Elves_ Once Walked with Gods Part 25

'What are you doing?'

'Readying to leave,' said Auum.

'Don't be in such a rush.'

'But-'

'There is food to eat and no elf should set about a task with an empty stomach. No elf should decide to eat on the move when there is comfort to be had. Sit. We shall eat. And then I shall show you the best way to pack our meat, the raw and the cooked, to keep it at its best. Then we shall leave.'

Auum shrugged his shoulders, blew out his cheeks and sat down.

Chapter 24.

There is no easier enemy than the intransigent general on indefensible ground.

The clothes were too big and made of a cloth far finer than Pelyn had ever worn. They were for an ula too and had s.p.a.ce in all the wrong places. There was no armour. She slung her cloak about her shoulders and grimaced at the ruin that had been made of it. At least the sword on her hip was sharp - Tulan's second blade, and he always kept his edges keen.

'What do we do?' asked Ephran.

He was staring out of the upstairs window at the fires that completely encircled the harbour. Salt and Sail Maker were ablaze street by street. The Park of Tual was in the path of the human advance. Already, hundreds of Cefans and Orrans had fled their ghetto, not caring that they were running into enemy territory. Most had been chased off, away towards the Glade, to the Gardaryn and the Chambers quarter.

The more persistent, those urging the Tualis to flee before it was too late, were beaten. Worse, some had been strung up against trees in the old Tuali ritual execution of tua-mossa. Sliced and spit, was the common slang. Pelyn had watched desperate elves pleading to be heard. The only response was evisceration followed by a spear driven up through the body.

'Still glad you deserted the Al-Arynaar, my brothers?' asked Pelyn.

Both had the decency to remain silent.

There was no organisation. Just this pointless, hideous and brutal defence of small pockets of Ysundeneth by the disparate threads. Llyron and Sildaan had been relying on just that. The Tualis still couldn't see what was coming, though every fire, every casting must have screamed at them to run. Their misplaced belief in the traitor Helias was about to cost them very dear. They were waiting for orders but hadn't worked out that when he came back he'd be bringing hundreds of men with him.

'We have to find what's left of the Al-Arynaar. But I've got business to attend to on the way to the barracks, if there's anything left of it.'

'We're with you,' said Tulan.

'Forgive me if I don't turn my back on you just yet.'

'We had to protect our own,' said Ephran quietly.

'Dammit, that's just what you haven't done, isn't it?' Pelyn stalked towards him. 'We all had our doubts but those of us with any strength knew that the only thing, the only thing that mattered was preservation of the harmony. Look what you've done. You've turned Tualis into ravening animals prepared to murder those they prayed with two days ago. And I have no doubt that elsewhere in this city Tualis are suffering the same fate. Congratulations on sticking a sword in the gut of the elven race.'

The two of them were staring at her with the pained expression of a wronged child.

'What? You thought I'd fall over myself to bring you back to the bosom of the Al-Arynaar? Let's get something straight so we don't misunderstand each other out there on the burning streets. You two are deserters. The fact you saved my life means you have enough sense and decency to know you've made a big mistake. But I can't trust you like brothers, can I? I can't simply forget what you did. Nor what other deserters have done. So it's up to you. Stand with me and try to win this fight and we'll see where we are when it's done. Or run into the rainforest now and throw yourselves on the mercy of Tual's denizens, the Silent and the TaiGethen.'

Tulan nodded. 'I don't think we'll be running.'

Pelyn smiled. 'Good. I thought not. Now let's go. Tell me where the Apposans have made their stand. I'm guessing south side. Probably at the Grans or maybe Old Millers.'

'Creatures of habit,' said Tulan. 'Why them?'

'Methian was podded and given to them.'

Tulan hissed in a breath. 'Pelyn . . .'

'I know. But I have to try.'

'We'll go out the back. Avoid the Tuali mob.'

'We do need them,' said Pelyn. 'Whoever survives. It doesn't matter what they would have done to me. Not for now.'

Tulan nodded. 'But first things first, right?'

'Right. And put on your cloaks, though Yniss knows you don't deserve to wear them. I don't want us looking like a Tuali s.n.a.t.c.h squad or whatever the h.e.l.l you've been playing at.'

