by Greg Curtis
“Cousin.” Finell greeted him and Herodan’s heart sank from the first syllable. He could hear the malice in his voice. And worse, when he looked up, he could see that terrible sly smile curling up the edge of his mouth. The smile he always seemed to wear when he was about to do something terrible.
Sophelia had said he’d worn the same smile when he’d sold her to the humans as a prize for not hanging him. And his father had hit him for daring to show that same terrible smile when he’d presented his forged proof. And it was forged. Iros had heard truly. So how much else of what he had heard was also true? Most of it was Herodan’s thought. Including the fact that he was going to be blamed for Y’aris losing the war.
It took everything Herodan had to stand there calmly when every instinct he had was telling him to run.
“You wished to see me?”
“Yes of course. But first how is your dear sister and her husband?” He was almost grinning from ear to ear as he asked, and Herodan wanted to strangle him for that evil smirk. Far from being guilt ridden by what he had done, or at least shamed, he was actually enjoying Sophelia’s humiliation. His father had been right to hit him. His only mistake had been in not hitting him hard enough and often enough.
“I have not heard High Lord. I called in on Lord Iros and Lady Sophelia on my way back from Tendarin, and at that time things were difficult. Lord Iros was gravely ill. But I have not heard anything since.” Sadly it was true. Pigeons had stopped flying to House Vora over the previous months, as Finell had ordered that watchmen take over the running of the city’s roosts. He was certain that it was a deliberate attempt by Finell to shore up his position in the face of anger after the war. All of the great houses had been cut off.
“Ahh. And while you were there did you happen to notice the town’s cannon?” The black blood jumped in and instantly Herodan could feel the teeth of a trap closing around him.
“And why would I? We are at peace are we not? Or are you planning to lose another war and shame our high lord.” Y’aris turned white with rage, but unlike Finell he had mastered some level of self control. Instead of screaming he turned his words against him with practiced ease.
“So that would be a no Herodan. And once again you have failed to tell us of the utra’s strength. Just who do you serve? Your rightful high lord – or the utra?”
“I sent messages of the human’s wheeled cannon long ago.”
“So you say.” The black blood all but laughed at him as he pounced. “Messages sent but never received. You fail to tell your high lord of the defences in Greenlands despite staying there for five days. You spoke against the high lord’s ascension to the Heartwood Throne. And you’ve been meeting in secret with the others who speak against Finell.”
“What others? What meetings?” The advisor was lying of course. But it was too late, and Herodan knew it even as he started to protest.
“Don’t try to deny it.” Y’aris held up his hand as if to stop him, and immediately two of his watchmen grabbed him.
“What -!”
“How long did you spend among the utra? Five years? More?” He turned back to Finell who was sitting on his throne, staring.
“High Lord.” He suddenly went down on one knee before Finell, while Herodan foolishly struggled against the watchmen and was smashed over the head for trying. “It is clear that your cousin has spent too long among the utra. He has changed allegiances and taken the utra’s gold. And now he not only speaks against you openly, he plots against you.”
“This terrible sedition has taken root even in the hearts of your own family.”
“Liar black blood!” But even as he tried to speak Herodan was facing the floor, held down by the guards, and his voice sounded unusually faint. As faint as he felt.
“High Commander!” One of the watchmen holding him suddenly called out in alarm, and then from nowhere drew a knife. A tempered steel knife. The sort of thing that even in his daze Herodan recognised as a typical human weapon. In fact the sort of weapon a human noble would carry. The trap had been sprung.
“Treason!” Y’aris shouted out the charge for all to hear just as the watchmen pushed him the rest of the way to the ground, twisted his arms up behind his back, and began binding them. “He sought to murder you.” And of course Herodan wasn’t given a chance to protest his innocence. One of the watchmen drove his fist hard into the back of his head, leaving him reeling, and then they kicked him hard in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs, just to be sure, while Y’aris prosecuted him.
“High Lord you must treat this seriously. An attempt upon your life. And by your own cousin. The people must never hear of it. It would destroy their faith in you.”
“He must be judged in front of the court.” Judged by Finell and then executed Herodan realised. He could hear the anger in his cousin’s voice as he actually believed that he had come to kill him. Y’aris’ simple ruse had worked perfectly.
“Of course High Lord.” But Y’aris wasn’t finished. Even lying on the floor gasping for breath, his vision going grey, Herodan knew that. The black blood couldn’t afford a trial. He couldn’t afford for him to speak. Not when he would call him a liar and might even produce evidence. “I will assemble the court at once. But I fear that when they hear of this they will think you weak.”
“Weak?” Once more Finell fell immediately into his advisor’s plot and Herodan wanted to strangle him for his stupidity. How could he be so naïve?
