Beautiful though the murals, maps and line tracings were, they were as nothing in comparison to what dominated the temple. In the exact centre of Aryndeneth, a statue rose seventy feet into the dome.
It was of Yniss, the God the elves worshipped as the Father of their race and He who gave the elves the gift of living as one with the land and its denizens, the air and with mana. Rebraal's eyes tracked down the statue, which was carved from a single block of flint-veined, polished pale stone.
Yniss was sculpted kneeling on one leg, head looking down along the line of his right arm. The arm was extended below his bended knee, thumb and forefinger making a right angle with the rest of the fingers curled half fist. Every detail of the sculptors' vision had been intricately included. Yniss was depicted as an old elf, age lines around the eyes and across the forehead. His long full hair and beard were carved blowing back towards and over his right shoulder.
Romantic idealism had led the sculptors to depict the God's body as toned and muscled perfection. There was the odd age line but nothing to really divorce the body from that of a pure athlete. A single-shouldered robe covered little more than groin and stomach, leaving open the bunching shoulders, stunningly defined arms and powerful, sandal-shod legs.
Though there was no colour other than that of the marble itself, Rebraal always stared hard at the slanted oval eyes, their powerful lines and clever use of the temple's light and shadow making them all but sparkle with life.
The majesty of the statue, though, was all mere dressing for its purpose. The scriptures of Yniss spoke of him coming to this place to give life to the world and construct the harmony that made the elves, gave them long life and showed them the beauty of the forest and the earth. Yniss had channelled his life energy along forefinger and thumb into the harmonic pool, from where it spread throughout the land, bringing glory where it touched. The scriptures laid down the exact design of Yniss's hand for the sculptors who came after him, their precision ensuring the flow of life energy was forever unbroken. Pipes concealed within the statue's thumb and forefinger fed water from an underground spring into the pool beneath the statue's outstretched hand.
Rebraal believed the harmony was what kept him alive, though the scriptures were vague on the consequences of disruption, save that it would cause disaster. Perhaps the forests would wither or elves would die. It mattered little. While the Al-Arynaar lived, no one would damage the harmony, either by accident or design.
Rebraal knelt before the statue and in front of the thirty-foot-wide crescent-shaped and sweet-smelling pool into which the waters of life energy fed. He placed his hands firmly on the stone and bowed his forehead to touch its cool surface before lifting his head to look into Yniss's eyes and pray again for his miracle. Selik, commander of the Black Wings, had travelled much of eastern Balaia since the death of Lyanna, Erienne's abomination of an offspring. He'd seen what the child's filthy magic had done to his country. He'd seen smashed towns and villages, ruined fields and livestock corpses strewn across flattened pasture, rotting where they lay. He'd seen forests uprooted and levelled, rivers flood plains and lakes double their size, drowning all they touched. And he'd seen where the earth had opened to swallow the land, leaving great scars on the landscape that seeped death and disease.
And worse than the ravaged countryside was the suffering in those towns and cities where people still lived because they had nowhere else to go. In Korina, the extravagance of earlier years had come back to haunt the capital. With farm produce from outlying areas all but gone and no sensible provision for grain storage, the population was reliant on the remnants of the city's fishing fleet. But it was in a pitiful state. Less than thirty seaworthy vessels remained, the wreckage of the rest still lying among the smashed docks. But Korina's population exceeded a quarter of a million and even with the huge outflow of refugees to inland towns, they were fighting a losing battle.
The population had survived a harsh winter but were now close to starving, and though the storm and flood waters had receded, their legacy was disease and rats. He knew it was the same throughout Balaia. With four exceptions: Xetesk, Dordover, Lystern and Julatsa.
Magic. Travers, his leader when the Black Wings he now led had been formed, had been right all along. Though magic did superficial good, it upset the natural balance. And where its hand had been then abandoned, people suffered and died. How fragile Balaia was and how blind so many had been to that fragility. But magic had always had the capacity to create disaster and now no eyes were closed to that fact. The evil child and her untamed magic had blighted a whole continent and left the innocent to struggle with the consequences.
