The elf wasn't letting up. Whatever Kild'aar said, it wasn't mollifying him. Ren was following the argument. Again and again she looked about to jump in but something she heard stayed her. The noise in the room was intensifying, Kild'aar shouting now. In the end, Ren did finish it. Erienne saw the young elf clench both her fists, step firmly between the two combatants and yell directly into the wounded elf's face. The shock of the intercession stopped him and he glared at Ren with interest. Seizing her chance, Ren spoke, her tone firm but calm. She pointed behind her at Mercuun, at Erienne, and out past the elf to the front door. The only word Erienne picked up was 'Ilkar', but whatever Ren said had instant effect.
The elf nodded, spoke two words and Ren moved aside. He walked slowly into the room, Kild'aar next to him, an arm about his back. He pulled the shroud aside and gazed down at Mercuun, Erienne seeing his shoulders hunch and fall. He whispered words of prayer, knelt very awkwardly and placed his left hand on Mercuun's forehead, bowing. He was silent for a time, lost in contemplation or memory.
Denser nudged Erienne and whispered.
'Looks like a tanned version of Ilkar, doesn't he?'
'There's some resemblance,' agreed Erienne.
'So there should be,' said Ren quietly from beside them. 'That's Rebraal, Ilkar's brother.'
At the sound of his name, Rebraal pushed himself slowly and painfully back to his feet and turned to Erienne and Denser. The anger was gone from his face and Erienne was surprised to see fear in his eyes. He spoke and Ren translated.
'He says he has to go back to the temple. It must be returned to the hands of the Al-Arynaar. He's leaving at dawn tomorrow.'
'Tell him we'll be with him,' said Denser.
The mage tensed as Rebraal snorted in derision at Ren's translation. Erienne put a hand on his arm to calm him.
'Going to do it on his own, is he?' asked Denser.
Rebraal snapped out some words. Ren held up her hands, replied and got a terse one-word answer.
'He's going to kill strangers. Why would he want more there?'
'My question still stands,' said Denser.
'His brother Al-Arynaar will join him in a few days. He hopes it will be soon enough,' said Ren.
'And if it isn't? He's left the best chance he's got here mopping sick brows. Put this to him. We're coming. We can help, and whatever it is that's got him so scared will be solved that much more quickly.'
Another short elven conversation.
'He says the forest will kill you.'
'I know I speak for us all when I say this. We want to help. We have to get mages back to Balaia quickly so anything we can do to speed that, to get the elves to trust us, we will do. And does he really have a choice? Right now, we're all he's got and, Gods burning, one of us is his brother.'
Erienne could feel the passion in Denser. It was a belief she knew well. She only hoped Rebraal saw it too. She watched Ren talk to him, saw him respond while looking over her shoulder at Denser. He shrugged, his expression hardened but he nodded.
'So we're all right by him now, are we?' Denser was terse.
'No,' said Ren. 'You're here, that's all. The Raven. He knows that he needs all the help he can get. Ilkar is the key. Without him, you would not be allowed to travel with him.'
Erienne felt a crawling sensation across her chest. 'Just what is it that's so wrong he thinks us worth risking?'
'Rebraal knows what's causing this. He's studied the texts at the temple. He's dedicated his life to preserving the harmony.'
'And?' pushed Denser.
'Rebraal says the harmony has been broken. That the strangers who took the temple have done it, but he doesn't know how. That's why we have to go there. Because you can't cure this sickness with magic or herbs, and unless harmony is restored the elves will die.'
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 had 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.