chance to meet informally with more of the high born. Such was the life of an envoy. And Pita as he recalled, had studied verse in detail during his time at the Academy.
Besides, Perilla of Storva had been a poet of the Mother, and so hosting an evening in her honour also served his other goal, which was one day, before his time here was up, to spend some time in Honeysuckle Grove. It alone in the entire city was off limits to him, and tucked away in the great forest, it wasn’t as if he could accidentally wander off course and find himself in it. A man had to be invited.
Iros continued giving his assistant the details of his duties for the day as they walked leisurely towards the smiths’ quarter, but his thoughts weren’t really on the matters at hand. For the most part he was simply trying to put the coming afternoon’s suffering, out of his mind. Then the court would meet in the Royal Chamber and he would once more have to do battle with his wits against a rotten ruler with an appalling lack of grace. All with a perfunctory smile on his face and a civil tongue in his mouth. He hated it.
For once though he was able to forget his woes. Maybe with the early spring sun warm on his back, and the smell of lavender and honeysuckle in the air, even a human like him could find a measure of peace in this strange land.
Leafshade wasn’t the place he wanted to spend his days. But as assignments went it wasn’t so terrible, nor even trivial. Leafshade was an important trading city for his people, as well as the capital of Elaris and home of the elves’ precious High Lord. Here more than anywhere else, he knew, he would be able to make a name for himself, to truly earn the title of Lord in his own right. To make his family proud.
He had not been able to do that during his year among the trolls. Mostly what he had been able to do there was learn to ride in his sleep as the trolls ceaselessly followed their prey across their rocky realm. He had also learned to eat raw meat, bring down a deer at two hundred paces with his crossbow, pitch a tent in the freezing snow, and light a fire with only a couple of twigs. That had been a long hard year, and by the end of it, he had understood why the assignment was always given to either newcomers to the profession, or those who had upset the king.
His days in Leafshade were also better than his time in the mission to Catalbria, where he’d spent close to two years trying to live in a land designed for little people. True the gnomes weren’t actually that short, most of the people standing at least as high as his shoulder, but they designed their doorways for people no taller, which meant he had to bend double entering most buildings. That did not do wonders for a man’s back. The elves at least were nearly of human height, and they liked their archways, something that his spine found a blessing.
And his time here had to be better than any he might one day have to spend in the dwarven cities, burrowed deep into their immense mountains. He dreaded being assigned to the mission in Ironhold. There he understood the sun never shone and the diet consisted of edible fungi and farmed vermin. Worse than that though was the smell. Dwarves didn’t consider bathing a necessity, and locked away in the cavernous underground cities where little fresh air flowed, the aroma was described as invigorating by even the most diplomatic. Iros had never visited those cities, and he never wanted to.
He dearly hoped that when his time was up here, and assuming his parents weren’t finally ready for him to return home and start taking up the mantle of lordship, the king would not send him to act as envoy to the dwarves. Anything but that. The gnomes, the sprites, even the trolls again.
Still he had at least three years before he had to worry about that. Three years in a far more comfortable city. Three years with people he could spend some time with.
The low born
Besides, Perilla of Storva had been a poet of the Mother, and so hosting an evening in her honour also served his other goal, which was one day, before his time here was up, to spend some time in Honeysuckle Grove. It alone in the entire city was off limits to him, and tucked away in the great forest, it wasn’t as if he could accidentally wander off course and find himself in it. A man had to be invited.
Iros continued giving his assistant the details of his duties for the day as they walked leisurely towards the smiths’ quarter, but his thoughts weren’t really on the matters at hand. For the most part he was simply trying to put the coming afternoon’s suffering, out of his mind. Then the court would meet in the Royal Chamber and he would once more have to do battle with his wits against a rotten ruler with an appalling lack of grace. All with a perfunctory smile on his face and a civil tongue in his mouth. He hated it.
For once though he was able to forget his woes. Maybe with the early spring sun warm on his back, and the smell of lavender and honeysuckle in the air, even a human like him could find a measure of peace in this strange land.
Leafshade wasn’t the place he wanted to spend his days. But as assignments went it wasn’t so terrible, nor even trivial. Leafshade was an important trading city for his people, as well as the capital of Elaris and home of the elves’ precious High Lord. Here more than anywhere else, he knew, he would be able to make a name for himself, to truly earn the title of Lord in his own right. To make his family proud.
He had not been able to do that during his year among the trolls. Mostly what he had been able to do there was learn to ride in his sleep as the trolls ceaselessly followed their prey across their rocky realm. He had also learned to eat raw meat, bring down a deer at two hundred paces with his crossbow, pitch a tent in the freezing snow, and light a fire with only a couple of twigs. That had been a long hard year, and by the end of it, he had understood why the assignment was always given to either newcomers to the profession, or those who had upset the king.
His days in Leafshade were also better than his time in the mission to Catalbria, where he’d spent close to two years trying to live in a land designed for little people. True the gnomes weren’t actually that short, most of the people standing at least as high as his shoulder, but they designed their doorways for people no taller, which meant he had to bend double entering most buildings. That did not do wonders for a man’s back. The elves at least were nearly of human height, and they liked their archways, something that his spine found a blessing.
And his time here had to be better than any he might one day have to spend in the dwarven cities, burrowed deep into their immense mountains. He dreaded being assigned to the mission in Ironhold. There he understood the sun never shone and the diet consisted of edible fungi and farmed vermin. Worse than that though was the smell. Dwarves didn’t consider bathing a necessity, and locked away in the cavernous underground cities where little fresh air flowed, the aroma was described as invigorating by even the most diplomatic. Iros had never visited those cities, and he never wanted to.
He dearly hoped that when his time was up here, and assuming his parents weren’t finally ready for him to return home and start taking up the mantle of lordship, the king would not send him to act as envoy to the dwarves. Anything but that. The gnomes, the sprites, even the trolls again.
Still he had at least three years before he had to worry about that. Three years in a far more comfortable city. Three years with people he could spend some time with.
The low born
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