Days Of Light And Shadow (4 page)

“What!” Y’aris was shocked and very frightened. Not that his soldiers had attacked the brigands. Only that they had lost. And by the looks of things if their leader was still bold enough to wander into Leafshade alone, lost badly. So what did that mean for his plans? Who would he tell? Or was he going to stick that huge axe of his in his head right now?

“Do not pretend. You gave the order elf. The last of them told us that before they died. And we questioned them … most carefully.”

“I …” Y’aris’ voice trailed off before he’d even begun as he ran out of words, and the sweat started peppering his brow. He looked around desperately, wondering if he could run. If he could cry out.

“Why so frightened little elf? If I wanted to kill you your head would already be rolling around on the ground. You know that. It’s why you paid me.” He was right. When Y’aris had needed the services of a capable cut throat he had paid for the best. There was a certain irony in that.

“So?”

“You can live for today. Your secrets will be safe for the moment. As long as you have the payment you promised.”

“I do.” Despite his training as a soldier, Y’aris spat the words out like a frightened little child, his voice almost a squeak. But then he had never been the bravest soldier in the watch, despite what the tales said. He had realised early on that the brave ones who ran forwards, were also the ones who died early. Far better to hang back, loose a few arrows, and survive.

“Good. Then we are happy, though you may need some new soldiers. Better ones. And a lot of them.” The big man laughed some more, a sound that echoed up straight from the bowels of the underworld.

Abruptly he became serious. “You think to start a war elf. And you may well succeed. Your plans have been most cunningly thought out like any swamp rat’s. But in all your scheming you forgot to consider one tiny little matter. The same thing you forgot tonight. You could lose. And you will lose. Badly.”

“No.” But the denial didn’t make it past Y’aris’ lips.

“Your soldiers are pathetic and you have far too few of them. They will be cut down like stalks of wheat before the scythe. You will lose your war and then you will lose your head.” At least he didn’t guess all of the truth Y’aris realised. He didn’t understand that winning or losing the war was of no great importance. It was simply starting the war that mattered, so that he could use it to advance himself and ultimately as an excuse to take the Heartwood Throne. The big man wasn’t so clever as he thought. Like all utra he was far too proud.

“Now my moon silver and gold if you please. I would hate to have to leave word with your soldiers of your treachery. The Divines alone know what your prince would do to you when he found out.” But Y’aris did, and the last of his blood drained from his face as he thought of it. The human wasn’t bluffing. He wasn’t clever enough to bluff.

Reluctantly, but knowing that he had no choice, Y’aris handed him the heavy pouches filled with gold and the jar of moon silver. He’d always intended to of course. The riches would have been payment to his men for having killed the human disease on the doorstep to the city. A payment they would have returned to him. Now it seemed that plan was in tatters.

“You will not tell?”

“Not for the moment. My men and I would still prefer to leave this land peacefully rather than having to fight our way through it. So you will keep to your agreement this time elf, and you will keep the patrols away. But should you fail -.” The man left the sentence hanging in the air as a threat, while he stowed the riches away in the pockets of his long coat.

“It will be done.” Y’aris knew he had no choice. He didn’t like it, and the bitterness was obvious in his voice, but he had no choice.

“That’s better then.” Unexpectedly the human reached out and slapped his cheek gently as a father tenderly slapped a child. But the intent was very different. He was simply telling him that he had been outplayed. “Besides, you are going to need our help again, and soon. When King Herrick’s armies come knocking at your door, they will be asking for a donation of blood. Your blood.”

“Send for us when you need our help to flee. And you will. But make certain you have plenty of gold and moon silver. And do not ever think to betray us again. It will not go so well for you next time. And you have such a pretty neck.”

With no more than that brutish threat left hanging in the air he turned on his heels and strode off, a huge black figure quickly disappearing into the distance. Y’aris breathed a quick sigh of relief as he watched him go, then ground his teeth in silent frustration and anger.

It always amazed Y’aris how Anders could simply wander through the city unnoticed, even by night, but he did it time and again and no one seemed to say anything. Maybe he was as he claimed, once a ranger. Certainly his feet made no sound on the cobbles when he walked, and despite his size he had a certain grace to his movements. Of course that just added to his danger. And the trouble he’d caused him this night.

Y’aris cursed a little more under his breath as he remained on the bridge looking over the unsuspecting city.

It should have been so easy. Anders and his men should be dead, and in a few days time after the high lord had dealt with the tragic death of his sister, his men should have found their bodies near the city and reported them. They should have found the markings of the utra king’s soldiers upon them. Proof that despite their words, the loathsome humans were planning an attack. And with that, war should have been called for by the heart broken child. A war in which a man like him could find true glory, so that when it was over, and after the high lord and his remaining family were dead, he could assume the Heartwood Throne unopposed.

