Erienne stared at her long and hard.
‘If you deny it for ever, it will shrivel and wither, but not before causing your death. Then you and your daughter will both have died in vain,’ said Myriell.
‘On my terms if at all,’ said Erienne slowly. ‘If you so much as touch the outer reaches of my mind, I swear I will come back here and kill you both. I trust I make myself clear.’
‘Back?’ Cleress’s half-smile stretched her face painfully.
‘That is why I am here. The Raven are leaving here and I have been reminded that I am one of The Raven. Xetesk controls Herendeneth now. We have things to do, so my husband informs me. While I am gone, keep out of my mind unless by some miracle I invite you in. But more important, stay away from Lyanna’s grave. Your foul presence would upset her rest. Nerane will tend her until I return.’
Myriell and Cleress shared a glance.
‘We will, of course, respect your wishes,’ said Cleress. ‘But remember we are dying. And even though you may hate us, you need us. Because the One will awake and only we can shepherd you through the ordeal you must face.’
‘If I choose to believe you.’
‘Believe me, girl!’ snapped Myriell. ‘It is an enormous power. And if you awaken it without our help, your fate will be more awful than your daughter’s.’
Erienne was surprised at the vehemence of Myriell’s outburst but still refused to be cowed.
‘I know you want what lies dormant in my head. I know you think you can return the One to dominance through me. But for now it is lost to you. And you will suffer that loss as I have suffered mine. But at least you will have the one thing I do not. Hope.’
‘Be careful where you travel,’ warned Cleress.
‘I will go where I choose and I will do as I please.’ Erienne turned and headed towards the kitchen door, suddenly hungry. She paused at the door as a final thought struck her.
‘You do not own me, Al-Drechar. And you do not own what I host. You would do well to remember that.’
Ilkar left Herendeneth with a mix of emotions that left him distinctly uncomfortable. He hardly knew where to start to sort it all out. He was happy to be leaving the island but deeply concerned by the overwhelming Xeteskian presence there. His desire to recruit, even temporarily, mages from Calaius to help rebuild Julatsa was tempered by his anxiety about returning to his Southern Continent homeland for the first time in over a century.
And perhaps worse than all of it, immediately at least, he was going to have to travel there by ship. Despite the pouch of the relaxing and settling drug, lemiir, that the Al-Drechar had given him, his memories of misery and sickness on the open ocean were all too fresh.
Scaling the netting covering the port side of the Calaian Sun, he dropped onto the deck and shook hands with the ship’s master, Captain Jevin. The elven sailor smiled a little too knowingly.
‘Hoping to develop sea legs a little quicker this time?’ he asked.
‘Just tell me it’s not a long journey,’ replied Ilkar.
‘Three days if the weather holds.’ Jevin’s eyes sparkled. ‘Still, there’s a healthy eight- to ten-foot swell out there and you know how capricious the weather can be.’
‘I’m so glad I asked.’
Jevin laughed and gestured aft. ‘Same cabin, Ilkar. Make yourself comfortable.’
Ilkar hefted his bag and moved off along the sleek vessel, nodding at any of the crew who had time to look up as he passed. All elven, the ship and her crew had played a pivotal role in stopping the Dordovans capturing Lyanna, risking their own lives for a wholly inadequate price to take The Raven across the storm-ravaged Southern Ocean. It was a debt that could never properly be repaid, not with mere coin though they were now pledged a good deal of that. But all Ilkar hoped for was a calm enough sea. Feeling the first twinges in his stomach at just the thought, he went below.
In quick time, The Raven were all aboard, netting and boats were stowed and the anchor was weighed. Ilkar joined Hirad at the rail to watch Herendeneth slip away aft, Jevin setting only topsail and foresail for the delicate journey out of the treacherous waters of the Ornouth Archipelago.
Above them, wheeling and calling in the sky, the Kaan dragons watched them go. Beside Ilkar, Hirad was smiling.
‘Sha-Kaan having a few words, is he?’ asked the elf.
