Liandra had thought much the same of Kor Vanaeth. Elthin Arvan was dirty, dangerous and feral, but the vision of the colonists had been to tame it, to make it a paradise. If they were fighting for anything noble, that was it.
‘And, of course, it is Imladrik’s place,’ Kelemar went on. ‘We are all his people. We would work ourselves into the dust for him.’
Liandra shook her head gently. ‘Why is this? He inspires this… devotion.’
Kelemar pursed his lips in modest disapproval. ‘In the early days he laboured with us here. He carried stones on his back with the rest of us. He could have followed the life of his brother and lived in a palace in Lothern. Whatever it was that took him away from us, we know he did not choose it.’ He smiled regretfully. ‘Does that give you your answer?’
‘There’s some secret to it, to be sure.’ She found herself wishing to change the subject and withdrew from the bal-cony’s edge, pulling out of the direct sunlight. ‘So the passage north is closed, and there is nothing to the south, west and east but empty rock. I need to find some way to reach Tor Alessi.’
‘I think you have missed your chance. The dawi will be here soon.’
Liandra looked out north again, seeing no more than haze and heat-shimmer.
‘How long?’
‘A few days, if we are lucky.’
Liandra drew in a deep breath. Oeragor was a world away from Tor Alessi, where, she had to assume, hostilities were still suspended. To end up stranded in some sweaty skirmish on the margins of civilisation while the real war in the west had been interrupted… The frustration was almost unbearable.
‘There will be a way,’ Liandra said, doggedly. ‘The witch cannot die here. I do not intend to die here. By Isha, there will be a way.’
Caradryel pushed back in his chair, feeling irritable and at a loose end. He hadn’t slept well for days, kept awake both by his memories of the siege – which were terrible – and his frustration at how the events beforehand had turned out.
Everything he had touched had turned to swill. Confidence, a quality he had never struggled to lay hold of, was in short supply. He had considered speaking to Imladrik about it, perhaps even suggesting that his service had been a mistake and he would be better employed back in Ulthuan.
That, of course, would have been a mistake. Having offered his assistance so brazenly, Caradryel knew there would be no backing out of it now.
In the days since the siege had ended he had barely exchanged a dozen words with his master. Imladrik had looked exhausted in the aftermath of the battle, his face drawn with a dull kind of horror. He’d remained punishingly busy, striding from one end of the city to the other to oversee repairs, rebuilding and restocking. Given the damage inflicted, it would be weeks before full order was restored.
Beyond the walls, the battlefield reeked. Mists rolled in from the sea, turning everything mouldy and sodden. Huge funeral pyres had been constructed to dispose of the dead but they had burned sullenly, leaving thick shrouds of foul-smelling smoke suspended in the air around them. Days later the plain still smouldered under grey clouds, its soils blackened and clotted.
Caradryel had found few things to occupy himself during those days. He had followed up on a few loose ends from the Caerwal affair. He had ensured that his informants were paid, and had kept several of them on to ensure he knew what was going on while the city slowly recovered its equilibrium.
Many of the regiments were now being prepared for marches elsewhere. The dragons flew constantly in the skies over the harbour, as if giving visible reminder of the might of Ulthuan before the troops were sent off into enemy-infested swamps to an uncertain fate. It felt as if everything was unwinding, slowly dissipating like the smoke over the slain.
He tipped his chair on to two legs and swung back on it lazily. When the knock came on the door of his chamber, he nearly sent it – and himself – toppling over.
‘Come,’ he snapped, righting himself and brushing his robes down.
The door opened and Geleth entered with a female elf in tow. She looked like a beggar, her shift dirty and ragged, her hands and face dirty from the road.
‘My lord,’ said Geleth, bowing. ‘Something I thought you might wish to hear.’
Caradryel shot a superficial smile at the newcomer. ‘Welcome. Be seated.’
She remained standing. She had a hunted look in her eyes. Her hands turned over one another in a nervous pattern.
Caradryel glanced at Geleth, who returned a look that said give her time.
‘Perhaps you would like some wine?’ Caradryel tried again. ‘Something to eat?’
The elf shook her head. ‘Are you Imladrik?’
Caradryel just about suppressed a smile. ‘No, not really, but if there is something you wished–’
‘I came here for Imladrik.’
‘He has many things to worry him. The best way to get a message to him is to entrust it to me. So, let us see if we can get things started. What is your name?’
She looked uncertain. For a minute Caradryel thought she might make a break for the doors.
‘Alieth,’ she said.
‘Good. Alieth, where are you from?’
‘Kor Vanaeth.’
Caradryel raised an eyebrow. ‘Kor Vanaeth was destroyed.’
Alieth’s face flickered with momentary anguish. ‘It was. I walked here.’
‘On your own?’
‘There were others. Not many.’
Caradryel found himself getting interested. Geleth stood calmly by her side, saying nothing.
‘You should sit,’ Caradryel said, motioning to a chair opposite him. ‘You look like you need it.’
Gingerly, Alieth shuffled over to it, perching on the edge as if afraid it would fall apart.
‘You are among friends,’ Caradryel went on. ‘Tell me everything. No dwarf can get to you here.’
She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t the dwarfs.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Kor Vanaeth. It was not destroyed by the dwarfs. We never saw them.’
Caradryel frowned. ‘The reports we have–’
‘They are wrong. That is why
