by Greg Curtis
“Good.”
“Not good.” Her mother had told her that they would do what was both right and expected of them, and it should have been good news. But then she contradicted herself with her very next words, and Dura looked up in surprise and worry. What wasn’t good?
“In the morning we’re all leaving Leafshade. All our family. Your uncle Freta’s family has already left. And the rest of House Accora will probably leave the cities in the coming days.” Dura nearly fell down in shock at the news. House Accora was leaving Leafshade? Leaving all of the major cities of Elaris? Somehow she couldn’t quite understand it. She couldn’t quite believe it. Maybe that showed on her face.
“It isn’t just the outsiders and those of mixed blood the watchmen are attacking any more.” Her father had such a gentle voice when he had to say something difficult and didn’t want to worry her. Weren’t all fathers the same?
“They’ve started attacking members of the lower houses. Beatings, arrests and even killings. Across all the cities. The people are scared. Business has died. And I cannot have my family in danger. Not this sort of danger.”
“The wagons are already being loaded. In the morning we leave for Tarason.”
Tarason! Their old home. Their old stud. The dying farm they had abandoned nearly three years before when the weather had turned against them. It was like an admission of defeat. They had come to the city seeking to turn their fortunes around. Their father had opened a tanner’s shop. Their mother had taken up cleaning. And in time the rest of them would have found similar work. All with the dream of one day returning to their beloved family home with the coin they needed to restart the stud. To build the reservoirs they needed and divert the distant river.
But that was a dream. This was a night terror. This was running away. And yet even as she wanted to say that, to scream it at them, Dura was staring at Allias and the terrible injuries he’d received, and she knew that she couldn’t. If what they were saying was right, and in her heart she knew that it was, sooner or later this could be them. And that could not be.
So instead of arguing she sat with Allias and rubbed his forehead gently. It was a bitter truth, but it seemed that there was nothing else to be done.
Chapter Forty Two.
Iros sat at the long table in the great hall, listening to an endless chorus of problems from the people. His people. He kept having to remind himself of that as they came to him in their multitudes. They were now his people. He was their lord. After nearly seven days back in the castle, hearing their troubles every day and trying to find answers for them, it still kept catching him by surprise.
Just sitting at the head of the table felt strange to him. Wrong. This was his father’s place, his father’s table. It should be him sitting there, Juna to his right and the scribes and advisors to his left. And yet he had always known that one day this would be his place. It was just too soon. But maybe it always would have been.
At least it wasn’t a throne. That was one of the strange thoughts that had been with him ever since he had taken his place. He had seen King Herrick upon his throne many times and always been impressed by the man. But the endless duties and streams of people wanting his ear had been frightening. And the grandeur of his throne room was intimidating. All of Castle Storm was the same.
He had seen King Petrich of the Gnomes upon his throne as well, and the same had been true for him. The people were smaller and less demanding perhaps, but the finery they wore was even greater. Gold and silver and precious gems, silk and feathers and lace, huge dresses and long black suits with tails. The whole throne room was a gaudy pageant of the outrageously expensive. To a mere farmer lord like him it was absurd. He had been glad when his time there had ended and not just because of the pain in his back from bending so much.
And then he had seen Finell sitting upon the Heartwood Throne, and discovered even worse. He had seen arrogance and disdain, pettiness and intolerance. If that was what it was to sit on a throne, he wanted no part of it. A table, a comfortable chair, friends seated with him, and more friends seeking his aid, that was enough.
And at least he could find answers for some of the people. The practical problems at least. So he’d allowed the western forest to be milled a few years early for the carpenters. It was a waste of the trees but they needed the wood to rebuild half the town. Stone could be cleaned and repointed, but wood once burnt had to be replaced. He’d sent out patrols of guards to help with the body recovery. Now that the war was over, at least for them, they had the time on their hands and the people had to be able to say farewell to their loved ones. He’d paid for the markets to be open longer and removed the tariffs on merchants. Trade was the best hope his people had of replacing all that they’d lost and maybe bringing a little of their old life back.
Some answers were easy enough, though of course costly, and he was grateful that they’d had two good seasons behind them. If nothing else they would need the food. Replanting the fields would take time, especially when so many of those who worked the land were dead, and it was already late in the season. Even if the weather was perfect for the third year in a row, the harvest would not be good.
Other matters were more difficult to deal with. Completing the town’s walls and installing the defences was a project that had been planned for but never completed in over a century. To do it now in a matter of months instead of the decades he would have expected it to take was going to be hard, and it was going to cost every ounce of gold the treasury had. But it had to be done.
Then there were things he could never fix. There were so many missing people, and there was no way of knowing if they had simply fled or their bodies were lying in a ditch somewhere. He could do what he could, his soldiers and scribes could help, but in the end the task was simply too great. He could never find all the answers people needed about their loved ones.
