'Yes, sir.'
The two men stood.
'Captain Yron.' It was Erys, running from the temple. He was clutching some papers and beaming all over his freckled face. Yron felt a warm glow, comforting despite the stifling heat.
'Good news, I take it?' He signalled Ben-Foran to stay with him.
'The best,' said Erys as he stopped in front of them, handing over two leather-bound books and a scroll of parchment.
'Thanks,' said Yron. 'I'll acquire their accumulated wisdom the moment I've grasped ancient elvish. A decade of your close tutelage should do the trick.'
Erys stared at him a moment before he got the joke. 'Sorry, I just… Well, never mind. The point is, I could understand enough of that to know it's what we're looking for. It's the key to the longevity argument.'
Yron raised his eyebrows. 'Really? And how many doors are there left to open?'
'Seven, I think. The Gods know when they'll open.'
'Hmm.' Yron clacked his tongue while he thought. 'Never mind the frog, Ben; we'll find another tomorrow. Bring me the fittest sixteen men we have, barring yourself.'
'Yes, Captain. Might I ask why?'
'You might, but it would be a waste of your breath.'
Ben-Foran saluted and strode off, calling out names as he went. 'It's time we got some of this stuff away from here,' he said to Erys.
'You think we're in some danger?'
'This is the centre of their faith, or so you told me. How long before it gets visited by more Al-Arynaar, do you think?' Yron hefted the papers. 'These go tonight, and not via the camp. There's something not quite right about the atmosphere round here.'
'I can't feel anything different.'
'No indeed. But then you haven't been here before, have you? It's just a feeling. Trust me.' He ushered Erys back towards the temple. 'Show me everything you've got so far. We need an evacuation plan.'
Thunder cracked across the darkening sky. The rains came again. The next morning, Hirad was woken by The Unknown Warrior to a surprisingly cool dawn. A sea mist had rolled in and was suffocating the docks and large areas of the city, hemmed in as it was by hills. Over a meal of bread and herb tea, Ren assured them the mist wouldn't last.
Hirad didn't care if it stayed all day. He was anxious to get on and could feel the energy building within him. He knew where it came from and he looked around the table and drank in the sight. The Raven. Together and united in a single purpose. To watch them and hear the desultory conversation it was easy to imagine they were as they had always been but that was far from the truth.
Thraun still hadn't uttered a word and had the look of a man lost to the real world for much of the time. At the moment he was concentrating on food and was the most human he ever seemed. He followed The Unknown around like a faithful hound. Hirad was beginning to wonder if he'd prove a liability.
The dark patches under Erienne's eyes told of another night of precious little sleep. Hirad had heard her quiet crying through the thin walls of the inn and Denser's voice trying to comfort her. Neither had said much this morning but they had brought no good news back with them the previous evening. Though they'd not seen or heard of anyone dying, more and more were afflicted and to starkly varying degrees.
Some who had shown violent symptoms days before were now no more than tired, while others who had only just developed the disease were already too weak or unbalanced to walk, or else were struggling against sudden and severe internal bleeding. The Raven had done what they could, but without experience of the ways of elves had found themselves treated with coolness though not hostility.
Still, at least Darrick was with them now. Hirad remembered trying to get him to ride with The Raven during the final stages of their quest for Dawnthief. He'd refused then but Hirad had always known deep down that things would change. It was just a shame the circumstances of that change had been so bloody and tragic.
He looked forward to fighting with Darrick, if it came to that, back on Balaia. Aeb, of course, was a hugely powerful addition and The Unknown's left-hand defence now he couldn't use his double-handed sword. Ren worried him though. There had been neither the will nor the need to train her to fight in line and he worried about what that might do. He knew she enjoyed swordplay but perhaps they could persuade her to stick to her bow.
