‘I missed your breathing.’
‘Did you?’ Denser sat beside her, surprised at her willingness to talk. So often, this was the hardest thing for her. Seeing the grave brought everything back so clearly.
‘Everyone has to have something real,’ she said, pushing a strand of hair away from her mouth. ‘Something that’s there the next time you want it.’
‘And I’ll always be there.’
‘But I know why you’re here now. Right now.’
‘I assumed you would. You know he’s right, don’t you?’ asked Denser, looking for the flash of anger in her eyes. It wasn’t there. At least, not yet.
‘But no one asked me, did they? You all just assumed I’d go along. That I’d leave her here alone.’ She reached out a hand to pat the ground and the tears were there so suddenly. ‘How can you ask that of me? She’s my daughter.’
Denser put out an arm but Erienne shied away, wiping at her face with her fingers.
‘She’ll never be alone. She’ll be safe until you return, I’ll see to that.’
Erienne made a derisory sound in her throat. ‘Going to have one of the Protectors look after this bed, are you? It’ll be ruined in a day.’
Denser wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. ‘There are the Guild elves.’
‘If I’m not here, those witches will meddle. Spoil what I’ve done.’ There was the flash and it saddened Denser’s heart.
‘Erienne, they haven’t even the strength to walk here. Nerane can do it. She has the right touch, don’t you think?’
Erienne shrugged but said nothing, just stared down at the grave.
‘Erienne?’ She looked up at him. ‘Please? We need you. The Raven isn’t complete without you.’
‘You’d leave me, would you? If I said no?’
‘I’m Raven,’ said Denser.
‘You’re my husband first, you bastard!’ she snapped out. ‘But The Unknown snaps his fingers and you go running. Fine.’
‘When I asked for his help, he was there. For both of us,’ said Denser quietly. ‘And he left his family to do it. Balaia needs what we can give it.’
‘I’ve lost everything,’ said Erienne as if engaged in another conversation.
‘Not quite. There’s me, there’s The Raven and there’s Balaia. You’ll never lose me but we have to fight for our country.’
Erienne looked hard at him then, trying to discern any insincerity. ‘You really think The Raven can help, don’t you?’
‘Don’t you?’ replied Denser, and shrugged.
‘We don’t always win, do we?’ said Erienne, her voice threatening to break again.
‘No we don’t. But we’re there nonetheless.’
‘And you will go whether I do or not?’
‘Oh, love, it’s not a choice I want to make. But we’ve our lives together for ever and I want us to have a country to live in that’s worthy of you.’
‘Denser, you’re so honourable sometimes,’ she chided gently, a smile brief as a blink on her lips. ‘But you’re asking me to leave her and I don’t know that I can do that.’
‘You’ll be among your most trusted friends,’ said Denser, and this time she didn’t shy away from his arm but allowed him to draw her close. Denser felt a thrill at her beautiful wet hair smell so close to him. ‘Here, you’ll be alone. With us, you’ll never be so.’
‘I’ll be a burden. Hardly the Raven mage you all remember. I haven’t got concentration enough to heal a cut.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ Denser felt he was edging the argument. ‘And if you’re not with me, I’ll fear for you here.’
Erienne tensed and pulled away. ‘Another lever to get me off the island and away from my daughter. Convenient indeed.’
Denser cursed silently. ‘Don’t be angry, please. I don’t think The Unknown had much choice. They’d have come here sooner or later anyway. At least now they’ll do some good too.’
‘Like forcing me from here, you mean.’
‘Like freeing Protectors and helping dragons,’ said Denser more sharply than he’d intended. He took a breath and softened his tone. ‘Look, right now, no one but we and the Al-Drechar know what you carry. And one day I’m sure you’ll be open to the hope it offers. But if Xetesk finds out you have the spirit of the One within you, they’ll stop at nothing to exploit you. You know that.’
‘You’ve got all the cards, haven’t you?’ Erienne stood up and brushed herself down, her stare cold. ‘Bet you all think you’re being very clever, don’t you?’
