There were signs that all was not well on Balaia. Rebraal had told them the land was fertile if bleak and open, with great swathes of evergreen and deciduous forest punctuating the rolling landscape. However, all they had seen so far were stunted boughs and some new growth as if, years before, a great hand had swatted the trees flat. They had also passed a hamlet late the evening before. It had been deserted, the buildings wrecked and stripped of timbers.
Auum turned to his Tai. They, like him, had their light cloaks tight around their bodies but could still feel the cold away from the fire.
‘It will warm,’ said Auum.
‘Small wonder their Gods have forsaken this place and none worship the ancients,’ said Duele, warming his hands over the flames.
‘You are fit to run?’ asked Auum. Both elves nodded. ‘And run we will, if only to warm our bodies. But first prayer and food.’
Auum led them in prayers to Yniss and Gyal to keep them safe in the wilderness of Balaia, and to Tual to keep their senses sharp though the rainforest was far away. They did not paint their faces. They did not anticipate combat yet, not for days, and in this land they had to be careful not to waste their paints. Where would they find the materials for more?
‘Are we covered for the route?’ asked Evunn, biting into a scrawny roasted rabbit.
‘Other Tai and ClawBound will track to the south of Greythorne and as far west and north as Understone and the pass beneath the mountains there. Our meet point with the southern trackers is the northern tip of Thornewood. There we can assess enemy strength and plan accordingly. Opportunities to kill are to be taken by any of us. The Al-Arynaar will also meet us there. And, if it is so decided, we will wait for the others. They’re three days behind us at present but will travel directly to the meet.’
‘And have the ClawBound recovered, do you think?’ asked Duele.
Auum blew out his cheeks. ‘We pray to Tual to calm their minds but the sea journey was least kind of all to them. But, like us, the feel of the land, whatever land, is like the touch of menispere leaves on a fevered brow.’
They all smiled at that. For a race born to forests and sluggish rivers, the days on the gently rolling ship, lost in the vast openness of the sea, had been purgatory. Below they felt sick, on deck nothing short of scared. And though this land was alien and unpleasant, for the first hours at least it had felt good simply because it was not the sea. Only now, in a new dawn, did they really begin to see where they were.
Auum bade them hurry to ready themselves and the Tai set off at a trot, bows slung on backs, swords and jaqrui sheathed. They moved quickly as the sun gained in strength, repeatedly looking up at its majesty in a blue sky unhindered by the endless but comforting canopy.
With the foothills of the Balan Mountains just ahead and the sun approaching its zenith, Auum slowed suddenly, his Tai responding. They were running through a scrub-filled shallow valley at the base of which a river burbled southwards. Trees flung their branches out across the valley floor and for a few precious moments they could have been back in the forest.
Ahead, through the trees, the valley flattened out and a handful of dwellings were grouped on the level ground. They were poorly constructed as if built in a rush or by those with no skill. Auum could see three people just away from the buildings, kneeling over the body of a fourth.
He nodded left and right and his Tai moved off soundlessly, Auum taking the centre. He had instructed minimal contact with Balaians. Elves could be approached but only because they might understand what was asked of them. Auum could smell fear ahead, and the tone of the voices backed up his instinct.
He crept to the edge of the cover, Duele and Evunn ten yards to either side, and looked out. About twenty yards away, on the bank of the river that now gushed shallow over rocks, the strangers huddled. From the houses he could see bows pointed and at the end of the ramshackle hamlet three men stood with swords drawn, looking away north. Auum concentrated on the scene in front of him, seeing one of the people, a woman, take a bloody cloth to the river and rinse it. On the ground, the injured man lay quite still as the cloth was reapplied to the side of his face.
Auum looked left and right, the nods he received telling him they had seen everything they needed to. He gestured a gentle push with both arms, stood and walked from cover, his hands loose by his sides and clearly visible. They were spotted at once, an urgent shout causing heads to turn and the swordsmen to come running. To his right, Duele was covering the archers. Auum didn’t believe they would fire, and given the shaking of the bows in their hands, they were likely to miss if they did.