They trotted down the stairs and out of a rear door, across a small private garden and through a back gate into a narrow alley. Tulan led. Ephran followed. Pelyn kept them both where she could see them. The sun was rising and hot but the sky was burnished with the foul colours of human magical fire mixed with the yellow of burning wood. The stench of ash was heavy in the air.

Away from the immediate fighting, the city was strangely silent. The streets were deserted. Thread mobs were keeping their heads down. The majority, the shocked civilians wanting no part of it, would be in their homes - those that still had them. Or hiding wherever their thread was strongest, forced to seek refuge among those they despised for their actions.

Pelyn sighed as she ran. It was so hard to see how there could be any resolution to this that would hold. You could glue a smashed pot back together but the cracks would always be visible, the pieces always p.r.o.ne to fall apart.

The Grans was a densely populated area, favourite of forest workers and home to a warren of houses and winding streets as well as logging yards and a few construction businesses. The Apposans, followers of the oldest earth G.o.d, had always been the largest-represented thread there and had a long history of excellence in farming the forest and working the wood.

But they were an aggressive thread, historically. Intolerant. They were also the shortest-lived, barring the Gyalans, with whom they had fought across the millennia over triviality after triviality. Coming out of a side street onto Yanner's Approach, which led into the Grans, Tulan slowed.

'They were in Orsan's Yard last night, most of them,' he said, pointing away over pitched roofs to where a thick column of smoke rose. 'They may not be there now of course.'

'Why not?' asked Pelyn.

'We raided there last night, early on,' said Ephran. 'Retaliation for an attack earlier in the day near the Gardaryn.'

'Terrific,' said Pelyn. 'So they'll be particularly welcoming this morning.'

Tulan moved quickly away into the Grans. Elves were in evidence here. Scuttling about, collecting water. Some children even played. Others made play of a normal life, but those that didn't stop and stare at the cloaks were more concerned with the pall of smoke hanging over the docks. Surely some in the thread knew what was coming.

Towards Orsan's Yard, Tulan headed off the main avenue and wove deep into the warren. The yard fence stood tall beyond the end of the last row of houses and across a small patch of open ground where children were playing or watching the fires. There was a burst of laughter from within. It was genuine and heartfelt, accompanied by a smattering of applause and shouts of 'Another.' Pelyn drew up, surprised.

'You'd think storytelling would be the least of their desires right now,' she said.

They crossed the open ground and hugged the fence around to the right towards the gate. There was a good deal of traffic in and out and the gate was guarded by blade carriers. They were spotted quickly.

'Al-Arynaar. You are not welcome here,' said a guard, a short Apposan with thickly muscled forearms and powerful fists gripping axe and sword.

Pelyn walked in front of the brothers now. She hitched her cloak back to reveal her sword but did not make a move to touch it.

'You have one of my people. I've come to get him back. I want no fight with you. The Apposans are my friends.'

The guard beckoned to two others, both powerful, stocky ulas, and sauntered towards her. He spat to the side.

'Tuali? And you don't want a fight? Should have told that to your brothers and sisters last night. We've eight dead and twenty injured. Still. Only three of you this time.'

He hefted his blades and moved up. Tulan and Ephran moved to her flanks. She made a calming gesture and walked a pace ahead of them.

'Your fight is not with the Al-Arynaar,' she said.

'Wrong,' said the Apposan.

He ran the last couple of paces and swept both his blades out to in, chopping towards her neck. Pelyn stepped inside the strikes, blocked both his arms with hers, and straight-kicked with her left leg into his gut. The Apposan doubled over. Pelyn smacked the heel of her palm into his forehead as he came up, knocking him onto his back. She dropped to his side, her sword from her scabbard and at his throat.

'I have had a very bad night,' she said. 'I am tired and my temper is short. Give me Methian. Alive.'

The Apposan's hands were off his weapons and in front of his face, palms out to her, pleading. Tulan and Ephran were in front of the other two guards. All other action had stopped. Children stared, their games forgotten. Pelyn bounced to her feet and held a hand out to him.

'I am not your enemy.'

After a pause, the guard took her hand and allowed himself to be pulled upright.

'Methian?' he said, almost bleeding grat.i.tude. 'He's inside. He's very much alive, I promise you.'

'Good. Then lead on.'

