Days Of Light And Shadow

by Greg Curtis

  “No father. I see clearly. We cannot continue like this. Murder after murder, brawls in the open, the great houses at war. Death begets only death.”

  “The Grove does not concern itself with the affairs of the great houses,” His father replied stoically. By tradition he was right. But this wasn’t a traditional situation. Not when the great houses were at war.

  “Does not is not the same as should not or cannot.”

  “In this case it is.” His father turned to face him. “We will speak no more of this.” It was an order. But Argan wasn’t in a very obedient mood.

  “So we will just leave it as it is and lose more of our loved ones? We will allow Leafshade to go without leadership? Without even examples of what it means to be high born for the people to see? How many of us have been killed so far? And how many more will die before this madness ends? How many more funerals will you attend while the innocent are killed for crimes they did not commit and the guilty walk free? All in the name of pride. Pride that none of us are worthy of.”

  “Go to your chambers!” His father let loose a little of his anger for all to hear. Something he normally never did. But his words fell on deaf ears. Seeing that anger, seeing that grief and rage, Argan could see the demon within him. Within all of them. The demon of wrath.

  “No.” Argan took a deep breath and stretched up to his full height as he faced his father. “This evil, this darkness, this demon that dwells within us can no longer be borne. I will go to the Grove instead, and the only way you can stop me is by killing me or unnaming me.”

  Having laid down his ultimatum, something he had never done before, Argan turned on his heels and headed for Honeysuckle Grove, wondering as he did so whether he would be stopped by a knife in his back, or by the sound of those most terrible words.

  He wondered if he would ever be able to go home again.

  Chapter Ninety One.

  “Five thousand elves? You want me to take in five thousand elves when our own town has barely recovered from the war? The war with Elaris. I can’t do it Elder. The people won’t stand for it. There’ll be blood in the streets.”

  “And we don’t have the houses, the food or the supplies,” Juna was quick to add in the more practical matters. He was always a practical man.

  Iros buried his head in his hands, unable to face Trekor. He owed her his life and the better part of his marriage, but some things simply weren’t possible. Greenlands was already bursting at the seams with refugees from their own towns, and the patrols were working all day and night keeping order.

  “Hush now children. Do you think we haven’t thought of those things? The temple of Dibella is leading the march, and others of their order are travelling south from Tendarin with food. The temple of Silene is aiding them. And the villagers themselves are not without resources. They had enough time to pack wagons, and many of them are skilled artisans. They can help with the repairs.”

  Children! One thing was certain about Trekor he decided. She might not look like one but she was certainly an elder. Only an elder would speak to a lord in such a manner. Not that it bothered him. It was almost refreshing in some way to be spoken down to. He did wonder though how Juna felt about being called a child. Standing beside him his expression was as ever impassive. Iros was certain he practiced it.

  “And they can help you with your other problem.”

  “Other problem?” Iros wondered which of the many thousands of other problems that beset him she was talking about. He had no lack of them.

  “The shortage of patrols you mentioned to Captain Maydan.” The shortage that the captain had obviously mentioned to her. But he couldn’t really be upset with the man for that. He was after all doing him a favour, and in any case the rangers served the elders. It would have been unreasonable to think that he wouldn’t have told her everything. Especially when he’d asked him to ride for Greenlands. And when the Otters had returned victorious, destroying the town and an enemy base.

  A debt was owed for that. A debt carried by the whole province. Iros had made certain to announce that. And to trumpet the victory far and wide so that others could do the same.

  Since that victory, the numbers of disappearances in Greenlands had fallen dramatically, proving exactly what he’d feared. That it was the abominations and the dark priests of the master behind them. Proof that the Reaver was back as if any more had been needed. And evidence too, though Iros didn’t want to admit it, that he was recruiting. The people vanishing were becoming his new army.

  It was the Reaver’s way. It was why he was so dangerous. He could take an enemy and somehow convert it into his own army. Which was why Iros needed more riders desperately.

  “They have cavalry? More rangers?”

  “No but they are being escorted here by three dragoons of wind riders. Three hundred mounted sprite soldiers.”

  Three hundred mounted troops! Iros almost fell out of his seat at hearing it. Three hundred cavalry, even if they weren’t his cavalry, together with the rangers and his own pitiful patrols, that would give him almost as many riders as he’d had before the war. And maybe it would even give him a chance to start training some of his raw recruits instead of sending them out with little more than a few words of encouragement. And he didn’t even have to pay them. With the treasury so low, that was important.

  “They would be willing to ride for me?” And that was the key. Three hundred riders would be invaluable, but only if Iros could command them as if the cavalry was his own. And there were so many things he needed them to do. There were messages needing to be carried to all the towns as he prepared the land for war, roads that needed to be patrolled before brigands started making a nuisance of themselves, caravans that needed escorts, and so on. If he could use them as his own cavalry they would be a blessing from the Divines. If not they would just be more mouths to feed.