And where were the mages now? Guilty by association, they had fled back to the safety of their college cities to hide, grow fat and prepare for war. And all the while those they purported to care for starved. Rightly, the populace was turning against them. Even where mages had stayed, the damage was too great for them to truly help and their efforts were born of guilt not concern.
They had shown their true colours. Magic was not strong; it was a force of opportunism turned on the helpless to force obedience. Well, now things were different. The helpless would learn to help themselves and would not see magic return to their lives. Once they could, they would live without it.
It would not be an easy path. Balaia would have to find a new strength and would need a new order. One that shunned and despised the wretches in their colleges. Never again could the users of magic be allowed to hold the balance of power.
Selik had seen all he needed to see. Already his followers were spreading dissent and rumour, preparing the ground. And already there was support for what he represented. The pure path. The righteous path. Once the majority of the population was behind him he could move to strike at the heart of the evil that had plagued Balaia for too long. He would smash them, their colleges and their towers, and liberate the people.
Selik smiled, the expression dragging his spell-ravaged face into a sick sneer. His time had come. The mages had struck the mortal blow against themselves and would not survive it. While they hid and licked their wounds, his power grew. What the great Travers had started as an exercise in control, Selik would finish as an example of extinction. And when magic was gone, his would be the dominant force; he would see to that.
He kicked his horse into a canter, fifty of his men behind him. Erskan and the villages nearby were next. He had heard that mages still worked their sick trade there. Some still had lessons to learn. Rebraal waited in the temple long after the other Al-Arynaar had left to begin their tasks. His was the first sitting of contemplation and he had prayed fervently it would bring him new wisdom.
Aryndeneth was cool and quiet but for the waters of harmony falling precisely into the crescent pool before continuing their journey through the veins of the earth. It was a sound that he allowed to wash over him until he was conscious of nothing else but its sustaining beauty.
This evening was revered by the Al-Arynaar because of the conjunction of land, sun and sky, and Rebraal was aware of the shifting of the light through his closed eyes. He opened them and watched, from his kneeling position, the amber glow of late sunlight through an exactly positioned tinted window set into the base of the dome.
Every point the light touched on the polished walls glistened, details of murals and mosaics picked out in glory then banished to relative shadow as it crawled by. He watched on, seeing the pool dancing and sparkling in the periphery of his vision. The light reached the statue; part of the diffuse beam pierced the crook of its left arm. In the back of the temple, stone grated on stone as a doorway to learning opened.
It would be brief. Once the light had passed the crook, the door would slide shut and twenty days would pass before it opened again. Some doors opened daily but here was a chance for rare study. This was the tome of Shorth, the fleet foot God. The Death Keeper. He was the balance at the end of life's cycle. He restored the living to the earth and their breath to the sky and their mana t
o the harmony. Rebraal had barely studied him. Perhaps he would learn enough to ensure this was not his last chance.
Offering a short prayer of thanks to Yniss, Rebraal rose to his feet and paced silently past the statue, his eyes easily piercing the gloom at the back of the temple. To his left, a doorway let into a small, mural-covered cell bathed in warm amber light from a large window above. A single desk and chair faced a double shelf full of texts, some almost too ancient to touch. Rebraal selected a heavy leather-bound book and began to read.
Chapter 5
The look on Ilkar's face when he strode into a kitchen filled with the delicious smells of soup and fresh bread that evening was just as The Unknown had expected. The elegant eyebrows were arrowed in, the lips thin, the high-boned cheeks reddened and leaf-shaped ears pricking furiously. His words stopped the desultory conversation around The Raven's table.
'I've had the most wonderful day,' he said. 'Clear blue skies, warm water, an island a short sail away just for me and the woman I love. Then, to cap off the perfection, I sail back here to find we've handed over control of Herendeneth to Xetesk. Anyone want to volunteer a reason?' He stared squarely at The Unknown. 'Hello, Unknown. At least it's good to see you if not the rest of the passengers that came with you.'
