders.
In a couple of hours, when the soldiers had left, and assuming they were still breathing, they could escape through the back tunnel. It only lead to the small garden at the back of the mission, and had never been intended as an escape route. It was simply a way that the envoy and his messengers could come and go without being seen. But it would do. Even during the day no one would notice them.
Then they had to find friends. They were both wounded, and the markets were empty of humans. There was no one there who could carry them to safety, especially when they also had little coin. But there was one place that they could go. One place where even the high lord’s reach did not extend. And one man he was sure they could trust.
And if he cared for neither of them Elder Yossirion would still save the hound at all costs.
Chapter Twenty.
“Boy!” Yossirion let out his anger for all to hear when the brat walked into the market. He felt the need for all to know what was said.
He had waited for his prey to arrive all afternoon, knowing that sooner or later even Finell would leave his quarters and the Royal Chamber and head into what remained of the markets for his customary afternoon tea. He was young and spiteful, angry and sullen, but he was still a creature of habit.
He might have noticed though, as he took his customary meal, that the markets weren’t what they had been. They were empty. Most of the traders who had once plied their routes had gone, fled. And those stalls that remained open had no customers. With so much of the coin gone with the traders, there were few who could afford to buy. Even before this latest outrage, Finell’s rule had destroyed much of the life of the city.
He needed to be faced. Yossirion doubted that the spoilt little brat would understand it. But regardless he needed to be faced down for his own good as well as that of the realm.
Attacking a mission. Murdering the envoy’s staff. Kidnapping the envoy himself and locking him away in the prison his men had built. The Mother only knew what terrible evil was carried out in there, out of sight of the people. But there were rumours. And the other facts were not in dispute. There were witnesses. The word of what had been done had run through the market even before the first sales of the morning had been made. Even without the testimony of Pita and Mya they had word. Brave children, saving themselves and the hound. Clever too as they had known the one place that they would be safe.
And they were safe. Even while the mission’s remains smouldered in the middle of the city, they had made it through the city in their heavy cloaks, unseen. And by dawn they had found safety in the Grove. They had found kindness too as their wounds were tended to. Their companions though, had not been so lucky, and their bodies lay somewhere in the smouldering ruins of the mission. None of them had been more than children. Girls brought to cook and clean, and to learn the trade of making the nobles comfortable. In time they would have become accomplished maids and cooks and tutors, and their services would have in high demand across the human lands. Their families would have been proud of them. Now they were just ashes, foully murdered at the command of the high lord. A crime that should not go unpunished.
“Elder?” Finell looked surprised to hear himself so rudely addressed, even shaken. And that was as it should be.
“You have placed the envoy under arrest. Beaten him up and dumped him in your foul prison like a common criminal. Have you lost your mind boy!” Yossirion was beside himself with outrage as he faced down Finell in front of the vendors. He only wished he could do it in the Royal Chamber, and protocol be damned. But the guards would not let him enter. The high lord could not interfere with matters of faith and the priesthood in turn could not interfere in matters of the Throne. But when the ruler in question was an angry sullen child in desperate need of guidance? That seemed wrong.
“And then you burned down the mission and murdered the staff there. Innocent children and a cleric of Silene. Did the mist steal your wits?”
“How dare you -.” The elder didn’t let him finish.
“No! How dare you! This is an outrage! It is provocation of a war that should not be! It violates the most ancient laws and it shames us all. We are elves not brigands.”
“I know that you and the human envoy are friends.” The black blooded advisor jumped in before Finell could say anything, his tone one of conciliation, his tongue dripping with poisonous lies. “But this is not a matter of faith Elder Yossirion. Lord Iros of Drake is an enemy of the people. He has engaged in acts of unspeakable evil. He has attacked the Throne. And we must know what else he and his men have planned.”
“Bull slop! I know young Iros well and he is a man of utmost honour and decency.” The elder had to defend his friend, even though he had the worrying thought that he was stepping into a trap with every word. Y’aris was a cunning little rat and he had completely outwitted the young Iros. “And I was speaking to the spoilt little brat beside you, not his black blooded, toad skin advisor.”
Had he said too much? Probably. But Yossirion didn’t really care. Not when he finally had the little brat in front of him. Of course Y’aris didn’t agree and everyone could see the anger glowing in his face. Everyone that was except for Finell. He had his own anger blinding him.
“And you priest, have you too committed acts against me? You have spoken against me so often. But have you gone further? Have you tried to pit the Grove against the Throne?”
“How dare you suggest such a thing child. Even the fact that you could proves to me that you were too young to take the throne.” The elder was angry and he let the ill-judged comment slip out. Naturally he got a reaction.
“And the fact that you would dare to accost me on the street, shouting insults, shows me that you are failing in your vows.” Finell was angry, spitting venom with every word out of his mouth.
“Guards!”
Perfectly on cue Y’aris gestured and the two watchmen that had been trailing them at a respectful distance, stepped forwards and grabbed the elder’s robes, pulling him away from the high lord.
“Unhand me!” Yossirion was shocked, as was everyone within eyesight of them. No one touched a priest. Ever.
“Return this heretic back to Honeysuckle Grove, and make certain he does not leave it again.” The conversation was ended. Yossirion knew that in the same moment the watchmen began pulling him away from the high lord, very nearly dragging him. And they didn’t seem to have the slightest regard for his position as an elder. Not even when he reminded them of it in his strongest voice.
Others did though. The people in the streets stared as he was physically returned to his Grove, shock and disbelief all over their faces. Some of them even tried to come to his assistance, but others of the watch stopped them. They seemed to come out of nowhere just to stand between the people and their fellow watchmen. A sea of black robes and steel making certain he returned to his home. And they weren’t gentle about their duty.
Yossirion could see the watchmen knocking back those who came to object. Punching some, kicking others, treating them as though they were dangerous animals. And behind him he could hear the worrying sound of steel being drawn. He couldn’t turn around to see what was happening however, the watchman had him securely in their grasp as they marched him back to the Grove.
