Lysael raised her hands to quell the growing hubbub.
'Please, my friends, please. It is impossible to comprehend, I know, but we must or we will perish. There is little time but there will be questions. If you wish to speak, come forward to the stage. If you wish to prepare, go with our blessing. You will be summoned to the harbour and designated a vessel. Only bring what you can carry in your two arms. We sail north to Balaia in two days.
'Brothers, sisters.' The crowd quietened. 'We will survive and we will find Home. Deneth. We need you. All of you. Help the weak, the overburdened. Help any who need it. The Aryn Hiil speaks of times when we must put aside petty squabbles. This surely is one of those times. Trust in Yniss. Pray to Him. Pray to your chosen deity under Him. Trust us, his servants.'
Even among those assembled on stage, few had dry eyes. Lysael waited, her hands over her mouth or alternately in supplication to Yniss, praying for mercy. Praying for more time than she knew they had. Auum came to her shoulder, his Tai with him. He said nothing. She acknowledged his presence. Together they waited while those with burning questions for all to hear came forward.
Auum saw their type. He had seen it before. The rich. Land-owners. Merchants. Bankers. He sniffed. Among them, ordinary elves seeking order where there would be none. Questions to which there would be no answers. Few were leaving the Caeyin. To do so was to admit the unbelievable. He could see anger, frustration and, more than anything, the desire to hear it wasn't true.
'Questions will be asked. Answers shall be given. Speak in turn.'
Lysael gestured for the first elf to speak. Slender, narrow-faced and dressed in the sort of finery Auum shunned which wouldn't last an hour in the rainforest. Nor its wearer.
'Girales of Ysundeneth.' His voice, confident and already strident, rang out as clear as sky after rain. 'This is our home. We are stronger, more numerous than at any time in our history. We have no need to run. Surely there is another way?'
Auum acknowledged a fair question but shook his head when Lysael invited him to speak.
'I understand how hard this is to comprehend,' said Lysael. 'That anyone should announce on a moment that we must all leave our homes and our lives, our certainty, and head north into anything but certainty. But it remains the course we must take. There are enough writings. There are enough who were there and stood to fight the time before. And to fight is to die. To run is to live. Please, the next question.'
'Halis of Ysundeneth.' Fat like a human. Bulbous face. Loose clothing failing to hide a shameful body. And a voice that grumbled deep in the throat. He had probably never even entered the canopy. 'What I cannot leave behind is everything I own. A significant part of Ysundeneth. Houses, warehousing, the dockside marketplace. None of these can I transport by ship to Balaia. How will I be compensated? How will all my workers be paid if I have no business?'
'You will still be alive,' said Lysael. 'It is all anyone will have.'
'No, no, no, no.' Halis wagged a stubby finger. 'I have worked all my life to attain my position in the city. You will not take that from me with one sweep of the hand.'
'I offer no one anything but survival for now. Money, possessions, all will mean little. You have to understand, Halis, that we will all have to start again should we be lucky enough to live at all.'
'Preposterous. That I should be expected to simply abandon all I have built. I will not do it without guarantees of future ownership in this fabled Home you speak of.'
Lysael was lost for words but there was enough support in the crowd for Halis's point of view. Auum moved smoothly in front of the high priest, stopping a hand's breadth from Halis's nose. The fat man barely saw him coming and raised his hands as if in defence.
'Then stay,' said Auum, never taking his eyes from Halis but speaking for the Caeyin. 'Be king of the city. Own it all. Count your riches. But know this. When the ships sail, there will be no escape from the Garonin. No deals to be done with them. No money to be made. They will move through here as easily as your hand brushes aside ears of corn in a field. And they will leave nothing behind. Not your buildings. Not your marketplace, not your flesh though you are possessed of enough of it. Any who stay will die. That is my promise.'
'You cannot know that,' said Halis, the stridency gone from his voice. 'Like Girales said, there has to be another way.'