‘Erienne, this isn’t about forcing you from Lyanna, surely you see that? It’s about—’
‘Fighting for bloody Balaia again. Yes, I know.’ Denser all but flinched at the hardness in her tone. ‘Well look where helping other people has got me. Three dead children. When’s someone going to help me for a change? When’s someone . . .’
She crumpled into a heap, her sobs shuddering her body, huge breaths heaving in and out. Denser pulled her onto his lap, stroking her hair and whispering close to her ear, biting hard on his own sorrow lest it overcome him too.
‘We’ll help you,’ he said. ‘But you have to let us in. And you have to start to let go. Please let me in, Erienne. Please.’
‘How many of them were there?’ Captain Yron wiped a hand across his face and looked over the scorched carnage in front of the temple.
He had been very lucky, slipping round what was apparently a ForceCone and diving aside just as the doors exploded, killing thirty of his people in an instant. Even so, he’d had the hair scorched from his chin and half his head. It itched like hell.
‘Nine, sir,’ said his just-promoted second in command, a drawn and scared youth called Ben-Foran. The boy had smears of black over his face and a long burn down the left side of his chin and neck.
‘Dear Gods, is that all? Are you sure there are no more?’
‘As sure as we can be, sir. But they can just melt into the forest.’ Ben-Foran’s eyes were everywhere. Yron couldn’t blame him. In all they’d lost eighty-five men to wards, swords and poisoned arrows. Such ferocity he’d never known before. Yron was aware of the Al-Arynaar, of course, but they weren’t supposed to be so fierce, unlike the elite TaiGethen. More a ceremonial guard. And if rumour and intelligence could be so wrong about the Al-Arynaar, what about their reportedly far more dangerous cousins?
‘Well, let’s make sure our perimeter defence is sound. As many as possible will sleep inside tonight,’ he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the beautifully cool temple. ‘We’ll be all right.’
Ben-Foran looked past him. ‘Are they nearly finished in there?’
Yron looked round at his two remaining mages, searching for more wards and traps. They’d been in there hours, and the sun had been unrelenting since the pre-dawn rains.
‘Gods, I hope so, son,’ he said. He clapped the boy on the shoulder and turned him round. ‘Come on. Let’s check the living and honour the dead, what’s left of them.’
An insect bit into his arm. He slapped at the creature, the third he had felt in the last few minutes. Gods knew how many had gone unnoticed. He caught the expression on Ben-Foran’s face. Both men scratched at their arms instinctively. He knew what the boy was thinking. Cuts, blisters and insect stings meant nothing in Balaia but everything here. And only two mages to keep almost fifty men well. They would have to be very careful.
The pyre was still burning on the centre of the apron when Yron finally got his first look inside the temple that had cost them so dear. All but the two mages and Ben-Foran were outside, awaiting the signal that meant relief from the oppressive heat and humidity of the early afternoon.
Inside, it was almost cool, chilly in comparison. The stone was deep and carried little heat, and the flow of cold water into the pool, undoubtedly from some underground spring, gave the temple a refreshing atmosphere. It was, Yron conceded as he looked up at the splendidly detailed statue, a very pleasant place to be. At that moment almost perfect in fact.
Yron turned. Ben was indicating the shafts of coloured light filtering through the glass blocks and windows at the top of the temple walls and set into the base of the dome roof. The effect had clearly been lessened by the destruction of the doors but he could see what the boy meant.
‘Not just decorative, either,’ said Erys, a clever young mage archivist with very bright red hair he should have kept shorter. If he had been a soldier, Yron could have forced him to.
‘Used in ceremony, you think?’ suggested Yron.
‘Much more than that. They open and close doors at the back of the temple.’
Yron raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? I think you’d better show me that.’
Erys led the captain around the statue into a short corridor. It was dark but for light spilling out from two open doorways.
‘Both of these opened while we were in here, and a third closed,’ said Erys. ‘We thought it was a trap at first but Stenys is convinced it’s the lights passing across particular areas of the statue. We’ll monitor it.’
