Elfsorrow lotr-1

by James Barclay

  Hirad shrugged. They were sitting in an eatery on the docks with Darrick and Thraun. Ilkar said it was a typical elven establishment, characterised by long tables and benches, high ceilings, plenty of windows and exotic-tasting soups and meats. It was busy but there was clear space between them and the rest of the predominantly elven clientele.

  The Julatsan and Ren had agreed to meet them inside, while Erienne and Denser visited the city markets. Aeb, who had drawn the odd interested glance when they docked, was at the inn, speaking to his brothers, communing in the Soul Tank.

  'Elves don't like us very much, you mean?' said Hirad.

  'No, not that. And they've been perfectly civil so far, if a little reserved. No. There's an atmosphere, like a growing fear of something. I can't put my finger on it. You don't feel anything?'

  'No.' Hirad shovelled more soup-soaked bread into his mouth.

  The Unknown shook his head. 'I don't know why I bother. You've got a skull thicker than a dragon's. Darrick, what about you?'

  'Hard to say,' said the former Lysternan general, leaning forward. 'There's an air of vague disquiet round the docks but that's just lack of trade, I'd say. Nothing really sinister in it.'

  Hirad looked at The Unknown, feeling a familiar sense of unease. Fifteen years he'd known the big man and he was hardly ever wrong. And since his, albeit brief, time as a Protector his instinct for trouble and danger had heightened still further. His expression told Hirad he was sure about this one.

  The barbarian switched his attention to Thraun. The shapechanger had been feeding himself as though he'd not eaten for days but was now staring at The Unknown, mouth half open and next spoonful forgotten. The Unknown indicated him.

  'Thraun knows what I'm talking about,' he said. 'Don't you, Thraun?'

  There might have been the merest suggestion of a nod, but aside from that no reaction.

  'So what is it?' asked Darrick.

  'Just a hint at the moment,' said The Unknown. 'Like overripe fruit. Sickly sweet and on the way to rotting. Whatever it is, it's below the skin of the city now but won't be for long.'

  'I'm not with you,' said Hirad.

  A moment later, Ilkar walked in with Ren and confirmed everything.

  'There are sick people all over the place,' he said, sitting down and waving at a servant boy to come over. 'It's weird. Everywhere we've been.'

  'Plague?' The Unknown raised his eyebrows.

  'If it is, it's a new one on me. We've spoken to mages who can find no cause, just effects. And the traditional healers are struggling with the numbers. Only started a couple of days ago, apparently.'

  'You were right then, Unknown,' said Hirad.

  'Unfortunately.' he said. 'What's your view, Ilkar?'

  The Julatsan shrugged. 'Information's patchy but there's no obvious pattern or epicentre. Whatever, I think it's a good job we're leaving tomorrow.'

  'You've found a boat, then?' asked Darrick.

  'And a guide. It's not easy to navigate. I'm glad I don't have to rely on my memory. Watercourses change, local landscape alters… you know.'

  'Not really, Ilks, no,' said Hirad. 'But then you've been around a lot longer than the rest of us, haven't you?'

  'You could say.' Ilkar smiled. It was always a slightly sad smile, Hirad thought. The subject brought home to Ilkar his relative immortality.

  'How worried should we be?' asked The Unknown.

  'People are scared,' said Ren. 'Not so much here – the dock doesn't seem affected yet – but fear spreads. They'll be looking for something to blame and it doesn't take much to figure out where the finger'll be pointed first.'

  'Better get yourselves elven ears quickly,' said Ilkar.

  'I'd rather take the abuse,' said Hirad.

  'No pun intended but can we return to the point?' The Unknown rapped his fork on the table. 'Tell me who's getting this thing and what happens when they do.'

  'From what we've seen it's indiscriminate. Young, old, male, female, rich and poor,' said Ren. 'I don't think it's to do with living conditions. There are no outward signs – no sores or boils.'

  'No, nor any fever,' added Ilkar. 'From what we've been able to find out, it affects balance, brings on bouts of sickness and muscle weakness. One mage we found said she thought there was organ damage but it's too early to say.'

  'Strange,' said Darrick. 'And how many have died?'

  'So far none, but it's early days,' said Ren. 'Perhaps it'll run its course and people will recover, but if there are deaths and no cure is forthcoming, it'll just accelerate the panic we've already seen.'

