by Greg Curtis
“My new court dress. Since you planted your seed in me I can’t fit in my old robes. Do you like it?”
“I’m going to like it more when it’s lying on the floor by our bed.” By then he was nearly running down the first floor hallway and the door to their bedchamber was in sight. Which was lucky because between the running and the kissing he was a little out of breath.
“Aswa.”
Epilogue.
The seats were uncomfortable and it was difficult not to wriggle and squirm in them, but Iros persevered. All his years as an envoy had instilled in him the need to maintain the image of respectability no matter what. Years that were now well behind him as he instead had to rule a land. But one seat was pretty much like another. Greenlands or Elaris, lord or envoy, he still had to try to look comfortable on a hard wooden seat. It was expected. Even as the interminable hours of songs, prayers and speeches continued.
At least they weren’t in the Royal Chamber. That place still held bad memories for him, and the image of High Lord Finell sitting on the Heartwood Throne looking for his next victim was one of them. Luckily someone had decided to hold the ceremony outside instead, probably because there were too many guests and locals wanting to attend the ceremony to fit in it.
So instead the common area was overflowed with people. There had to be at least a hundred dignitaries seated in the front row alone. Every realm and every province was represented, and most of them not by their envoys. The actual rulers had shown up in person. But then given that this was the coronation of a new high lord of Elaris it wasn’t surprising.
What was surprising was that not only had he and his party been invited but that they’d been given seats up front. Greenlands was only a minor realm within Irothia, and there were many other far more important personages to be seated. He would have expected to be many rows back, or even standing with the audience.
To his left King Herrick was seated only a few seats away from him, and by the looks of things no more comfortable in the hard wooden chair than he was. He was happier to show his discomfort though and wore a pained expression on his face. An expression that had grown worse as the long hours of ceremony passed. One of the prerogatives of age was a lack of concern for appearance. Iros was planning on enjoying that prerogative when he grew older.
Herrick seemed relaxed though. Ever since the temple had been destroyed he had been a happier man according to his aides. First they had won the war and then a demon had been vanquished by his armies. Irothia’s star was in ascendance, and he was the king of a proud land. To add to his satisfaction he had also received formal and profuse public apologies from both the former high lord and the highest functionaries running Elaris since the war. The fact that Irothia was also receiving reparations only added to his satisfaction.
Queen Aquina along with her extensive retinue sat a dozen seats past him, resplendent in a white gown and surrounded by priests and advisors. Though she appeared serene and showed not a trace of discomfort at being in Elaris, he had to wonder what thoughts must be running through her mind. Though the separation between Elaris and Solaria was fifteen hundred years in the past, this was in the end the home of her people’s estranged kin. Being in Elaris must almost have seemed like a betrayal to her.
And yet the relations between the two realms had improved greatly over the previous year. Windriders and rangers now patrolled their borders together, while many more traders were plying the routes between Elaris and Solaria. With Finell’s punishing tariffs and laws slowly being revoked by the functionaries running the realm since his departure, it seemed that the silver elves and the rainbow elves were rediscovering their common ancestry. It wouldn’t surprise him if she knew something more than the rest of them about who the next high lord would be.
To his right King Petrich of Vidoran was ensconced with his camp, and none of them showed the slightest sign of discomfort. But formality came naturally to the gnomes, along with flamboyance. All of the gnomish peers were seemingly competing with the midday sun for who could shine the brightest.
Further along the dwarves had shown up in numbers, and happily for them someone had even provided their chairs with footstools. Gurtmond looked particularly pleased by the concession as he sat beside his high king, as well he should. He had had to suffer the petty vindictiveness of a spoilt high lord for too long, and it seemed that whatever happened, whoever was named the new high lord, those days were behind them.
The trolls had also turned up in numbers as well. When they should have been out riding the ranges, following the deer as they headed for their summer pastures, an entire clan of high ranked warriors had shown up to bear witness to the ascendancy. The Great Hunter though, had stayed with his people, the only one of the rulers of the realm to not attend. But then that wasn’t surprising. The leader of the trolls must always stay with his tribe. The only way he could have been there was if the entire troll nation could have travelled with him.
And then as if that weren’t enough and the front row of seats wasn’t already too wide, all five of the southern realms of Irothia were represented as well. All of them only minor lords and ladies, yet seated up front. He did wonder if it was because they had borne the brunt of the war. That because of their suffering greater respect had to be shown. A sign of contrition maybe. He didn’t have to wonder why all five had shown in person though.
It wasn’t that they wanted to be. It was simply politics. The war had hurt them all, many were dead, and the anger and pain would take years if not lifetimes to forget. But in the end they were all the closest neighbours to Elaris, and these were important trading partners. They shared borders and security concerns as they hunted down brigands. They needed to maintain good relations with the elves. It was that simple. So they had come to show their respect to the next high lord and hope that he would be better than the last one. They could not afford hostility or strife. They couldn’t afford another war. None of them could.
