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Authors: Greg Curtis
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though, what the elder really wanted to talk about was the poor health of the mission’s gardens. He was in the end, an elf.
“Enough of that Iros.” The elder brushed away his politeness with a wave of his hand and a frustrated snort. “You’re a man, act like one.”
“Of course elder.” Naturally if there was one thing he couldn’t do it was exactly what the elder demanded. But then he’d surely always known that would be the case. Everyone else had to do the same. Still Yossirion managed another snort of disdain.
“So be it child.” The elder let out an exasperated sigh. “With every day that passes you become more and more like one of these high born fools. But if that’s your wish I will not hold it against you.” Though of course he would remind him of it every time they met. He enjoyed pointing out his failings.
“And at least there’s one honest soul among us.” Unexpectedly the elder went down on one knee and held out his arms for Saris and she quickly ran to him, accepting his attentions with all the grace she could muster. Naturally that involved a lot of yipping, some small growls, plenty of nuzzling, the occasional toss of her head and the excited beating of her surprisingly long tail against the ground. She didn’t do that for just anyone, and Iros was constantly surprised by how much she liked the elder. He wouldn’t dare to bring her to the Court. Even if she didn’t bite, she could growl, and when she didn’t like many of them, there could be some very offended high born elves. But then he liked to think that she was a good judge of character.
“Walk with me.” Finished with the jackal hound, the elder stood up, reached out and grabbed his arm, turning him around, and then began leading him back the way he had come, and just when Iros had almost reached his destination. But still he wouldn’t object. He wouldn’t even point out how odd it was for an elf to be physically almost dragging him along the path like an errant child, or that people were staring. It wasn’t his place and Yossirion wouldn’t have cared anyway.
“Do you know what that rotten little child has done now?” By rotten little child the elder naturally meant High Lord Finell. He was never sparing in his criticism of the high lord. Never quiet about it either. But then he didn’t have to be diplomatic. Even though his words surely got back to him, Finell could not touch him. No ruler would ever dare touch one of the priesthood. The people would not have it. Finell he thought, must hate that. Another reason to like the elder.
“Elder?”
“He’s gone and hired more guards for that accursed prison he and that black blood Y’aris have built. More guards! We never even had a prison before, and now we have one and it needs more guards. Just how many prisoners does he think it’s going to hold?” He rushed on with his tirade before Iros could answer him.
“And then there’s those damned inquisitors as well. Creeping around the city like hunting spiders. By the beauty of the Mother, why does anyone need inquisitors? And why are they always masked?”
It wasn’t the first time Elder Yossirion had been upset with the prison, and quite likely he had cause. The elven lands had always been peaceful and law abiding. The few crimes they did have were mostly settled by tribunals hastily convened, and the punishments made to fit the crime. Reparations and hard labour for however long, in the service of the victim was the norm. It was a similar system to the one they used in Greenlands. There the town prison was mostly used for holding drunks until they sobered up. Iros had spent a few nights in it himself as a young man.
Yet the guards for the prison were the least of the things that Iros worried about. Even the grey cloaked inquisitors that sometimes walked the streets in their robes and masks, frightening people, weren’t too much of a worry. He’d seen people
“Enough of that Iros.” The elder brushed away his politeness with a wave of his hand and a frustrated snort. “You’re a man, act like one.”
“Of course elder.” Naturally if there was one thing he couldn’t do it was exactly what the elder demanded. But then he’d surely always known that would be the case. Everyone else had to do the same. Still Yossirion managed another snort of disdain.
“So be it child.” The elder let out an exasperated sigh. “With every day that passes you become more and more like one of these high born fools. But if that’s your wish I will not hold it against you.” Though of course he would remind him of it every time they met. He enjoyed pointing out his failings.
“And at least there’s one honest soul among us.” Unexpectedly the elder went down on one knee and held out his arms for Saris and she quickly ran to him, accepting his attentions with all the grace she could muster. Naturally that involved a lot of yipping, some small growls, plenty of nuzzling, the occasional toss of her head and the excited beating of her surprisingly long tail against the ground. She didn’t do that for just anyone, and Iros was constantly surprised by how much she liked the elder. He wouldn’t dare to bring her to the Court. Even if she didn’t bite, she could growl, and when she didn’t like many of them, there could be some very offended high born elves. But then he liked to think that she was a good judge of character.
“Walk with me.” Finished with the jackal hound, the elder stood up, reached out and grabbed his arm, turning him around, and then began leading him back the way he had come, and just when Iros had almost reached his destination. But still he wouldn’t object. He wouldn’t even point out how odd it was for an elf to be physically almost dragging him along the path like an errant child, or that people were staring. It wasn’t his place and Yossirion wouldn’t have cared anyway.
“Do you know what that rotten little child has done now?” By rotten little child the elder naturally meant High Lord Finell. He was never sparing in his criticism of the high lord. Never quiet about it either. But then he didn’t have to be diplomatic. Even though his words surely got back to him, Finell could not touch him. No ruler would ever dare touch one of the priesthood. The people would not have it. Finell he thought, must hate that. Another reason to like the elder.
“Elder?”
“He’s gone and hired more guards for that accursed prison he and that black blood Y’aris have built. More guards! We never even had a prison before, and now we have one and it needs more guards. Just how many prisoners does he think it’s going to hold?” He rushed on with his tirade before Iros could answer him.
“And then there’s those damned inquisitors as well. Creeping around the city like hunting spiders. By the beauty of the Mother, why does anyone need inquisitors? And why are they always masked?”
It wasn’t the first time Elder Yossirion had been upset with the prison, and quite likely he had cause. The elven lands had always been peaceful and law abiding. The few crimes they did have were mostly settled by tribunals hastily convened, and the punishments made to fit the crime. Reparations and hard labour for however long, in the service of the victim was the norm. It was a similar system to the one they used in Greenlands. There the town prison was mostly used for holding drunks until they sobered up. Iros had spent a few nights in it himself as a young man.
Yet the guards for the prison were the least of the things that Iros worried about. Even the grey cloaked inquisitors that sometimes walked the streets in their robes and masks, frightening people, weren’t too much of a worry. He’d seen people
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