Denser was astonished at the wooden buildings but Ilkar had only laughed and pointed beyond the city. Surrounding the port on all sides and covering the land for as far as he could see was a thick mat of green. Trees everywhere, punctuated by sharp rises, great sweeping cliffs and plunging soaking lowlands, but trees all the same.
Denser had stood and stared at it all for what seemed an age, only emerging from his reverie when Ilkar nudged him. He looked round to see the Julatsan arm in arm with Ren, both smiling at him.
'What do you think?' asked the elf.
Denser shrugged. 'It's extraordinary. I can't believe how big this port is. I didn't think many of you lived in cities. More to the point, what do you think? Been a long time for you, hasn't it?'
Ilkar nodded, his smile fading. 'It's odd, no doubt about that. But I still feel like I'm coming home. I mean, I hardly recognise this place, it's grown so much, but I was born here.'
'Ysundeneth?'
'Well, no, not here exactly. About three days upriver by boat, but I spent a lot of time here when I was growing up and it was never this big.'
'So how does it sustain itself?' The Unknown had come to the rail and was leaning out, his shaven head tanning deep brown.
'Trade with Balaia is important,' said Ren. 'But the real money's made trading around the coast. So much of the inland is impassable to boats of any real size that it's quicker to go around. But this is the biggest port by far. None of the others are even half this size.'
'There have got to be well over a hundred thousand elves living here, haven't there?' said The Unknown.
'More,' said Ren.
'I'm amazed there are that many on the entire continent,' said Denser. 'Given the very few we see, that is.'
'Calaius is a very big continent, Denser, and you'd be surprised how many elves there are here,' said Ilkar. 'But as a race, we just like to keep ourselves to ourselves. No one's going to take you to their bosom when we land, I can tell you. And when I also tell you that the elves you'll meet in the ports are the most outgoing, well, I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions.'
'The place must burn a lot.' It was Hirad, standing just behind them. 'All that wood.'
Ilkar cupped a hand to his ear. 'Hark,' he said, a broad grin on his face. 'The lilting sounds of a barbarian making a daft comment.'
'Bugger off.'
'Does the term "rainforest" not give you any sort of clue?' asked Ilkar. 'I mean it doesn't rain quite so much here on the coast but inland, well, you'll experience it soon enough.'
Ren nudged Ilkar hard. 'Tell him the truth. All of it.'
Hirad's face hardened. Denser clapped his hands. 'Gods, I love listening to you two.'
'You could sell tickets to it,' muttered The Unknown.
Ilkar puffed out his cheeks. 'Fair enough, I was just taking a rise and am guilty as charged, although it does rain a lot.'
'So what is the truth?' growled Hirad.
'That all the buildings are coated with flame-retardant resin. We just use nature's own defences out here. Smells a bit if you're not used to it but it's good against lightning and fire.'
'Make a simple statement, I don't know…' Hirad let his voice trail off but Denser could see his heart wasn't in his anger. As it never was with Ilkar. It was one of the joys of travelling with The Raven. Those two could be pure theatre at times.
'So what's the plan?' asked Hirad.
'Simple, really,' said Ilkar. 'We're landing in about an hour, I think. We'll find a place to stay tonight and while you lot take a look at the sights, Ren and I'll hire a boat to take us upriver tomorrow. '
'And you're quite sure your village is the place to start looking for these mages of yours?' The Unknown was frowning.
'It's as good a place as any. We used to send a lot of adepts to Julatsa at one time and there'll be people there who are sympathetic and, more important, who will know where to look for more. Just hanging up a sign here won't get us far. But of course I have personal reasons for wanting to go there, I'm sure you'll understand. You don't have to come if you don't want to.'
'The Raven never work apart,' said Hirad.
Ilkar smiled. 'You won't regret it,' he said. 'It's beautiful.'
'And flame-resistant,' said The Unknown. The east gates of Xetesk opened and the massed ranks of refugees stood, their movement an expanding ripple across a human sea. Ten thousand and more with hope renewed that this time food and not soldiers would be disgorged.
