Erienne frowned. 'Which elves?'
'All of us.' Aeb was unsettled. Protectors were used to being alone, travelling with their Given Xeteskian mage. But in times of conflict the Soul Tank, deep in the catacombs of Xetesk, was always troubled. The souls of those Protectors who could not be physically together communicated their thoughts and their fears for one another. Aeb had been hearing much and the anxiety was rising.
Aeb's position was unique. Officially he was the Given of Denser, the Dawnthief mage. A high honour in itself. But in reality he was more the defender of Sol, The Unknown Warrior, the only man to have been a Protector and returned from the calling, his soul repatriated to his body.
If Protectors could genuinely feel pride, then Aeb would have been proud. But it didn't change the fact that he could hear the agitation of the souls of his brothers in his head. They weren't scared. They were bred to fight and defend. But when they were split they were inevitably weakened, and so anxiety filtered across the Soul Tank.
Aeb had been sitting silent in his room, having bathed his face and let the air play across his maskless features in the dark, calming those he could and listening to the thoughts of others. But now, with the voices still whispering in his head – he could never shut them out and would never want to – he strapped the mask back over his face, ignoring the discomfort, and went to find Sol.
The Unknown Warrior was standing alone but turned when the Protector approached.
'Aeb,' said The Unknown, nodding to him.
Aeb could see immediately that he could sense something. It had been a mystery long cherished in the Soul Tank. How Sol, with his soul in his body and not in contact with his Protector brothers any more, could still sense them all and pick up on feelings, though not fully grasp them. It gave them hope that should they ever be released from thrall they would still be joined in some indelible way. It was what they prayed for.
'I apologise for disturbing you.'
The Unknown shook his head. 'You are still close to me,' he said. 'And something's worried you. You should be at rest.'
'Yes.'
'Then speak freely. Denser has granted you that freedom gladly.'
'It is still difficult,' he said. 'All these years…'
'You've heard something in the Soul Tank,' guessed The Unknown.
'Yes,' said Aeb. 'It is not information I can volunteer, Sol. You know the strictures of the calling.'
'But you cannot knowingly lie to a direct question from your Given,' said Denser, joining them. 'Sorry to overhear.'
Aeb swung to face the mage.
'So ask,' said The Unknown.
'Aeb, take The Unknown's questions as coming from me. Answer us both,' said Denser.
'Yes.'
Denser looked across at The Unknown to speak.
'The Protectors are engaged in combat?'
'Yes.'
'Where?'
'Arlen.'
'And Xetesk are in control of the town?'
'Yes.'
'How far have the Dordovan forces been pushed back?'
'They have been eliminated.'
'What?' The Unknown gaped and looked across at Denser.
'Were they given the option of surrender?' asked the mage.
'No.'
'And the Protectors were ordered to kill them all?'
'All that survived the magical attack. Cavalry were despatched to deal with outlying forces.'
The Unknown and Denser exchanged another glance. Aeb was comforted by it, seeing in their expressions a reflection of his own unease. He would relay this to his brothers later.
'Describe the spell and its effect,' ordered Denser.
Aeb paused, consulting with the Soul Tank.
'A cooperative FlameOrb. Mages called it a FireGlobe. Large area effect. It destroyed the north-western quarter of Arlen. At its splash point, the heat is still too great to bear, even after a day.'
The Unknown cursed. 'They're clearing a path,' he said. 'And riding roughshod over the rules of engagement. It'll escalate the conflict.'
'Clearing a path for who?' asked Denser.
'The mage researchers and my brothers on Herendeneth,' said Aeb immediately. 'They will return to Balaia soon.'
'So,' said Denser, staring at The Unknown. 'Which of us gets to tell Hirad that Xetesk has no intention of helping his dragons?'
The Unknown raised his eyebrows and walked back into the house.
Chapter 23
Ben-Foran was asleep. It was born of exhaustion, both mental and physical, and the knowledge that Yron wanted more of the same from him the next day. For the Captain himself though, sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. He wasn't sure how long they'd clung to the log. Two hours, maybe more. All he knew was that when the tributary eventually emptied out into the River Shorth, he'd never been so glad to feel the ground beneath his feet.
