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