  'And you're hoping to get mages to leave here and travel to Balaia?' said The Unknown. 'You'll be lucky if any ships are allowed to sail if this is a plague.'

  'The thought had crossed my mind. And no mage will leave here while there's work they feel they can do.'

  'I'd have thought it a great reason to leave,' said Hirad. 'They might be saving themselves, after all.'

  Ilkar shook his head. 'You don't understand elven society, Hirad. It's honour-based, not driven by profit and magic like Balaia.'

  'So you should stay too?' said the barbarian.

  'That's a tricky one,' said Ilkar. 'If this is serious I'll have to think about it, but I don't belong here. My home is Julatsa. I feel no ties like elves who have lived here all their lives or only visited Balaia to train. It wouldn't be dishonourable to leave, but that won't make it easy.'

  'Don't even think about it,' said The Unknown. 'We have to find mages to help you raise the Heart of Julatsa or this disease, whatever it is, will seem a mere inconvenience by comparison.'

  Hirad could see they were attracting glances from further down their table and behind them.

  'I think we should keep our voices down,' he said quietly.

  'We should do more than that,' said The Unknown. 'Let's get back to the inn and stay in our rooms until first light tomorrow. I don't like what I'm feeling. Anyone know when Denser and Erienne planned on getting back?'

  Ilkar shook his head. 'I shouldn't worry about them. They're mages and any elf will know it. They won't be harmed. Asked to help maybe but not harmed.'

  They stood up to go, Ilkar apologising to the serving boy who'd brought a plate of meat and cheese. He left coins for everything and led them outside.

  'Will we catch it, do you think?' asked Hirad.

  'No idea,' said Ilkar. 'It's not something we can really worry about right now, is it?'

  He shrugged and walked on, trying to appear unconcerned, but Hirad could see that underneath anxiety was building. Not for himself, but for the ramifications of his mage-gathering mission. Hirad hoped dawn would bring some cheer but somehow he doubted it. Mercuun's fall was as shocking as it was predictable. A terribly slow climb up the banyan to the rope bridge had preceded a clumsy, nerve-shredding drag across the River Ix, Mercuun's weakness and lack of balance a constant threat to them both.

  Five times Rebraal had had to clutch the ropes of the yawing bridge as his friend slipped or stumbled, ignoring the fire that was his left shoulder to help Mercuun, or stand by him as he recovered his breath.

  It was awful to watch. Mercuun had been the most sure-footed of them all, moving with the stealth of a panther and the agility of a monkey. He could have been a TaiGethen. And now something they couldn't fathom had reduced him to a juddering height-shy oaf in less than three days.

  Rebraal had breathed a premature sigh of relief when they'd reached the opposite bank and Mercuun, sweating and shaking, had wrapped his arms gratefully around a bough. Feeling dizzy with fever and the effort himself, Rebraal had begun to descend almost immediately, telling Mercuun to rest until he was sure enough to move, however long that took. It could have been days and he would have waited for his friend, but something about Mercuun told Rebraal that he didn't have days. Meru felt it too. That's why he moved too soon.

  Rebraal had been twenty feet from the ground when a heavy branch had snapped above him. A dark shape had come hurtling towards him,
leaves and wood flying everywhere. Soundless, Mercuun had fallen past him, arms and legs splayed to break his fall on every bough. It was an action, combined with the limpness with which he hit the ground, that undoubtedly saved his life.

  And so Rebraal had found him broken but alive.

  'Meru, talk to me.'

  'Hurts, Rebraal. It hurts.'

  'Of course it hurts. You've come down eighty feet.'

  Rebraal looked at him, not quite believing what he saw. Mercuun was moving and obviously aware but his left leg was turned behind him at an impossible angle and he lay stretched, his left arm beneath him and a trickle of blood running from his mouth.

  'Lie still. I've got to get some casimir and get rid of the pain.'

  'Hurry.'

  Rebraal sprinted away, looking for the tell-tale bright broad green leaves and yellow-green ball-like fruit. He was heedless of his own condition, adrenaline banishing hurt and fever. He had to be quick. Not just because Mercuun was in agony but because the forest was full of predators and scavengers. And right now his friend was easy prey.