He sat down.
'Great entrance,' said Hirad.
'Some performance,' agreed Denser.
The briefest of smiles registered on Erienne's face, gone in a heartbeat.
'This isn't funny,' snapped Ilkar. 'Correct me if I'm wrong, but we agreed a research party of six. Now I'm not the world's greatest mathematician but I reckon I counted more than six Xeteskian mages on my way through the house. Oh, and I think there was the odd Protector in addition to the half-dozen who were here when I left this morning.'
The Unknown would have laughed under other circumstances – Ilkar's sarcasm was always so perfectly delivered – but this wasn't the time.
'There are thirty mages and one hundred Protectors here. They are here because they fear invasion of this island by Dordover.' The silence around the table was total. 'That is because Xetesk and Dordover are now at war. It is open conflict and it will soon consume Balaia, our country, which is already starving and broken.
'They are here to research dimensional magics across the spectrum and we can't stop them or make demands of them. But we can do something about Balaia. There's a tide early tomorrow afternoon. We have to be on it.'
Soup spoons were forgotten, bread hung from fingers. The Unknown Warrior could hear them all breathing – The Raven, less one notable absentee, the people in whom he had unshakeable faith. They would be tested now, for sure.
'We've fought for Balaia for so long. For peace and for somewhere we can grow old in safety and security. But I've brought my wife and son here because I fear for their lives from starvation, disease or the sword if I leave them there. We can't let it go on. Or everything else we've done will be for nothing.'
'But I thought peace was being brokered,' said Hirad.
'You thought wrong,' said The Unknown. 'We all did. This was just a matter of time.'
In his chair to The Unknown's left, Ry Darrick shifted uncomfortably. The former Lysternan general had been accused of desertion back on Balaia to fight with The Raven but that didn't change the way he felt about his home.
'Lystern?' he said as if fearing the answer.
'Peace brokers with no peace to broker,' said The Unknown. 'They're out of it for now but…' He shrugged. They all understood. He turned his attention to Ilkar. The elf had not been mollified by his answer. 'But there is a chance. We have to restore the balance. Raise the Heart of Julatsa.'
'I agree.' Ilkar nodded. 'Assuming we can find a couple of hundred mages to help.'
'Jevin's going to Calaius next for cargo. We should be with him. Plenty of mages there.'
'Yes, Unknown, and they all returned there for a good reason,' said Ilkar.
'Then you'll have to persuade them to go back,' said The Unknown. 'They'll listen to you.' He stared at Ilkar until the Julatsan nodded.
'And meanwhile we let Xetesk have the run of this place?'
'What else can we do, Ilkar?' asked The Unknown. 'We can't force them to leave and, more important, their research could free the Protectors and send the dragons home.'
'But what about the other results, eh?'
'I know,' said The Unknown. 'And that's why we have to get Julatsa working as a college again. It's the only way to stop the war. I don't see we have any choice. Even if Lystern and Dordover allied, they wouldn't be strong enough. With Julatsa, they just might. But Julatsa needs its Heart. We all need to say our goodbyes and get going. Balaia can't wait. And what Erienne is carrying needs to be taken away from here. I'm sure you all understand.'
Erienne pushed back her chair and stood up slowly, shaking off Denser's protective arm.
'I'm so pleased you've got it all worked out,' she said. 'Ilkar can go and find his mages to rebuild Balaia and, by the by, you can look after poor little me and take me away from those nasty Xeteskians.'
She stopped and glared around the table, daring any of them to speak. The Unknown felt suddenly cold, knew he'd made an error and cursed himself silently. He knew what she was going to say before she said it.
'But any of you who thinks I will leave my daughter here to the tender mercies of her killers and the Dark College deserves nothing but my contempt. I'm sure you all understand.'
She strode from the kitchen.
'That wasn't your cleverest speech,' said Ilkar.