Auum grabbed Halis by the lapels and jerked him forward.
'You know me. I am Auum, Lord of the TaiGethen. I faced them once before. More than two thousand years ago. In our former home, our beautiful, peerless former home. Now burned beyond recognition, repair or recovery. I fought them with every skill I possess and with the blessing of Yniss to guide me. I fought them with thousands at my left and right. Our numbers should have overwhelmed them then as should our passion and our determination to save our lands.
'But they did not. Tens of thousands died at their hands when they should have been journeying to their new home, far from these beasts. They died because people like you did not understand like you do not today. And I? When all was surely lost and all I could do was save as many as I could, I ran for my life. I ran because there was no other way to survive. We ended up here, sharing with the humans but at least we were alive. It is the same today, but today I will not let my people die in their thousands to serve such as you. Today we will run because tomorrow we must live. The elven race must endure.'
He let Halis go and turned to face the Caeyin.
'Any further questions?'
Chapter 8.
Ilkar couldn't sleep. The skin in which he found himself kept him from comfort and his mind blazed with the pain of expulsion from his rest. Tonight, though, there was something more. Far beyond his subconscious, deep in his soul, that part of him forever tied to the elven nation bade him journey to stand with his brothers and sisters. He stood on the college walls and looked south, tasting the air.
The pull was distant. Distant enough to be denied. To go would be pointless. He would be too late. Yet still he rose from his bed in a servant's chamber beneath the tower of the Lord of the Mount and walked out into the quiet of Xetesk's night. He stared into the southern sky while his soul yearned to be lying beneath it.
There was an easing to his pain, just for a heartbeat. A knowledge that he had no need to travel. It should have made him glad but it did nothing but increase his desperation for them all. The elves would come to him. They were leaving Calaius. And that could mean only one thing.
'Looking for some company?'
Ilkar turned. For a moment he didn't recognise the man before him but then he put a name to the crooked smile he saw.
'Hello, Hirad. Insomnia got you too, has it?'
'I don't know about that but I can't sleep.'
'That was a joke, right?'
'You and your fancy words. How are you feeling?'
'Dreadful,' admitted Ilkar. 'This isn't much fun.'
'You know you don't look so good.' Hirad strolled up and patted Ilkar's cheek. 'You've looked better. When you had pointed ears.'
'I'll take that as a compliment. Fancy a stroll around the streets? We might even drop in for a drink at The Raven's Rest. I quite fancy staring at my picture and reminding myself how much better-looking I was than you.'
Hirad looked dubiously out over the walls and into the quiet streets. There was plenty of noise echoing around Xetesk. Plenty of light and smoke too.
'Bit of an atmosphere out there, don't you think?'
'Hmm. Not everyone is pleased to see the dead walking about.'
'I can't say I blame them,' said Hirad. 'I just wish they'd see we have no choice. Come on, let's go. Might get to the inn before closing time if we're lucky.'
'I think he might serve us after hours, Hirad.'
The two old friends in strangers' bodies trotted down the stairway to the courtyard and out onto the apron before the college. The Thread ran left and right past the gates. They turned right, heading down a gentle slope along the narrow winding road towards Sol's inn. The air was warm but carried a current of disquiet across the whole of the city. Three hundred and more dead had returned - figures were tricky to establish - and much of the living population had not taken to the events terribly well.
'What do you think they'll do?' asked Hirad.
The Thread was quiet. A few individuals and small groups wandered here and there and the cloak of the night meant no one could tell if they were living or dead unless they came good and close.
'You know what they'll do. They'll head out and try and fight.'
'It'll be carnage.'
'Will it?' Ilkar felt the pain in his body easing as they neared the inn. 'We had no defence but we had no magic and weapons either. Perhaps Xetesk will turn them aside.'
'You don't believe that. None of us do. We have all felt their power and it translates into something simply too big to handle.'
Ilkar nodded and sighed. 'You're right of course. But we have to hope, don't we?'