And there were other things he had to prevent at all costs, even if in doing so he upset many. Even if it cost more pain and suffering. Lawlessness and anger. They couldn’t be allowed.
He understood the anger. Too well. In his private moments it consumed him. He understood the desire for vengeance. It raged in him. But it simply couldn’t be allowed. He couldn’t restart a war just because the people wanted revenge on those who had attacked them. And he couldn’t allow the people to bring harm to innocent elves who had long called Greenlands home. Even the king had been forced to end the war because of the need for the rule of law to be upheld. But he understood the people’s pain and anger perfectly. Their pain was his. Their anger too, though he somehow held it at bay. And he sent all of his guards out every day not just to prevent the violence, but to carry that message.
Greenlands had long been an open land. Everyone was welcome, people of all the races. As long as they came in peace and agreed to the rule of law, they were welcome. And so the land had been settled for centuries by people of all races, and he suspected that humans were in the minority. Pure humans that was. Those of mixed blood probably numbered the most. And that was as it should be.
But now, thanks to the actions of an angry child perched in a tree in Leafshade, all was not as it should be. Close to a thousand elves and maybe another several thousand people with elven blood, called the town home. And now instead of being neighbours and friends, they were considered enemies. The bitter irony was that many of them had helped to defend the land, and many of them had fallen in the fight as well.
Iros’ duty was clear. He had to protect the people. All of them. And he had to protect them from themselves as well as others. So every day he sent his guards out with that message. And every day when he sat in judgement on yet another fight, he repeated it. This was Greenlands and the rule of law held. His punishments for violence were necessarily harsh, and he made sure that his words were heard.
The prisoners were of course the most terrible problem to deal with. One hundred and twenty five elves, wounded and captured during the attack, and still locked away. He could se
e that they were fed and treated fairly. He had to. It was expected of a lord. Demanded by the codes. Even if secretly he harboured the dark desire to kill them all. But what he really needed was for them to work in the fields as other prisoners did. At the least they should help to rebuild what they had destroyed.
He couldn’t do that though. The prisoners were still wild, unreasoning in their hatred, and he knew that without weapons and armour, chained hand and foot, they would still attack the innocent. There was something very wrong with them. Something that was becoming worse as time passed, not better. But then the people were still angry too. They wouldn’t have tolerated the sight of the same elves that had attacked them and murdered so many children walking freely among them, even as slave labourers. There would be violence. But they would be even less happy in another few weeks or months when the war was officially ended.
Then the king would send his message and in time the prisoners would all be sent home. Free and without punishment for all that they had done. No matter what, the rules of the conduct of war would still apply. And prisoners of war were not criminals. Even if they committed criminal acts.
Iros knew that the people would be very angry when that time came. He would be angry. Especially when he knew that there would be no human prisoners released from Elaris. They hadn’t taken any prisoners. They’d killed them all.
It was a shocking crime, one of many. But those were the orders the watchmen had been given, and they had obeyed them to the letter.
That still shocked him. It appalled him. The elves, always such a polite, decent and law abiding people, engaging in such monstrous acts. A people so restrained in their passions, burning with the hatred of the demon of Wrath. And still there was nothing that he could do about it. The king would give the order, and they would go free. And worst of all, he feared that with their return Finell would have more of his army back to start regrouping. Maybe it was only a few thousand across all the southern lands, but that was still too many.
All he could hope for, was that by the time Finell was ready for his next attack, Greenlands would be as well.
“My Lord.” A woman’s voice made him lift his head as he realised the next petitioner was waiting. And the strange thing was that he knew the voice. He looked up and when his eyes finally saw her, he knew her too.
“Sophelia?” The sight of her standing there made no sense to him. Why was she standing in the queue with all the other petitioners? He rubbed at his eyes, wondering if he needed more sleep to help him see straight. Maybe he was simply too tired to understand but it made no sense at all.
“My Lord.” She bowed to him and that seemed wrong too. It was wrong. Wives didn’t bow to their husbands.
“You have no need to petition me Sophelia. You are my wife, you can just ask.” He tried to be understanding and considerate as a husband was supposed to be, but he was tired and the pain was growing worse by the day. His words came out as a criticism, at least that was how it sounded to him, and he instantly regretted them. Sophelia said nothing however. Maybe she guessed the reason.
“Thank you my lord.” She bowed her head and he found himself irked by even that gesture.
“Please Sophelia, there is no need for titles between us. Just address me as Iros, and speak whatever’s on your mind.”
“There is a large balcony outside our quarters, and an endless stone floor bare of green.” Iros stopped her with a gesture, understanding immediately what she wanted. After two years of life in Leafshade he knew how the castle must seem to her. A prison built of dead stone. She surely hated it.
“A garden. Of course. Forgive me my thoughtlessness.” He turned to Juna.