“And untrustworthy. To be openly attacked by your own cousin and with an utra weapon. They will think that all of House Vora has changed allegiances. That they side with our enemies. The ones who have most foully murdered so many of our people. And if they doubt your house they will doubt your right to the Heartwood Throne.” It was perfect Herodan realised. The black blood had surely planned every word well in advance. And he still couldn’t find the breath to argue.
“Sweet Mother!” Finell sounded shocked, and Herodan suddenly realised, he was. He was being played by Y’aris like a piece in a game of quo’ril. Expertly played. And the stupid boy had no clue.
“What do you suggest?” By the Mother! He was actually letting the black blood make his decisions for him. That just couldn’t be. And yet it made so much sense.
“That we say nothing of the attack. Nothing of this foul treason. We say only that Herodan has lost his reason and needs rest. Then I will have my men take him to the prison and my inquisitors will soon make him tell us who else he conspires with. In the name of all that is great among our people we will soon have this cabal safely locked away.”
Finell grunted, probably all the permission Y’aris needed, and Herodan quickly found himself being dragged away to join all those other poor souls in that foul place. And all the way there he kept wondering how many more of his family would be joining him. Because he understood only too clearly that it wasn’t his cousin running the realm after all. It was Y’aris. And he would simply make up story after story to suit his needs, and then more innocents would be dragged away, and more watchmen would take their places at the helm of the realm. All part of his plan.
It was so obvious, now that it was too late to do anything about it. The advisors removed one by one. All to move Y’aris a little closer to the high lord. The removal of all the high born from their positions, and the arrest of so many more. All really just the removing of a potential threat to his ambitions. The watchmen controlling the roosts. They controlled the flow of knowledge so that Y’aris could tell Finell exactly what he wanted him to know. And now the plot by his family against him. He was isolating the high lord. Leaving him completely dependant on him. Even the war, win or lose, had only been a distraction.
Y’aris was seeking the Heartwood Throne.
Chapter Fifty Eight.
The banging on the door in the middle of the night was unexpected and unwelcome. Not that it woke them. Not that anyone had actually been sleeping. No one had slept more than a few hours in the past three days since their s
on’s arrest, and Tenir doubted that they would sleep again for a long time to come. Not until his son was home again, safe in the arms of his family. But he feared that would not happen.
Not when Herodan had not been arrested. According to Finell he was merely engaged in some complex negotiations for him. But the whole city had seen him being dragged away by the watchmen and taken to the prison. They had seen the blood pouring down the back of his neck from being hit. And Finell would not see them.
For the most part the house had become a debating chamber as again and again they raised the same ideas and had them thrown down. Freylin, in between her bouts of uncontrollable sobbing, kept begging him to go before Finell. To plead for mercy for their son, and in sooth he would have done just that if he could have left the house. The watchmen posted in the street, prevented that. But even if he could have left, it wouldn’t help. Finell was a dark child with a heart of coal. He gave not a wit for their suffering, and sometimes thinking back on his actions, Tenir wondered if he somehow took pleasure in it. If he had gone after their family intentionally.
First their eldest daughter sold into an unworthy marriage by him. His family removed from their rightfully earned positions. Herodan disgraced in front of the human king, and now arrested and locked away without a charge being laid. Who was next?
Could he be that dark of soul? Or was it that black blood beside him? Whispering his poison into his ear?
He should not have hit him. That was the thought that had run through Tenir’s mind most often. That it was his fault for hitting Finell. Or for not hitting him hard enough. Maybe it had been justified. Maybe his evil had warranted far worse treatment. But he’d just made the boy angry. An angry child with terrible power at his finger tips.
Even now Tenir wondered what to do. To go through with his threat and disown Finell. But if he did, the one thing he was certain of was that he would immediately have Herodan murdered out of spite. And if he didn’t Herodan would be held as a hostage against him. And the Mother only knew what was happening to him in that dark place.
Freylin kept trying to visit Herodan in the prison, but the guards turned her away each time, as they turned away all the mothers, the wives and the daughters. Not before she heard the screaming coming from within however, and each time she returned, her heart was filled with terror as she worried what was being done to her son. His heart was the same.
They had seen what had been done to Iros of Drake, or at least a part of it. He had been at the wedding in body at least, but wrapped up so tightly in bandages that he could barely move, while his mind seemed to wander. The Mother only knew what terrible injuries were concealed by the bandages.
It was a poor marriage, one that should never have been. He was not worthy of their daughter, not a human and not a man with no house to belong to. No house to give him a name. But seeing him there like that, the burns on his neck, the chains of blood around his wrists, unable to stand, blood dripping to the grass from beneath his robes, Tenir had known a moment or two of sorrow for him. He might be human. He might be of the people that had murdered their cousin and started a war. But no one deserved that. Least of all his son, and in his heart, in the depths of his darkest fears, he knew that that was what those terrible people were doing to Herodan.
