Pelyn gripped his hands and hauled her head from the ground. Blood flowed from her mouth and she coughed violently, spraying his face with a red mist.
‘Always… believed in… you,’ she said and fell back, her chest heaving and bubbles forming on her lips.
Auum nodded. He leaned over her and kissed her forehead and her eyes.
‘Hero of Hausolis. Hero of Ysundeneth. Hero of Katura. Sleep. Your work is done. Yniss takes you for other tasks beyond death.’
Pelyn was dead. Auum smiled and rose back to his feet.
‘Stretcher!’ he called. ‘Take Pelyn to the temple of Tual. See that she is comfortable.’
Auum looked to his people. The Katurans, with Ulysan in their midst, were driving the humans back across the marketplace. Thrynn and Ataan were fighting their way towards Ulysan through the tattered group of men. The ClawBound had re-entered the fray from the right and soldiers were scattering from their path.
Auum could see through the thinning smoke, down a street that led towards the eastern walls, that the enemy had been broken there too and was running with Katurans slaughtering any they caught. Auum strode through the marketplace. Here and there he found a human still breathing and sent them to the eternal torment of Shorth.
He stopped when he reached Jeral’s head and spat on it.
‘This is our forest. No man will ever conquer the elves.’
Chapter 38
Ystormun believes my spirit needs to evolve to enjoy the extraordinary pain I experience with every waking moment. That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the demons, isn’t it? Idiot.
Reminiscences of an Old Soldier, by Garan, sword master of Ysundeneth (retired)
Don’t let the whining get to you, will you? It’s natural for some to complain even though you’ve saved them from certain death and are offering them power beyond their most fevered imaginings.
Takaar increased his pace towards the river and the boats ready to take the slowest and neediest back to Loshaaren. There he would leave his new recruits with their teachers while he concluded his business in Ysundeneth with the only human worthy of life. It was a paradox of the cruellest nature, given his final task there.
There were almost two hundred Il-Aryn-in-waiting: Gyalans, Ixii, Orrans and Cefans. A good number, and a challenging task for the Ynissul who would be trying to teach them under his and Onelle’s guiding hands. But getting them to Loshaaren was proving a trial in itself.
Indeed. They’re utterly helpless, aren’t they? Did you see even the Senserii’s expressions flicker? Just think what would happen if they deserted you. Who would hunt, gather and protect then?
Takaar scratched his chin, muttering. ‘Soon to the river, soon to quick and calm travel. Let’s not dally here or worry there. Can’t help, only hinder and we don’t need any more of that, now do we?’
‘Takaar? Takaar!’
Drech, it was always Drech. He was the self-appointed speaker for every one of the elves traipsing moodily through the glory of the forest, whose spirits Takaar seemed unable to lift. He heard the young Ynissul’s footsteps through the easy undergrowth like thunderclaps in the heavens.
Turn and smile.
Takaar stopped and turned. He looked past Drech to the elves behind him, who had stopped. Again.
‘What is it?’
What, no smile?
Takaar muttered under his breath. Drech raised his eyebrows and Takaar waved for him to speak.
‘Many of your students are complaining of fatigue. There is much desire to rest until morning.’
Takaar looked up. The afternoon was just past its midpoint. There were four more hours of good walking left in the day.
‘What do you say?’ asked Drech.
Hmm. Tough one.
‘Not tough at all. I’ll tell you what I say.’
Takaar pushed past Drech and strode back down the deer trail. He scratched at his left arm where a fearsome itch had sprung into life. Blind, all of them, and stupid too. Did they really think-
‘-that this is some sort of game, and you can decide to sit it out when your boots start to rub?’
The increasingly unhappy group was gathered among the trees surrounding a small pool where rainwater ran off the rock a few feet above. The delineation between them was clear. Those who had been forced to march to the palm of Yniss all those years ago and then build a city from nothing were on their feet, but they were few. Those who had been born and lived their lives within Katura’s questionable security were seated. There were the majority, with the greatest potential.
‘Do you think we are playing track and chase?’
Barely one of them would look at him. Some were still arriving and others sat with their backs to him. Takaar scratched harder at his arm through his shirt, where the itch was spreading. He jutted his chin in the direction of Katura.
‘I snatched you from death at the hands of man. The TaiGethen are fighting there right now, giving you the time to escape. Is this how you choose to repay their sacrifice?’ Takaar walked among them. ‘Perhaps I was wrong to save you. Perhaps you are too weak to become Il-Aryn.’
Takaar dragged up the sleeve of his shirt and looked at the raw patch. He scratched harder, his nails raking at his skin.
‘I do not have time for a stroll through the woods. I have work to do. There are things I must do and places I must go. You must not rest here. You may not. Dammit.’
Takaar stared at his arm again, seeing something move beneath the skin. He scraped harder, drawing blood. He hissed through his teeth.
‘See? See? The reach of the human evil is long indeed. They send insects to crawl through my skin and steal the Il-Aryn from me. I will not let that happen. Not to me, or the elves are finished. All of us!’
Oh, wonderful. Your powers of motivation are undimmed.
Takaar stared once more at his bloodied forearm and fingers. Nothing moved there now.
As if anything ever had.
‘Drech, Gilderon, to me.’
Takaar walked to the rainwater pool. Drech and the speaker of the Senserii joined him. He spoke loud enough for all to hear him.
‘You know the way to the river and you know the safest paths to Loshaaren,’ he said to Gilderon. ‘Use the boats well. Make haste. Guard our people. They are weak and they must be made strong. Do not listen to complaints or excuses. Any who cannot keep up must be left where they fall.’
Takaar locked his gaze with Drech’s.
‘I will not lose any more time and you will not give succour to the feeble. I travel to Ysundeneth because I owe a debt to a human who is greater than all of those sitting and whining at my feet. Find Onelle and begin your studies to control the Il-Aryn. I will return as soon as I am able.’
Drech’s face darkened. ‘I will not leave any of these elves to die in the rainforest.’
‘Then stay with them. It is your choice. Gilderon, you understand. You will lead.’
Gilderon inclined his head. ‘Yes, my Arch Takaar. Three will run with you.’
‘You can’t spare them.’ Takaar itched again. ‘I have to go. They are seeking me.’
Without another glance at the elves he had beguiled into travelling to an uncertain future in the depths of the forest, Takaar turned and ran into the rainforest. It was ten days to Ysundeneth. He looked down at his arm. Tea tree oil would fix it and the warmth of the Il-Aryn would bind it.
‘I’m coming, my friend. You will not die alone.’
Rain beat down on Katura. The falls swelled and the cascades sang in victory. Blood washed off the few remaining cobbles and into the drainage channels running along most of the streets. It pooled, diluted, in the