Hirad nodded. ‘He’s talking about you, actually.’
‘Oh, terrific.’
Ilkar didn’t get on with the dragons. Not that anyone really did. Except Hirad of course. Something about the thick skin they shared, or so went the joke. But then, Hirad and Sha-Kaan had a unique relationship, part of which allowed their minds to touch, facilitating telepathic communication.
‘What’s he saying, exactly?’
‘Well, I mentioned that you were concerned about the Xeteskians on Herendeneth,’ explained Hirad. ‘He said he’d make sure they didn’t step out of line, so to speak.’
‘Oh,’ said Ilkar. ‘I rather thought he might be coming along with us. Calaius would be very much to his liking, climate-wise.’
‘Come off it, Ilks. Wake up. He has to get home, so he’s staying to work with the Al-Drechar and the Xeteskians. I’d have thought you’d be pleased - it gives us direct communication to Herendeneth. At least you’ll know what’s going on.’
‘I thought that was what Aeb was coming for?’ Ilkar frowned.
Hirad turned to face him. ‘This has all really got to you, hasn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s just that it’s unlike you to be so thick, that’s what.’
‘Thanks for being so tactful.’
‘Sorry.’ Hirad smiled. ‘Look, Aeb is Denser’s Given Protector, and anyway The Unknown likes him and needs him to fight on his left; that’s why he’s here. And, let’s face it, his communication with the other Protectors is hardly going to be independent, is it? Any information they get will be from the Xeteskian mages.’
‘I suppose.’
Ilkar turned and leaned his back against the rail. Hirad was right; he didn’t feel clear-headed at all. And of course everything the barbarian said made perfect sense. He shook his head ruefully and looked about him. So, here they all were again, but it didn’t feel quite right, not yet anyway. And the reason for that was clear enough and was surely why The Unknown was so keen that Erienne and Thraun were on the ship.
It was because they were travelling with people who would never be true members of The Raven. Ilkar could remember clearly when Thraun came to the group. Even though he had been a stranger, there was somehow no doubt he was one of them. To a certain extent, the same was true of Darrick, though he would have to learn to open up more. But Aeb, well, he wasn’t Raven. He was a Protector first and that was wrong. The same went for Ren. She was with them because she loved him, was a Calaian elf, an archer of consummate skill and a useful fighter. But she didn’t understand what being in The Raven meant. Her loyalty to the Guild of Drech, who looked after the Al-Drechar, was no training for the total belief she had to be able to show in The Raven to be one of them. The problem she had at the moment was that she thought the two were similar.
What made Ilkar anxious, despite his personal feelings for her, was that he knew she wouldn’t have been invited to join Balaia’s foremost mercenary team in normal circumstances. And that made Hirad and The Unknown particularly uncomfortable. Ilkar could see some difficult times ahead.
He sighed and turned back to the rail. The Unknown was to his left, still waving to Diera and Jonas who were watching from the beach. Another tearful parting. He patted the big warrior on the shoulder.
‘Don’t worry. We’ll be back soon enough.’
The Unknown looked at him and smiled rather sadly. ‘Now Ilkar,’ he said, ‘neither you nor I believe for one moment that is true, do we?’
Selik blamed the loss of Balaia’s beauty on the curse of magic. In a lighter mood he might have added his own face to the losses, ruined as it had been by th
e bitch Erienne’s IceWind six years before, but this was no time for levity.
He’d thought he’d seen everything, but riding at the head of his fifty-strong band of ever-hungry but resourceful men into Erskan, he saw the hardest sight of all. On the outskirts of the once comfortable if not prosperous castle town, two boys were advancing on a girl, knives in their grubby hands. The girl was backing away, eyes wide and fearful, desperate for a way out but unwilling to give up what she had clutched to her chest. None of them was more than seven years old.
Selik ordered his men to stop before riding in alone, looking around for any local men or women who might have intervened. Apparently, though, this end of the cobbled main road into the heart of Erskan was deserted.