From where Avesh stood on a patch of churned mud with everything he loved and everything he owned, he couldn't see the base of the gates. Couldn't see what or who came out, but he could rely on the mood of the crowd to give him the information he needed.
He pulled his wife and young son to him, their bony frames pressed against his, and stepped away from their pile of filthy blankets and scant possessions. How they hadn't died of cold, starvation or disease through the winter, having lost their farm to the storms, he would never know. But they had been spared and that was all he cared about.
The family all knew the drill. If it was food they would split up and run because if you were slow you got nothing. But if you were lucky, you got three shares. At first Avesh had been against that but he'd been forced to harden his heart as the death toll from illness and hunger rose daily. Rather them than his family.
And now, with spring coming to ease the chill and the first colours of new life pushing through the thawed earth, it looked like their persistence might actually pay off. Though they were all haggard and thin they were still alive. Today, Avesh was daring to believe they would live to rebuild their lives.
The noise built around them. Those with the strength made ready to run or swallow their disappointment. But something was different. Avesh caught it in the air just before he heard the shouts. A cry of surprise. Another of indignant outrage.
He watched for a few moments, feeling the unease whiplash through the throng. His first instinct had been to move forward but he held his ground, his heart querulous. He bit his lip and stood on tiptoe.
'Atyo, hop up on my shoulders. Let's look see.' The scrawny lad scrambled up. 'What can you see?'
'Soldiers,' he said. 'And riders. Lots.'
'Coming along the path?'
They'd seen this a dozen times but the mood of the crowd suggested something new.
'No, all over. Everyone's moving.'
And now Avesh could see it. The move forward had faltered, was already reversing. The noise of countless scared people was growing to a crescendo shot through with the harsh shouts of soldiers carrying on the breeze.
The boy climbed down and looked up into his father's eyes.
'What will we do?'
'Give me a moment, son,' said Avesh.
The crowd was rippling again. No, not a ripple, a wave heading outwards away from the gates.
'Gods falling,' he breathed. He gripped Atyo and Ellin, turning them both to him. 'They're trying to clear the camp, the bastards. If we get separated, we'll meet back at the crossing of the River Dord to the north. Can you both find that?'
'Why would we be separated?' asked Ellin.
He didn't have to answer her. The wave hit them instead. He grabbed them each by a hand.
'Come on, we've got to go.'
The press was thickening but Ellin hesitated.
'Our things.'
'Leave them. Come on.'
Avesh could feel the surge through the ground now. A drumming like a thousand hoof beats. But this stampede was human. He swung them both around, stumbling against somebody who rushed past. He caught the briefest glimpse of an ashen face before it was lost in the throng.
They began to run. There was only one direction. To try and cross the path of the crowd would be suicide. Avesh held them firm, taking care to move at the same pace as his boy, but when the youngster tripped anyway, Avesh scooped him into one arm and ran on, his wife right beside him.
He could see nothing but flailing limbs, hair streaming and the b
acks of countless desperate people driven to run though they barely had the strength. It was a chase that would exhaust itself quickly, and already the weakest were falling, their legs powerless to keep them upright, their spirits unable to take them a single pace further. And those that fell were left. There was nothing anyone could do, not even family, as the packed horde fled on, dragging the crying survivors with it.
Avesh ignored the ache in his wasted left arm muscles where he clutched Atyo and dared a look down at his wife. Ellin's face was determined as she ploughed on, transmitting her fear through the painfully tight grip on his hand.
Through the screams, the shouts and the thrumming of feet across the ground, Avesh could hear horses and the rhythmic heavy thud of men running in unison, closing fast. The crowd gathered sudden extra impetus. Worse, it split. Avesh pulled left, Ellin went right. Their hands slipped agonisingly apart. Avesh tried to change direction and reached out his hand. Their fingers brushed but that was all and he caught only a glimpse of her gaunt face and despairing hand as the crowd swept her away from him.
