Days Of Light And Shadow

by Greg Curtis

  Again he had no answer, save to wonder if it meant that the rangers served a different purpose to the one he had always assumed was theirs. Like the human orders of paladins they had arisen from the religious orders, nearly a thousand years before. The Grove as it had become known, had unified to face the threat of the spider demon, and the rangers had been born as their military arm. After the war they had been given a new task, to escort pilgrims safely through dangerous lands.

  Over time that purpose had grown a little so that they escorted all in dangerous lands. Pilgrims, merchants, travellers. All who travelled the great forests they took as their duty to protect. And at the same time they roamed the lands, seeking out enemies, be they beast or man, and destroyed them.

  Yet always he had thought that they served the Grove. That they took their orders from the priests and elders. Now it seemed that they had chapter houses in the wild villages far from the established groves. Did the priests know? And should he tell them? Or was it as many claimed, that the priests themselves had many more sacred groves established throughout the land than was realised? Some of them in the wild towns?

  He had heard rumours of such. But quiet ones. Especially in the two or so years since Finell had come to the throne, and the Grove and the Throne had seemed to be heading into conflict. Maybe there was sense in that. The Grove and the Throne, and by extension the great houses and the high born, had a strained relationship. The elders believed that the high born had lost much of their connection with the Mother. For their part the high born often considered the elders as nuisances as they went about the business of building their houses. So maybe the elders had decided to keep things from them. And after all there were groves outside of Elaris.

  It hadn’t come as a surprise to find that there had been a grove established in Greenlands. The humans might call it a town but it was really a small city, and an important trading town for Elaris. Many elves lived there and many more visited it regularly, so for the elders to have established Wildflower Grove there was only to be expected. The people needed a place to call home in foreign lands.

  There had been a grove established decades ago in each of the five southern lands of Irothia, and another in Tendarin. But within Elaris itself there were supposedly established groves only in the cities and largest towns, and a few wild ones out in the great forests. And each grove and each city had at least one chapter of rangers who called it home. But if a chapter of rangers had a house in a wild town, did that mean that there was also a grove there? And if there was a grove established in Aellwy Te, how many more were there? After all there were hundreds if not thousands of towns dotted throughout Elaris.

  He had no proof of such a thing of course. But Herodan would have wagered good moon silver that it was so. And still more moon silver that Finell had no idea.

  It smacked of a power struggle of course. A test of strength between the priesthood and the Heartwood Throne as each sought the hearts of the people. And it was just that. It was a struggle that had been going on for millennia. Ever since the age of kings. The authority of the holy against the rule of the nobility. Fifteen hundred years ago that struggle had torn the people apart.

  Then Elaris had broken into two. Solaria and the people now known as silver elves or sprites, had taken the path of the Grove, and the priests ruled. They would never allow a king to rule the faith again, and though they had a queen, she was actually an elder with civic responsibility. What had remained as Elaris had kept the path of nobility and the holy. The last king had been deposed and the first high lord had replaced him, and strict laws had been set down to prevent the two powers from ever yielding to one another. Never again would a king try to usurp the power of the holy to rule alone.

  But it was a balance. The people relied on both to make their lives worth living, and neither side could dominate. Now that balance was gone, and the struggle between the Heartwood Throne and the Grove was fast becoming a battle.

  A battle that was fast coming to a head. It had to. As Finell descended further into darkness, and the practical law that should have been the hallmark of noble rule was twisted into something unrecognisable, the Grove had to stand against him. They were the only ones that could. And if what he had heard was correct, the elders were becoming more outspoken against him, something the high lord surely didn’t enjoy. That was why he was taking action against the Grove, locking the elders away in the groves, restricting their access to the people.

  Y’aris had probably had a hand in that, Herodan reflected. Finell might be an arrogant child filled with intolerance, but Y’aris shaped that intolerance into hatred. And when the Grove openly accepted those of mixed blood among their number, that had to turn him against them. Why he hated those of mixed blood so, Herodan didn’t know. But what he did know was that Y’aris was one elf who refused everything to do with the faith. If he had been at Sophelia’s wedding as he surely had been, it was likely the first time he had been in the Honeysuckle Grove in twenty years. And somehow Herodan was sure, he wouldn’t have accepted a blessing.

  Thinking on that Herodan suddenly realised that he hadn’t asked Sophelia who had performed her wedding service. He hadn’t thought of it. But many of the elders were of mixed blood, and the thought of Finell and Y’aris having to sit there and listen politely to a service given by such an elder brought a little cheer to his heart. And among those of mixed blood there were some who’s blood was more mixed than others. It was claimed that the witch herself was an elder, and someone whose blood was of all races. Had she performed the ceremony the hearts of the two of them would likely have stopped beating.

  It was just a pity that she hadn’t. He would have enjoyed watching the two have them having a fit.