Yron glanced into one of the rooms. It was a shrine of sorts. A carved figure sat in an alcove surrounded by incense sticks. A few parchments lay stacked on a low table. A single cushion was propped against the back wall.
‘Anything of interest here?’
Erys shook his head. ‘I don’t think so but we’ll take everything anyway. There are some more likely papers next door but we’ll have to wait for the real prize.’
Yron stared at him blankly.
‘There must be a dozen rooms at least,’ the mage explained. ‘And we don’t know when they’ll open.’
Yron snorted. ‘Then let’s take the walls down. I’m not waiting here a day longer than I have to. I’m being eaten alive. And some of them out there won’t last. You’ve seen the fever.’
‘I know.’ Erys nodded. ‘And we’ll do everything we can. But there’s something you don’t understand. Come and see.’
He led Yron back through the temple to the doors. Ben-Foran had wandered back outside to organise something.
‘Here,’ said Erys, indicating the stone lintel and the pillars that had once housed the doors. ‘Notice anything interesting?’
Yron gave the elaborate carvings and engravings on the stonework a cursory glance and rubbed a hand across the smooth insides where the door frame had sat flush. He shrugged.
‘Well, it doesn’t seem too damaged.’
‘Captain, it isn’t damaged at all. I mean, there aren’t even any scorch marks. Not here, not anywhere on the temple stone. I know that ward was focussed out but even so . . .’
‘Meaning?’
‘It’s why we were so long earlier. We’ve probed the structure. Every stone in this temple is bound to every other by a force we can’t fathom. It’s magic of some sort, but ancient. Really ancient. The only thing not bound in is the statue they built this place round - presumably because it’s marble.’
‘So you’re saying it’s strong, is that it?’
‘Oh, it’s much more than strong,’ said Erys. ‘If you scratch away the lichen and plant growth on the outside, it hardly even looks old. For one thing, I don’t think any spell or tool we’ve got can do the job. And for another, if by some mischance we did damage the structure, the binding magic would snap any hole shut. Rather violently.’
‘Terrific,’ muttered Yron. ‘Welcome to your new home.’ He scratched at his arms, feeling the lumps of the insect bites. He faced the mage. ‘Right, I want you two to examine every parchment you find immediately each of these bloody doors opens. Finding a text on repelling insects would go down very well right now.’
Erys chuckled. ‘We’ll do what we can. Unfortunately, much of it’s in an ancient elven dialect we can’t read.’
‘Well, this gets better,’ said Yron dryly. ‘How will you know when you’ve found what Dystran wants?’
‘We won’t,’ he said. ‘Not necessarily anyway, though we expect to recognise enough to help us. But we’re still taking pretty much everything that’s not nailed down. Just in case.’
Yron looked for a sign that Erys was joking. He plainly wasn’t. The captain nodded.
‘Right, I’ll catch up with you later. Let me know about anything else you find.’ He switched his attention outside. ‘Ben! Get your arse over here!’
‘Sir!’ The new lieutenant jogged up.
‘Right. Here’s what I want. Log every cut, blister and infected bite. List every man with the fever. Give it all to Stenys to work through. Next, I need eight of the fittest to go back to the camp and bring back enough canvas to cover this entrance and set up a stores tent. They are also to bring shovels, wood axes and picks and I want as much food as they can load onto the pack animals, assuming the stupid things are still alive. They have a remarkably developed instinct for uncovering danger.
‘Anyway. The camp guard and the mage are to stay there, look after the sick and the rest of the kit. If that dimwit girl can keep any of them alive, it would be a real bonus. I want the eight back here by midnight so they’d better get a move on. Meanwhile, you mark out pitching and shit-hole areas, organise a firewood party and set a ring of four fires around this entrance. I don’t want anything unwelcome disturbing my sleep. Looks like we could be here for a while. All clear?’
Ben-Foran nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. I’ll be inside exercising my rank privilege and watching you all get hot and tired. We’ll all sleep in there tonight but anyone pissing in the pool gets staked out for the jaguars. Oh, and Ben, remind the firewood party to wear gloves and be careful where they’re putting their hands. If it moves when you pick it up, it isn’t a stick.’