They'd been swept through gorge after gorge, across rapids, their bodies grazing rock and sandbar, through swirling currents and over one mercifully low waterfall. Yron's only consolation during the whole bruising ride – apart from the knowledge that they were putting good distance between themselves and the elven hunters – was that no serious predator could be after them.
And the whole time Ben hadn't said a word, just clung on to the log, keeping his head above water and his legs stretched out behind him as well as he could. His teeth had chattered from chill and fear but he hadn't complained. And even though the journey must have drained every ounce of energy from his body, as it had from Yron, when the waters suddenly slackened and they joined the two-hundred-yard width of the Shorth, it was Ben who had kicked for the bank harder.
They had barely stopped even then until, with the evening beginning to close in and the light fading fast, they sought a place to rest. Yron hadn't liked the look of the forest where they'd landed. It was very dense and heavy, the ground rising sharply away, and neither he nor Ben wanted to climb. So they'd walked along in the shallows, mindful of crocodiles but seeing none except those basking on the mud of the opposite bank.
With night almost upon them and an evening deluge keeping them drenched, they'd come to a section of bank where rock rose sheer from the water to a height of some two hundred feet. Opposite, the forest tumbled away up a long, gentle and beautiful slope, revealing the full glory of the rainforest canopy. Thousands of birds flocked above it, filling the air with their cries, while closer to the bank the trees rustled with a troop of monkeys, on their way to a new feeding ground.
Ben had seen a ledge up in the rock face and they'd pushed themselves to one more climb. It was about thirty feet but worth it. There would have been enough space for six men on its flat surface, and once they'd swept its crevices for snake, spider and scorpion, they settled down to rest, safe from most that the forest could throw at them.
The unyielding rock had clearly been to Ben's liking and he was almost instantly asleep, but Yron had no desire to lie down and instead rested his back against the rock face and looked out over the river and into the vastness beyond. Above him the clouds rolled over incessantly, keeping in the heat of the day – for which he was grateful despite the rain they brought. They couldn't have risked a fire. To those following, it would be an unmissable beacon.
Through occasional gaps in the cloud, moon and starlight filtered down, illuminating the forest with a grey light. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Yron could make out the herbivores that came to drink at the water's edge, hidden by the night. He could see the nocturnal birds soaring and swooping overhead. It was a truly stupendous land. Primeval in so many respects but so close. Everything worked together. The elves were right to call it harmony. It was like perfectly arranged music and dancing. The greatest show nature could provide. He wouldn't upset it for anything and, as he had done many times since they'd landed, he regretted the necessity of their actions.
But, he assured himself, the forest would recover from the small damage they had caused and the papers would one day be returned. He h
ad no great fondness for elves but didn't wish them ill either. He had experienced their coldness too many times to think of those who lived here as anything more than half civilised. Strange that their Balaian-dwelling cousins were so friendly. Perhaps it was a function of shaking off the manacles of the rainforest. Or perhaps Balaia really was a better place to live.
Right now he certainly believed it was. He would have given almost anything for a soft bed somewhere he wasn't liable to wake up covered in bites and burrowing insects. Still, they'd be at the ship in a few days. If they could outwit the TaiGethen.
He shifted and moved to the rim of the ledge, hanging his legs over the side and banging them gently against the rock while he thought.
'Where are you?' he whispered. 'How do you think? How do you hunt?'
So little was known about the TaiGethen bar their fanaticism. Indeed he was fortunate to have even seen one. They shunned towns and cities and bothered no one unless they felt threatened. He had hoped to avoid them but now he had to think around them. Do what they wouldn't expect.
