credit. The TaiGethen will be eliminated. No elf, however quick, is immune to magic. And I am very, very good at magic.’
‘I merely wanted to warn you that they will come for you,’ said Sildaan.
‘Then let them come,’ snapped Ystormun. ‘And let them burn. Enough. Why am I wasting my breath talking to you? Now then, Helias, isn’t it?’
‘My lord Ystormun,’ said Helias. ‘What is your wish?’
Hithuur shook his head. ‘Snake,’ he whispered.
‘Your proposals have merit and we will discuss them at greater length. The fewer the moments I must remain here, the better my mood will be. But there are more pressing matters. Tell me, Helias, which of your… threads, is it? Threads, yes. Which of your threads are of use to me and which are not?’
‘I beg your pardon, my lord?’ asked Helias.
‘It is a simple process,’ said Ystormun.
Outside in the corridor, Hithuur felt a slick of cold sweat over his body.
‘I don’t-’ began Llyron.
‘I am addressing another,’ said Ystormun. ‘Be seated. One by one, Helias. Let’s begin with the, ummm, Ynissul, they call themselves. Priests and warriors, I understand. What about the rest? Do they work? Can they create wealth and produce resources for Balaia? For me?’
There was a silence. Helias weighing up his words. Hithuur prayed he spoke wisely. He did not.
‘They are traditionally the ruling class. Most are business owners. Employers. Not labourers. A very strong priesthood and warrior ethic.’
‘See? Easy,’ said Ystormun, his voice laden with judgement. ‘There is a new ruling class. And I am at its head. The Ynissul are superfluous, barring their priests. Worse, they provide bodies for the TaiGethen order. It seems to me their existence causes more trouble than it solves. Garan. Eliminate them.’
‘You cannot do that!’ stormed Llyron.
There was the sound of a hand slapping a face.
‘You will discover, Ynissul, that I can do whatever I choose.’
Sildaan snorted. ‘You don’t even know where they are.’
‘Wrong again,’ said Ystormun. ‘How stupid you truly are. Moving on. There’s a long list of threads, isn’t there? So let’s get down to business. Who lives and who dies?’
Outside, Hithuur fought down a rising panic.
‘What have I done?’ he whispered.
He listened further and his soul cried.
Chapter 34
A warrior with a clear mind lives longer than one remembering the glories of yesterday. Over the course of a day they emerged from the deep shadow of the canopy and into the dappled sunlight that fell on the staging camp when the rain clouds parted. The Ynissul shouted welcome and broke into spontaneous applause that clearly unsettled the TaiGethen and Silent, who were wholly unused to anything beyond the solitude of the rainforest.
Katyett stood at the edge of the covered area, where her makeshift command post was set up, and prayed with each cell, kissing eyes and lips, kneeling in silence and blessing Yniss for the meeting. Her heart swelled at sight of them. Tall, graceful Ynissul, swords across their backs, light leathers and shirts of green and brown, soft boots, close-cropped or shaven heads and camouflaged faces.
She knew each TaiGethen by name, each cell leader by touch and scent too. Out in the forest they had left their work, leaving the sanctity of the canopy vulnerable to attack. But they were here to stop the rape of their land by a plague of men, and all accepted this new task from Yniss with stoicism and determination.
There was little talk beyond the words of welcome and the low voices of those gladdened to see brothers and sisters after long periods separated by the vastness of the forest. Katyett felt the warmth of the gathering and the sadness of its inadequacy. In the finer days of Hausolis three thousand and more TaiGethen had swelled the order. Now, if everybody not assumed lost or known to have fallen attended the muster, eighty-one, making up twenty- seven cells, would stand here. And out there somewhere were twenty of the Silent with their bodyguards.
Still, there was formidable skill and experience among those standing uncomfortably under the glare of the Ynissul civilians’ concerted gaze. Quillar, Thrynn, Acclan, Oryaal, Illast, Kerryn, Dravyn, Corsaar, Estok. All veterans of the war against the Garonin. Tai cell leaders she would trust with her life.
With the muster past sixty, making twenty full TaiGethen cells, the first of the Silent Priests entered the camp with his TaiGethen bodyguard. The Ynissul packing the camp stared in mute respect. None would have ever seen a Silent, the arm of the priesthood that never entered a city, never left the canopy. Face and body painted white, he wore just a loincloth and had bare feet and sharpened teeth and nails. Frightening to the young, awe-inspiring to the adult.
It was Sikaant with Ulysan. Sikaant moved as if he was gliding. Knots of Ynissul parted like the grass before him as he made his way to Katyett. She came forward to meet him. Sikaant laid a hand on either cheek and drew her head forward, kissing her brow and the lids of her eyes.
‘We are blessed by your presence, Priest Sikaant.’
Sikaant nodded. Katyett met his gaze and shuddered.
‘What have you seen?’ she asked.
‘Too much,’ he said. ‘Prayer.’
Every TaiGethen knelt, one hand to the earth, one crabbed towards the sky. The Ynissul followed their lead. Silence swept the camp. Sikaant’s voice, broken and rough, echoed through the trees and from the walls of the dormitories.
‘Shorth embraces our souls. Evil walks the forest. With your blessing, Yniss, we will destroy it. Guide our hands, smooth our path. Prepare us. Sikaant asks this.’
‘Thank you, Sikaant. Any word on the rest of the Silent?’
Sikaant shook his head.
‘Few will come,’ said Ulysan, a young TaiGethen, reserved and deadly. ‘You know what happened at Aryndeneth?’
Katyett nodded. ‘Priest Serrin has been here.’
‘Priest Sikaant was there when the temple was attacked.’
Katyett sighed and offered her hands to Sikaant. The Silent Priest took them.
‘Then you’ve seen what we have. I’m sorry.’
‘Our temple is defiled,’ he said.
‘Yes, and we will scour it. I promise you that.’ Katyett turned back to Ulysan. ‘Tell me, what else have you seen as you travelled here?’
Ulysan wiped a hand over his chin, smearing his camouflage. ‘Stories have spread. Trust in the TaiGethen and the Silent has gone. Most won’t talk to us. Some wouldn’t even let us sit at their fires. There is much to do to restore the forest to balance.’
Katyett turned to her warriors. ‘The forest is failing. But before we restore it, we must sweep away the disease that besets our capital city. Cascarg Ynissul and men from the north. The betrayal goes to the highest level of the priesthood and government of our land. To Llyron and Helias. We can trust only ourselves and the Silent. But we must be careful. The men have brought with them a power that we cannot defend against. I have seen it. Sikaant has seen it. It is more deadly than the blade of a TaiGethen.’
Katyett held up a hand to still the murmurs.
‘And there is one thing more. Priest Serrin and Auum are searching for Takaar. If he is alive, he is coming.’ ‘No, no, no, no.’
Auum stopped again. Takaar was crouching, leaning his head against a tree wrapped in strangler vine. The closer they had come to the staging camp, the more Takaar had drawn into himself. His other voice spoke to him with increasing frequency and increasing authority. Doubt reigned.
‘If I step up there, I will be cast down. Stoned. Murdered. I don’t care what you say. I am what you say I am.