'What we have to do is get the returned dead and their loved ones away from here. This place is a target. West is the only sensible option. Beyond the Blackthornes and into the Heartlands of Wes.'
'Well, we're going to the right man to get that sorted out.' Ilkar shuddered. 'Damn but that felt strange. Do you-'
Bull's-eye lantern beams stabbed out from the left from one of the many side streets leading off The Thread. Temporarily disoriented, Hirad and Ilkar backed across the street to the right. Ilkar could just about see the shapes of men spilling into the street behind the lanterns. He shaded his eyes and immediately began casting to form the spell shape for a defensive wall. He heard Hirad drawing his sword.
'Get behind me, Ilkar,' he said. 'This smells very bad.'
The two of them had stopped retreating, leaving space to their left and behind, where their shadows on the buildings gave away their status.
'Want to run?' asked Ilkar.
'What do you think?'
'Just asking.'
Hirad squared up. Ilkar could still see nothing but shadows of men behind the lanterns. The street was suddenly deserted of casual strollers.
'Hirad Coldheart and Ilkar,' came a voice, strong and powerful, commanding. 'Members of The Raven deceased and you really should have stayed that way, don't you think?'
'You're welcome to come out and try sending me back,' said Hirad.
Ilkar shook his head. 'That's it, Hirad, work on defusing the situation. '
Hirad glanced over his shoulder. 'Just back me up.' But the merchant's face didn't inspire the same confidence that the old Hirad's had.
More people were pushing into the street and filtering around the lanterns. Ilkar counted twenty shapes. There didn't look to be too many weapons on display but this was a college of magic. There didn't have to be.
'I intend on doing just that,' said the voice, and the body from which it came moved in front of the lantern beams, which were hastily uncapped to shed a more general light. 'But I wanted you to see me first. And know why I am here.'
The face of the figure was still cast in shadow but he was tall, broad-shouldered and thick of limb. He wore chain armour and carried a two-handed blade. Ilkar cursed under his breath. He was bigger than Sol. Much younger too, maybe mid-twenties. It was hard to tell due to the half-helmet that covered his eyes and nose, leaving only his mouth and chin visible. There was an ugly slash across his throat that had been crudely sewn.
'All right, I'm impressed,' said Hirad. 'But clearly you're a returned soul too so you are aware we had no choice in the matter. What brought you back, though, I wonder?'
'You did.'
Ilkar frowned and saw Hirad pause, uncertain. The man moved a step closer.
'But you aren't Raven,' said Hirad.
The man scoffed. 'Hardly. I'm hurt you haven't made a better guess. Perhaps if that bitch who froze my face were with you she might work it out.'
Hirad straightened then pointed his sword at the man. Ilkar knew there was a sneer on his face by the set of his head.
'Selik? You returned because of me? I'm so touched.'
'And here to put many wrongs to rights.'
'Odd place for a Black Wing to show up,' said Hirad. 'You could lose your head in a place like this, you know.'
'It is I who will be wielding the killing blade this time, Coldheart. First over you, and then your mage friend.'
'Interesting choice of words for a man standing amongst the living population of Xetesk,' said Ilkar.
'Not all here are mages or mage lovers,' said Selik, and he moved forward again. 'These here want an end to the curse that is the allying of the college and the dead. This is magic of the very worst kind. And who better to help them achieve that?'
'We all want the same thing, surely,' said Ilkar. 'An end to the torment that puts our souls in unwilling bodies and a safe place in which to rest.'
'Dreams,' said Selik. 'I am happy enough. Happy that my time dead and wronged can now be cleansed from my soul by the blood of The Raven on my blade. Hold them.'
Men ran from either side of Selik. Ilkar, his spell prepared, cast and pushed his wall of mana to Hirad's left and into the crowd, pressing them back to the right-hand side of the street. Hirad took a pace back and slashed hard at the space Selik's lackeys were running into. Three of them pulled up short. Two, armed with broad blades, came on.
