by Greg Curtis
“Thank you.” Sophelia nodded to him, her face carefully formal but perhaps underneath she knew a little sadness for him. It would be nice not to die unwept. And he noticed that she didn’t even glance at the papers, perhaps out of respect. Still she could probably do that later.
“No thanks are needed. You made a brave sacrifice in marrying a human without a house. You helped save many lives. And I understand some of what that must have cost you. I cannot restore your place in Leafshade. I cannot return you to your old life. But I can hope that this will help you to find a new life. One that you can find comfortable.” And after all it wasn’t as if the gold would be of any use to him. And he didn’t have any heirs. So he had given his personal wealth to those that might make use of it. Sophelia and Juna. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing.
The silence stretched for a while after that, and Iros knew he had probably spoiled the dinner for them. He decided that it was probably time to leave. He had work to do and they had things to discuss. But before he could make his excuses, Herodan spoke up.
“I am sorry to hear of your illness. I did not think it so severe.” Maybe he was merely well versed in the diplomatic arts but Iros could almost imagine that he was truthful in his sorrow.
“It is a small matter. My family are gone and I will join them soon enough. But before then I need to be sure that the people are safe. The fields of Greenlands may well burn again, but the people will be safe and in time can return and rebuild. Your sister will be cared for. My duty will be done. That is all that truly matters.” In the end it was all there really was any more. Since learning of his family’s deaths on the ride home, his world had become a very bleak place. He had only his duty to sustain him and that wasn’t really enough.
But he was still doing it. Going through the motions every day as he prepared the town for war, training the soldiers, finishing the wall, buying the cannon and crossbows, endless crossbows. Seeing to it that the infirmaries were properly stocked and staffed. Replanting the blackened fields and providing artisans to help in rebuilding the houses and shops. Paying for all of that with the gold held in the treasury. Gold that was swiftly being spent. Still if by the time he was gone the town was once more back on its feet and the people prepared, he would have something to be happy for.
And he had done right by his wife as well. Iros knew that she was every bit as much a victim in this as he was. And he knew that no matter what else happened, her life was ruined by their marriage. She would never be able to return to her home. If she even had a home to return to. He still remembered vividly the words spoken between Finell and Y’aris that day, and he knew that her family, the high lord’s own family were in mortal peril.
It was why he had sent for Herodan, the next member of her household to be sacrificed by an evil war-master and an angry child king. It was why he had sent him word of what had been said even earlier. Sophelia had lost her home, her status and her family name. She should not have to endure the loss of her family as well.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have duties to attend to and you two surely have better things to speak about than my ill-health.”
“Of course.” Herodan spoke for both of them as he stood and bowed respectfully. A remarkably human custom. Clearly he had spent a lot of time in the city, learning his Court manners.
Iros gestured and the two men at arms quickly came to his side, grabbed him under the arms and helped him to his feet. It still annoyed him that he couldn’t do that by himself, but again as the sages said, it was necessary to remember what one could do, not what one couldn’t. And what he could do was prepare. In the end it seemed, that was all he could do. It had to be enough.
“The library.” Quickly they half carried him in the direction of his aides, and soon he was gone from the family dining chamber, and the awkwardness of the dinner was behind him. The difficulty of commerce and war lay ahead in the form of his captain and advisors, all of whom were patiently waiting for him. In sooth not that patiently.
But among them at least he knew what to say.
Chapter Forty Eight.
After Iros had left Herodan turned back to his sister, terrible questions in his heart.
“Lord Drake looks gravely ill.” In sooth he looked far worse than that. He looked to be opening the door for the reapers. But Herodan did not want to upset his sister, and he could see the worry in her. It could not be an easy marriage, but as hard as it was it was surely better than the alternatives. An elven widow trying to run a human province. Or an elven widow with a name not hers, trying to find a new life in Leafshade or elsewhere. Neither of those things could be allowed to happen. It could only end in disaster. Her marriage was a disaster and yet it was still the best fate for her. She needed Iros to stand by her.
“He is. And in terrible pain. Some days when he is alone he cries out as his bones burn, thinking no one will hear him. But they do and the servants mourn for him already. And in his sleep such as it is, he burns some more, and each morning the servants have to change the sweat soaked bedding. And the physicians here, they can do nothing for him. Not even for the pain.”
“Lord Iros has not recovered from his time in the dungeon?”
“No. He seemed to, for a brief moment. A few days early on perhaps. But it did not last and his wounds did not fully heal. They have still not healed.” It was exactly as Herodan had feared. Exactly as the whispers the other missions brought him had said. And that was a sad thing. Iros was owed a life debt by him, and it seemed that he might not be able to repay it.
“He loses weight with every day that passes. He grows more gaunt. He does not eat.” She looked at him, her eyes so wide with worry that it unnerved him. “How can he heal if he does not eat?”