The two boys ignored him as he reined in and dismounted but the girl stared at him, not sure if he was saviour or robber. He stepped smoothly between them, shielding the girl, his cloak billowing, giving her assailants no sight of her. His hood he kept well forward. He had no intention of showing them his face.
‘Must we steal from our sisters to survive?’ he slurred through his partly paralysed mouth.
‘She won’t share,’ said one of the boys, his eyes sunken into a face gaunt with hunger.
‘But does she have enough to share, I wonder?’ asked Selik. ‘And would you have shared with her, eh?’
He turned his head to see the girl, dirty-faced with short black hair and tiny ears, weighing up whether or not to run. He held out a hand. ‘Stand by me, child. They won’t harm you.’
Reluctantly, she did so, her hand small and fragile in his fingers. He smiled, happy she couldn’t see what it did to his face.
‘Now,’ he said gently. ‘Show me what you were so keen to have to yourself.’
The other hand came away from her chest to display her prize. It was bread, a filthy crust, but there wasn’t enough to satisfy one of these tattered children and what there was came covered in dirt and speckled with lurid mould. That they would fight over this . . .
‘I tell you what,’ he said, trying to mask his disgust. ‘Why don’t you give me that and I’ll fetch food enough for you all?’
The girl gaped in amazement but the boys, who had been shifting about nervously, unwilling to desert any potential scrap to eat, frowned in concert.
‘Why would you do that?’ asked the other boy, a freckle-faced lad with filthy light brown hair and dried snot on his upper lip. He wasn’t dressed in rags, it was just that his clothes had been worn too long. They were shabby, but not in tatters.
‘Because you are hungry and we can spare food for the three of you. And because I am a good man, following a just cause.’
‘Who are you then?’ asked the girl, simultaneously tightening her grip on his hand and proffering the repulsive crust.
Selik accepted it and began walking back towards his men, his horse following obediently behind him and the children. ‘Well, young lady, my name is Selik and I am in charge of a group trying to help people like you and your parents and all your friends. We’re called the Black Wings. Have you heard of us?’
The girl shook her head. So did the two boys who walked the other side of him. Selik felt a grim satisfaction.
‘Ah well, never mind. But I tell you what. In order for us to help you and all those you love get better and for there to be more food, when I give you something to eat will you tell me where some people are?’
The girl shrugged but nodded.
‘Thank you. What’s your name?’
‘Elise,’ said the girl.
‘A lovely name for a lovely girl.’
‘Why do you wear a hood?’ one of the boys asked abruptly.
Selik stopped and glared at him, and saw the boy shrink back. His face might have been effectively hidden but the glint of his one good eye wouldn’t be.
‘Because when you fight evil, sometimes you get hurt. And now my face frightens little boys and girls and they think badly of me,’ he said, fighting to remain calm. ‘Now then, your food.’ He clicked his fingers at the nearest rider. ‘Devun, give some dried meat and some of that spring fruit you found to each of these three. They are hungry and their need is greater than ours.’
Devun raised his eyebrows but unclasped a saddlebag and fetched out some wrapped packages. Giving each one a sniff as he produced it, he passed on three to Selik. The Black Wing commander unwrapped them and showed the contents to the children; two contained strips of dried meat, and one soft fruit, turning to overripe.
‘Now, this food will last you a while if you’re careful, and I don’t want to hear that you have fought over it.’ He let his gaze linger on the two boys until both shifted and nodded. ‘Good. If we are to become strong again, we have to work together.’
He crouched and passed over the food, which the trio grabbed hungrily, mumbling thanks as mouths watered and eyes widened in anticipation. The dividing up began immediately.
‘And your part of the bargain,’ he said, dragging their attention back to him, ‘is to tell me two things. Is Lord Erskan still alive?’
‘Yes, he is,’ said Elise. ‘But he doesn’t come out of the castle any more. My brother says he’s sick.’
‘Or hiding from his people,’ said Selik under his breath. ‘And do you know if there are any mages still in the town?’
There was a pause.
‘I think so,’ said the freckled boy, after sharing a glance with his friend. ‘But I don’t know where they are.’