  “They ride for their queen. But as she devotes her life to the Mother, they will take instructions from the Grove. And we will of course listen to your needs.” Iros buried his face in his hands once more and groaned quietly as he gathered that the answer was a no. They might do a little, if he grovelled to the elders, but mostly they’d just be more mouths to feed. His disappointment must have shown.

  “Boy, it has been fifteen hundred years since the faith served the Throne. Fifteen hundred years since the war of the last king irrevocably shattered both Elaris and Solaria. Ever since then the faith has stood apart, the Mother’s servants never to be placed in the hands of rulers again. And when a thousand years ago both the rangers and the wind riders were formed to fight the demon, that separation between the Grove and the Heartwood Throne was cast in stone. You cannot expect that to change.” Iros knew she was right of course. He always had.

  Still it wasn’t as if he had a choice. For all his objections it had never been a choice. Not when he had received the pigeon from the king the day before, commanding him to help the elves.

  “Fine Elder,” Iros sighed. “Let them come. I will speak to the people.” But what he would say to them was anything but clear to him.

  “If I might suggest something Lord Iros.” Iros looked up to see that Herodan had entered the hall, and while he wasn’t sure why he’d turned up, it was good to see him. He quite liked his brother in law. And if nothing else they shared a common bond of history and pain. They were both former envoys and both former prisoners of Finell.

  “Of course, and please just call me Iros.” He wouldn’t of course. Herodan was every bit as trapped by his years spent as an envoy as he was. It would take years to unlearn what they’d been taught. What had been drilled into them.

  “These are wild villages. On the eastern border between Elaris and Solaria. And the people who live there are of many bloods. A few are elven, but most are a mix of all the races Perhaps you would be better not to refer to them as elves at all, but simply as refugees from the southern borderlands.”

  “Sophistry?” And that was something that a lord could not e
ngage in. It was one of the differences between an envoy and a lord. An envoy looked always to put things in their best light. A lord had to be more honest than that or risk losing the trust of his people.

  “Politics.” Another word for sophistry as far as Iros was concerned.

  “You know I cannot. But thank you.” He decided to change the subject rather than carry on with a fruitless one. “How are your injuries healing?”

  From the fact that Herodan was up and about a lot more these days, moving around and eating well he was sure they were improving. Herodan’s days at the Academy of Nanara also seemed to agree with him. The physicians could do exceptional work with their salves and potions, as long as their patient hadn’t been soul poisoned.

  “Well thank you Lord Iros.” Iros sighed a little but decided against telling his brother in law to address him by his name again. There was little point. Besides he suspected it was as much about Herodan’s loss of his house as it was his title. When he had learned of House Vora’s end, something within the former envoy had died. It was the same for all of them. Even for Sophelia though she had left the house months before.

  A house for an elf was more than just family and status. More than just a business and a way of life. It was a part of who they were. Their very identity. And without a house they were no one.

  “And your father? How is he coping with his duties to the family?” Strangely Iros had hardly seen Tenir except in passing in at least a month, and that time was only to ask for an additional loan of some funds, so that others of his family could start back in the business they had known all their lives. They were traders, and traders needed gold to pay for stock and stalls. But he knew from Juna that he was carrying out all his duties to both his family and Greenlands with diligence and integrity, and that those who were dealing with him were satisfied. It would be a long time before his heart had recovered, but he was on the journey.

  “Well. He is very busy of course, but already all of our family know of what was done and why, and most have found work and sent the papers to Chria asking to become part of the new house. It is a long way off perhaps, but one day House Seylen will take its place among the great houses.” And that was important. Not that the house become powerful, just that the family had a hope of it happening. People, humans and elves both, needed hope.

  And Tenir needed relief. The new house had been granted its status, and most of those who had once been of House Vora had already asked to become part of House Seylen. Ultimately he hoped, there would only be five left, Tenir’s immediate family. And when that happened, Tenir’s work would largely be done, and his cousin Chria, First of House Seylen, would have to shoulder the burden of making House Seylen powerful.

  “Good.”

  “Iros.” He turned as he heard Sophelia come up behind him and then felt her arms pressing down on his shoulders and her lips gently touching his cheek before she whispered loudly into his ear. “We should have a proper family dinner together this evening. Everyone has been so busy of late. It would be good to simply spend some time together.”

  “But I -.”

  “Husband, the city will not burn down tonight because you spend an hour or two enjoying a quiet meal.” By which he gathered it wasn’t a choice. And maybe the sight of a wife instructing her husband was a good thing. Especially to be witnessed by the court. The inns would be full of gossip before the meal was even served. And she wasn’t finished.