“I am sorry sister, but it is as I feared. He cannot eat. If what I have been told is true, there was witchbane in the balm the healers rubbed on his wounds. A final farewell gift from Finell and Y’aris.”
“No! … No! … No?” Sophelia looked up at her brother, horrified by what he was telling her. “That cannot be. My cousin would not do such a thing.” But Herodan knew that she knew he would. That he had. She just didn’t want to admit it. Finell was not the innocent child he had once been. After the loss of his parents it seemed he had grown into a man of less and less decency. And with the death of Elwene it seemed that last spark of goodness had died. He had never had any honour to begin with.
“He would and he did. Iros’ death is assured. The poison just takes longer when applied to the skin. But he does not have many more months.”
“By the Mother! How few? It will be bad?”
“It will be very bad.” Herodan stared at the table, not sure if he should tell her. She should not have to hear such terrible things. But there was little else to do. “He has the night fevers now. They will get worse. His joints burn, and that will get worse as well. In a few weeks or a month, but not two, he will start bleeding from the eyes. Then will come the blindness and the unrelenting torment as all his bones catch fire, until the mercy of death finally takes him.”
“Sweet Mother, that is evil.” Herodan said nothing, there was nothing to say. But he was sure she knew his heart spoke the same words.
“Finell is the true utra. Troll blood through and through.” Sophelia was only speaking the truth of course, and of their own kin, but it didn’t help. He was still their lord. He still commanded the loyalty of the people. And worst of all he was of House Vora. What little of it remained.
“In too many ways to count sister. It shames me that we are of the same house.” For a time they sat there in silence, neither knowing what to say, and the only sound was that of the servers as they took away their half eaten meals. But finally Herodan broke the calm to ask a question that he had been dwelling on for some time.
“Your marriage, it is not too hard?” No brother wanted to know that his sister suffered. In that elves and humans were completely alike. And Herodan was no exception. He was painfully awar
e that their marriage had been forced upon them. That it was no natural thing. He had known that the instant King Herrick had come to him and asked of it. But like Iros himself he suspected, he had said to the king that it was a good thing. A sign that Finell truly sought peace. Even if he doubted it, it had to be said. But still he felt shame for those words. He would feel much more when his cousin did launch his next attack, and as to what his sister would feel he couldn’t even begin to guess. Her supreme sacrifice tossed aside by an evil child. Maybe it was lucky that Finell’s family were gone. So that they didn’t have to witness their son’s evil.
“Iros has treated me with nothing but respect. More than I deserve.” Sophelia meant every word he knew. It still shamed her that she had been so unkind to Iros as he suffered in the dungeon. And that she had known pleasure at his suffering. And more so when this very evening he had brought him to her, kept safe and well as he had said he would ask him to be. True to his word in everything he said and did. She had told him of her shame at length that afternoon, tears flowing freely with every word of her confession.
“And of the private moments?” By the Mother he wished he did not have to ask that question. He had avoided asking it all afternoon out of cowardice. He did not want to know the answer. But he had to. Their mother would demand to know.
“There are none.” Sophelia stared right into Herodan’s eyes taking him aback. “Iros has given me a wing of the castle for myself and my attendants. I have scarcely seen him since I have been here.” Her words caught Herodan by surprise, and his eyes widened more than a little. That there had been little between them he had expected. When Iros was so ill it was understandable. But none? That he had not considered.
“Then there will be no children?”
“There will be no children.” And maybe that was a good thing. After Iros passed, and assuming the castle and titles went to his cousin as planned, she would be free to leave. Free to return to their family, and with a little gold. But if she did he knew that she would still always be a disgrace to them. A woman who had once been wed to a human. An indecent affair. Children born to such a union would suffer terribly for their birth. And no others would ever want to marry her again. Worse House Allel would consider her presence in the city an insult.
She could not truly go home. They both knew that. Whatever happened with Iros and his plans for her future, her life had been ruined by their unfortunate marriage. It had doomed her to a life outside of Elaris. Herodan knew it. So too did their parents. And still none of them could have stopped it. None of them had even been able to argue against it, though they hated Finell with a passion for forcing it upon their family.
And now Herodan knew, he might actually have to make things harder for her again.
“Then I must ask your permission little sister.” Herodan suddenly couldn’t look at her, and that was unusual for him. He could normally hold his head high to anyone.
“Go on.”
“You know that a life debt is owed by me to your husband.” Sophelia nodded warily, obviously worried by what he was going to say, but still knowing it was true. Even if she had not told him of what her husband had told her he had done as he was being arrested, Herodan had been told the same by King Herrick himself. He had shouted it at him even as he’d made him read the message on that terrible night.
