The man stumbled back. Auum moved into the half-pace of space and reversed his other blade into the back of the second warrior’s neck. The third turned, belatedly tracking Auum’s movement. Auum swung round. His right fist whipped out, smashing the warrior’s nose. The human brought his blade to ready, blood pouring over his mouth, his eyes betraying his surprise and pain.
For a heartbeat Auum considered letting him be the one to live and carry the story back to his masters.
‘But it should be one who can fly,’ he said.
Auum swayed outside a clumsy strike and calmly slid his blade into the warrior’s chest, then turned from the falling body and retrieved his second blade. He cleaned both on the clothes of the dead and sheathed them. Elyss had finished her three and was moving up the passageway. Auum ran after her, gesturing priests and adepts aside.
‘Stay under cover. Wait for my word that it is safe.’
Auum and Elyss ran for the rear doors, passing chambers, scripture rooms and sleeping cells, most with elves hiding within them. They were still ten yards from the doors when they burst open, a flood of workers, civilians, adepts… of ordinary elves spilling in, climbing over each other to escape the enemy at their backs.
The air chilled and Auum cursed.
‘Clear!’ he yelled. He shoved Elyss hard, sending her tumbling into a contemplation chamber and diving after her. A gale of harrowing cold howled down the passageway. Elven screams were cut off as if a door had been slammed shut against them.
Auum shivered and rolled onto his back. Ice rimed the door of the chamber and lay thick on the floor and ceiling of the passageway. It climbed the walls to create a frozen blue tunnel. Detonations outside shook the temple, where more screams filled the air. Inside the temple, the silence told its own story.
Auum pushed himself to his feet and ran out, slithering on the icebound floor. He dropped to a crouch, scrabbling with hand and foot to make headway towards the doors and the village. Elyss followed more slowly. Ahead of him, the passage was clogged with the bodies of defenceless Ynissul elves frozen in the attitudes of their slaughter. Hands outstretched for help, mouths open in screams of brief agony.
Beyond them, mages stood framed in the doorway. They were casting. Auum tried to increase his pace but the ice on the floor gave him precious little purchase. He snatched a jaqrui from his belt and threw it backhanded. The blade whispered away, thudding into a mage’s legs. He cried out and fell. The three others opened their palms to cast, and Auum commended his soul to Yniss.
A shadow passed across the doors; the castings were never released. A figure whipped in from the left. One mage was decapitated, his head bouncing and sliding across the ice of the temple floor. The head came to rest at Auum’s feet, its eyes staring into his, its final confusion fading away.
Auum spat on the face and lifted his gaze to the doors. The elf who stood there had a wildness about his expression that he would never lose. Nor would he lose the haunted look in his eyes. Swords were dripping blood in his hands, and at his feet human mages were bleeding and dying.
‘You took your time,’ said Auum. ‘Perhaps a little more practice is required.’
The elf ignored him, muttered to himself and knelt at the body of a still-breathing mage.
‘You will take the tale of your failure to your masters,’ he said. ‘But only after you have told me what I desire to know.’
Auum shook his head and began to walk towards the door. He felt Elyss come to his side. Together, they moved past the elf and into the burning village.
‘Is that…?’ asked Elyss.
‘Yes,’ said Auum. ‘It is Takaar. Or what’s left of him.’
Auum led Elyss into the fresh rainfall to witness the carnage the human magic had created.
Chapter 2
The journey from Silent Priest to ClawBound is short in distance but infinite in solace for the soul. A ClawBound will always remember. That is the price he must pay for the joy of genuine union with the most glorious of Tual’s creatures.
From ClawBound and Silent, by Lysael, High Priest of Yniss
Auum indulged in a moment of pride. His TaiGethen students had reacted like veterans. They had killed without error and saved the lives of dozens of innocents. They moved through the village now, readying the dead for removal to the Hallows of Reclamation. They offered comfort to the injured and grieving and administered balms to wounds where they could.
Fires still burned in a few houses. The magical flame was difficult to extinguish but with Gyal’s tears falling they would spread no further. Auum walked back into the temple. The ice had melted quickly, leaving the stones wet and slick. Every chamber held priests at prayer and he could hear plainsong coming from within the dome. It was a dirge for the dead and a chant for the vengeance of Shorth to be visited upon the souls of the enemy.
Back in the dome, Auum walked around the pool and past the priests and adepts kneeling at its edges to sing. A lone figure was standing at the burned, sundered doors of the temple. Auum joined her and followed her gaze as it travelled over the bloodstained apron, still littered with the bodies of human mages.
‘I am sorry we were not here to save more of your people, Onelle,’ said Auum.
Onelle gave a dry, mirthless laugh and placed a hand on Auum’s arm.
‘Without you, many more would be dead and the plight of all elves would be that much worse.’
Auum looked at Onelle and saw the haunting knowledge in her eyes. She was an Ynissul who had suffered so much and in whom so much faith and trust was placed. She was the first and most advanced practitioner of the Il- Aryn, One Earth, the name given to the fledgling elvish magic. It had aged even her and she was Ynissul, immortal. Grey dominated her hair, which had thinned, giving her a taut and severe look when she brushed it back from her face.
Onelle’s face was deeply lined and her eyes, still green and rich with the health of her soul, were edged with darkness by the weight of a task which kept her from proper rest. But her mind was strong and her desire to learn and to impart that learning had grown in the hundred and fifty years since her escape from Ysundeneth and the awakening of the power within her.
‘How many did we lose?’ asked Auum.
Onelle took a shuddering breath. ‘We have counted fourteen adepts. More are gravely wounded. I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that our orientation class is in the field. Those twenty-eight were saved by their absence.’
Onelle let her head drop. Auum knew she was crying but he needed to know more.
‘What is left of the development and practitioner classes?’
Onelle shook her head. ‘Gone. And worse, we knew this would happen.’
‘What?’
‘We knew they would find us if we tested our powers. They can smell the use of the Il-Aryn. They can track it like a panther tracks a deer in the depths of night. We’d been so careful until now.’
‘You can’t blame yourself. You have no choice but to test.’
Onelle stared up at Auum and the smile she forced through her tears broke his heart. ‘And we found ourselves so terribly wanting, didn’t we?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘We were trying to generate a shield against magical attack,’ said Onelle. ‘I was so confident. We had worked so hard. And then they came and cast a single spell and our shield crumbled. They all died.’
‘Who?’ asked Auum.
‘The practitioner class. All of them but me. Along with all of the development class, who were watching and learning and were caught in the blast. So much work, so much time and it was all for nothing. All wasted. I’m so sorry.’
‘No effort you make is ever wasted,’ said Auum, though a dead weight sat in his chest at her words. ‘We can rebuild.’
‘Those still trapped in Ysundeneth don’t have the time. We all know that.’
