courage. People like you most of all.’
Sol reached out to touch her but she drew away.
‘Your words mean nothing to me.’
‘Will you hear me?’ asked Ilkar.
‘You even speak with his voice,’ said the woman, tears falling down her cheeks. ‘He was no virtuous lad but he doesn’t deserve this, no one does.’
‘No, he doesn’t. But right now his soul is lost and that is far, far worse. Those of us returned, most of us, seek only to find a new resting place where we, and those like your poor son, can be at peace. Grieve for his soul but not for his body. The body is merely the vessel that your son used for his time alive. And if you can, rest easier knowing that his body, young, fit and wiry, is used now in an effort to save not just his soul, but yours too, everyone’s.
‘I don’t know if that makes sense but I promise you I will take care of this body as if it were my own and will make every effort to leave it unsullied.’
‘But where will that be?’ asked the woman. ‘Some distant battlefield? Some lonely corner of Balaia where I will never find him, never have the sight of him to close my mind on his life? What good is that to me?’
She turned back to Sol.
‘This has to end, Sol of Balaia. I am but one of many who hurt this way and there is no comfort for us. We don’t want the dead in the bodies of our loved ones. We want them gone. Leave us to fight our own battles. We do not need them. And we do not need you if you offer them sanctuary.’
Sol sagged visibly. ‘My lady, all I want is to help you live through what is to come. You must try and understand where we find ourselves. Find it in your heart to trust me and the decisions that I make.’
But the woman shook her head. ‘You are the mouthpiece of every ordinary Balaian, yet you are too close to the college, too close to the barons and too close to the elves. I have spoken but you have not listened. What more do we have to talk about?’
She turned away and was lost in the shadows. Angry faces glared at Sol, Ilkar and Hirad but no one said anything more. Ilkar put a hand on Sol’s shoulder and Balaia’s king turned an unhappy face to him.
‘I’m failing them,’ he said.
‘No, you’re not,’ said Ilkar. ‘They just have yet to see what we do.’
‘I feel like a fraud,’ said Sol.
‘I’m the fraud. Standing here in her son’s body. I feel for her, I really do. But what choice do we have?’
‘Either to stand here and yak about it, or get inside and yak about it over a goblet of wine.’
Sol managed a smile. ‘Well put, Hirad. Well put indeed. Come on. I’ve got some good stuff uncorked. Needs drinking with those I love.’
The evacuation fleet came in a night early. Throughout that night, quiet knocking on doors and silent escorting to the docks to take ship had worked well. Yet it was a slow process and with the morning came the inevitable anger and with it panic. Word spread quickly through those not destined to leave and tensions around the dock soared.
Ysundeneth was all but surrounded by flame and the clattering of the Garonin’s vydospheres. Beyond the borders of the city, the rainforest was part inferno, part charred dustscape. Out in the harbour, the forest of sails was slowly thinning out. The deep-water berths were full and every small craft had been pressed into service to ferry elves out to their only means of escape.
Forty thousand had come to hear the words uttered at the Caeyin, and all who desired it were offered passage and issued with papers. Yet twice that number now clogged the approaches to the docks or muddied the waters of the harbour in their own little boats, begging for passage. Ten thousand would be lucky. Thirty thousand would either take their chances in small craft or be abandoned to die.
Rebraal had said three hundred ships were guaranteed, and that was a number that would have been beyond imagining only ten years before. Yet, as Auum had predicted, it was nowhere near enough. Not even for the population of Ysundeneth alone, far less those who had journeyed from the rainforest.
Many thousands still waited to take ship and their path was being hampered by their less fortunate brothers and sisters. Standing in the harbour flag tower, Auum looked down on the growing and inevitable disaster. However much they had planned, it would still have come to this eventually. There had simply not been enough time to counter every threat. The Garonin, for all their ponderous advance, had left nowhere else to run.
Down on the harbour apron Al-Arynaar warriors were under serious pressure trying to keep the crowds from storming the dockside. So far they had held the approaches while administrators searched for those holding transit papers. There had been scuffles and little else to this point but that would not continue.
‘How long before we deploy mages?’
Auum turned to Rebraal. Ilkar’s brother looked in little better shape than his long-dead sibling would have had he been dragged from the grave to stand here.
‘How long since you’ve slept or eaten?’
‘Long enough. But once we’re away, I have plenty of time to rest, do I not?’ Rebraal sighed. ‘Do you feel guilty? Look at all those we are consigning to their deaths.’
‘We have to focus on who we can save, not who we cannot,’ said Auum, the nausea clogging his throat. ‘One day we can weep. But it is not today.’
A surge of noise to their left signified the first concerted attempt to break through the Al-Arynaar. Forty warriors with mages behind held the line, just.
‘We need to pre-empt,’ said Rebraal.
‘Agreed,’ said Auum. ‘But go carefully. Tint the walls. These people have enough pain to come. Best we do not add to it ourselves.’
Rebraal signalled the warning flag to be hoisted. Auum watched the black-cross-on-yellow standard climb the flagpole.
‘It’s going to get ugly,’ said Rebraal.
‘I know. Time we made ourselves known down there.’
Auum paused to watch the reaction. A short time after the flag was unfurled defensive castings were deployed on all four approaches to the harbour. Essentially walls of mana, the spells raised swirling yellow barriers in front of the increasingly desperate crowds, leaving small gaps to admit those with papers.
The howls intensified; simmering anger turned to spitting fury. Missiles were hurled at the walls, where they stuck before sliding harmlessly to the ground. Directly opposite the tower, the crowd had pulled back, leaving a couple of paces gap before the wall.
Auum frowned.
‘Is-?’ began Rebraal.
The crowd surged forward, crashing hard against the barrier. Auum saw the casting mages stagger under the weight. Their casting flickered then steadied. Auum was on the move.
‘Someone’s orchestrating that,’ he said. ‘Tai, we move.’
Ghaal and Miirt ran ahead, down the two flights of steps and out onto the harbour side, heading directly for the trouble. The apron was crowded, noisy and deeply unhappy. Crying children led by their parents. Angry shouts for speed and order. Al-Arynaar shepherding elves to their boats or directly aboard the docked ships. Confusion was rife. It was ever going to be this way.
Auum saw the elven wave roll back again. Rebraal was shouting for more mage support. The Al-Arynaar line stood back a pace and readied themselves. One or two refugees were still squeezing through the opening on production of papers. Many would never make it because their fellows had lost their courage.
‘But can you blame them?’ said Auum as they ran.
‘I cannot,’ said Miirt. ‘What must we do?’
‘Protect the chosen,’ said Auum. ‘That is Yniss’s task for us this day.’
He felt both his Tai pause in their strides before nodding and eating up the last yards to stand in front of their Al-Arynaar comrades. Auum stood dead centre of the defence. Through the yellow tint he could see all he needed: a line of elves about ten rows back, clapping in time, generating noise, order and anger. The crowd ran against the wall again. The casting shivered violently. One mage cried out and crumpled. The other three still held.
‘What’s happening?’ hissed Auum. ‘Why is this casting so weak?’
Ghaal nodded his head towards the rising fires and the burgeoning heat closing in on the city. ‘Garonin. They
