Serrin frowned. ‘I did see him.’
‘Watching the show, were you?’
Serrin smiled.
‘How long were you tracking us?’
‘From Verendii Tual.’
‘Good. And how is the muster?’
‘Most know. All who know are travelling.’
‘We need to move on,’ said Auum. ‘The boat is up on the beach.’
Serrin looked at Takaar. He was sitting on a rock at the side of the stream. Serrin’s appearance seemed to have knocked him back into introspection. He had been conversing with his tormentor for an hour, only looking at them to unleash another stream of expletives in their direction.
‘Takaar is less dangerous on foot.’
Auum nodded. ‘I know, but we could be horribly slow. I don’t understand this. When I met him, he hated this other voice. Did everything he could to antagonise it.’
‘Ten years is a long time to live with such guilt alone.’
‘We’re giving him the chance to redeem himself.’
‘He may not see it that way.’
Takaar was staring at them. His face was pale. He was chewing at his top lip and frowning as if trying to recall something. He pointed at Auum.
‘Your left guard is fractionally low. It leaves your temple vulnerable. ’
Auum opened his mouth to protest. ‘Thank you,’ he said instead.
Takaar nodded at Serrin. ‘Your stance was in error. Though you may have killed me with the knife, it is possible I could have jabbed back with an elbow and burst a testicle. Your left foot was in too close, your stance was too open. Your neck grip was sound but approach sideways. Don’t give me a target next time.’
Serrin nodded his thanks.
‘We should move on,’ said Auum. ‘The boat is—’
Takaar was shaking his head.
‘Not the boat. Never again. I’m scared of water.’ Takaar dissolved into helpless laughter. Eventually, he regained control enough to speak again. ‘He has been trying to get me to kill myself by jumping into a river, and he never knew I was so terrified of the water, not the drop, that I would never do it if I lived to be ten thousand.’
Takaar snorted and snot blew from his nose. Auum jerked a thumb back to the ocean.
‘But you just swam a hundred and fifty yards. I watched you. You are an excellent swimmer.’
Takaar was clutching his gut against the pain of his laughter.
‘Why do you think I was so fast? Think what might be below the surface. Ready to snap at my toes. Ready to drag me under.’ Takaar’s mirth dried up as quickly as it had come. ‘To drown. To have no option but to open your mouth and let the water flood your lungs. To feel your life ebbing away and all you can do is claw at the sunlight just out of reach.’
Takaar was staring at his hand, opening and closing his fist. Serrin and Auum exchanged a glance.
‘I’ll go and bring the gear from the boat.’
Serrin nodded. Both elves rose. Auum saw Serrin walk over to Takaar, heard him speak.
‘A prayer?’ he asked.
‘The gods no longer listen to my prayers,’ said Takaar.
Auum passed out of earshot. Breaking out of the rainforest and into the sea breeze, Auum took several huge breaths, letting the freshness suffuse him. The sea lapping on the beach was a pure and beautiful sound and the smells carried on the water invigorated him.
Auum paused on his way to the boat, turning back to the forest. He replayed the events of the last two hours, which had already taken on an unreal quality. He felt his nose. It was swollen and crusted with blood. It itched like mad.
‘Real enough.’
He shuddered as he plucked Takaar’s bags and blowpipe from the boat. He was lucky to be alive, not standing before Shorth, pleading his case to be admitted to the halls of the ancients. Auum shrugged his shoulders to dispel the thought. Under the aft bench was a leather bag for storing the catch. It wasn’t big, suggesting the confidence of the owner of the boat. But it was of a size and quality perfect for Auum’s needs. He transferred the packages of meat to it along with the net sack of Takaar’s herbs, poultices and poisons.
Auum hefted the sack onto his right shoulder and trotted back under the canopy. He came upon Serrin and Takaar close together, hands in the dirt. Serrin was praying silently. What Takaar was doing was anyone’s guess. Auum liked to think he was praying too but for the one who once walked with gods, that might have been a step too far.
The TaiGethen waited for them to finish.
‘How far to Ysundeneth?’ he asked of Serrin.