But somehow Iros had survived. That had to give him hope. It gave many others hope, and strangely Iros’ name was one that was spoken of with respect in the markets. The only soul to escape that foul mountain of broken stone. Maybe, though he didn’t want to imagine it, the only one to survive it.
And maybe too, the crimes he had been accused of, they were false as well. Tenir hadn’t thought so at the time. He hadn’t even considered it. They were at war after all. And there had been evidence, the testimony of an elf at least. But now it seemed, he might owe the boy an apology. If Herodan could be arrested and locked away without charge, then it seemed the same was true of anyone. People, high born and low, were being dragged away to that foul prison every day. There was no justice any more. There hadn’t been for a long time. He only wished he’d realised it sooner.
Iros of Drake might truly have known nothing at all of the attack. Just as he’d claimed. And until the war, he had always seemed like an honest enough boy. It was only when the war had begun that he’d thought otherwise. Believed it because of the word of his nephew. A word that could no longer accepted as true. And the burning of the mission, that could never have been justified.
Iros had angered Finell with his words. He had spoken against his wishes many times in the Royal Chamber. Maybe that was all it had taken. Maybe that was the very definition of treason in these dark times. And maybe that was why Herodan had been taken. He too had spoken the words which Finell did not want to hear.
“You should answer the door husband.” Freylin was right of course, but they both knew why he didn’t want to. Just in case it was the watchmen come to take the rest of them away. He looked at his wife and she looked back at him, and neither of them saw anything resembling wisdom.
Then the door was knocked for the third time and they both knew there was no choice. Tenir indicated to his wife to go into the dining room behind the main room and to take their daughters with her, as he went to the door.
“Who wakens us at such an hour?” He called out before opening the door, hoping for at least a hint as to whether he was about to be arrested or not.
“A friend.” The girl’s voice surprised him, not least because it was late and whoever she was she should be home with her family. But she didn’t sound like the watch. They didn’t take women. But it could be a trick.
He turned back to Freylin hiding behind the door with their daughters and the maids, and she waved her fingers at him, telling him to open the front door. She had a point.
Reluctantly he turned the handle and pulled the door open, expecting at every moment to feel the cold hands of the watchmen upon him. But when the door was open he could see only a single girl. A young woman in leather armour, a longbow slung across her back and a large canvas carry bag in her hand. It came as a relief, but also when he’d taken a few deep breaths, an irritation.
“Who are you girl?” Tenir was in no mood for visitors, least of all stripling girls dressed in leather armour annoying them in the middle of the night. “And why do you bother us at such an hour?”
“Rider Dura of the Black Otter Rangers. I have been sent by the elders to collect you.” Her words made little sense, though she was dressed as a ranger. And when he looked closely he could see the mark of her troop emblazoned on her shoulder. But why would the rangers come to collect him at all? And why would the elders ask them to? And why in the middle of the night?
“Girl -.” He raised his voice and perhaps he shouldn’t have, but when she raised her hand to silence him, that seemed too much. And yet still he was silenced as she spoke over the top of him.
“Hush Master Tenir. There is little time. Even as we speak Y’aris is bending the ear of the high lord, convincing him that the rest of your family is embroiled in a plot against him. In the morning the watchmen will come for you all. You must leave now.” Fear clutched at Tenir’s heart when she said it, maybe mostly because he knew it was exactly what could happen. It had already happened to too many and sooner or later he had expected that it would happen to them, House Vora or not. It was part of what kept him awake at nights. But it also could not be.
“That would be an outrage girl. It would not stand.” But was he trying to convince her? Or himself?
“Merely one of many. A great many people have been taken already by the Watch, and none return from the broken mountain. Not nobles and not low born either.”
“That’s -.”
“Quiet husband.” Once more Tenir was silenced in his own home and he bristled at the indignity of it all. But he could not say no to his wife as she pushed him aside to speak with their midnight visitor. Though it was improper to let her speak for him, he had never been able to refuse her anything.
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“Child you will have brought proof of these dark claims?”
“I do not need to. You were seen going to the prison. You have heard the screams from within. In your heart you know the truth. But the Elder has asked me to tell you this. She will do her best for your son, and for all the others. But she can do nothing while you remain here. You would be hostages against Herodan and he a hostage against you. The longer you stay the longer he must remain a prisoner.”
“No!” Freylin gasped her denial, but only weakly. And Tenir was no better as he felt the blood drain from his face. What she was asking of them was impossible. To think of leaving their son behind was a special kind of darkness. But to stay and know they could do nothing while whatever foul deeds were done to him was worse. And if an elder said she could help, that she would once they were gone, that at least was hope.
“Which elder? We must see her. Speak with her.”