They'd assume he'd travel downriver but he might have fooled them by taking to the stream. But they would catch him. They'd be watching the rivers at key points. They'd probably already guessed where the ships were. What he really needed to do was find Stenys or Erys but that would be well-nigh impossible. Either of them could commune with the reserve and ensure they didn't come too far, keeping themselves to a defensive line up across the river estuary in which the ships lay at anchor. It was the action he had ordered but they might get twitchy enough to send out search parties. Trouble was, it was as good as sending the unfortunates to their executions.
Knowing there was nothing he could do, he thought back to the plans he'd given the groups for their escapes. Almost immediately he had an idea. Ben wasn't going to like it, but then Ben wasn't in charge.
Relaxing now he had something definite in mind, Yron swung his legs back on to the ledge, scrambled in a little way and lay down with his hands behind his head to doze, a smile on his face. 'You are not in a fit state to be out of bed, much less travel to Aryndeneth,' said Ilkar.
He and Rebraal were sitting alone around a fire in the centre of the village, drinking a healing herb tea. It was late and very dark and the fire had drawn insects from everywhere. What Rebraal had learned made him talk to his brother but it hadn't changed his opinion.
'And you are not fit to be in my sight at all. You will not tell me what I can and can't do. This is something that must be done, and it is betrayers like you who make it necessary.'
'How did you work that out?' Ilkar hadn't thought to be blamed for the shortcomings of the Al-Arynaar.
'Because those such as you did not believe. You thought you knew better, that what the Al-Arynaar and the TaiGethen believe in had no foundation. And because you refused to join us, you weakened us. And here is the result of that weakness.'
'How many of them attacked you?' asked Ilkar.
'A hundred and thirty or so.' Rebraal was matter of fact.
Ilkar was stunned. 'How many?' He had imagined a lightning strike by some very skilled raiders, not an armed invasion.
'And nine of us killed almost a hundred.'
'Nine?' Ilkar swallowed.
'Yes, Ilkar, nine. Including two mages. Because there are not enough of us. Barely enough to keep the net working. You've forgotten so much. Where did I go wrong?'
Ilkar heard regret and disappointment in Rebraal's voice. And the net hadn't worked. Neither the Al-Arynaar nor the TaiGethen nor the ClawBound had detected a large raiding group.
'You didn't go wrong,' said Ilkar quietly. 'It was me. I didn't believe, not deeply enough.'
'Do you not pray to Yniss, Ilkar?'
Ilkar dropped his gaze and stared into the fire.
'Then truly I have failed,' said Rebraal. 'I couldn't even teach you what binds us to the land and our Gods.'
'I know the teachings,' said Ilkar. 'I just didn't feel the power as you or Father did. I didn't have it within me to be Al-Arynaar.'
'But you had it within you to be a mage,' said Rebraal. 'Why didn't you come back?'
'Because I didn't belong. I wanted to be a great mage, not one just adequate to guard Aryndeneth or scout the forest all my life.'
'You follow different Gods,' said Rebraal. 'I hope it was worth it.'
'Yes it was.'
'And now? Now that elves are dying because of what strangers from Balaia have done?'
Ilkar had reached the limit of what he was prepared to accept. This was where he began to lose it. Funny. Denser and Erienne seemed more willing to listen to Rebraal than he was on this.
'How can that be? How can we be so vulnerable that a hundred thieves can bring us to the brink of disaster? There has to be another explanation. There has to be a cure.'
'Idiot!' stormed Rebraal, pushing himself up from the bench, pain spearing across his face as it must have through his shoulder. 'It has always been this way. Why do you think the Al-Arynaar exist? The TaiGethen? Why? To protect the elves from exactly this possibility. I have read the texts as you have not, Ilkar. I bothered to learn the one weakness in the glory of the harmony, of Yniss, Tual, Orra and every God in which I place my faith and trust.'
'And what is it?'
Rebraal's face fell and comprehension dawned on his features. He sat down very close to Ilkar.
'You really don't feel it, do you? And that's why you never came back as I did.'
'Feel what?' Ilkar could sense the disappointment in his brother.
'I see it now. And you're probably not alone, are you? Every elf who stays on Balaia must feel like you do.' Rebraal sighed, understanding bringing him a little peace.
