The wind is still in there and the ladies said they'd help me stop it and they didn't.'
Erienne pushed herself to her feet and held out a hand which Lyanna took.
'Shall we go and see where the Al-Drechar are?'
'I don't think they like me,' said Lyanna. 'They don't talk to me anymore.'
'Oh I'm sure that's not true,' admonished Erienne gently. 'Come on, I'll show you they're still your friends.'
'Then can we go and watch for Daddy?' asked Lyanna. 'I've got a special place where I stand to look. I looked for you every day.'
'Thank you, darling,' said Erienne. 'That helped me come back sooner.'
Reluctandy, Lyanna allowed herself to be led back into the house. Erienne walked over the soaking timbers, passed shattered, flapping windows, smashed vases, broken pictures and torn tapestries and drapes, trying not to react. Lyanna didn't seem to notice any of it and chattered away about her friends in the orchard and the nice soup she had for lunch.
She slowed as they approached the Al-Drechar's rooms. Already anxious that the only sound in the house was the wind whisding through the empty frames and holes in the roof, Erienne feared the worst when she pulled open the doors to dieir corridor. No one stood guard, no one was waiting. She didn't even need to look in dieir rooms to know they were empty.
Erienne picked up Lyanna and hurried along to the ballroom, hoping against hope that they were all seated around the dining room table, smoking the pipe. Lyanna looked back over her shoulder as she ran. She didn't resist being carried but shifted uncomfortably as Erienne pulled open the doors to the ballroom and stood
staring at the great chandeliers lying like ancient, whitened animal skeletons on the cracked floor.
'Who's that man, Mummy?'
Erienne spun around, Lyanna turning in her arms so as not to lose sight.
'Ilkar, thank the Gods. Lyanna, this is one of Mummy and Daddy's friends. He's going to help us. Are you going to say hello?'
Lyanna shook her head and turned it half away.
'Never mind,' said Ilkar as he jogged up. 'Gods falling, Erienne, but this place is a mess. What the hell happened?'
Erienne nodded her head at her daughter. 'Guess,' she said. 'Look, I can't find anyone. There should be Guild elves all over the place, there are four Al-Drechar as well and the place feels like a morgue. Come with me a moment, will you? I've got the creeps.'
Ilkar smiled. 'Which way?'
In answer, Erienne walked on through the ballroom to the dining room, their footsteps echoing wetly around the open space. There was a hole in the roof the size of a cart and the decorative plaster had fallen down in chunks to scatter and blow to the sides of the room. She barely noticed, trying not to break into a run as she neared her last hope.
She grasped the handle with her free hand and pushed the door inwards.
'Oh no,' she said, stumbling to a stop and putting a hand to her nose and mouth. In her arms, Lyanna squirmed and made a revolted noise.
Ilkar came to her shoulder and Erienne could hear him fighting not to gag.
'Erienne, take Lyanna away. I'll see what I can do in here.' His strong arms turned her to face him. 'Look, Denser is only an hour or two away. We need you to try and persuade Lyanna to take the beacon down. The Dordovans aren't that far away and that thing will bring them in like moths to a lantern.'
Erienne nodded, swallowing back the sobs that threatened to overcome her.
'Please don't let them all be dead,' she said. 'Please.'
'I'll do everything I can,' said Ilkar softly. 'Now go. Get outside and get some fresh air.'
Erienne ran back through the ballroom, desperation welling up inside her.
Ilkar looked into the dining room and could see what had driven them to come here. It was dry. Probably the only room in the house that was. There was a fireplace opposite which still put out residual heat and the windows had been battened shut, shutters over fractured glass.
The dining room table had been pushed most of the way to the left and in the centre of the room, four beds, all occupied; at least one of which had to contain a corpse. He walked into the room, the stench almost overpowering. His eyes watered and he gagged suddenly.
He had to get some air through. Hurrying to a door to his right, he pushed it open and found another bedroom, its single small window torn from its frame. He took in a huge deep breath, wedged the door open with a sofa and walked quickly over to another door which swung on creaky hinges, letting him into some kitchens. He was halfway back with a chair to wedge open the swing door when he stopped, straightening and frowning.
He put down the wooden kitchen chair and walked back to the ovens. They were hot, flames flickering inside the grills. There was no food ready for preparation and no water ready to place on the hot plates but unless he was mistaken the ovens had been fired up recently, the flames were bright, and the grates looked full.
'Hello?' he called, walking across the kitchen towards a pair of doors opposite the entrance to the dining room. 'Hello?'
He drew his sword and put a hand on the leftmost door, pushing it open. A cold store. Empty of life. He let the door swing back and paced right, turning the handle of the other door which swung in. He took half a pace back.
'What, by all the Gods, do you think you're doing?' he asked in low, plain elvish, not believing what he was seeing.
A male voice came out of the mass of huddled bodies; he could count six and there might be more.
'Waiting for the end. Praying for deliverance.'
'From who?'
'Lyanna.'
Chapter 36
Ilkar persuaded the group of elves to leave their hiding place and move into the kitchen. He had been forced to explain exactly who he was and what he was doing here before any of them would so much as look at him, let alone do his bidding. There were eight of them. He hadn't seen the two small children. While one of the young elf males put on water for hot drinks, Ilkar sat the others down, all the time mindful that in the next room, the Al- Drechar were dead and dying. He had to get these people moving.
'I'm finding it hard to understand what's going on,' he said, addressing himself to a couple who seemed the most willing to speak. They were an old pair, had probably been with the Guild two hundred years or so and yet their confidence had been completely shattered.
'You haven't been here,' said Arrin, the husband. His wrinkled face held piercing blue-green eyes and his hair, once black, was thin, grey and straggled. 'It's all happened so quickly.'
'But what? You're the Guild of Drech,' said Ilkar.
'And no power of this magnitude has ever visited us,' said Arrin's wife, Nerane, a slim elf, hair long and silver grey, tied back in a pony tail. 'Or become as uncontrolled.'
'Ah,' said Ilkar. He'd had visions of Lyanna terrorising them somehow, a malign force bent on their destruction.
'She's just a little girl,' said Arrin. 'And that's the problem. She doesn't understand what she's doing. She should still be enduring her Night under the Al-Drechar's shields.'
'But she's come through it, obviously,' said Ilkar.
The water began to steam on the hot plate. An elf moved to fill some mugs. He looked weary, like he'd been awake three days. Perhaps he had.
'No,' said Arrin. 'She broke the shield three days ago. She walks, talks and eats but she has no real concept of acceptance or control, though her subconscious is more than capable of shaping mana. And she certainly has no idea what her mind is creating. Or destroying, to be more accurate.'