  Still it was a pleasant thought to keep him amused as he headed for the witch’s house. Better than worrying whether or not he was doing the right thing in seeking her out. The right thing for Sophelia anyway. And at least the path was good and the journey easy to travel.

  The land was better than he expected as well. It was a fen in truth with ferns and grasses everywhere. Willows also abounded, lining the path in their gold and green glory. Here and there a few mighty oaks, unafraid to get their feet wet stood out from the rest. But it wasn’t truly a swamp as the stories claimed. The footing underneath was soft but his horse’s hooves didn’t sink down into it. They just made small squelching sounds. And neither could he smell the fetid odour of dead things that made most swamps particularly unpleasant. The fen smelled of fresh dew, cut grass and wild flowers. It was actually quite pleasant to breath the air. And it was pretty with wreaths of pink and purple sun bells hanging down from every tree, while the fated doves filled the air with their sad, sweet song. Of course it was summer. In winter when the rain fell, it could be a very different place. Especially for those who made their living from digging up the peat.

  Then he turned the final corner, emerged through the overhanging ferns into the bright sunshine, and saw the cottage right in front of him. And he saw the witch.

  “By the Mother!” Herodan was shocked when he finally set eyes upon Trekor. If Aellwy Te had caught him off guard, then the sight of her very nearly knocked him out of his saddle.

  Troll blood! The tales were true. She had troll blood in her veins. A lot of it. The tusks, smaller than they would be in trolls, could speak of nothing else. But that was barely the beginning. Her ears were round, human shaped, her skin was far too brown to be of anything save the sprites, and her wrinkles spoke of gnomes. And yet even so her eyes were as green as those of any elf he had ever seen while her hair was the colour of grass. She had all the bloods flowing through her veins. Yet the stories had said that of her. He should not have been surprised.

  Then there were the cats. He identified them quickly when he realised they weren’t pieces of furniture covered in golden furs. Furniture didn’t snore. Two crag cats as large as ponies, sprawled out over the front porch, sleeping. Each of them could have bitten his head off with a single
bite. And yet he didn’t feel threatened by them. Neither did the horse, and she should have been galloping away in terror.

  Then again, maybe it wasn’t that that startled him so. Maybe it was the fact that the witch was sitting on the front porch to her cottage, comfortably ensconced in an oversized wooden rocking chair, dining on cups of tea and scones and covered in berry jam. Such an ordinary even pretty setting for someone so extraordinary.

  And she wasn’t dining alone.

  Beside her sat a sprite, a matron of their faith by her gold robes and the leaves woven through her long silver hair. And to her side a human priest. A cleric in the long brown hooded vestments of a monk. A human cleric in elven lands, so soon after a war. That seemed somehow wrong to him.

  And yet as he sat on his horse staring, he had the unexpected thought that maybe it wasn’t so wrong after all. The witch was an elder. Herodan’s magic was limited, his connection to the Mother more so, but seeing her he could feel the aura of nature flowing from her. The sprite matron also served the Mother. And several of the clerical orders of humans knew the same mistress. They called her by a different name, Dibella the goddess of life and claimed her only as one of their nine divines, but many claimed that she was really the Mother.

  Taking a deep breath he tapped his mare’s flanks with his heels, and they crossed the last few paces to enter her front yard. And immediately they did the elder looked up at him and smiled.

  “Welcome child.”

  “Elder.” He nodded respectfully to her even as he dismounted, trying to imagine what Finell might think of the scene. A woman, an elder and one who spoke with an elder’s tongue, and a woman of more than mixed blood, being bowed to by a high born elf. He’d likely have a fit. Y’aris might drop dead on the spot. It was a pleasing thought.

  She gestured at him to come and he quickly walked over to the porch, edged his way around the sleeping cats, bowed to the waiting elders, and sat at the empty seat. A seat that had been waiting for him, with a cup and plate already set out. Waiting long before he’d arrived.

  “Scone?” The matron asked politely as she held the platter before him, and the cleric didn’t even bother asking as he filled his cup from the pot. It was quite aromatic smelling tea.

  “Thank you Matron.”

  “Here. You should wash your face child. The muddy water from the high ferns has left smudges all over.” The matron handed him a cloth and he dutifully wiped his face, surprised at how dirty it became. He’d known he was being dripped on but not that the water was so dirty. He thanked her again for her hospitality and she smiled at him.

  “It’s a normal enough complaint when people take the path to Trekor’s home. In fact one of the ways people know who has visited her is by the spots they wear back.” And the fact that the matron had a cloth waiting for him said something else.

  “You were expecting me?”

  “Of course Herodan. The good people in the village told me you were coming hours ago, and they even gave your name.” Trekor beamed at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe to her it was. For him though it was just another question to be asked. After all he had travelled to her home by what had seemed like the most direct path and no one had passed him.