'No,' agreed The Unknown. He'd misjudged the state of her grief and her mind; and though he felt empty for her, he couldn't fathom why she hadn't moved on a day since he'd left. 'But she'll come round.'
'By tomorrow? No chance,' said Denser. 'Her mind isn't rational one heartbeat to the next.'
'Well, you've got to make it so. She isn't safe here. And we need her. She's Raven.'
Ilkar shifted in his seat and narrowed his startling slanted oval eyes.
'There's something else, isn't there? Something's got you spooked because this isn't like you. You're too careful. What is it?'
The Unknown shook his head. 'You weren't there; you didn't feel it. Balaia's dying.'
'What are you talking about?' asked Hirad.
'I can't make you understand. But every Protector here will tell you the same thing. It's like the air itself doesn't taste right. There are forces trying to impose things on Balaia and its peoples that go against the natural order. Not just Selik and the Black Wings; the colleges too. They have stood for two thousand years as deterrents against one another. But now they've turned on each other and they'll murder Balaia too. I will not let that happen.
'Now, where's Thraun?'
Hirad sighed and looked at Ilkar. The elf was staring down at his food, Ren's arm around his shoulders. The Unknown wasn't about to like what he'd hear, he was sure of that. The Unknown didn't find Thraun until well past midnight, and even then he all but tripped over the feral man. The dark of the night, the deep shadows under the beech trees and bushes and Thraun's utter stillness had made The Unknown's lantern-lit search fruitless for hours. He'd rejected all offers of help. For reasons he wasn't prepared to put into words, he felt he'd have more joy if he found the shapechanger alone.
When at last he came across the sleeping form, he stood and looked down at him for a time. Thraun's face was creased by a frown and his teeth ground together as he dreamed, memories and anxieties surfacing to torture his rest. He lay in a close foetal position, with his hands balled into fists and his legs tucked right up to his body. He'd made a bed from blankets taken from the house, and scattered about him was the detritus of a confused mind trying desperately to find itself but not knowing where it was lost. There was an empty bottle, a book, a square of torn tapestry, a knife from the kitchen, an empty bowl and an arrow. A curious mix.
The Unknown knelt next to Thraun, the shapechanger's eyes opening as he did so.
&nb
sp; 'Not too much wrong with your senses, I see,' he said, setting the lantern down.
Thraun's eyes showed no fear, just tired puzzlement and then dawning recognition. His face relaxed.
'That's better,' said The Unknown. 'Good to see you again. Now, Hirad tells me you can understand most of what I'm saying but that you can't speak right now. Can you indicate that you've understood me?'
Thraun nodded, making an affirmative grunting noise. The Unknown stared at the ground briefly before looking back up.
'Sorry. I guess I shouldn't talk to you like you're a child, eh?'
A shake of the head.
'What's in there, Thraun? What is it that's stopping you? Part of your wolven self must be obstructing your human mind, mustn't it? What can we do?'
Thraun's face collapsed and he hunched up, eyes moistening, pleading at The Unknown. The big man reached out a hand and clasped Thraun's shoulder for a moment.
'Gods, but I understand like no one else can. Let me tell you something I've not told anyone before.' He moved to a seated position, his back against a tree. The night was quiet but for the warm breeze rustling the leaves above their heads.
'My time as a Protector was mercifully short and a brave mage gave his life to free me and return my soul to me. But in the time I was one, I felt a bond the like of which I didn't think could ever be replaced. It went beyond kinship and love. It was deeper than either though based on both, I suppose. It was something hard to express except to say that it was an utterly binding sense of belonging. No one, I thought, who had not experienced it could understand. And when I was freed, though that was what I wanted desperately, I lost something I assumed was irreplaceable. You might remember how I was in the days after I was released; I don't know.'
The Unknown stopped to gauge Thraun's reaction. The shapechanger was staring at him, eyes wide. Whether it was comprehension, remembrance or just plain incredulity that someone was talking to him this way was unfortunately not clear. At least he had Thraun's attention.
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