Then his master’s temples could reappear throughout the land, and once more he would rise to greatness. And as he did so, he would provide Y’aris with the armies he needed to wipe the lower races from the world.

Now though, instead of being able to show a dead human patrol running through elven lands, killing innocent elves, he would have to make do with a dead elven patrol. His own men. And he had no proof to present as to who had killed them. But still it was something. Enough that maybe even that moon silver tongued human envoy would no longer be able to sway the high lord to his ends. The man was a constant nuisance, and living proof that even an utra could be smarter than you would guess. But like his mercenary, not as smart as he thought.

And hopefully neither of them would be breathing the precious air of Elaris for that much longer.

Chapter Four.

Back in his quarters Y’aris carefully locked the door behind him. If anyone saw him he would hang. Then he hurried directly to his bedchamber and the locked chest that always sat at the foot of his bed.

He didn’t want to, his plans had not gone so smoothly as he’d hoped, and his master would know his failure. He knew everything Y’aris knew. But that was the coin Y’aris paid for having his power behind him. And the Reaver’s power was undeniable.

It was only through him that Y’aris had managed to rise as far and as fast as he had. To be promoted through the ranks from the most lowly watchman to the High Commander of the Royal Watch in a mere twenty years. A feat that should have been impossible. Especially for someone like him who’s house had been first broken by his father’s disappearance and then further sullied by his mother as she debased herself with an outsider.

How could she have done that? The memory of that day when she had told him of her plans to wed the utra trader, would stay with him forever. The shock still dwelled in his heart. And the understanding that in that act she had destroyed not just her future and her name, but his as well had sparked a fury in him that would not stop burning.

It was a betrayal. Of him, of his father, of his people. Killing her had not been easy, but he had forced himself to do it. When she had told him that she was with child, there had been no choice. Killing the utra on the other hand, that had been pure joy, and he only wished he could have stabbed the man to death as he slept in the wagon many more times.

It was that that had made him a man, even as a child. But it had also left him without a house or wealth or a family or even a name. And an elf without a family was sad, but without a house he was nothing. Unnamed. And still it could have been worse. If anyone had found the wagon, instead of ignominy he would have found a prison cell and a life of hard labour in chains. Even so his years spent as a farm hand, all that he could become as a fifteen year old unnamed orphan, promised him no future. It was for that reason he had joined the Royal Watch when he was eighteen. The hope of advancement.

Even there he had had few prospects. His chances of promotion were few, his choice of possible wives just as limited, and they would never have included any woman of the great houses.

He would have been a watchman for his entire life had he not found the artefact. But on the day that he had, his life had changed forever. On that day he had discovered a future, and one far grander than anything he had dreamed possible. He had discovered the Reaver, and a deal had been forged.

The spider demon wanted souls, something that Y’aris was happy to feed him, provided that he could pick the souls. And he needed servants, but not the normal obedient sort he favoured. He needed a servant with a mind. It seemed that most of his servants, his priests had only limited freedom. In turn Y’aris wanted power. And power meant control and knowledge. Things the demon was happy for him to receive, provided he got fed. It was a simple but mutually beneficial arrangement, and Y’aris had never regretted it. Not for a heartbeat.

Without the spider demon’s magic behind him he would still be a lowly watchman from a disgraced family sitting out on a distant hill hunting for incursions of dwarves and trolls into Elaris. But with it, there was no end to the heights he could scale. If he was careful. And if he didn’t try to deceive the demon. Deceive him and he would break their deal, and if he broke their deal Y’aris would soon find himself with nothing. Or even less if someone discovered what he had done. Consorting with the Reaver was punishable by only one fate, death.

Carefully he pulled out the small bundle, surprised as always at how much it weighed. And then he carefully started unwrapping it until finally he could see the shining black surface of the tile, and through it his master.

What the artefact actually was he didn’t know. A piece of a temple wall maybe, polished smooth until the blackness of it somehow shone. A relic. A tablet. Or even just a strange rock with a side of flat black glass. All he really knew was that it was magic. And that through it he had access to the Reaver’s vast power. And that it shone when he held it. In truth it didn’t so much shine or reflect light as it did absorb it, and whenever he held it in his hands he could see the darkness all around it, growing. The thing somehow ate light even as it somehow seemed to shine. Could darkness shine? Because that was what it seemed to do.

It ate souls too, and that was the truth of its power. It ate thoughts, and wills, and souls, and that he could use. It would have eaten his as well, save for the deal he had made. But the Reaver in return for his service had granted him protection from its power. And that in turn let him use it instead of being eaten by it.

A little water run over the shining surface of the thing, poured into a cup and drunk by an unsuspecting man, could leave him confused and easily manipulated. That was power to Y’aris. The number of people he had served with the cursed water was countless, and all of them had soon learned to see things as he wanted them to. For a watchman with dreams that was power.

