Elves_ Once Walked with Gods Part 15

The ageing Gyalan loyalist smiled at her. He'd been her rock for two hundred years. What she'd do without him, she had no idea.

'You look awful,' said Methian.

Pelyn felt like bursting into tears. Instead she nodded.

'Well, it hasn't been among my better times. Even fighting the Garonin was easier. At least you knew what was coming with them.'

'Had any sleep recently?'

'Guess. And you're not bringing me good news, are you?'

Methian shook his head. 'People are beginning to gather again. Gardaryn this time. The mood isn't ugly like yesterday yet, but then these aren't yesterday's rioters. These are elves wanting answers from their appointed representatives.'

Pelyn rubbed at her face and took another sip of her drink. 'I suppose we had to expect that, but I'd be surprised if any administrators even turned up. This is going to get worse, isn't it?'

Methian raised his eyebrows. 'If there is no law, people will be quick enough to create their own systems of justice.'

'But without the Ynissul in the city, surely tempers will cool.'

'You and I both know that is a vain hope. Lorius may have wanted to maintain the harmony when he denounced Takaar, but he was deceived by those who put him up to it, wasn't he? This isn't about all threads against the Ynissul. They were just the first target. This is about a re-establishment of the old system. Not something with which I'm familiar.' Methian chuckled. 'Not that long-lived, we Gyalans.'

'You think Tualis are behind this?'

Methian shrugged. 'Some, probably. But not all, or you wouldn't be standing here. But it's confused, isn't it? We know an Ynissul murdered your high priest and his. I don't get what that was supposed to achieve. If there's one thread that cannot afford conflict, it is the Ynissul. There just aren't enough of them, not even with the TaiGethen.'

'And why would he kill Jarinn?'

'I expect Jarinn would have got in his way . . .'

'We should head to the Gardaryn, see what's going on. Keep the peace if we can,' said Pelyn.

'So we should,' said Methian, then he paused, conflicting emotions on his face. 'Can I speak honestly?'

'Only if I'm going to like what I hear.'

'Then I shall remain silent.'

Pelyn smiled, though it felt a little grim. 'Go on.'

'We have something in the region of four hundred Al-Arynaar in Ysundeneth. And the city has a population of, what, sixty-five thousand or thereabouts with the Ynissul survivors gone? You've seen it only takes a handful to whip up a mob so it doesn't matter if ninety-five per cent of the population have no wish for violence. Now the Ynissul are gone, the threads have nothing to focus on as one so they'll turn on each other.'

'Why?'

'There doesn't have to be a reason unless it is anger without direction.' Methian shook his head. 'Just look at what happened in the market yesterday. So much hate, buried for so long. Yet you and I stand together as friends for two hundred years. The point is that we will no longer know who is enemy and who is friend to us. Four hundred Al-Arynaar will be nowhere near enough and . . .'

Methian trailed off and sighed.

'You've started and so far I'm no more scared than I was before.'

'They won't all stand with you, Pelyn,' he whispered. 'They won't all trust you because you are Tuali, and many of them will see the Tuali as the real aggressors despite what Hithuur did.'

Pelyn was stunned. She'd felt it when she told Katyett she didn't know who to trust but had prayed it wouldn't spread to her warriors. The truth shattered what remained of her confidence.

'So how do we stop this getting out of control?'

Methian leant on the wall beside her and gazed out over the city and the ocean. 'Build a fence round the city and wait in the forest until it's over.'

'That isn't funny.'

'Sorry. I don't really know. Starting at the Gardaryn is as good as anything. But if I was you I'd do what the TaiGethen did and muster your people. You have to know who is with you, Pelyn, or you're going to cause more trouble than you stop.'

'If I do that I remove my people from the streets and therefore all deterrent against trouble.'

'I know.' Methian straightened suddenly. 'That's a whole lot of sails.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Take a look. Heading this way from the west. Ten. Twelve perhaps. Not merchants. Not elven.'

Pelyn followed Methian's gaze and felt her whole body sag.

'This isn't getting any better, is it?'

Chapter 14.

Combat is the simplest of relationships. Your enemy wants to kill you. Stop him.

The rain had beaten down on Auum the whole way up the cliff. An hour's climb at the very least. Every hold had been a study in concentration, every move a risk greater than the last. Every moment had reminded Auum why he loved the rainforest, loved Yniss's creation and loved the blessing of strength and agility that Yniss had bestowed upon him.

He lay on the cliff edge with the first vegetation of the rainforest almost within arm's length and let the rain wash the dirt from his clothes and body. He pulled in great gasps of air and held them, waiting until his temples pounded before exhaling. Here was life. Here was reason enough to desire to save all the elves had built. None should be denied this if they desired it.