Pelyn tried and failed to hide her relief. The guard, with Pelyn uncomfortably close to him, led them inside the yard. It was busy. A big central fire was burning and various pots and trays hung on tripods or on Y-staves over the embers at its edge. Ula and iad were busy making spears and crude arrows.

With Tulan and Ephran walking with the other two gate guards, the small party approached a ring of around forty Apposans, standing and seated, listening to a single voice. Their arrival brought an abrupt end to the story. Faces turned, weapons were drawn and the ring opened.

There sat Methian on a log with his cloak for a cushion and a steaming mug in his hand. He wore leather trousers, a thick wool shirt and a short leather coat. Tree farmer's clothing. He was barefoot, but a pair of battered boots stood next to the log on which he sat.

Pelyn smiled and shook her head.

'They were supposed to murder you,' she said.

'Ah, but Llyron doesn't know as much as she thinks she does. Three of my daughters partnered Apposans. One of my grand-children made me this infusion. Guarana and clove. Lovely, it is.'

'Only you could be that lucky,' said Pelyn. 'You could have told me last night.'

'Shorth has ears everywhere,' said Methian.

Around them the Apposans were relaxing. Methian helped them out.

'My friends, this is Pelyn, Arch of the Al-Arynaar and defender of us all from ourselves. And these are Tulan and Ephran.' Methian stared at them but chose to say nothing more. 'Lower your weapons, please. This is cause for celebration. What happened to you, by the way? The Tuali weren't there or something? Or did you escape by hopping very quickly?'

The Apposans laughed. Weapons were lowered. Pelyn sheathed her sword. The gate guard pushed past her and marched back towards his post.

'They have other things on their minds right now,' she said. 'And anyway, unlooked-for help came my way.' Pelyn raised her eyebrows.

Methian nodded. 'Nice clothes,' he said.

'You too. What have you told them?'

'The truth. We know men are coming. The Apposans are heading into the forest.'

'Good,' said Pelyn. 'Who's in charge?'

'I am, for what it's worth. I am Boltha. '

An old ula stepped forward. His face was a ma.s.s of wrinkles and his eyes sagged along with the tips of his large ears. His hair was thick and grey except at the crown, where it was thinning. Pelyn had seen him around the city. He was a financier or a banker, she thought. He probably owned half the yards here.

'I'm honoured to meet you,' she said. 'Everything Methian will have told you is true. Men are rampaging through the city and are in the pay of Llyron and Aryndeneth priests. They'll pick this city apart bit by bit. Stay in the forest. Don't be tempted back until I or the TaiGethen come for you. You're heading to Katura Falls?'

Boltha shook his head. 'Not so far as that. We aren't running; we're waiting on opportunity, if you see what I mean. We'll hole up at the Olbeck Rise.'

'Good. And can we call upon you if we need to?'

Boltha smiled. 'An axe can fell a man easier than a tree.'

'Appos and Yniss protect you. I won't forget this.' Pelyn turned back to Methian. 'Jakyn.'

Methian nodded. 'He'll be fine. He's smart and the Gyalans are less embittered than Llyron believes.'

'We need him.'

'I know where they'll be,' said Methian.

He stooped to put on his boots.

[image]

But Jakyn wasn't fine.

The entrance to the museum of Hausolis was characterised by an ornate wooden arch, under which a stone footpath ran to the wide stairs that led up to the doors of the building built in the likeness of the keep of Tul-Kenerit. The Gyalans had chosen it as their base, standing as it did in the heart of their district.

Jakyn was bound to the arch by his arms. Above him hung crossed flags depicting rainfall on upturned palms. Jakyn's naked body glistened with his blood. Gyalan guards stood either side of him, paying him no heed. But Jakyn was long past begging if indeed he ever had. Pelyn could see the method of his torture and murder.

Cuts. Hundreds of them. Covering every part of his body. From mere scratches to deep gashes. His nose had been cut off, as had both of his ears. His lips had been slit along their lengths. He had been castrated. His nipples and eyelids had been removed. Every humiliation had been visited upon his body. His eyes being put out would have been the last abuse.

The Gyalan way. Or it had been. As they approached, Methian walked ahead. He strode up to the two guards.

'Welcome, brother,' said one. 'Though I can't extend the same greeting to your others.'

'That won't be necessary,' said Methian. 'A true ceremonial klosil. Proud of it, are you?'