So a battle in which he stood safely behind all the others and hid from the enemy, in the minds of his comrades in arms became another glorious encounter where he had knocked back the enemy almost single handed and saved his fellow watchmen. He had been promoted several times simply for that story alone as it kept being repeated. Watchmen were so easily led.

Yet promotions weren’t always so easily achieved. Sometimes there were people that stood in his way. Strong people who would not be so easily swayed by a cursed drink. Or who would not take a drink from his hands simply because he was unnamed. For them he chose poison most often, and simply the touch of his hand on the tablet and a thought, could grant him a recipe for any poison he needed. It seemed that the demon, despite never having been a part of the world, had vast knowledge of its workings.

And so it was that troop leaders, watch commanders, and eventually the High Commander himself had all fallen ill with ailments the healers could not fix. And then in time, when he had finally reached that lofty position and found himself at odds with many of the other advisors to the high lord, they too had suffered similar fates. And none of them suspected him. Not even as he got closer and closer to the high lord and the throne.

No more did any of them realise that he was building an army for himself. It wasn’t the high lord’s army, though its members were the Royal Watch. It was his army. The soldiers were completely loyal to him. A drink every now and then of his special water kept them that way. He called it a benediction, and they drank it as they drank his words. They were even grateful for it. So grateful that they didn’t even question when every few months he blessed the water of the rain tanks that fed each watch house in all the cities. They welcomed his blessings as they welcomed his visits. And none suspected what he was doing. They thought he was simply being an attentive and responsible commander, checking on his soldiers. Fools.

Of course he had to be careful with his dose. Too little and the power of his words to sway them would wane. Too much and the Reaver’s insatiable hunger for their souls would take more than just their thoughts. It would take their souls and when they had been consumed, what would be left behind would be a half dead monster. A creature with little mind, a withered body and no soul, but the same endless hunger of their master. An abomination.

It had taken many years to find that perfect dose, three sips every three months, and there had been many accidents along the way. Despite his best efforts to kill them all before they reached that stage, some of them still roamed the great forests, hunting and killing anyone they came across. He sent his soldiers after them.

He couldn’t afford for them to be seen. Because the moment they were, someone would tell the elders and they would know that the Reaver’s power was once more in the world. They would know that his servants once more walked the land. That had to remain a secret.

Discovery was a constant worry for him. There was only one fate for anyone who served the Reaver. Death. But since he was neither a priest carrying the Reaver’s markings nor one of the shambling abominations, he could mostly conceal his connection to the demon. That too was a part of the deal he had struck with the demon. And it kept him safe.

It was the end that worried him most. When he had become the king in his own right, and taken the Heartwood Throne. When the other races had been exterminated. What then? His master would still be hungry, and somehow Y’aris doubted that he would be willing to stop with just the outsiders. He would want the souls of the true people as well.

Though that day was still a long way off, there would be many wars between now and then, many outsider souls fed to his master, it was something Y’aris had to be ready for. He had to have a plan. And a plan that even when his master could read his thoughts, he would not know of. Or a plan that he could not prevent even if he did.

Destroying the stone was one thing, and he was sure that a typical blacksmith’s forge would be sufficient. But the priests were another matter entirely. Their devotion to the master was absolute, so much so that their faces and bodies showed his marks. The black eyes, sallow cheeks, and dark veins that were legend. For that reason they had to be hooded and masked at all times. To be seen was to be killed on sight.

But with those marks of the master upon them, they had also been granted gifts. Dark magic, speed and strength, and unelven vitality. When the time came they would stand against him, and he wasn’t sure that his army could stand against them, or even that it would. If they had drunk too much of the water, their loyalties could be divided between him and the Reaver. And in any case they would have their own army of abominations by then. Not just the few they had now.

And for the moment he needed the priests. Not only did his master demand it, they were useful. If nothing else they made truly terrifying torturers, which was why he had made them his inquisitors in his prison. None could resist them. None could keep any secrets from them. And they would confess any crime. Even ones they hadn’t committed.

But the Reaver’s priests too would have to die.

Still, for the moment the Reaver had to know what had happened and Y’aris had to tell him. He couldn’t just walk away from him. The Reaver’s power was what had made him who he was, and it was what would make him who he would become. Without it he would soon return to the nobody he had once been, assuming the priests didn’t discover his crimes and kill him first.

Besides, he reasoned, as he needed the Reaver, so too did the Reaver need him. Without him the demon would never get the feast of souls it so desired. So even though the demon surely knew his secret plans, he could do nothing about them. Not yet. And as he drew his plans for the end of the Reaver’s reign, it surely drew its own plans for the end of him, and neither of them could do anything about them.

Theirs was a bond of necessity and nothing more, but it was still a bond.

Taking a deep breath to calm his thoughts, he held the artefact before him in both hands, gazed into its infinite black depths and began the incantation. And when the familiar darkness began to emanate from the tablet and creep up his hands and arms he didn’t pull away.

Not yet.