Auum sat up with his legs dangling over the drop. Between his feet he could see his boat pulled up on the bank and tipped onto its side against the rainfall. He felt energised but his limbs were tired, like after a three-hour spar with Serrin, the Silent Priest as fast as a TaiGethen. Auum smiled.

A sound to his left and he glanced round. The rain obliterated so much when it fell this heavily. Gyal's tears were the TaiGethen's friend. Hard to be sure what it was. Auum moved smoothly to his feet. It could have been a falling tree branch. It could have been the death fall of an animal. His sense of wrong told him it was neither.

Auum was exposed out here on the cliff edge. He ducked under the canopy, letting the dense foliage hide him. The noise had been quite close. An impact of some kind. He stared into the gloom, trying to pick out anything unusual in the chaos of banyan, fig, balsa, vine and moss-covered branches. A hundred shades of green and brown, the shadows of great leaves and a riot of brightly coloured flowers met his gaze.

This was his land. The land of the TaiGethen. That impact did not belong here. Auum moved silently into the forest, leaving the freshness of the cliffs behind him. He tuned to the natural sounds. Monkeys chittering in the mid-branches, birds calling at every level. The rustling of ground beasts. The singing cacophony of insects. All of Tual's denizens in full cry.

And something else too. A scent, like burned bark but with a bitter edge akin to singed abuta. It came from his right. From where the impact had sounded. Auum crouched. There was movement in the undergrowth and low foliage. The clumsy shaking of leaf and branch. A heavy footfall.

Three men. Presumably one of them had fallen heavily, although the impact had sounded more like something coming down from the branch of a banyan. Auum stilled and tucked into the trunk by which he had stopped. They would come to him and wish that they had not.

Auum could see them. Two were warriors. Leather armour, ungainly swords and daggers. Tall men, violent. And, just behind them, one standing still and wearing very light armour, no sword. He was one of those Auum had heard called "mage". Dangerous. The mage took a single pace forward and vanished.

Auum blinked, sure the mage must have ducked behind a tree or dropped p.r.o.ne. But if he had, the warriors were ignoring him and moved on slowly, staring beyond Auum or down at their tangled feet. He ignored them, scrutinising instead the foliage at ground level in the mage's predicted path. Nothing moved.

The air seemed to still, suck inwards almost. It was a curious sensation. The next instant Auum felt an awful pressure in his ears. It slammed pain around his skull. He clamped down on his jaw to stop himself screaming but knew something had escaped his throat.

Auum felt disoriented. His eyesight blurred for a moment. He put his hands to his head, trying to ease the shattering pain. He could hear nothing. He sagged to his knees. He blinked furiously, determined to monitor where his enemies moved. He could see blurred shapes. Too close. Whatever had afflicted him had left them apparently unaffected.

They had seen him. Auum's head began to clear. Slowly, but it would be enough. His swords were still in their scabbards, his jaqrui pouch closed. He made no sign that he was capable, remaining with his back hard against the tree and his knees drawn up against his chest. The warriors split to come at him left and right. He still couldn't see the mage.

The warriors closed. Auum saw the set of their bodies and the heft of their blades. They thought him incapacitated. Auum kept his body relaxed and his facial expression pained. He shook his head as if just coming back to his senses. The warriors moved in faster. One slipped on the sodden ground.

Auum drove himself up and forward. He reached over his left shoulder, grabbed a blade and threw it at the right-hand warrior. Immediately, he dropped, rolled left and kicked up, the tips of his toes catching the other warrior in the groin. The man yelled and doubled over, one arm across his stomach. Auum bounced to his feet, grabbed the warrior's head in both hands and twisted savagely.

Auum turned away from the falling corpse. The other warrior was trying to pull the blade from his gut. Blood sluiced from his mouth and washed from around the wound. Auum heard a twig snap. There stood the mage. Behind his dying comrade. He was smiling. His lips were moving and his arms were reaching out.

Auum sprinted at him. He wasn't going to be fast enough to stop him. The mage turned his palms inwards, ready to clap them together. He dropped his head to his chest then raised it to look straight into Auum's eyes. Auum stopped running, choosing instead to send a prayer to Yniss to protect his soul.

The mage jerked forward, almost fell. He made a choking gurgle. He stared at Auum, confusion in his expression, blood running from his mouth. The head of a jaqrui blade protruded from this neck just below his chin. He pitched onto his face.

Not ten yards behind Auum stood an ula. His clothes were tattered and roughly mended in a few places. His face was gaunt. He had the remains of a long beard on his chin and cheeks. Where there was skin, it was covered in cuts and scratches as if he'd tried to shave with a blunt knife. His hair was similarly wild, sticking up in clumps, tangled with twig and leaf and hacked shorter in places and left to grow untamed in others.