Riders galloped through the gap, voices hoarse, shouting orders to move.
'Ellin!' Avesh yelled. 'The Dord. Remember the Dord!'
'Mummy!' screamed Atyo, wriggling around, straining to see her.
Avesh saw her just once more, bobbing like a bottle in a stormy sea, helpless, unable even to struggle as she vanished from sight.
'Mummy!'
'It's all right, Atyo,' said Avesh, head down and running again, breath heaving painfully into his lungs. 'We'll find her. We'll see her soon.'
Right in front of him, a man tripped and fell. Reacting fast, Avesh hurdled the sprawling figure. His left foot came down on slimy wet mud and slipped sideways. Hopelessly unbalanced, he pitched right, holding hard on to his son as he went down.
The sound of horses was very close again. He rolled over, people scrambling past him cursing, shouts chasing them, that rhythmic thump of feet mingling with hoof beats reverberating through the ground.
Avesh clambered to his feet, presenting his back to the streaming mob threatening to knock him back down again. His muddied and terrified son was screaming, out of control, clutching handfuls of his clothing.
'We'll be all right,' said Avesh. 'We'll-'
He was standing in a space that suddenly contained too much horseflesh to dodge. He turned left and right, his vision filled with black and brown flanks, greaved legs and riding boots. He felt a heavy impact as a stallion reared near him, its rider yelling at him to move, but he could do nothing more than fall flat on his back.
He lay still, hooves coming down close to his head and body on their way past, driving the wailing refugees further and further from Xetesk. The relative silence flooded him. He gasped a breath.
'We'll be safe now, boy, safe now,' he said, stroking Atyo's head. His hand came away wet. Blood. He froze.
'Atyo?' The boy was limp in his arms. 'Atyo?'
He scrabbled frantically into a sitting position and held the boy in his lap. Atyo's head lolled to one side, blood matting his face. And, just below the hairline, his skull was stove in, caught by a horse's hoof. He had never stood a chance.
'No.' The word was barely audible. 'No.'
Avesh rose to his feet, holding his dead child to his chest. After all they'd been through, huddling in the intense cold, saving scraps of food from the ground and going days without. The boy had survived it all, only to be murdered by those he'd begged for succour.
The tears began rolling down his face, smearing the dirt as they came. Avesh fought back the nausea that swept through him, the blackening of his vision and the clouding of his mind.
His boy. Dead.
His vision cleared and he took in the litter of the camp, the scattering stragglers missed by the soldiers and the dozens, maybe hundreds, of prone forms lying where they'd fallen, clothes ruffling in the breeze. Some moved, most did not. And he saw the line of cavalry backed by the masked abominations that were the Protectors, their pace unremitting. Thump, thump, thump.
He looked down. He was standing on a tattered blanket. He laid Atyo on it and wrapped it around the boy's body. At least he wouldn't get cold. With a last look at that face so casually ruined, he kissed Atyo's forehead and closed the blanket. He stood.
The blank walls of Xetesk faced him. They could not be allowed to escape justice but he would not toss his life away in a futile attempt at vengeance. That would mock Atyo's death.
His body shaking. Avesh turned and walked away towards the north and the crossing of the River Dord, there to find his wife so they could bury their son together.
Then he'd be back. And he wouldn't be alone.
Chapter 12
By the time they reached the canopy rope crossing of the huge sluggish brown force of the River Ix, Rebraal wasn't sure who was supposed to be rescuing who.
A night where they'd both slept long through sheer exhaustion had given way to two days where it seemed the rain was Gyal's tears, sweeping across the forest and drenching it almost incessantly. Sometimes it abated to a fine mist, but more often it fell in torrents with angry thunder cracking above the canopy.
Rebraal's shoulder was agony, his multiple cuts and scratches from being dragged to the pile of bodies by the strangers and away again by Meru itched in unison. They'd done what they could – legumia root paste for the deep crossbow wound, poultices of rubiac fruits for his scratches and long drinks of menispere to ward off the effects of fever – but he knew he was getting sick. He should be resting, not running home, wading rivers and climbing high into the canopy to use the hidden walkways and ropes to pass the great rivers and waterfalls.