Time would undoubtedly tell. But on the trip to Balaia they'd have to get themselves back into fighting form. The Raven had survived for so many years because of their trust and unshakeable discipline as much as their skill. Hirad reminded himself to talk to The Unknown about it. He wasn't sure how much fighting the big man anticipated back on Balaia but one thing was certain. Right now, they didn't have their edge. They'd be fighting from memory, with two people who had only fought with them once, one who hadn't hefted a sword in The Raven ever and one complete enigma.
Hirad drained his tea and stood up from the table in the inn where they'd gathered for breakfast. All that was for later.
'Come on then, Raven. Let's get moving before the sun clears this mist.'
There was a concerted move stalled only by Thraun, who was determined to finish every last crumb of bread.
'What's he planning to do, hibernate?' said Ilkar. 'Don't bring too much. We're in one boat. It's got oars, a sail and forward decking for stowing gear. I'll introduce you to the guide when we're on our way. Until then, keep quiet. He's already nervous about taking strangers upriver.'
'Strangers?'
'Yes, Hirad. If you're not elven on Calaius, you're a stranger. Remember that. Especially inland.'
They walked down to the river jetties in almost total silence, the thick mist giving the streets an eerie feel. Ysundeneth was very quiet. It shouldn't have been, not even this early, but word of the illness would have spread fast and people weren't anxious to open their doors and face the uncertainty of the day ahead.
The sun was barely beginning to penetrate the chill of the mist. Hirad shivered, wishing for his heavy leather or furs, but on Ilkar's advice he, like all of them, had bought new clothes in the markets yesterday. Light leather armour and boots, lightweight cloaks and shirts. Everything dark brown, black or green, the colours of the forest.
'It must be a drab place,' Hirad had said.
Ilkar had laughed. 'You have never seen anything like it.'
Hirad determined to remember that. He'd better be impressed.
Ilkar took them through twisting paved streets with houses and buildings close in on either side. Above the mist, seabirds called and answered. The jetties were a couple of miles inland from the docks and above the estuary. They were built for shallow-draught river-boats, and as they approached Hirad could see dozens of the boats tied up or hauled onto the muddy shore of the River Ix, which was named after the elven God of mana, or so Ilkar said.
He could smell the water. It was not altogether unpleasant, and although brown and its flow soporific in its sluggishness, it had none of the fetid stagnancy he associated with city rivers back on Balaia. The elves, it seemed, didn't use theirs as dumps or sewers.
The wooden jetty echoed under the tramp of their feet, the odd timber creaking as they passed, water lapping against the piles driven into the river bed. Ilkar strode confidently over the damp and slippery surface, stopping in front of a quartet of identical craft each some thirty feet long with a single mast in the middle, sail furled horizontally against it. An elf was stretched out across a seat at the stern of one of the vessels, smoke curling from a pipe in his mouth. It reminded Hirad that he hadn't seen Denser smoking his pipe in ages. Perhaps Erienne had cured him of the habit.
Ilkar hailed the elf and he sat up and waved them all on board, keeping his eyes down, not wishing contact with the Balaians invading his boat. He was old for an elf, his hair long and greying, his face full of sharp lines and heavy wrinkles. He had huge hands and powerful shoulders and possessed little of the natural grace of so many of his kind. He and Ilkar held a brief conversation in a dialect Hirad couldn't understand before he
untied the stern rope and pushed them into the flow with an oar, where there was a breeze getting up, clearing the mist.
'Get the sail up, would you someone?' asked Ilkar, taking up station at the tiller with their guide, Ren, close to him. 'Kayloor thinks there'll be enough wind to take us up against the current but if we could have oars ready, it might help if things get slack.'
'No problem,' said The Unknown, bending down and untying the oar beneath the bulwark. 'You relax.'
'Someone's got to relay what he's saying,' said Ilkar, a smile on his face.
'Right.' The Unknown sat down, Aeb taking up the position beside him. Thraun looked on in some confusion but The Unknown just waved him to a seat and he seemed to understand. Denser and Erienne sat in the prow looking out, still saying nothing. It left Hirad and Darrick to raise the sail, which filled enough to push them gently out into the current.