‘I’m sure you don’t.’ Selik stood up. ‘I expect they are too ashamed to show their faces. Skulking about at night if they dare.’ He breathed deep. ‘Now, you three be on your way but remember this. All your hunger and all your pain was caused by magic and the people who use magic without a thought for those it affects. People like you and your families are the victims. If you find out where the mages are, you come and see me and I’ll deal with them for you. Run along.’
He watched them hurry away down the main street, their voices raised in squabbles about shares but their conflict over the crust forgotten, at least until their stomachs emptied again.
Selik turned to his men. ‘If there is a more eloquent demonstration of the evil we face, I have not seen it. Mount up; we’re going to the castle. And we’re going there proud and through the market place.’
Chapter 9
Selik and his men rode slowly through the centre of Erskan, seeing in the human ruins of the once quiet and pleasant town a reflection of all the ills afflicting Balaia. Filth covered the streets, which were deserted but for a few scavengers out on the hunt for scraps they had little or no chance of finding. The Black Wings became instant targets for beggars, of which there were many. Some had been born to it and they now fared better than their once wealthier competitors, who looked sicker and thinner than those on whom they had so recently looked down.
The market tried to struggle on but Selik didn’t see a single food stall. Silver and gold were barely in evidence either. What the traders wanted in return for their cut-price goods were bread, meat and grain. At its edges, inns were closed and businesses boarded up. Those not begging or attempting to ply a trade but just walking about did so with a kind of stupefied expression. Selik understood that too. The pace of what had befallen Balaia was staggering and all but impossible to grasp.
Down side streets, bodies rotted where they had been left, some obviously months before. And though the town stank of decay and disease, in some ways it was cleaner than before. Not a stray cat or dog ran, not a rat scuttled. All in the stomachs of the desperate by now.
Selik arrived at the castle and found exactly what he had expected: portcullis lowered, doors barred shut and guards on the gatehouse battlements, bows ready.
‘We have nothing!’ called a voice. ‘And what we have goes to our people. There’s nothing here for travellers. Move on.’
‘I want nothing but the ear of your Lord for a few minutes. I am Selik and this is my Black Wing guard. We have food for ourselves and our horses graze
the open pastures. Might I speak with him?’ Selik’s good eye roved the battlements. Erskan’s pennants snapped defiantly in the wind, so at least he was at home.
‘What is it you wish to discuss?’ asked the same voice.
Selik saw him, on the left of the gatehouse, leaning slightly out. ‘Restoration of Balaia to its former glory. A subject close to all our hearts.’
There was a short conversation. The man nodded.
‘You may enter. Your men remain outside.’
‘Naturally,’ said Selik. ‘And thank you.’
He heard the sound of the portcullis being raised and saw it rise above the gatehouse walls. The doors creaked ajar. Selik rode forward alone, seeing the killing ground beyond the doors lined with soldiers. Erskan was one nervous man.
Riding into the courtyard, Selik dismounted, his horse was led away to the stables and he was shown into the keep. A squire took him through a great entrance hall hung with deep-coloured tapestries, through a single door to the right and up a short flight of stairs. A further corridor revealed four or five doors and he was ushered through the first of them.
‘Relax, sir,’ said the squire. ‘My Lord Erskan will be along presently.’
Selik was in a small cold room. An empty grate dominated the far end and what light came in was through stained-glass windows in the wall to the right. A scattering of armchairs in front of the hearth was the only furniture bar two small low tables and the Erskan crest above the grate.
Deciding he’d rather be found standing, Selik walked to the windows and looked out. The town sprawled away beyond the courtyard, silent and grieving. He sighed and pulled his hood tight over his head. Behind him, the door creaked open.
‘It wasn’t so very long ago that I would have run you out of my town, Black Wing.’
Selik turned to see Lord Erskan enter, attended by the same squire. The youth carried a tray with two glasses and a pewter flagon, placing them on one of the low tables. Erskan waved him out.
Elfsorrow Page 9