‘Six, seven days. We’re heading for the old staging camp.’
Auum nodded. ‘A good place to strike from. Takaar, are you ready?’
‘That is yet to be determined.’
A hundred men surrounded the Gardaryn. Behind them stood curious fearful elves of every thread. Ordinary elves too scared to leave their homes until now were emerging as the city quietened, cowed under the iron fist of human mercenaries. Twenty mages stood with the men.
Cloud was thickening overhead. The first real rains of the day were imminent. Sildaan stood with Garan, Hithuur and Helias. Mages overflew the building. The doors were all closed, the windows shuttered. The turrets were empty.
‘Who’s in there, do you think?’ asked Garan. ‘TaiGethen?’
‘No,’ said Sildaan. ‘Maybe Al-Arynaar, but without Pelyn they’re unlikely to stand and defend anything. No. I’m guessing our Orran friends might be holed up here. Good strong building, lots of space, plentiful supplies. Go easy. We need the place cleared and the records moved up to Shorth.’
‘You want paperwork. Why by all the gods drowning would you want all that?’
‘Records equal control. It’s a mess in there of course, but nothing much is missing. It gives us the name, address and thread identity of every elf in Ysundeneth and in the Ysun rainforest zone. Once we take Tolt Anoor and Deneth Barine, that extends to every elf on Calaius.’
‘You seriously think that every elf born in the depths of that green hell is reported to you faithfully? Or that every move is told you? Get real.’
Sildaan smiled. ‘As I will never tire of saying, you don’t understand us, do you? There is such pride in the birth of every child. Such importance is attached to bringing the young to the thread temple to feel the touch of the gods and the blessing of the priest. Communities are so close that any move is first unusual and second a matter for sorrow and celebration in equal measure. This is our way.’
‘Or it was,’ said Garan. ‘Fine. I don’t get you. And my people will be only too happy to become pack animals for all your papers and parchments.’
‘Just get on with your job,’ said Sildaan.
‘Keller!’ called Garan. ‘Are you set?’
Keller was in the air, directing his mages into a ring around the Gardaryn. He glided down to land next to Garan. Sildaan shuddered. Of all the things she had seen, the fire and the ice, this was the most unsettling. Neither man nor elf should fly. It was against faith and against nature.
‘Just say the word and we’ll secure your advance.’
‘Good.’ Garan turned to his men. ‘Squads three and four ready to approach the doors. No other access. Subdue escapees. Maintain the cordon. Keller, if you please.’
Keller shot back into the sky. ‘Shields!’
‘Shields up,’ came the call from around the Gardaryn.
‘Advance!’ ordered Garan.
Twelve warriors with two mages behind them moved quickly towards the doors. Shutters opened all around the building. Arrows flew thickly. Every shaft bounced from the invisible shields that surrounded the soldiers, the barriers spiking briefly with colour as they repelled each impact.
Voices rose in shock and surprise. Sildaan glanced round at the growing crowd filling the piazza. The humans moved on, ignoring the shafts that continued to bounce harmlessly from the magical shields. The two squads reached the doors. One man stepped forward and tested the great iron rings
. He shook his head and withdrew. One of the mages moved up and began to make small gestures in the air in front of his face.
Garan called out another order. Men advanced on the open shutters, forcing them to close and the arrows to cease. Another order. Half of his men on the piazza side turned to face the crowd. Other men were running in to bolster the defence. Sildaan felt a little exposed. She gestured to Hithuur, and the two of them walked a little way closer to the Gardaryn. Helias copied their move.
The mage finished his preparation. He held his hands in front of his face, palms forward, and made a shoving motion. The doors, designed to open out, groaned against their hinges. Sildaan could see them bowing inward at the centre. The mage, his body rigid, his arms shaking, dropped his head to his chest and pushed again, deliberately and slowly.
The doors shuddered. Rivets on the hinges popped. The top of the lintel cracked. Timbers in the doors bent and shattered. The mage cried out with the effort, withdrew his hands and shoved again, hard. The doors blew in on a cloud of splinters. Iron and timber tumbled into the hallway and through into the main chamber. Sildaan saw elves diving for cover. The shutters in the front of the building rattled. One threw its fastening and cracked a hinge, falling open and hanging broken.