'Like what?' Ilkar wanted to shake him but calmed himself, letting Rebraal order his thoughts in order to explain. He'd seen this in his older brother before. He had always been so thoughtful, so deep in his belief. It was one of the things Ilkar admired about him most.
In front of them the fire hissed and crackled as a light rain began to fall. Ilkar looked up into the heavens. The cloud wasn't heavy; it would soon pass.
'There is a text you will have heard of. That handed down by Yniss to Tual and from Tual to the elves when they were spawned from the rainforest and built Aryndeneth.'
'The Aryn Hiil.' Ilkar nodded.
It was the text the priests and then the Al-Arynaar guarded most jealously. The Words of the Earth, if you believed it, written by Yniss himself. Only those of a certain attainment were allowed sight of it. Rebraal would be one of them.
'Yes. The Aryn Hiil describes elves and their place in the world. It tells that elves should be the guardians of the forest. That we should be the denizens blessed by Tual and charged with keeping the land and its creatures safe. That with this honour was given long life – so the ways of the forest could be learned and passed to the next generations – but that we would not be numerous, only wise and careful. And that we would be further honoured by being one with the forest and the air and the magic. That we would feel all these energies within us and this would give us the strength to fulfil our task for Tual.
'But with it came a warning. That should we stop believing and let vine and rat gain dominion over our sacred sites; let sloth govern our minds and ignorance guide our hands, then this gift would be taken from us. And we would shrivel and die, our long life taken and our families lying dead beside us where they had lived. It would be the Sorrow of Elves, and only by turning back to Yniss could we be complete again.
'It is happening, Ilkar, and we must put it right.'
Ilkar pondered. Parable it may be but it made awful sense. This was no contagious plague. It struck at random. At the young and old, the sick and healthy. It had no rhyme or reason. It just happened.
And even if he couldn't quite bring himself to believe that this was some kind of divine retribution, it was enough that Rebraal and Kild'aar did. It meant elves everywhere would not rest until the balance was restored, until the harmony h
ad returned. It meant that not one elf mage would leave these shores to help Julatsa.
'And what is it that I don't feel?' he asked.
Rebraal smiled. 'The forest and the sky and the air. It doesn't suffuse you. Only the magic does. That is why you didn't come back. I had no choice. I was pulled by the strings of my life.' The smile faded from Rebraal's face. 'But do not think it makes you immune from the Elfsorrow. You are still one of us. Next heartbeat the Sorrow could take you, or me, or Ren'erei.'
Ilkar hadn't considered the possibility of his own death and it was an uncomfortable thought. He took a sip of his drink. 'And you think that whatever these strangers have done is enough to spoil the harmony and bring this warning to pass?'
'It is the only explanation. We may be low in numbers but there is no turning from Yniss. The elves of the towns and cities and villages all pray as they have always done, and respect as they always have. The coincidence is too great.'
'The Raven will help you, Rebraal, I swear it. We will kill them as we would any enemy.'
'Hmm. The Raven. We are not so distant that we haven't heard of you, some of us. We always ask for news of you when one of us returns from training in Julatsa. Your name is famous, isn't it?' He stood up. 'A big reputation. Let's just hope it isn't all so much muscle and tits.'
Ilkar laughed and dragged a dry chuckle from Rebraal.
'I can assure you it is not,' said Ilkar. 'And, with a turn of phrase like that, perhaps you spent too long in Balaia too.'
'A day was too long. But I had to learn, though I could not be a mage.'
'It might pay you to brush up your Balaian, if you can remember any.' Ilkar stood too. 'I was always sorry I didn't come back, you know.'
'No, you weren't. You didn't believe. It will be a mark on my spirit for ever.'
'I was, but not for that. For you. I knew I'd let you down.'
'I had a hundred years when I didn't think I had a brother. I'm still not sure I have.'
'Take your time,' said Ilkar. 'And get Erienne to see to your shoulder. If you want to leave at first light you need a WarmHeal cast by an expert.'
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