  Mercuun had lapsed into merciful unconsciousness by the time he returned. Flies crawled on his face and a lizard sniffed at the blood from his mouth. In the trees above, birds were settling.

  'Tual, spare him,' whispered Rebraal to the God of the denizens, fishing in Mercuun's leather sack for his metal cup and small medicine skin.

  He hurried to the river bank and scooped up some water, collected small twigs for kindling on the way back and built a tiny fire, using Mercuun's tinderbox to light the wet wood. He heated the water above the guttering flame, using a cloth to protect his hands from the hot metal.

  When the water steamed and bubbled, he dropped some leaves into the mug, their rich fresh scent blooming in his nostrils.

  'Almost ready, Meru,' he said, though his friend couldn't hear him. He was moving though, and close to consciousness again, a low moan escaping his lips.

  When the infusion was ready, Rebraal decanted the murky green liquid into the skin, added some seeds from the casimir fruit and kept back the leaf sludge. While the drink cooled, he tipped the sludge into a palm leaf, blew on it until he could just touch it and spread it on Mercuun's fractures, having cut his clothes where he had to. The remainder he smeared on his own shoulder.

  Mercuun's eyes flickered open. 'I'm dying, Rebraal.'

  'No, you're not. Now let me support your head while you drink this.'

  He knelt down and lifted Mercuun's head into his lap. The broken elf gulped down the infusion, knowing the powerful sedative would numb his pain.

  'What are you going to do?' he asked when the skin was empty.

  'Carry you home, Meru. You need healing.'

  'But your shoulder.' Mercuun lifted an arm weakly.

  'It'll be all right. Trust me.'

  'Yniss keep you, Rebraal.'

  'And you, Meru. How do you feel?'

  'The pain is fading.'

  'Good, then let's get going.'

  Rebraal packed Mercuun's sack and slung it over his right shoulder before stooping to pick him up. He felt his own wound give and the blood start to flow but the leaf sludge masked him from all but a dull ache.

  Mercuun hung in his arms like a dead weight, his head cradled against Rebraal's shoulder and chest.

  'Not far now,' said Rebraal. 'Try to rest.'

  A chuckle trickled from Mercuun's mouth. 'Don't lie. I may be sick but I haven't completely lost my senses. You're the one who should be resting.'

  Rebraal gritted his teeth and set off. It was almost ten miles to the village through dense rainforest, up steep hillsides, down muddy valleys and along a treacherous stream course. Offering a prayer to Yniss to give him the strength to survive, Rebraal left the River Ix behind him.

  Chapter 13

  Dusk had fallen and the cacophony that greeted the night invaded the rainforest as it always had and always would. A persistent heavy rain was falling from low, deep grey cloud cover but the thunder and lightning had moved north, heading for the coast.

  Not needing the sounds of the elements and nature to mask his movements, Auum walked forward, footsteps less than whispers on the forest floor, barely a leaf rippling as he passed. Five yards to either side, his Tai mirrored him. He had no need to look to know exactly where they stood. They were Duele and Evunn and, with Auum, formed one cell of the TaiGethen, the elite warrior hunters of the Al-Arynaar. There were fifty cells in all, spread through the rainforest. No single elf knew them all but every elf knew their purpose.

  When called, they killed strangers.

  And for Auum's Tai, their quarry was close. They had no orders but the word had reached them and they, like every cell, would comb their zone of the forest, exterminating any threat they found.

  For Auum it was his first call, but he didn't think in terms of nerves, or reality versus training. This was what the TaiGethen were bred for.

  The scents of the enemy camp had been in their nostrils for hours now as they had closed in. Like poison on the wind, woodsmoke, waxed canvas and cooked meat drifted where they had no right to. It was an affront to the Gods of the rainforest. To Cefu, God of the canopy; to Beeth, the lord of root and branch; and to Tual, who ruled the forest denizens.

  The TaiGethen were willing slaves to the Gods and would do their bidding. The forest had to be cleansed and the balance restored.

  The cell came together scant yards from the strangers' encampment to paint themselves and pray. The destruction of the forest to make the camp clearing offended and Auum could see the contempt in the eyes of his Tai. Not anger. Anger was a distraction and a waste.