Ben-Foran grinned. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Now get to it. The light’ll fade quickly.’ Yron turned and strode back into the glorious cool of the temple. ‘Dear Gods, what did I do to land this dog’s arse of a command?’
Chapter 8
Erienne felt sick. The nausea spread through her whole body and made her head swim. It knotted her stomach and quivered in her limbs. The blood was pounding in her neck so hard she thought it would burst through her skin. She reached out a pale and shaking hand towards the door handle then let it drop, having to lean on the frame to steady herself. She wasn’t sure whether this was fear or hate. Probably it was a mixture of the two. And she could let them see neither.
She gathered her strength, grasped the door handle and pushed open the door, stepping inside before her mind forced her body to run.
‘Erienne, how delightful to see you at last.’
And there they were, the two of them, sat in deep, fabric-upholstered chairs, their legs propped up on cushioned footstools. They looked frail and old and a sickness had disfigured their skin but their eyes burned bright. They should both be dead. Like her daughter. Yet here they were, greeting her like a grandchild, which to them she probably was.
‘This is not a social call,’ said Erienne, hardening her voice. ‘I will not exchange pleasantries with those who orchestrated the murder of my daughter.’
‘We grieve for your loss—’ began Myriell.
‘Don’t you dare!’ Erienne’s shout caused them both to flinch. She felt tears well up but refused to let her sorrow get the better of her.
‘Don’t ever tell me you grieve. Dear Gods drowning, but it was you who let her die. And you didn’t have to.’
‘We felt—’
‘You didn’t have to,’ repeated Erienne deliberately. ‘You panicked when the Dordovans attacked. I could have saved her. You should have trusted The Raven and you should have trusted me. But you didn’t.’
Two seasons she had been waiting to say these words. Two seasons where bottomless grief and gut-wrenching loathing had robbed her of the strength to face them as she wanted to. The nausea eased and the nerves steadied. She felt in control of herself.
‘But you would have died doing so,’ said Myriell.
‘To d
ie for my daughter would have been the greatest honour of my life. I’m her mother. What the hell else would you expect of me?’
Erienne moved further into the room. The door to the kitchen opened but her scowl sent Nerane scurrying back.
‘We expected you to fulfil your belief in the greater necessity of maintaining the One magic,’ said Cleress.
‘My, my, how divorced you are from reality.’ Erienne’s words dripped like venom as she advanced on the Al-Drechar’s chairs to stand over them, looking down on their pitifully weak forms. ‘Did you ever have children of your own or have you always been as dried up and infertile as you are now?’
She rested her hands on the arms of Myriell’s chair and leaned in close. ‘I would have done anything to save my child’s life. Being prepared to die for her was easy. And your One magic didn’t even figure.’
There was silence as the two women stared each other out, Erienne finally straightening and stepping back as Myriell broke the gaze.
‘So why have you come to us?’ asked Cleress. ‘Just to vent your feelings or is there more?’
Erienne turned on her. ‘And do you not think I have the right? Do you really think in your senile minds that I might have come to see your actions as right? You sicken me.’
‘No, we don’t think that,’ said Cleress. ‘And we don’t expect your forgiveness either. And yes, we both bore children. But the One is bigger and more critical than any of us.’
‘Try telling that to Lyanna!’ stormed Erienne, the tears threatening. She felt overwhelmed by their calm detachment. They were cold.
‘And she lives on within you now but you deny it,’ said Myriell.
‘Do you think me completely bereft of sense?’ Erienne shook her head. ‘I felt what you forced from Lyanna into me and I understand why she had such difficulty controlling it. But it is not in any way some essence of my daughter. It is a malignant force, trying to overpower me. But I am too strong for it and so it lies dormant until I am ready, should that time ever come.’
‘But accept it you must,’ said Cleress, her voice suddenly gaining intensity. ‘It is the future for us all.’
Elfsorrow Page 8
