Yet they paused and spoke again, came to another agreement though it was clearly not unanimous.
‘Verrian. That is what we call the element you term… mana. Its combustion yields vydos, an element central to the construction of our weapons, armour and projectiles. Without it, our enemies would roll over us as simply as we roll over you. That is our situation. We fight a war that claims the lives of countless millions. We must be victorious. You will not stand in our way.’
Sol raised his eyebrows. His heart was beating hard in his chest.
‘So you need something we possess. So there is a negotiation to be had here.’
‘No!’ It was the first hard sound any of their voices had made. Sol flinched. ‘We take from the weak; we do not negotiate.’
‘We lie down for no one,’ said Sol.
‘We appeal to your sensitivity as a ruler of men. To die in fear is needless. Die in sleep. Die painlessly. This we can guarantee. But die you must, to provide us with what we need.’
‘I cannot. I will not ask my people to close their eyes and be slaughtered,’ said Sol. ‘You must understand that. We fight to defend our lands. That is our right. Our duty.’
The merest hints of light appeared in the eyes of the Garonin. A transitory tightening of their faces.
‘People come to you. Trust you,’ said one. ‘Your living… and your dead.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We see all that passes through this place.’
‘What?’
But they would not elucidate.
‘You will tell your people to lay down their arms and die with dignity.’
The tone was more strident now.
‘I will do no such thing. I don’t even understand why you want us dead. If it is the mana you want, take it. But leave us alive. We know where you are headed. The Hearts of our colleges are thick with mana. Why must we die for you to take them?’
‘Every soul possesses verrian. We will take what we must.’
‘Then you must fight for it,’ said Sol. ‘ We will not surrender and become extinct to satisfy your desire for simplicity.’
‘Then do it knowing an acquiescent soul holds more verrian than one in torment. That your chosen way of death can help others to live, to win their battles.’
Sol stared at them open-mouthed.
‘You have one fucked-up morality, my enemy.’
‘We will take what we must.’
‘And you will pay for it in your blood every step of the way.’
‘Destruction in agony, death in peace. It is your choice.’
Again the flashing in the eyes, the hardness of tone. But this time Sol was ready for it. He jabbed a finger into the chest of the centre Garonin, feeling great solidity beneath the robe.
‘You have made a huge mistake bringing me here. You reveal your fears and you attempt desperate, ridiculous bargains to cover for them. No deal. No surrender. I repeat: your blood on our lands every step of the way. Unless you guarantee the lives of every man and elf in my world. What is it to be?’
‘We do not need to make bargains with the weak.’
‘Then our business is concluded. And now I will return to my people. Those I love and will protect with every mote of my strength.’
‘No. You will not.’
‘You think you can stop me? Then you underestimate just how quickly I learn and what I understand about this place.’
‘You cannot hope to go against our wishes, human. You have neither the wit nor the means.’
The three of them stared at him and he heard that sound again, water over pebbles. Laughter. Sol’s head cleared and he felt a satisfying coolness in his body. Releasing himself from the chair had been merely the first step. He held his hands in front of him, imagined his old two-handed blade, its weight, its every nick, its pommel and grip. And there it was in his grasp, as real as the breath in his lungs. Sol was moving before the Garonin had registered their surprise. The blade moved easily, as if wielded by his younger self.
Sol punched the blade straight forward, piercing the middle enemy’s stomach. He dragged it clear and swung it up and left, catching the second Garonin’s right shoulder and hurling him from his feet. Sol squared up to the third, in whose hands a weapon now lay. But there was fear in his face and a tremble in his arms. Sol brought his blade back to a cocked position under his chin and buried it in his enemy’s chest.
Sol stood over the man as his blood soaked into the ground, leaving no trace. They locked eyes.
‘Two things. One, I have learned enough to defeat you here. Second, it is rude to laugh.’ He let his blade go and it had disappeared before it hit the ground. He felt terribly tired. ‘And now I will go home.’
Sol pictured Balaia. He pictured The Raven’s Rest and he pictured the empty place beside Diera’s body in their bed.
And the next thing he knew was Diera screaming into his face where he lay.
Sol grabbed her arms and dragged her close to him. She was incoherent, a quaking shuddering through her body. Her face was wild, terrified. He tried to calm her but his own terror was beginning to bite. Delayed, kept under control while he had been gone from Balaia but now given licence.
‘Diera. Stop. Stop. Please.’
Sol was choking up. His throat was tight and the tears were welling in his eyes. Diera’s fists were balled and she was thumping them into his chest. He was still dressed in the bloodstained clothes he had been wearing on the battlefield. Even down to his boots.
‘How can you be here!’ she screamed. ‘How can you just appear like that?’
The dark was complete. It was night in Xetesk. Outside, there was quiet. In The Raven’s Rest peace was shattered. Sol could hear his boys crying, frightened by the explosion of noise from their mother. One of them was already banging on the door to the bedroom.
‘It’s all right, boys,’ said Sol. ‘Go back to bed. Just nightmares.’
‘Of course it’s not bloody all right,’ Diera shouted into his face. ‘Their father has been missing for three days. Dead for all we knew. And then you appear in the blink of a cat’s eyes. They lost their father and I my husband. How can you be here?’
Sol pushed her away, held her at arm’s length.
‘Three days?’
Diera sagged in his arms. The door to their bedroom opened and in the gloom he could make out both Jonas and young Hirad, standing fearful in the frame. Hirad was crying and clutching a small soft toy to his mouth.
‘When did you get back?’ asked Jonas.
‘Just now,’ said Sol quietly. ‘Look, I’ll come to see you in a little while, all right?’
‘Why is mother shouting?’ asked Hirad, mumbling through the toy.
‘I’m sorry, darling,’ said Diera. ‘Your father gave me a shock. It’s nothing. Go back to bed. We’ll see you before you know it.’
The two boys hesitated. Diera pulled her arms from Sol’s grip and went to them, hugging both of them to her.
‘Everything’s all right, I promise.’
‘But my friends say an enemy is coming. That we’ll have to run and that there are dead people everywhere and they are helping the enemy,’ said Jonas.
‘That is a lie,’ said Sol sharply. ‘You tell your friends in the morning that the dead are here to help us. I know they scare you but they mean you no harm. We will keep you safe. Nothing will happen to you. I will not let it.’
‘See?’ said Diera brightly. ‘Your father will protect you. Now run along. We’ll come and tuck you in. Go on now.’
She shooed them away and closed the door, turning an angry, pale face on Sol.
‘Tell me it is going to get better. Explain to me what I do with our children. Make me understand what just happened. This is too much for me, Sol. You know that, don’t you?’
Sol nodded. ‘Just tell me one thing. Did anyone say how far the enemy are from Xetesk right now?’