All of them like him, were busy rebuilding their lands, an undertaking that would be many more years before it was done. But slowly the smaller towns were being rebuilt, people were returning home, businesses and trade were starting up once more, and the life of the land was returning. There was even a little gold in the treasury for the first time in a year, something that brought Iros a little relief. In time he hoped, Greenlands would become once more the happy, prosperous farming province it had been. And if the worst came to the worst and war did return to Greenlands, they were stronger now than they had been. The town, though Sophelia insisted he call it a city, was fully fortified, his riders and the rangers patrolled the lands looking for trouble, the roads were better, so that if people needed to flee they could do so faster, and Irothia had shown itself to be a powerful realm. Few would risk the realm’s wrath.
Besides, looking around at the ruin that had once been a beautiful city, and having read reports on how many elves had been killed by the abominations, Iros thought it unlikely that the elves would have the strength to harm anyone for at least a generation or two. Even if the new high lord was as terrible as the last one. Which meant that he could have safely sent someone in his place and concentrated on his work at home.
As he’d so wanted to. Until Juna and Sophelia had both told him he was going. Some days he wondered if he really was the lord of Greenlands or not.
“So, why are we here again?” Iros murmured to Sophelia. Leafshade wasn’t Iros’ favourite place to be. It hadn’t been for a long time. And he couldn’t imagine that it was Sophelia’s either. Or her family’s. So many wrongs had been committed in the city. Wrongs committed against them all. Even now, a year or more after the demon had been defeated, Iros felt uncomfortable in the city. Especially when they had ridden by the old mission. A fire blackened ruin. A building that had not been rebuilt. A building that was a tomb.
“Because we were asked to be here.” Sophelia was very matter of fact about such things, a trait he was slowly coming to respect in her. With S’rel slee
ping in her lap and another child on the way, she had to be he supposed. His mother had been the same. No time for the trivial as she had always said. Children were important and foolish questions weren’t. He had to agree with her on that.
“And because Elaris is neighbours with Greenlands,” Herodan added. “Our lands share trade and security. We need each other. And if Elaris has finally decided on a new high lord that has to be a good thing for all of us. We need to show our respect for the new ascendant to the Heartwood Throne.” Herodan was right of course, and Iros knew it. He’d always known it or he wouldn’t have got in the wagon and started the journey south nearly a month before. But he still wasn’t happy about it. Or for that matter about making the journey in a wagon. Even a well sprung, comfortable wagon with high backed seats that bounced over the ground instead of just banging and crashing. He’d much rather have ridden, but Sophelia had insisted. Some days he might wonder who ruled Greenlands, but he was never in any doubt about who ruled the family. It wasn’t him.
“You seem comfortable,” Iros observed. He had been concerned for Herodan being in Elaris again. House Vora had gone and House Seylen had been built from its remains, and the new house was slowly starting to earn itself a place within the realm. But Tenir had never accepted a place within it, and his immediate family rightly or wrongly had stood with him. Thus they were all still elves without a house. Unnamed. Maybe that was something they had grown used to over the year and a half that had passed, but it was undoubtedly easier to live that way in Greenlands than back in Elaris itself.
“I am.” Herodan turned to face him and nodded. “I’d thought it would be hard, but it hasn’t been.”
Iros believed him, though a year before it would have seemed impossible. His brother in law had been through a lot, and yet he like the rest of the family had made it through the darkness to the light beyond. He was enjoying his new position as the headmaster of the local academy of Nanara. In fact according to Sophelia he was even thinking romantically about a local lass. A sprite girl and fellow teacher at the academy. Someone Herodan could never have considered had he still belonged to a house.
It was the same for the rest of her family. Tenir had accepted the formal post of trade advisor for Greenlands. He spent his days trying to wrangle some order out of the unruly bunch of traders, shopkeepers, artisans, farmers and so many others all desperately trying to make some gold at everyone else’s expense. And he was good at it. In time he hoped, when Juna decided he was ready to retire, Tenir would take his place as steward.
Meanwhile Tenir’s wife Freylin was busying herself running an apprenticeship scheme for the young of Greenlands who had lost parents. His daughter Fidelia had decided to take an apprenticeship under Master Koran and was training to become a physician. And his other daughter Ri’ellen in a strange twist of fate, was looking to become a ranger. Something he was sure that her parents weren’t completely pleased with. All of them were doing things that they could never have done in Leafshade. There Freylin would have continued her life as a wife and mother. The girls would have been married off to men they scarcely knew. And Herodan would have been groomed by his father to one day take over the mantle as First of House Vora. House Vora might be gone, but it seemed to him that family Vora was doing well.
Life as they said, moved on.