His muscles were tortured, his back aflame with searing pain and his mind often muddied and confused. He'd mistaken bird and monkey calls more than once, had blundered into a swarm of ants and escaped a crocodile by a mere heartbeat.
But for all his many woes, his greater concern was Mercuun. His was a sickness that defied understanding or remedy and attacked him apparently at random, leaving him gasping for breath one moment and driven with manic energy the next, though the latter was becoming increasingly infrequent. Meru had assumed it was something in his stomach and they'd searched and found a good supply of simarou bark with which they made strong infusions, but it did no recognisable good.
Between his bouts of energy, he lost muscle strength and bulk, his balance was dangerously off true and, on the second morning, Rebraal had wakened to hear Mercuun coughing as if his organs were fighting their way into his throat. His friend could not disguise the blood that flew from his mouth in a spray every time he convulsed.
Later that afternoon, they'd rested long by the banks of the Ix, sheltered from Gyal's tears and prayed to Orra, the God of the earth's life blood, for an end to the illness that plagued Mercuun. Rebraal had looked at him where they sat close together under the great broad leaves of a young palm and seen death stalking across his face. He seemed to be collapsing from the inside out, and for all their herbal lore they could find no antidote.
'You're sure you haven't been bitten?' probed Rebraal, moving his back against the bole of the palm and feeling a new pain shoot through his legs and neck.
'I'm sure,' said Mercuun, his voice a hoarse whisper, his throat raw from wracking coughs. Every time he breathed, he shuddered.
'Have you checked yourself? If not a viper, a brush with a yellowback is all it would take.'
'It's not poison,' said Mercuun.
'Then what is it?' Rebraal was at a loss.
'I don't know.' Mercuun shook his head and lifted his face to Rebraal. He was scared; his eyes betrayed him and tears of frustration and fear welled up before he could catch them. 'Shorth is coming. I can feel it.'
'You aren't going to die, Meru.' Rebraal reached out a hand, which his friend grabbed and held tight. 'We'll be in the village before nightfall. There is help for you there.'
Mercuun dropped his head back to stare at the muddied ground. 'Ther
e is nothing their healers know that we don't.'
'But they will also employ magic should they have to,' said Rebraal, giving Mercuun's hand a reassuring squeeze before climbing stiffly to his feet. 'Come on. One more climb and it's all down from then on.'
But as he looked up into the canopy and their hundred-foot climb, his confidence wavered. He had seen Meru stumble over the merest root. And he himself could only rely on one arm. The other was as good as useless, the strength of his grip diminished by the wound in his shoulder.
'It seems so high,' said Mercuun, staring up and out over the river.
High above the muddy flow, where the canopy leant in on both sides, the practised eye could see a trio of tensed ropes among the leaves and branches. Used by elves and monkeys alike, the crossing spanned the one-hundred-yard width of the River Ix. Upriver, a waterfall more than five hundred feet high plunged into a huge sheltered pool, its outflow slackened by long lazy twists in the deep river. Way downstream, where the Ix narrowed, rocks hastened the water through a cramped ravine before the river spilled back out into its natural slow state. And everywhere along its length, death lurked beneath the surface.
'We can make it,' assured Rebraal, leaving unspoken the fact that they would never swim the river. They were too weak and too much blood scent clung to them. They'd been lucky with panthers and jaguars. That luck would not hold out there in the water. 'You go first. I'll watch for you. I won't let you fall.'
Mercuun dragged himself to his feet, leaning against the palm to steady himself before following Rebraal down to the towering banyan around which the ropes were fastened on this side, lost beneath a tangle of vines and secured from rotting by resin, oils and the occasional spell. He breathed deep, clenched his fists, took a brief glance up and began to climb. 'There's something wrong here,' said The Unknown. 'Can't you feel it?'
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