Auum let the swordsmen come to him and Evunn, who closed in on his left. They grouped ahead loosely, unsure what to do. One of them held up a hand and shouted. Auum stopped and pointed at the stricken man by the water’s edge.
‘I would help this man,’ he said in the hope that one of these strangers understood common elvish. Their blank expressions told him they did not.
The three swordsmen spanned as many generations. Their blades were dull with neglect, their clothing shabby and patched cloth and fur. Auum could see hardship in their eyes and the effects of starvation in the slackness of their stances, their bony hands and hollow cheeks. He moved again and the swords were raised. He thought hard, fighting for the word in Balaian. He had heard one of the strangers on ship say it.
Auum pointed again. ‘Help.’ His mouth twisted as he pronounced.
The face of one of the men darkened, he mouthed a stream of gibberish and gestured threateningly with his sword. To Auum’s right, Duele tensed but immediately relaxed as his leader made a minute movement with his hand. Auum knew he should back away but his decision was made, and unless he was very much mistaken he knew how the injured man had become so. And he was unused to being baulked.
He pointed a third time. ‘I, help.’ And he made to take a pace left. Immediately, one of the swordsmen stood in his way. His blade moved too close. Auum stepped inside his guard, blocked the sword arm away and smashed the base of his palm into the man’s chest, knocking him from his feet. Another of the men moved but Auum’s gaze stayed his action.
‘Keep an eye,’ said Auum to Duele. ‘I will see if we were right.’
He walked over to the group around the injured man, ignoring the threatening raised voices.
The instinctive bunching around their fallen comrade loosened as Auum approached the two women and a man. He waved them aside, speaking the word again. Whether they understood him or not was unclear but he certainly scared them enough even though he was still unarmed.
He ignored their worried, angry stares and knelt by the man’s head, moving the bloody cloth to reveal a trio of deep gashes torn down the left side of his head. Another set had flashed across his chest but these were not as deep and the bleeding not bad. ClawBound.
He turned to Duele, who stood easily in front of the uncertain swordsmen; the one Auum had knocked down had regained his feet and was rubbing at his chest. Nothing would be broken, he hadn’t hit him hard enough.
‘The ClawBound’s minds are not yet clear,’ said Auum. ‘The panther has hurt this man but they aren’t killing blows, just warnings.’
‘These are not from Xetesk, then?’
Auum shook his head. ‘They have no magic. Look around. They’re barely alive. And scared. You can see how this could happen.’
The TaiGethen had no feelings whatever for these strangers but it was important to sense the mindset of the ClawBound. It gave them a problem. If this was typical, then the peerless trackers would be unpredictable, even a little careless, as had been the case here.
Auum unslung his sack and took out his herb pouches. He broke off some legumia bark, stood and walked away to the fire that burned in the centre of the settlement. Water in a pan bubbled on it and he scooped out a mugful, dropping the legumia into it to soften and infuse. He knew they were all looking at him. They amused him, these strangers who presumed themselves superior to forest-dwelling elves bu
t knew nothing about how to bathe a wound and stop infection at its source. A bloody cloth rinsed in a stream would do more harm than good.
Walking back to the man, he cast around for some clean material, in the end pointing at a scarf around one of the women’s necks until she shakily handed it to him. He dipped a corner in the hot water and wiped away the blood from the man’s face and chest to expose the edges of the wounds. They would scar badly but he was lucky. He was alive. Then he took out the bark, tore it into fine strips and laid it over the wounds, hushing the fledgling protests. He beckoned one of the women to him, took her hand and pressed it against the bark, pointing up at the sky with his other and indicating one passage of the sun. She nodded.
‘Let’s go,’ said Auum, rising and shouldering his sack. ‘The ClawBound isn’t far ahead. Perhaps we can stop any more of this until we find our enemies.’
He led his Tai from the settlement, the stunned stares of the strangers on their backs, their silence breaking into a confused babble and fading with the distance.