“Please see to it that my wife has some workers sent to her quarters to help her with the building of a garden on her balcony. And whatever she wants, pots, soil, plants, it will be paid for out of my personal funds.” Juna nodded and Iros knew that he would do exactly as he had been ordered. Loyalty was his very essence.
“Thank you.” He winced a little as he turned back to his wife, unable to completely stop the pain from reaching his face. As Lord of Greenlands he tried to. It was important that the people not see his illness or know him so close to death. But no matter the potions the physicians gave him or the effort he made, some still showed.
“Now Sophelia, is there anything else that I can help with? Clothes, furnishings, perfumes?”
“No, thank you Iros.” She used his name and he liked that. It was maybe the first time that she had. The first time in ages that anyone had, and he was sick of titles. Heart sick of them. She turned away to leave for her chambers and await the workmen, before she abruptly turned back to him.
“Your wounds, they still trouble you?” He looked into her blue eyes and saw what he almost dared to believe might be concern.
“A little. But the physicians have hope.” Actually they didn’t. They scratched their heads and muttered uncertainly among themselves when they thought he didn’t notice. But he noticed. And Koran’s face was as troubled as a lake in a storm. Something was wrong with him. Seriously wrong. And all their potions and salves and magic didn’t help. Even the ones to blunt the pain didn’t really help. They just dulled his thoughts instead. But in the end it didn’t matter. He would recover or else he would die. Either way the pain would end. And until then he would do his duty.
“Good. I’m glad.” Did she mean it he wondered? Or was it simple politeness as she waited for him to die? But he sensed nothing of mean spirit in her. She might not be the wife a man would dream of, but she was a good woman.
And as he kept having to remind himself, she was not her cousin. She had stood up to him. And if his last memory in this world was of her calling her cousin a failure and black of heart, it would be a good one.
Sometimes it was hard to do the right thing. It was hard to even know what was right. But as his father had told him many times, that did not excuse him from trying his absolute best to do it. He was in the end a Drake. He had a duty. And until the day that death finally relieved him of his burdens, he would carry it out.
And as he watched Sophelia nod her acceptance of his words and then leave the great hall calmly, he knew that those duties included her. When the court was over for the day he resolved to speak to Juna about her.
Death would take him soon enough he figured. And when he died she could not be left in the invidious position of trying to rule a realm her people had just been at war with. He would have to make arrangements to see that she was properly looked after when the time came.
Chapter Forty Three.
Herodan stood once more in the throne room, wishing he were somewhere else. Anywhere else. Luree standing quietly beside him probably knew the same desire. But still both of them had to stand. They had to do their duty.
And at least the war was over. He didn’t have to repeat any more lies. For that blessing he thanked the Mother, even if the cost of that peace had been his house’s honour and his sister’s future. The price was too high, but it had been paid in full.
“Everyone’s staring.” Luree whispered to him, and he wondered why. Everyone was always staring at them. They were elves. They spoke for the high lord. And they had repeated his lies daily. Now that the war was ended, they were regarded as something less dangerous perhaps, but still venomous. A poisonous reptile perhaps, that had somehow found a seat in the throne room. People stared at them with everything from outright hatred to disgust in their eyes. And it would be a very long time before they saw them in any other light.
“Hush.” He whispered back at her. But even as he did he noticed that she was right. They were being stared at, and not in the usual way. The hatred and disgust were there as usual, so were the accusations, but there was something more. Something that unsettled him. Almost as though they knew something hurtful about him. Standing there Herodan felt distinctly uncomfortable. And the court had barely been called to order.
“Herodan of Vora.” The king called his name before he ha
d even had a chance to be seated, and that was wrong. It was out of order. Normally there should be formal introductions as the members of the court were announced to the audience. There should be a list of the matters of the day to be read out. There should be a prayer to the divines intoned. But none of that had happened. And in his heart Herodan knew that whatever the reason for the change, it would be bad.
“Your Majesty.” He stepped forwards and bowed low as was expected, wondering what new catastrophe had befallen them, and fearing the answer.
“Why are you here?” It was a simple enough question, but it made no sense. Everyone knew why he was there. But still he had to answer.
“I am Herodan of House Vora, envoy to Irothia for Elaris, and I carry the words of the high lord of Elaris, Finell of House Vora.”
“No. You don’t.” The king sounded one thing that he never did, puzzled. As if he was confused. But what was there to be confused about?
“Your Majesty?”
“I received word this morning from Elaris, from your toad lord, advising that you no longer act as his envoy.” Herodan heard a small gasp from just behind him as Luree reacted to the shocking news. He was surprised it wasn’t him that had gasped. But the only reason he hadn’t was simply that his body had somehow forgotten how. So instead he stood there gaping, trying to think of something to say and failing for the longest time. And when the words finally did come, they sounded like those of a child.