  Opening his pouches of black and deep green pastes, he traced broken stripes over Duele's deep brown face, his prayers sharpening their focus still further. And when the three were ready they rose to their feet, tan moccasins making no sound, green mottled jerkins and trousers blending with the tones of the undergrowth, faces now marked and hidden.

  'Work for the Tai. Faith will keep us. Now string your bows and we will do the Gods' bidding.' There was a commotion outside the tent, but during his fever Sorys had heard so much that was strange he'd stopped trusting his senses. He'd been hallucinating giant spiders and plagues of snakes at the height of his four-day fever but at least now his mind was capable, or seemed to be, of rational thought. His tending mage, Claryse, said the fever had broken but that he was to rest another two days before joining Yron at the temple. She'd said very little but Sorys had the distinct impression they'd encountered serious trouble there.

  So he lay in a platoon tent on a makeshift hammock, alone but for an oil lamp on the ground nearby. His night terrors were still too real and the pale yellow light was such a comfort.

  He listened hard. There was something not right about what he could hear outside but he couldn't be sure if the fever had truly left him and he felt confused. So he just lay where he was, straining to pick up the sounds in among the raised voices.

  The commotion died down. He thought he heard footsteps outside his tent but they were very quiet. And then, clear as the call of one of those damned howling monkeys, came a shrill wailing, passing left to right. It was the sound of loss, and it shuddered through his tired body. It scared him but he didn't cry out. Best to lie very still.

  The wail came again and again. A man shouted but was cut off abruptly. Sorys could feel his heart beating very hard in his chest. Nausea rose. He reached for his water bottle just as the tent flap flew open. Claryse stood there, the lantern light illuminating a face drawn by some awful fear.

  'Ghosts,' she stammered, voice choked and broken. 'Ghosts. We've got-'

  The head of an arrow appeared through the front of her throat and her body jolted forwards. She stumbled, blood pouring from the wound. She reached out, tried to speak and crumpled.

  Sorys was too terrified even to scream.

  He heard a whispering on the breeze and the tent flap moved again. With the tent canvas shredded, all ropes frayed and cut,
bodies laid out, fires extinguished and all metal buried, Auum led the Tai in prayer. They'd killed seventeen strangers and he felt at peace though the scything of the forest around him was a stain that only the gods could remove.

  'Cefu, hear us. Beeth, hear us. Tual, hear us. We, your loyal servants who work according to your will, offer all that is around us to you and your denizens. May the flesh feed your creatures, may the cloth line burrows and nests and may the bones forever remind all who seek to destroy you that there is only eternal failure and damnation. Hear us and move us. Direct us to your will and so it shall be.

  'To the greater glory of Yniss, who presides above all who walk this land. Hear us.'

  'And so it shall be,' intoned Duele and Evunn.

  Each of the Tai bowed his head in silent contemplation for a moment.

  Auum stood.

  'Come,' he said. 'We have more work to do.' Yron and Ben-Foran were crouched by a small clutch of plants at the base of a balsa tree. Wide triangular green leaves sprawled out, seeming almost part of the tree but attached to a thick woody stem.

  'Now,' said Yron. 'This is a young pareira vine. Notice the leaf shape. When it gets older, it'll flower and produce a red oblong fruit. Got that?'

  Ben-Foran nodded.

  'It's an important plant because a poultice of these leaves makes a good snake bite antidote and you can take a root infusion for the same purpose.'

  'Does it work?'

  Yron gave him an old-fashioned look. 'How do you suppose the forest elves survive day to day? So many of these plants have medicinal qualities. Learn. Because when you're without mage support, you might need to know. Now. One more thing. See that?'

  He pointed at a flash of yellow under the leaves. It was a frog, barely bigger than his thumb.

  'Yes, Captain.'

  Ben-Foran reached out reflexively but Yron slapped his hand away.

  'Don't touch it. Don't let it touch you on exposed skin. This is the yellow frog. Remember my talk on the ship?'

  Yes, but-' began Ben.

  'Small, isn't it?' said Yron. 'But there's enough poison on its back to kill us all ten times over. You recall all of those who died from light puncture wounds? The elven arrows were all tipped with this poison.' Yron grimaced. 'Now, I know it's getting dark but I want as many of the men as possible to see this frog. It'll give them some sense of perspective.'