Chapter 38
Heryst had just finished another long and difficult Communion with Vuldaroq and had woken shivering with exertion. Heryst thought he had made it clear to Vuldaroq that his position remained one of defence and negotiation unless he was attacked but the Dordovan would not listen. He was annoyed Heryst had refused to sign a full alliance and he meant to drag Lystern into the war regardless of her wishes. For that he had to tempt Xetesk into Lysternan or Julatsan lands.
Heryst had been particularly explicit concerning engagement. Commander Izack was to defend Lysternan land and to block any attempted hostile incursions by Xetesk into Julatsan territory. Nothing else. Heryst was aware of the rising tensions and had recently ridden out to reassure his own men and warn the Dordovan field command. But every day Dystran refused to speak to him, war came closer. Vuldaroq would ultimately get his way. A mistake would be made. For Heryst, it was like waiting for the death of a mortally wounded friend. This time the friend was peace for Balaia.
He barely had time to gather his thoughts and take in the spring shower rattling against the windows of his chambers when there was the sound of footsteps outside, a sharp rap on the door and someone, it had to be Kayvel, entered. He was red in the face and breathless.
‘My Lord, I have a report from Xetesk.’
Heryst’s heart was suddenly thumping in his chest. His thoughts became instantly clear.
‘Never mind the niceties of reporting, Kayvel. Tell me the outcome. ’
‘Dystran,’ he said. ‘Dystran wants to talk to you about sharing research. Apparently his people are on their way home.’
‘Yes!’ Heryst slapped the arms of his chair and surged to his feet to grip Kayvel’s shoulders. ‘I knew it. Dammit, I knew it! When?’
Relief cascaded through Heryst and the fatigue of the last dozen days melted like ice in a flame. Now there was hope, genuine hope. And Vuldaroq could be made to listen.
‘As soon as you are able,’ said Kayvel.
‘For this I am able right now.’ Heryst sat back in his chair. ‘Signal our delegation that Dystran can commune immediately he is ready. He has my signature and I am waiting. Likewise the Dordovan delegation. Tell them what is happening. Vuldaroq must be informed immediately.
‘Oh, and Kayvel. Have my aides monitor the mana spectrum and my MindShield. I do not trust Dystran as far as I can throw him.’
Dystran’s voice entered Heryst’s mind gently and expertly, with due deference and respect.
‘My Lord Heryst, there has been silence between us for too long.’
‘Not at my behest, Lord Dystran, but I welcome your decision to contact me at this most difficult time.’
‘Before we begin, may I offer my heartfelt sympathy for the loss of the Lysternan negotiator, Rusau. A most unfortunate incident.’
Heryst bridled but bit down on his response. ‘Though you are not personally to blame, your forces killed him. He was an innocent man.’
‘Indeed it was a Xeteskian pike but you must see it was an accident. We had no axe to grind with Lystern, so to speak. And we still do not.’
‘Even though we have made informal alliance with Dordover?’ Heryst was prepared to let the matter of Rusau’s death drop for now. Blame could be correctly apportioned at a safer time.
‘It was a decision we regretted,’ said Dystran carefully, and drew a deep breath, knowing it would boom and echo. It was a curious acoustic anomaly of Communion. ‘And it has been one reason for my continued silence though you are aware that we have not detained any Lysternan or indeed any other college official inside Xetesk.’
‘It has been noted.’
‘But, after taking considerable counsel, I understand the reasons for your action: we are nominally stronger, we have been blamed for the death of a neutral in battle and Vuldaroq is a very persuasive man. Very. For a man who only three seasons ago made an alliance with the Black Wings.’
‘I am aware of Vuldaroq’s past misdemeanours. As I am of Xetesk’s,’ said Heryst. ‘It was a despicable and unseemly act for any mage, born out of desperation, but the destruction caused by the Nightchild speaks in defence of his actions.’
‘Your General Darrick did not agree,’ said Dystran smoothly.
‘Neither did I,’ said Heryst. ‘And our cool relations since then testify to my unhappiness. I, however, prefer to look forward as, I hope, do you.’
‘I apologise, Lord Heryst; this was not the reason for my contact.’
Heryst chuckled, forcing himself to relax. ‘I should hope not.’