'Now it starts,' said Ilkar. 'Keep your eyes on the banks and don't trail your hands in the water.'
'Fish got sharp teeth, have they?' said Hirad.
'Oh it's not the fish that should be worrying you, Hirad. There's far worse than mere fish in here,' said Ilkar.
'You're so reassuring.'
'Just realistic,' said Ilkar. 'This isn't like anything any of you have ever experienced. Don't treat it like Balaia or even Herendeneth or you'll come unstuck.'
' "Coming unstuck" meaning?'
'Dead, usually,' said Ren.
'Great place,' said Hirad. 'How surprising you left.'
'But it is great, Hirad,' said Ilkar. 'Just dangerous for strangers.'
Hirad shared a glance with Darrick, who raised his eyebrows.
'All right, General?' asked the barbarian.
'Never better,' replied Darrick.
A booming bellow echoed across the river from the opposite bank. Through the clearing mist, a flock of birds scattered into the sky, their calls piercing and shrill. Hirad jumped. The boat rocked. In the stern Ren and Ilkar were laughing.
'Gods, but I'm going to enjoy this,' said the mage.
The sail snapped and filled as the breeze stiffened in the centre of the channel. Choosing to keep his thoughts to himself, Hirad looked away into the depths of the rainforest.
Chapter 14
Selik, forty Black Wings and their mage prisoner galloped into Understone after a hard three-day ride through yet more devastated countryside, abandoned farms and desolate villages. Their horses were exhausted, riders saddle-sore and Selik himself was experiencing severe pain in his face and across the dead parts of his chest. It was something he'd never understood. The nerves had been frozen by the bitch's spell so why could it hurt so much? Phantom pain, he'd been told. He preferred to believe it signalled some regeneration of his damaged body but in six years his condition hadn't improved.
Understone had never recovered from its central role in the last Wesmen wars. A small garrison town, it had been run-down when the war began and the battles it saw had left it burned and battered. It was now barely a shell. And to think what it had been when first built: the great defence against Wesmen invasion through Understone Pass.
The Black Wings rode down its rebuilt but again abandoned main street, past boarded-up houses down to the small stockaded garrison itself, reining in by the open front gates. Less than four hundred yards away, the black mouth that was the pass yawned large. Under the control of the Wesmen once again, the pass was the only passable land route east to west across the Blackthorne Mountains.
Selik turned his attention to the guard who hurried out to meet them. He was a raw recruit wearing old shabby leather and chain armour and carrying a rusting pike. His helmet wobbled on his head and his white, pinched and hungry face held frightened eyes.
'State your business,' he said, his voice wavering.
Selik dismounted and walked over to the guard, his arms spread to indicate peaceful intent.
'Please don't be nervous. We mean our defenders no harm,' he drawled through the ache in his face and mouth. 'We merely seek a place to billet for the night before riding on south tomorrow morning.'
The guard's eyes narrowed a little. 'Why south?'
'We're on a humanitarian mission,' said Selik. 'Perhaps I should speak to your commanding officer.'
'I will see if he's available,' said the guard, the tremor diminishing in his voice. 'May I take your name?'
'Of course. I am Captain Selik and these are the Black Wings.'
The guard took a step backwards. 'I'll go and get the Commander. '
Selik shook his head and turned to his men.
'Dismount. Go and find yourselves places to sleep. I'll organise feed for the horses and make sure the garrison have nothing to fear from us, if you know what I mean. We'll talk later. Be ready for my orders.'
He watched them disperse, one of his lieutenants taking his horse for him. His gaze fell on the Julatsan mage, his puffed face and bound hands, as he was pulled from his mount. The elf leant against his horse while the strength returned to his legs. Selik was forming a grudging respect for him. Despite threats, frequent beatings, smashed fingers and toes, the mage hadn't even told them his name.