“Any word on who it is?” It the big mystery. The great houses had been systematically assassinating one another for an entire year, and preventing anyone from even standing for a vote among them. In order for them to even hold a vote when a candidate was put forward, at least four of the great houses had to agree. That simply wouldn’t happen when they were engaged in a bloody war.
Because of that, in the end the priests and the highest ranking officials had given up hope and simply made a decision. But true to form they had told no one who they had selected. So now everyone, including those of the great houses, waited for the new high lord to be presented to them.
Iros knew they were all thinking the same thing. That it would be an outsider. Someone from one of the more minor houses now that the great houses had disgraced themselves so thoroughly. It would be a shock of course, and it would probably be taken as an insult as well, which it would be, but it might just stop the killing. Maybe. This past year since the war had ended, had been one of slow and painful recovery for the elves. But it had been one of terrible self destruction for the great houses.
“No.” Herodan shook his head. That was a surprise since while he might be unnamed and thus of no status in Leafshade, he still had connections to the other envoys and missions. Surely they should have known something by now. There should have been some word. But apparently not.
A series of horns sounded, strange sad musical notes that echoed around the ruined city and told them something important was about to happen, a new speaker perhaps. Iros straightened up in his chair and tried to look attentive.
A figure appeared, walking across the common from the side and it took a moment for Iros to realise who it was wearing the robes of an elder. Then he spotted his blue hair.
“Is that -?” It was though, and he let his question trail off, knowing that there was no point in it. It was Finell. A year after he had last seen him, but looking much the same. A little less dishevelled perhaps. Finell had vanished after the battle, disappeared without a trace, and ever since he had only heard rumours and gossip as to where he was. The strange little blue haired elf that spoke to his dead sister and travelled the world as a healer and priest. He was a favourite character of the bards’ songs.
It was odd, but seeing him there didn’t stir up the same anger in him that it once had. Time really did heal all wounds. Time, marriage, a baby and a land slowly recovering. Mostly seeing him he just knew a feeling of shock and a little alarm. Not to mention some confusion.
How could he be there? He had been banished from the realm. There were orders to kill him on sight. No one seemed to be rushing forwards with weapons drawn though, and Finell seemed calm as he went to stand with the other elders. And maybe that was the truth of his remaining unharmed. He might be a disgraced high lord who had deliberately or by stupidity and bigotry begun a war, but he was also an elder. No elf would dare touch an elder.
Still, they were surprised. Iros looked around him and saw the looks on people’s faces and knew that none had expected to see Finell. And many were also looking as though they didn’t know what to do. The shock had robbed them of their normal understanding of what was expected. But perhaps it was also his actions of the last year that stayed their anger.
The once terrible high lord had transformed himself into a holy man. Ever since the end of the war, the child of darkness had begun growing into a man of the light. And it wasn’t just in the defeat of the Reaver that he had redeemed himself. Since that battle he had been seen across all the realms, bringing healing and wisdom to the people as the power of the goddess flowed through him. It seemed he had been granted great gifts.
According to all he’d heard, the man could actually speak to the ghosts of the recently departed. Something Iros still wasn’t completely sure he believed. Still he could heal as no other, he could calm anger and end fights, and he could know the truth. It seemed that his years as a high lord filled with anger and hatred, accepting the lies of his closest confident and causing terrible suffering, had been completely turned around until he had become the exact opposite. Of course he still talked constantly to the ghost of his dead sister as the bards kept proclaiming, so maybe it wasn’t the mother that moved through him, it was the moon mist.
Then Finell left the elders to stand in front of them and as he drew near there was one thought that began to dominate Iros’ world. A nightmare that could not be, and yet could be. And he could see that same worry reflected in the faces of those all around him. That the elders having found no other worthy candidates among the great houses were returning Finell to the Heartwood Throne.
It wasn’t even a worry. It was a terror and an o
utrage and still something more. Something worse. He could see the thunder in King Herrick’s face as he stared at him. Queen Aquina had gone completely pale as she sat in the front row. And the dwarves were turning red in the face and starting to look as though they wanted to charge him with weapons drawn. They wanted to cut him down and damned be the consequences.
“It can’t be.” It was only a whisper that escaped his throat, but still he was heard and understood. Sophelia’s hand quickly found his while Herodan clapped him on the shoulder and told him what he needed to hear.
“No. It isn’t. I’m sure.” And his brother in law should know. He hoped.
Then Finell was suddenly standing in front of them all, hands crossed respectfully in front of him, and the noise trailed off.
“Friends and honoured guests.” Finell began with a surprisingly informal and respectful greeting, something that he would once have never been able to do. But then he sounded much the same as he had in the dark temple, humble. Not like the arrogant ruler that he had once been. That eased Iros’ worries a little. And his eyes were still golden, something that helped as well. It seemed that the Mother still moved through him.