‘Our research on Herendeneth has revealed some fascinating possibilities which I am very happy to share with all other colleges.’
Heryst was taken aback. ‘Your actions in Arlen, which I abhor, do not support such a statement,’ he said. ‘You have ignored the rules of engagement and that cannot be forgotten. But that can be left for another time when the threat of wider conflict is gone. What are your conditions for sharing the information?’
‘They are few and simple. I require the immediate cessation of hostilities towards Xeteskian forces and the withdrawal of Lysternan and Dordovan forces from our borders.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I would like leave to call a Triverne Lake meeting at a time of my choosing when we have had a chance to evaluate the research of our mages.’
Heryst paused before replying. ‘Vuldaroq will refuse. He will not withdraw on a promise from you, a man he is unable to trust.’
‘In that case you can guarantee my mages’ passage to Xetesk yourself. You do not need Dordover.’
‘I am looking to reduce threat to Lystern, not increase it. I cannot
do this without Dordover’s consent. I’m sure you understand. And I can’t agree to Xetesk having exclusive first sight of the research.’
‘And what is your alternative?’
‘That your mages prepare and present to a four-college delegation at Triverne Lake at the earliest opportunity and before they come to Xetesk. And my forces must travel with your researchers as a sign to Dordover that you are genuine. That might mollify Vuldaroq. If your ambition is to share all that the Al-Drechar have revealed, surely that is a reasonable request?’
‘At first sight, yes,’ said Dystran. ‘But I believe there are issues with some of the information. Potentialities not necessarily being realities, work that needs more translation from ancient magics . . . I could go on.’
‘We are all capable of aiding in such an analysis,’ said Heryst.
‘Even so, I am advised that a few days’ examination by key experts in Xetesk will be of great benefit to us all.’
‘Meaning you personally?’ Heryst could well imagine the smug expression on Dystran’s face.
‘I flatter myself that I have more detailed expertise on the subject of dimensional magic than most,’ said Dystran.
‘And is it your understanding that what is coming will help repatriate the Kaan dragons?’
&n
bsp; ‘Signs are most encouraging,’ evaded Dystran. ‘But, as I say, some expert analysis is still required before we can present effectively.’
‘Right,’ said Heryst, drawing in breath expansively. ‘I will discuss your offer with Vuldaroq. He will refuse it and we will be back to square one. My offer of secure passage to Triverne Lake is one you must take more seriously. Otherwise the war will go on.’
‘Thank you for hearing me,’ said Dystran. ‘I will confer further with the Circle Seven.’
‘We can resolve this, Dystran. As long as we are all prepared to give a little. The question really is, do you want to see an end to this war?’
‘It is my dearest wish.’
‘Keep it so,’ said Heryst, and carefully but firmly, he broke the Communion.
Lystern’s Lord Elder mage sat with his eyes closed for a time, mulling over everything he had heard and considering how he would broach Dystran’s offer to Vuldaroq. When he opened his eyes, Kayvel was standing waiting.
‘He’s wavering,’ said Heryst. ‘Or he’s lying. Either way, we may have room to move peace a tiny step forward. But I have to make both him and Vuldaroq concede ground. But I suppose it’s progress of a sort. At least there is discourse. And now I must confess to a little tiredness. Wake me for supper and I’ll brief the council.’
The Raven rode from Blackthorne on a sunny morning with cloud far to the north. Hirad had not slept well. Beside him rode Ilkar, an elf and one of his oldest friends, under a sentence of death.
‘Can I ask you something, Ilks?’
Ilkar turned to him, his sombre face lifting a little. ‘Would it make any difference if I said no?’
Hirad shook his head. ‘How does it feel to be you? Your next heartbeat could bring on the Elfsorrow without warning. Not sure I’d deal with that too well.’
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ said Ilkar.
‘I’m sorry, Ilkar. I—’
‘I’m joking. Not a moment goes by when I don’t think about it. The point is, I have to live with it and being scared isn’t going to help. Best I can do is everything I can to repair the statue and stop this thing. And meanwhile I live every day as if it was my last.’
The Raven Collection Page 199