The two squads of men ran inside, their mages behind them once again. From within, Sildaan heard shouts and the clash of metal, brief and final. From behind her she heard the shouts of elves angry at the damage to this cornerstone of their city. Glancing behind she saw a concerted move forward. Next to her, Garan saw it too and barked orders to warriors and mages.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘They can’t get to you.’
‘Let’s get inside,’ said Sildaan. ‘Hithuur, get to records as quickly as you can. Helias, this is your building. Let’s not leave things behind we don’t want to.’
The four of them marched up to the shattered doors, Garan moving inside first. His men had subdued about twenty elves in the main chamber. The place was a mess. Blankets, discarded clothing and food, waterskins and rubbish were scattered across the floor. Sildaan picked her way towards the stage.
‘Don’t get too far ahead,’ said Garan. He turned and shouted outside. ‘Squads ten, eleven, twelve. Room to room. Move.’
More men ran inside, mages in the wake of swordsmen. Arrows flicked down from above, from the rafters where the TaiGethen used to hide. Garan did not flinch where Sildaan ducked reflexively, hands over her face. Garan stared up. There were multiple shapes of elves up there. He crooked a finger at them, speaking in clear common elvish.
‘Best come down before we shoot you down. You cannot harm us but we can certainly harm you. It’s your choice.’ He waved a mage to him. ‘Keep this chamber shielded. I don’t care if they make a stand up there or not. It doesn’t go well for them whichever way it works.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Sildaan looked up to the rafters. Those staring down at her did so with eyes that hated, eyes that found it hard to accept their betrayal. Desperate, hopeless eyes.
‘Do as he says,’ she called. ‘It’s too late to resist.’
Hithuur was at her shoulder. He was looking at the partially scorched tapestries.
‘We should keep these,’ he said.
‘Whatever for?’ asked Sildaan.
‘They are part of our history.’
Sildaan made a dismissive noise and pointed towards the administration and records offices through the back of the stage. She could hear a little fighting and a great deal of shouting and pleading.
‘Through there, that’s our history. At the museums, that’s our history. These . . . these are lies, the invention of a romantic story-teller. They will burn.’
Sildaan sat alone on the steps of the Gardaryn. Through the long hours of sunshine and torrential rain, the records of a nation had been removed box by box from the building, loaded onto requisitioned carts and driven away under guard to the temple of Shorth. And during a day that was declining towards an angry, clouded dusk, the crowds had thickened on the piazza and all approaches to the Gardaryn. Word had travelled quickly. Elves of all threads thronged to see the emptying of their most loved building. They’d tried storming the magical barriers. They’d tried deputations of protest and reason. She had refused to treat with any of them.
Most of them now stood silent or in prayer. Occasionally, a chant would grow, one of the old chants denouncing the Ynissul, demanding freedom and equality of power. Loud, emotional chants from the mouths of what had to be fifteen to twenty thousand elves. But futile.
Garan sat down beside her. His men were moving the last of the records from front and rear, each box making a further statement to the mass before them.
‘Where were they all hiding?’
Sildaan shrugged. ‘At home, I guess. Funny, isn’t it? Hithuur said it felt like the whole city had taken up arms and joined the mobs when Takaar was denounced, but it was hardly any of them really, was it? Most of them stayed home, unless they were forced to move, and hoped it would all blow over.’
‘Why did they think that?’
Garan appeared genuinely interested. Sildaan shrugged again.
‘We’ve had troubles before. We’re complex in some ways and ever so simple in others. But there’s always been a minority prepared to riot or march any time anything goes astray. We’ve had trouble with food shortages - unbelievable you’d think with the ocean here and the rainforest there - but it’s true. We’ve had very unpopular building and tax laws and we’ve had stringent preservation laws passed too. That’s to name but a few.