  “And Juna I’m relying on you to bring Iros with you instead of letting him play with his cannon. Drag him by the ear if necessary.”

  “Yes Lady Sophelia.” Apparently Iros wasn’t the only one Sophelia was instructing. A sign perhaps that she was slowly growing into her role.

  That had to be a good thing. Up to a point.

  Chapter Ninety Two.

  It was a good day for a flogging. A good day to be out in the sunshine, listening to the involuntary cries of pain coming from the high priest as the whip lashed him again and again. It was a sound that Y’aris enjoyed immensely.

  Naturally he kept that to himself. There was no shame in enjoying an enemy’s suffering. His father had taught him that before he’d left. But there was a risk, and Crassis would be more than normally angry if he saw Y’aris enjoying the moment. And now that he was finally out of that underground tomb they called a room and on the way back up, Y’aris didn’t want to die at the hands of a demented high priest. Especially not before he was shown to his new quarters.

  So Y’aris maintained a carefully neutral expression as he stood there watching, and his men did the same. But they wouldn’t have smiled anyway. Since he had increased their dose a little more, the only happiness his men knew was serving him and destroying his enemies. A priest being flogged half to death didn’t even rate thinking about.

  Besides, if there was one thing that Y’aris was learning from the flogging, it was that he didn’t want to fail the master. He didn’t want to end up standing where Crassis was, being flogged to death by his former inquisitors. There was another lesson to be learned as well, though he didn’t want to think of it. Obedience. Crassis wasn’t chained in place, being forced against his will to stand there and take it. He was there of his own free will. He stood there and took his punishment. It was better that than the Reaver simply took his soul on the spot. It might be fear that drove them, but the priests’ obedience to their master was unquestioning.

  “My lord.” One of his men hurried over to him, his movements a touch more jerky and uncoordinated than they should be. The increased dose of the water was allowing the Reaver to slowly start sucking the physical life and soul out of him, and little by little he was turning into an abomination. But for the moment he still had a mind to obey him with, and that was all that mattered. Y’aris nodded to him, giving him permission to continue.

  “The priests say Leafshade is within sight.” How precisely the priests knew that he wasn’t sure. It was just more of their dark magic at work. But Y’aris didn’t really care. The attack was about to begin and no matter how it went, it would be Crassis who took responsibility for it. He had launched the attack after all, and for his current failures he was already being punished.

  All those towns along the eastern border with Solaria. Crassis’ abominable army was everywhere. And still they’d had only two victories. Dozens of failures, the numbers of abominations destroyed far outnumbering those new ones they had brought back to be converted, it was a disaster. But the city was different. It was there that the high priest had finally found a strategy. Not a particularly good one, but at least something better than simply letting his armies form a thin column of soldiers maybe fifty leagues long, heading north, attacking the towns as a slow moving trickle. Naturally they’d lost.

  Winning a battle was about focussing as much strength as you could into a small area, and breaking through the enemy’s lines. Crassis had done the exact opposite sending long columns north and so even weak towns had found themselves in a stronger position than the abominations. Why he’d done that Y’aris had no clue. But when he was watching the high priest being flogged for it, he was quite happy about it.

  For the city he was at least going to try a mass attack. All the abominations attacking at once, overwhelming the defenders. It could work. It was simple and crude, he had no thought of cutting off supplies or using fortifications, and of course his soldiers had no ranged attack, but it could work.

  But even if he did win through the costs would be high. It would be a tough fought battle, and the gains to his master’s army would be small. That too would work in Y’aris’ favour. And all the while his own soldiers would be behind the shambling attackers, picking up the pieces. No matter who won, his soldiers would bring back the spoils of war for his master, without sustaining any serious losses. And they would bring back some spoils for him as well.

  “Good. Let’s hope that Crassis’ plan works this time.” But he didn’t really hope that. In his heart he hoped the abominations would fail, and
in another day or two he could watch the high priest being flogged to death.

  Now that would be a sight to see.

  Chapter Ninety Three.

  There was little warning. Even less than that. But with the city unguarded, the watch disbanded, the enemy could walk in unnoticed. And they did.

  But they didn’t truly walk. Whatever was left of their minds no longer told them quite how to do that. How to lift their feet fully. They shambled instead, lurching from side to side, almost stumbling, but not quite. Skin like leather pulled tight over bones and sinew, eyes of purest black, and the remains of whatever clothing they had once worn still clinging to them, they rushed into Leafshade at pace. And every so often as they crossed the fields, they let out a sound. Something between a screech and a snarl, but never something that should have come out of a man’s throat.

  At first no one knew what to make of them, and those who saw them approaching simply stood and stared as they emerged from the tree line. But as they came closer and what remained of their faces could be seen more clearly, a few realised what they were. They knew why they were there, and ran. But not everyone understood, and the creatures were upon the closest before they realised the danger.