Selik would normally have broken a mage by now, frightened him or her into doing his bidding. But this elf had enormous mental strength. It couldn't go on, of course. Selik had a message he wanted delivered. He didn't want to wait until he returned from Blackthorne to despatch it and, right now, one thing he was certain of was that this mage would not obey him. Turning to watch the garrison commander walk towards him, the scared guard at his shoulder, he pondered what he might do.
'Captain Selik,' said the Commander gruffly, not offering a hand. He was a lean man, more from hunger than fitness, Selik suspected, with very short grey hair and a well trimmed beard of the same colour. His armour was obviously looked after if a little old and he carried himself with pride. 'I am Anders, commander of this garrison. My private tells me you're looking to travel south.'
'Tomorrow morning, Commander Anders. I was hoping you'd allow my men to rest until then in the town.'
Anders raised his eyebrows. 'Help yourself. I can offer you nothing in the way of food or bedding though we have a well in the compound here that you're welcome to use.'
Selik smiled. 'Many thanks. I appreciate the gesture.'
Anders' face was stone. 'It was not offered in fellowship. I care more for your horses than I do for you or your band of murderers.'
Used to the polarised reactions he inspired, Selik kept himself deliberately calm.
'We are all entitled to our beliefs, Commander. Much of Balaia's population would not agree with you, I fear.'
'I have heard the reports, Selik. You are attempting to deny Balaia the very people it needs to drag itself out of this mess.'
'A mess created by magic,' snapped Selik.
'I won't debate this with you,' said Anders, holding up a hand. 'You are wrong and unwelcome, and were it not for your horses, you would not be staying here.'
'Exactly what I would expect from a college lackey.'
Anders laughed. 'Don't try to rile me, Selik. I am proud of my college. And I am proud of the force I command here, small though it is. There may be conflict between the colleges at the moment but not here. We are, and ever will be, mindful of the Wesmen threat and we also police the trails north and south of here.'
'Conflict? What are they telling you, Anders? Let me guess. The Xeteskian and Dordovan contingents had to be recalled but they have failed to explain why, am I right? I'd hate you to have to test their commitment right now.'
Anders stepped forward and ushered Selik away from the gates to the compound.
'Let me advise you of a couple of things, Selik. First, the four colleges all hold to the pledge to supply a considerable force should there be any attempted incursion. I and my fifty charges are here to maintain defences, wards and to keep up trails, food and water supplies.
'Second, I have mages inside that compound who I rate as friends. They will be ver
y unhappy you are here even for a night but very happy that you are travelling south in the morning. I have no idea why you're going and I don't care as long as you leave at first light,' he said, coming to a halt. 'But if Blackthorne is your intended destination, I have no doubt he will be even less accommodating. He, like me, believes in both mages and magic.'
'I'll bear your warning in mind,' said Selik.
'I sincerely hope not,' said Anders. 'Now, I don't expect to see you at my gates ever again. Only two of your men will collect water at a time, and they will ask permission at the gates before entering. And should any of my men or mages be abused verbally or physically by any of your men, I will seek you out and kill you myself. How do those rules sound to you?'
'Whatever makes you happy, Commander. Good day. We will not speak again.'
Selik walked on, not sparing Anders another glance. He picked up his pace as he strode down into the town, noting the temporary picketing of horses and the boards levered off wrecked buildings to fuel fires. He snapped his fingers at a nearby Black Wing whose name escaped him. No more than a thug, the man, with thick neck and bald head covered in tattoos, ambled across, a stalk of grass hanging from his mouth.
'Where is Devun?'
The man shrugged and pointed. 'In the old inn, I think.'
'See that Edman and Callom join us there immediately. And then start ferrying water, two men at a time, from the compound. And keep your mouth shut. They may be college scum but we need them until we get back, understand?'
The man looked at him with sullen eyes but nodded. 'Yes, Captain.'
'Then get on with it.'
Selik marched to the inn, identifiable only because of the brace on which the sign had once hung. Inside, he found Devun and Edman talking with another two. They were among a litter of splintered timbers but had found a serviceable table and bench.
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