Iros had been the one to urge civility and respect for the codes even in the face of those who denied him all such law. Even when his people were being put to the sword, when their mission was attacked and burned, and when he was about to be dragged away to a dungeon like an animal, he urged civility. In large part because of Iros, Herodan and his mission had been allowed to continue their work.
It had not been easy. They had been guarded closely, escorted whenever they went out anywhere, prevented from carrying so much as a knife, and limited in the places they could visit. And of course they had been screamed at by a very angry king. But they had not been imprisoned and tortured. They had not been murdered and their mission had not been burned to the ground. For that a debt was owed.
“I would repay that debt if I can.”
“Go on brother.”
“There may yet be a way to save Iros. The witch, Trekor Aileth. I can ask for her aid.”
Sophelia stared at him, clearly shocked for a moment, and probably wondering why he was asking at all. If the swamp witch could help him then he should have asked for her help at once. It was honour if nothing else. She knew that as well as did he. But then she understood. He saw the knowledge growing in her eyes. He was asking her if she could continue to live like this, because if Iros lived, so too did their unfortunate marriage. If he died then she was free. Disgraced but at least free, and with a title and some gold. Still there was never a choice and he should have known that she would know the same. Honour did not allow for a choice. And even in disgrace House Vora would remember its ancient honour.
“Ask her.”
Chapter Forty Nine.
Herodan found the road to the witch’s cottage easily enough, something that surprised him. It was said that the elder, as she supposedly was, had the gift of turning people’s thoughts, and that if she chose, a man could wander round and round in circles and never find her. So maybe she hadn’t chosen against him. Then again many things were spoken of the witch. That she was a witch, a hag, and an elder of the Grove. Maybe none of them were true.
Still the path was easily found from the village, and supposedly led more or less straight to her door. Certainly every sign he passed indicating another peat cutting off to the side was just what he’d been told to expect along the way. For some reason he’d doubted the villagers’ words. But he shouldn’t have. Maybe it was the surprising mix of people that called the town home that had given him pause. Yet it shouldn’t have. If there was one thing he’d learned during his time as an envoy, it was that people of all races were mostly decent. Not just elves. Even the dwarves and trolls had some honesty and goodness in them. Of course that wasn’t a view that would be well received in Leafshade.
He couldn’t help but wonder what his cousin would make of Aellwy Te. A village in the heart of Elaris, that didn’t seem to have a single elf in it. Not one of pure blood anyway.
Aellwy Te was what was known as a wild village. A town settled by those who were not at home in the more civilised towns and cities. One of many hundreds or thousands dotted throughout Elaris. Almost all of the town’s residents were of mixed blood, which probably explained why the witch called it home. And they were poor. Almost all of the wealth of the town came from peat mining, a tough and dirty job, and the reason that the town was located in such a damp land. But that didn’t mean its people were any less honest or decent than others. Stranger for certain, and they clearly didn’t belong to any of the great houses, but not lacking in integrity.
But then the village had not been what he had expected either.
As one born of the high houses, he seldom left the great cities. He had grown up in Leafshade, and when he’d travelled, first as a young man on family business and later as an envoy, it had only been to the largest cities. There, the low born and those of mixed blood also lived, but for the most part he saw little of them. He stayed in his part of the cities with the other high born, and they stayed in theirs. But riding into the village it had taken him by surprise to realise that there was no such division. The whole town was the same. Neither rich nor poor. Neither high born nor low. Neither elf nor outsider. And it made him wonder just how many mixed bloods there really were. After all, what he knew of the realm outside of the cities was limited.
Maybe it was the name that had confused him. Aellwy Te was an ancient elvish phrase that translated best as wet lands. A fitting enough name for a lowland drenched in water. But the people were wild. Why would they choose to keep an ancient elven name for their home when their elven blood was so thin? Besides, nearly everywhere the old tongue had been forgotten. Leafshade’s old name had been Furwhy Ne Leefan, or The Shado
w of the Tree. Over the centuries though, as trade with the other realms had grown, that had become Leafshade, just as the old tongue had been dropped in favour of common or trade.
So what did it mean if a great city priding itself on clinging to the old values had a common name, and a wild village filled with low born and those of mixed blood, held to an ancient name? He had no answer.
There was also the question of why the village had a ranger’s chapter house. That had caught him by surprise. The rangers roamed the forests keeping the people safe from whatever endangered them, but their chapter houses were on the outskirts of the cities and large towns. Near to the groves. Or so he’d thought. In fact the chapter house for the Black Otters stood on the outskirts of Leafshade itself by the front gate. He had passed it many times as he came and left the city and always enjoyed the artistry that had gone into their herald so proudly displayed above the entrance. The same herald he had seen above the entrance to the chapter house in the Aellwy Te. So they had a second chapter house here? Why?