But he held himself proudly. His arms were by his sides but his hands were moving, fingers rubbing against his thumbs or into the palms of his hands. His eyes darted here and there and there was a twitch in either cheek. When he breathed his nostrils fluted. Auum watched him move smoothly to the mage and work his jaqrui free.

'Lucky I can still use one of these.' He laughed then looked to his right. The humour died. 'I have never forgotten. I trained when you weren't watching me. You don't watch me all the time, do you? No, I thought not. One victory for me.'

Auum watched his saviour walk to the dying human warrior. He knelt by the man, moving his hands away from the hilt of Auum's blade. He took the hilt in one hand, twisted it, rammed it hard into the man's body and drew it out slowly, almost reverently. The man slumped to one side.

The wild ula stood up, wiped the blade on the man's clothing and walked to Auum, offering it to him hilt first. Auum took it and nodded his thanks, still unable to frame his question without it sounding horribly sycophantic in his head. The ula stared at him and shrugged.

'Well I think he recognises me. Perhaps the hair needs a little attention.'

He growled and the sound made Auum start. Doubt crept into his mind.

'Actually, I recognise him. I never forget a face. Particularly when the owner is one of the finer students of the art.' In his eyes there was both warmth and wariness. 'You are Auum.'

Auum's legs almost gave way beneath him. He sheathed his blade. He felt a wash of relief.

'Arch Takaar, I am honoured you know me.'

And then cursed himself for his first words.

'Ha!' Takaar clapped his hands together. 'Told you, told you.'

Takaar gripped Auum's shoulders.

'Good. It will be good to have someone else to talk to.'

Auum just caught himself before he asked the obvious question. Instead he smiled.

'The TaiGethen will bless Yniss that you still live,' he said.

Takaar's face hardened. 'I doubt that.'

Again he glanced to one side. He muttered something Auum couldn't catch before spinning on his heel and striding away into the rainforest. Takaar spoke over his shoulder.

'A good question. A very good question and you utter few enough of those. Why are you here, Auum? No one invited you. I detest the unannounced. Not that I have had any visitors these past ten years.'

Takaar stopped and turned.

'Come on, come on, you're here now.'

And off he went again. Auum trotted after him, breasting through the undergrowth, marvelling at how Takaar moved so quickly and left no mark whatever, not even the briefest of prints in the mud underfoot.

'This isn't what I had planned for the day,' said Takaar. 'Very funny. Perhaps you could be quiet for a time. We have a guest, after all. I will not be doing that. At least, not today. So you keep saying.'

Auum kept up easily. After setting off with the skill of the finest TaiGethen, Takaar became erratic in both movement and direction as if he was lost and confused. He muttered and shouted by turn and Auum wondered how he had managed to stalk the mage so effectively. Should anyone else be tracking them closely, their job would be rendered simple.

This was not the Takaar he had hoped to find. Not yet anyway. The question of how he would react when Auum told him the reason for his visit was open to serious debate. Too many of the possibilities were distasteful. Too many of them the elves could not afford. This was not an elf who could possibly unite the threads and restore the harmony.

'Almost there,' called Takaar. 'Come, come to my humble palace.'

He chuckled. Above, Gyal's tears were drying and the sun was edging through the heavy banks of cloud. Auum followed Takaar into his camp and stopped to look at a place that was not the creation of a disturbed mind. A sound mud and thatch hut, a stretched-hide bivouac and what looked to be a peat and stone kiln. Perhaps all was not as bleak as it appeared.

'Such things do I have to show you. A thousand ways to die. A hundred ways to live. All here. Right here under our noses and within the grasp of our fingers.'

Takaar disappeared inside his hut. He was still talking and pinching his index fingers and thumbs together repeatedly to ill.u.s.trate his latest point. Auum followed him in and came up short, staring at the shelves of pots, the stained and stretched hammock, the stinking wood bucket of vomit and the long table covered in further jars plus a scattering of leaves, flowers, barks and stems.

'This isn't a house, it's a workshop,' he breathed then plucked up his courage. 'I am sorry to disturb your solitude, Takaar.'

Takaar wasn't listening. His full attention was taken with a knife and a thin strip of polished wood, carving symbols into its surface.

'A thousand. A thousand ways and-'

He broke off, swung about and marched to the long table. He slapped both hands on it, upsetting a couple of jars and juddering everything else that lay on it.

'That was never my intent. Always it was for research. My legacy. My . . .'

The anger left him and he nodded, his expression sad as he returned to his work.

'That is true. I have never denied it. Indeed, I deserve it. But a failed elf can still do good. Not by way of recompense, just to do good.'

'Takaar,' said Auum.

Takaar's head snapped round, his face full of ire. Only slowly did it clear.