The street filled with the sounds of shouting and anger. The city guard would be here before long but they would not stop what was about to happen. While Ilkar edged left, taking in more of Selik's crowd but leaving the man himself free as Hirad would want, the two men attacked.
They came in left and right. A good strategy but with one error. Hirad ducked the high blow and blocked the low hard, pushing the man back. Then he was up and striking out at the first, his upward cut slicing through arm and glancing off his opponent's head, severing his ear. The man fell away, clutching at the side of his head. Hirad spun back, caught a blow from the second attacker on the hilt of his blade, straight-punched the man in the mouth and sliced back through his midriff, opening up a deep cut.
Hirad turned to face Selik.
'Body of a merchant, mind of a warrior,' he said. 'How about you?'
Selik said nothing. He moved very quickly, his blade coming around at waist height with frightening power. The old Hirad, the barbarian, would have been able to deflect the blow and riposte. But the merchant's body did not have the same strength. Hirad got his blade in the right place and avoided being cut in two but the force of the strike buckled his sword arm, jamming the edge of his blade against his body. He was sent sprawling to the dirt.
Ilkar began to move the mana wall but Selik was ahead of him. Hirad managed to turn onto his back but his arm was useless and the sword fell from his hands. He stared up into the face of the Black Wing. There was a smirk on Selik's face. He placed his blade on Hirad's throat.
'I hear the void calling you, Coldheart. Pleasant travels.'
Selik tensed to drive the blade home. There was a heavy thud. Selik's eyes rolled back in his head and he fell sideways, landing on the ground next to Hirad, blood seeping from the back of his skull. There stood Sol, cudgel in hands and a look on his face that would brook no opposition. He checked both Ilkar and Hirad were all right and helped Hirad to his feet before turning to Selik's people and the crowd of onlookers.
'Anyone else who wants to test my commitment to The Raven, feel free to go right ahead,' growled Sol.
Men and women were backing away from him as he spoke. City guards were elbowing their through the growing crowd. Sol collared the first of them and pointed down at Selik's prone form.
'He goes to the cells. And there he stays. He gets no treatment. If he survives till morning, he goes before the court. If he doesn't, then this body will be host to a less odious soul.'
'Yes, sir,' said the guard.
Sol addressed the crowd. 'These are my streets. You tell me you are my people. Act like it. There will be no summary justice dealt out by the living or the dead. If you have a grievance, you bring it to me or to my officers. That is the way it is and will stay. We are in a serious situation. The rumours of invasion will have reached all your ears. Transgressions will be dealt with swiftly. I need all of you to back your city and your college. We must stand together if we are to prevail.'
A pale-looking woman pushed to the front of the crowd and spoke into the silence that had followed Sol's words. She was no older than forty but had a haggard look about her that told of too many tears and too little sleep. She wore poor clothes but tried to make them appear smart with ribbons and ties. She stared at Ilkar and, before she uttered a word, he knew with a guilty cold feeling exactly what was coming.
'Then hear me speak, Sol of Balaia,' she said, her voice trembling. 'Tell me how should I feel and how should I react? There stands my son. The body of my son. Stolen by another soul. He treats the body as his own, yet it is not. He desecrates my son's memory by using his body though I know him to be dead because he does not know me.
'I want that body back and I want it now. To offer the respect my son deserves and to see him laid to rest in the right manner. This walking body insults me and it insults all my family and all of those taken by grief over the ones they have lost yet still see walking our streets. This cannot be right. It must be ended now.'
Ilkar felt the tension rise around them. Two of the city guard had begun to move the senseless Selik away, leaving four to stand in a loose ring around Sol. The crowd was still growing, albeit slowly given the hour of the night, but those present were four-square behind the poor woman. For himself, Ilkar could only nod and let his head fall forward a little to avoid her stricken gaze. He saw Sol move towards her.