  “The only thing they couldn’t tell me was your purpose.” And that he suspected was merely because he hadn’t spoken it to anyone. But if he had she would already know. Still he realised as he politely sipped at his tea, he had come to her with a reason, so it was best that she knew.

  “It’s a matter of mercy that brings me here Elder. The hope that you might have a cure for witchbane.”

  “Witchbane?” She stared curiously at him, and then at the others. “As it happens I do. There has been need of it of late. But the poison is very fast acting. A few days and the victim would be dead. There would be not much time to take it to someone. You should have brought them here.”

  “There is still time. I hope. It was rubbed into a man’s wounds.” All three of them stared at him, maybe surprised, but maybe thinking other, darker thoughts.

  “A truly great evil!” The cleric’s voice carried deep overtones of outrage. “We can guess the wrong doer for ourselves, it takes a special kind of malice to harm someone so. But who is the victim?” Herodan was half surprised that he didn’t know. They seemed to know everything else.

  “My brother in law, Lord Iros.”

  “Never!” The cleric shouted his natural denial at him, shocked, and Herodan could see the same look in the others’ eyes.

  “Such an innocent child. Yossirion speaks highly of him and with great affection. And Finell poisoned him?” Herodan nodded.

  “That pox ridden toad! He sold both Iros and your sister into marriage just to save his skin from the teeth of the rats. And even then he betrays them with poison.” The cleric was right of course, but more than that he was knowledgeable. He knew things that Herodan would not have thought he should. But he also knew the Elder Yossirion, and perhaps that explained it. Though it raised many more questions about the elder if he was speaking with human clerics.

  “My cousin is without honour.” It was shocking hearing Finell being openly slighted within the boundaries of Elaris. Yet, despite it being something an envoy never did, Herodan found himself joining in, agreeing completely. It might be a betrayal of his ruler, but it was true.

  “He’s without decency.”

  “I’ll go to the monastery and fetch the tea. And if I ride hard I’ll be with young Iros within a handful of days.” The cleric made to get up, but a hand reached out across the table and stopped him. A huge hand with black fingernails.

  “No Pietre. You have important duties in town to keep you busy. I will take the tea to the young lord. I’ve been meaning to make the trip anyway. And Talos and Vir need to take some exercise. They have been quite lazy of late.” The cats didn’t answer her. They were too busy sleeping in the sunlight, snoring gently with only their tails occasionally twitching. Some things took priority.

  The cleric nodded to her and Herodan had to wonder why. Surely she wasn’t his primate, and it seemed unlikely that she could reach Iros as quickly as he could. Even if she had a horse to ride, and given her size it would have to be a powerful beast, the cats couldn’t ride, and they didn’t run long distances. But she seemed to have other questions on her mind as she sipped at her tea and it wasn’t his place to question an elder.

  “Tell me Herodan. What are your impressions of Iros of Drake?” The elder fixed him with a stare that made him uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable than when he’d been before King Herrick. He gathered she thought the question important in some way. That set Herodan back a little as he tried to think.

  “He is a man of strength and duty. But also dead inside. He has suffered the most terrible losses, sacrificed himself without a thought of refusal, and burns with pain, but he shows nothing. He believes he will die soon and thinks nothing of it. He seems to think of nothing but his duty.” And that was a frightening thing. He had seen little of Iros in his short time in Greenlands. But what he had seen had made him wonder if the man was even human. It did not bode well for his sister’s marriage. Not if a man could be that dispassionate about his own suffering. But at the same time his sense of duty promised that Sophelia would still be treated properly.

  “So he masters his pain.”

  “Yes elder.”

  “And that worries you.” It wasn’t a question but Herodan nodded anyway.

  “Yet he’s married to your sister and you’ve hurried all this way to save his life?” That was a question.

  “It was the right thing to do.” The elder smiled at him, and exchanged a few cryptic glances with her companions, who were also smiling. But what she thought of his words he didn’t know. He had the strangest feeling that it had been some sort of test, but he had no idea if he’d passed or failed. Or if it had even been about him. Before he could ask she changed the subject.

  “You know I met the young lord
once. Though he would never have recognised me. He would not know me now. But as a boy I liked him very much.”

  “He was a child then, a young boy of maybe ten. Running around the town barefoot, laughing and playing with his friends, while the poor guards tried desperately to keep up with him. A good child, a bright spirit, and so much vitality. I thought even then that if he were to grow up into a man and harness that vitality and spirit, he would make a good lord.”

  “Alas I heard later that he fell into trouble and that his parents sent him away for his education. And from what Pietre tells me, he became a very quiet, polite man. I feared his spirit may have been crushed. Often parents do such things as they fear what their children may become instead of looking forwards to the blessings to come.”

  “But if you are right, his spirit is stronger than ever. It takes true resolve to continue when so much has been taken from you. When you have suffered so greatly. And that can only come from within.” Herodan hoped she was right, but the man he had seen did not sound like the one she described. Maybe she saw that doubt in his eyes.