thicket of black ink thorns that now entwined his right arm, and when Emuel saw its baleful gaze, he was certain that the monster would have launched itself at him had it not been imprisoned by his flesh.
While the song had a marked effect on the eunuch, on the dwarves it was more profound.
They had begun fighting — not against the elves, but amongst themselves.
Emuel saw a female dwarf throttling a male. She knocked him cold before hoisting a cannon ball high over his head and letting go. The dwarf’s skull shattered, driven into the deck beneath him by the impact of the heavy iron sphere. Elsewhere, former comrades were pitted against each other — all military training forsaken as they sought the quickest kill, no matter how messy or brutal the means. Decks were soon running with blood, the bodies piling up swiftly on the planks — survivor turning on survivor until the last dwarf standing, seeing that there was none left to fight, turned his weapon on himself and took his own life. Even in death, however, the dwarves found no peace, for from the throats of the corpses came the song that had destroyed them, its dreadful low cadence a funeral dirge that chilled Emuel’s blood.
He looked to his companions to gauge their reactions to what had just taken place, and was appalled to see them turning blank gazes on one another as the song overwhelmed them. Emuel tried to interject, but his protestations did little but earn him a bloodied nose from Dunsany. The song was coming from his companions’ throats as they tore into each other and, listening to its dreadful sound, Emuel realised what he had to do.
Managing to compose himself, even in the midst of the chaos surrounding him, Emuel sang; a sheen of sweat beading his brow as he concentrated on countering the music of the elves. When Ignacio drew his sword and swung back his arm to take a swipe at Katya, Emuel almost faltered, but finally he found the heart of the music.
Ignacio’s weapon dropped from suddenly slack fingers and he looked down at Katya as though unsure as to why she was kneeling before him. She looked up in turn, an expression of confusion written upon her face.
“Ignacio, what are you doing?” she said.
“I don’t know. I can’t remember the last few moments at all. What happened? Why is Emuel singing?”
Emuel’s song came to an end at the same time as the elves’.
Silus looked at the now silent dwarf vessels and immediately shielded Zac’s eyes from the horrendous carnage.
“What did they do?” he said.
“They sang,” Emuel said. “Their song did this.”
“I think that they heard you,” Katya said as one of the song ships broke away from the fleet and headed their way.
There was more than the solitary figure they had seen earlier on the deck, now; a whole host of curious faces looked down at them as the vessel drew alongside the boat. There was urgent, muffled conversation from above, before a rope ladder unrolled down the side of the ship, thudding against the planks.
“An invitation?” Kelos said.
“But what if it’s not safe?” Katya said.
“Really, I don’t think we have many options here. We either stay on this oarless boat, and eventually die of thirst, or we join the elves.”
Illiun looked up. “These people, they are very different from yourselves. Is this place truly your home?”
“Yes,” Kelos said. “Well, no. Look, it’s complicated. We’re a few years out, is all.
“ A few!” Silus said.
“Okay, several thousand.”
“Come on,” Dunsany said. “I for one can’t wait to meet our hosts and examine their magnificent ship.”
“Just don’t try stealing it,” Kelos said.
“As if I would.”
Emuel followed his companions as they made their way up the side of the ship, glancing up once to look at the pale faces that gazed down upon them.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Standing at the prow of the song ship, Silus recognised the familiar curve of the north shore of Allantia, but that was all he recognised. Where he expected to see the south of the island curving gently back down to the sea, instead it continued unbroken — its gentle hills dotted with pasture and woodland — all the way to what must be (or would one day become) Freiport. Allantia was thus connected to the mainland, not an island at all, and Silus wondered what cataclysmic future event would lead to its separation from the peninsula.
The fleet hugged the shore as it tacked to the west, eventually entering a half-moon bay. At its head sat the largest harbour Silus had ever seen. Yet more song ships were berthed there in ordered ranks, their tarred hulls gleaming, the odour of magic pouring off them, distinct even at this distance. But even more impressive than the elven fleet was the city that lay beyond the harbour, shining in the midday sun. It marched up the tiers of the surrounding cliffs, each layer meticulously constructed so that nothing was out of place, and carriages ascended and descended the slopes with no obvious means of propulsion.
Silus’s eyes were naturally drawn to the building that graced the headland like a crown, its many wings encircling the entire apex of the bay in marble and glass. Above this palace — for what else could it be? — the sky was just as busy as the waters of the harbour. Tethered balloons bobbed gently in the light wind rolling from the headland, while men with wings of canvas and wood leapt from platforms, swooping over the city before heading out to sea or circling back inland. Silus had heard stories of wondrous elven cities, but the only remnants of these that the people of his own time had found were broken pots or shattered archways, nothing to suggest anything on this scale. He wondered what event would so meticulously remove such settlements from the map and leave little more than dust in its wake. Could the elves or the dwarves have an inkling of the apocalypse heading their way?
The elves on the song ship had been quiet — even dismissive — during much of the voyage, interacting with their human guests as little as possible, beyond making sure they were fed and kept warm. Silus had expected that they would at least be questioned about their presence at the battle, but if the elves had any curiosity about this they hid it well.
“It’s true that I never thought I’d see Twilight again,” Katya said, coming up behind Silus and slipping an arm around his shoulder, “but even if I had, I never imagined I’d see it quite like this.”
Zac clutched her left hand, looking goggle-eyed at the approaching city and squealing with delight when he spotted the balloons drifting high above it.
“It makes our home, our own time, seem dull by comparison, don’t you think?” Silus said.
“I can honestly say that life with you has never been dull.”
There was a rattle of a chain and then a great splash as the anchor hit the water.
Their companions joined them on deck as the gangplank was lowered to the quay. One of the elves gestured to them to disembark; Silus thanked him, and he looked away and frowned as though, in speaking, Silus had somehow offended the elf.
“This is your home?” Illiun said, when they stepped ashore.
“Yes and no,” Silus said. “It is our home, but our home as it used to be a very long time ago. If you see what I mean.”
“No, not really.”
It would take a while for Illiun to get used to their new situation, Silus considered. At least, here, they didn’t have dragons to contend with. He looked up at Kerberos, which appeared almost serene as a skein of light cloud drifted across its face. The god had been silent thus far and Silus had no intention of opening himself up to its influence.
An elf led them to one of the carriages he had noticed earlier. They seated themselves on the low benches and, with a shudder and a jolt, it started moving. Silus turned to see that they were ascending a gleaming set of rails.
The elf stood in front of the door through which they had entered, his arms folded, his expression blank.
“Don’t talk much, do they?” Dunsany said.
“I get the impression,” Emuel said, “that they don’t like us very much. Certainly no one on the song ship