‘But there’s always been the Al-Arynaar to restore order and the Gardaryn in which to protest and hold the government and the priesthood to account. Now there isn’t, and they’re just beginning to understand that things are changing for good. This strikes so deep at the elven soul that I’m surprised so many didn’t feel it more plainly. But that’s elves for you. Close their eyes, most of them, and pray the nightmare is gone by the morning.’
‘Not this time,’ said Garan.
‘No indeed,’ said Sildaan. ‘How much longer?’
‘We’re almost done.’
‘Good. I don’t want the rain to spoil the show.’
Garan laughed. ‘Mage fire cares not if it rains or shines, my priest.’
Sildaan was worried by that statement and wasn’t completely sure why. Behind her, Keller sauntered out of the Gardaryn. He nodded at her.
‘Empty,’ he said. ‘What’s next.’
‘Fireworks,’ said Garan, getting up and brushing himself down. ‘Sildaan, is the order given?’
Sildaan stood too. She gazed up at the beauty of the Gardaryn, the beetle. A thousand years of debate and, yes, she supposed, history. Obsolete now and a dangerous symbol of a way of life that had to change. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes briefly.
‘It is.’
‘Right. Keller, over to you. Set inside and out. I want this inferno seen from Balaia.’
‘Consider it done.’
Sildaan stood. ‘You’re sure they’ll hear me? You’re sure I’ll be safe?’
‘This is going to be something no one will ever forget.’
And so it was that Sildaan stood on the steps of the Gardaryn a short while later. Above her, Gyal’s tears fell with outraged ferocity. Behind her, the flames of the Gardaryn, tinged with the brown colour of human magic, roared into the dark sky. In front of her, twenty thousand elves howled their fury, impotent to act, helpless to save their most beloved building. And when she opened her mouth, with spell shields behind her keeping back the fires and more spells cast to amplify her every word, her voice echoed across the piazza and out into the city.
‘Elves of Ysundeneth, hear me. Those of you in front of me now and locked terrified in your homes or cast out onto the streets. Hear me. I am Sildaan, scripture priest of Aryndeneth. I am the mouthpiece of Llyron, high priest of Shorth, who is, from this moment on, ruler of the elven nation of Calaius.’
The
statement stilled the howling of the crowd more surely than Yniss appearing before them and putting a finger to his lips. The drumming of the rain and the hissing and roaring of the Gardaryn as it burned were thundering background to Sildaan’s oration.
‘The harmony is dead. The fragile belief held by many against the true nature of the elf has been torn to shreds. The true nature of Takaar, he who once walked with gods, has been revealed, and he has rightly been denounced along with his laws. We have all seen in the past days the real soul of the elf. It is in separation. It is in every thread to their own community. It is in power based on longevity.
‘The Ynissul were put here by Yniss himself to rule. Wisdom can only be built by the immortal. Wisdom that can bring genuine peace to our race can only be handed down by those who have lived long enough to understand it. Elves have lived for a thousand years with the knowledge that those of other threads who deal with them do so through a thin veneer of brotherhood.
‘Order, from this moment forth, will be restored. There will be no further violence between the threads. Know this. Those working for the Ynissul have the authority to act with any force necessary to keep the peace in our streets.
‘Go back to your homes and wait for instructions. Know this. Until we re-establish the markets, your food and clothing and other essential needs will be serviced centrally by the harbour master. The operation of black markets and other measures of extortion amongst threads will be dealt with severely. Expect announcements on the living quarters for each thread. Some of you will be relocated. I suggest you gather all that is valuable to you or risk losing it.
‘Assets no longer in your gift if your thread is short-lived will be returned to the Ynissul for correct distribution as status demands. Other announcements will follow regarding employment and access to areas of the city, the temples and the rainforest. Any of you living in a mixed-thread partnership will be separated and your bastard offspring given to the temple of Shorth for education.
‘You have all read the history of our race. You have all heard the stories. Yniss created this earth and the lesser gods to serve him. He created the Ynissul to rule the elves and the lesser threads to serve them. So shall it be again. So it is from this day forward.
Elves: Once Walked With Gods Page 27
