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Authors: Greg Curtis
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like that before, though usually executioners didn’t wear their hoods out in public. What troubled him, though he did not dare discuss it openly, was that every day he seemed to see more and more black cloaked elves in chain armour wandering the streets. The Royal Watch they were called, but he knew them for what they truly were, an army.
The City Watch in their grey cloaks and green trim kept order in the streets and chased down thieves and the like. And for the most part they were decent elves doing a good job. He’d had many a pleasant conversation with them. The rangers protected travellers from the dangers of the wilds, and their leather and chain armour was hardly ever seen in the city. Probably because they weren’t all elves, and not even all of a single race. But again, whenever he met with them, he found them to be good people.
But the Royal Watch didn’t speak. Not to him. And as far as he could tell, they performed no other function than that of an army. They protected no one save the high lord. They just wandered the streets in their ones and twos, frequented the inns where they drank the ale and mead stocks dry, drilled in the open areas, and occasionally harassed people going about their normal business. Mostly the low born and mixed bloods, and of course outsiders. They made their lives a misery.
If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Leafshade was a city preparing for war. But with who? He’d sent many pigeons back to the king with his concerns, and heard nothing in reply, though he was surely heard.
“I understand your frustration elder.” And he did. But there was nothing he could do about it. About any of it.
“This never would have happened under Gerwyn. He understood what it is to be an elf. If he could look down upon his son now he would cry.” Iros carefully said nothing, since whatever he did say could only be seen as a mistake. Either he would insult the memory of the former high lord or the current one. So Iros simply waited for the elder to continue.
“You must do something. You must say something in the Court this afternoon. You must stop this madness.” Iros could see that the elder had worked himself up into a state, clearly believing that this prison of Finell’s was a serious failing. A blight on the land. And maybe it was. But there was little that he could do. It was an internal matter. He was only given leave to speak on matters that concerned the relations between Finell’s people and King Herrick’s.
“I’m sorry elder, but you know that that’s out of my bailiwick.” Of course nothing was out of his bailiwick as far as the elder was concerned. He believed that all people of good heart should stand and be heard, and he was probably right. So it hurt Iros to see the look of disappointment appear on the elder’s face. It reminded him of his mother’s face whenever he’d done something disreputable again. And he had been a difficult child.
“A failure of nerve?”
“No. Simply my duty elder.”
“An excuse then.” The elder pounced on him. “But there can be no excuses in a matter of this urgency.”
“By the Divines!” Iros gave in with a resigned sigh knowing that Yossirion would not stop. Like a wolf at a kill he never stopped until the carcass was stripped bare.
“Maybe I’ll try to squeeze in something at the Court this afternoon about how we have always admired the lack of prisons and stockades in Elaris.” It was as much as he could do, and probably more than he should, but Yossirion was a friend. Besides, it might add a little life to the proceedings.
“Is that it?” For a heartbeat the elder let his disappointment show. But he covered it up quickly. “I suppose it is still more than the high born could find it in their hearts to agree to. Not a one of them is worth the time of day!” It didn’t seem to occur to him as he vented his frustration in public, that many of
The City Watch in their grey cloaks and green trim kept order in the streets and chased down thieves and the like. And for the most part they were decent elves doing a good job. He’d had many a pleasant conversation with them. The rangers protected travellers from the dangers of the wilds, and their leather and chain armour was hardly ever seen in the city. Probably because they weren’t all elves, and not even all of a single race. But again, whenever he met with them, he found them to be good people.
But the Royal Watch didn’t speak. Not to him. And as far as he could tell, they performed no other function than that of an army. They protected no one save the high lord. They just wandered the streets in their ones and twos, frequented the inns where they drank the ale and mead stocks dry, drilled in the open areas, and occasionally harassed people going about their normal business. Mostly the low born and mixed bloods, and of course outsiders. They made their lives a misery.
If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Leafshade was a city preparing for war. But with who? He’d sent many pigeons back to the king with his concerns, and heard nothing in reply, though he was surely heard.
“I understand your frustration elder.” And he did. But there was nothing he could do about it. About any of it.
“This never would have happened under Gerwyn. He understood what it is to be an elf. If he could look down upon his son now he would cry.” Iros carefully said nothing, since whatever he did say could only be seen as a mistake. Either he would insult the memory of the former high lord or the current one. So Iros simply waited for the elder to continue.
“You must do something. You must say something in the Court this afternoon. You must stop this madness.” Iros could see that the elder had worked himself up into a state, clearly believing that this prison of Finell’s was a serious failing. A blight on the land. And maybe it was. But there was little that he could do. It was an internal matter. He was only given leave to speak on matters that concerned the relations between Finell’s people and King Herrick’s.
“I’m sorry elder, but you know that that’s out of my bailiwick.” Of course nothing was out of his bailiwick as far as the elder was concerned. He believed that all people of good heart should stand and be heard, and he was probably right. So it hurt Iros to see the look of disappointment appear on the elder’s face. It reminded him of his mother’s face whenever he’d done something disreputable again. And he had been a difficult child.
“A failure of nerve?”
“No. Simply my duty elder.”
“An excuse then.” The elder pounced on him. “But there can be no excuses in a matter of this urgency.”
“By the Divines!” Iros gave in with a resigned sigh knowing that Yossirion would not stop. Like a wolf at a kill he never stopped until the carcass was stripped bare.
“Maybe I’ll try to squeeze in something at the Court this afternoon about how we have always admired the lack of prisons and stockades in Elaris.” It was as much as he could do, and probably more than he should, but Yossirion was a friend. Besides, it might add a little life to the proceedings.
“Is that it?” For a heartbeat the elder let his disappointment show. But he covered it up quickly. “I suppose it is still more than the high born could find it in their hearts to agree to. Not a one of them is worth the time of day!” It didn’t seem to occur to him as he vented his frustration in public, that many of
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