Elfsorrow lotr-1

by James Barclay

  'How can there be a cure?' Vituul looked at him matter of factly.

  'No one is going to be alive long enough to do the research. And there's no spell that can even slow its course. We don't even have a lead yet.'

  'What can we do then?' Jevin felt helpless. 'There must be something. '

  Vituul smiled but there was no humour in his face. 'Wait for it to pass.'

  'And if it doesn't?'

  'Pray that Yniss forgives whatever sin we've committed, because the way it looks now, we're all going to die, sooner rather than later.'

  Jevin leant on the rail. He should be doing something. Every elf should. To his knowledge no one had survived having the plague so far, but then not many were in the final stages yet. Just one survivor could give them some hope. But what could he do? This wasn't a question of tending the sick or supplying the herbologists with raw materials. There was no battle to be won. Not yet. Elf catches plague; elf dies.

  Jevin's own family lived deep in the rainforest and he preferred not to think about them. It kept his hopes alive.

  'So why have none of the crews gone down yet?' asked Jevin. 'Odd, don't you think? Surely that's a lead?'

  'It's a point, I suppose. No stranger catches it. No travelling elf catches it. Yet.'

  'Surely it means something?'

  'We are still Tual's creatures. Perhaps the curse of being away from the forest also carries a blessing. Perhaps your sin isn't as great as ours.'

  Jevin had been looking for something less theological. But this mage, at least, had no answers.

  'You see what I'm getting at?'

  'There is no biological reason why any particular elf catches the plague,' said Vituul with a shrug. 'It must be something else. I don't believe you, I or any of the crew have greater immunity than the poor souls on shore.'

  Jevin was considering his reply when his eye was caught by movement on the dockside. There was activity on the approach roads to the east and the odd shout echoed out across the water. The tone was of surprise, even astonishment, but not fear. People were congregating on the dock. Not a mob. Not the hundreds, even thousands, they'd seen a couple of days ago, but a slowly growing crowd.

  It continued to grow over the course of most of the morning. Jevin thought at first that it was city folk gathering for a demonstration, but every time he looked up from his duties there were more of them. Just standing there like they were waiting for a ship to dock. Then Jevin realised what he was looking at. These weren't Ysundeneth elves; the city folk's clothes were so much brighter than the greens and browns he could see.

  Around midday he rejoined Vituul, who had barely left the rail all morning. Despite his life taking him from the land of his birth and his Gods, Jevin prided himself on having enough of the Calaian elf in him still to understand his people. But not this. Left and right, the rails of other ships were crowded with crew and it seemed a quiet had descended across the city and the sea.

  'They are who I think they are, aren't they?' he asked.

  Vituul nodded. 'TaiGethen,' he said, pointing vaguely, but his voice was edged with excitement. 'Al-Arynaar. And ClawBound. I see the panthers. I see them.'

  It was something most elves had never expected to see in the forest, let alone on the dockside at Ysundeneth.

  'What are they doing?' Jevin implored anyone who might hear and answer him.

  These people never, but never, came out of the rainforest. Never stepped on the worked stone of the streets. They thought them evil. Necessary but evil. A sin Yniss allowed because civilisation had to flourish. To them a city was an alien landscape. An imbalance in the harmony of the forest, its air, magic and denizens. Yet here they were, gathered and waiting, and quite suddenly, the disaster that faced the elves became so much more real.

  'What do they want?' This time the question was directed at Vituul alone.

  'Whatever it is, it isn't good.'

  'We should launch a boat,' said Jevin. 'Ask them.'

  But answers came far more quickly than that. Up in the crow's-nest, the lookout shouted and pointed east. Two dots were flying in from the forest, low and erratic. They swept over the docks, stopped momentarily and spiralled into the sky again, before moving out to sea and the ships moored there.

  Jevin followed them, half knowing who it was, seeing them change direction twice before heading straight for the Calaian Sun. One of them dipped very low, called out, rose and then fell into the water a hundred yards from the ship. The other didn't pause but flew over the deck, landed and collapsed in a flurry of limbs. When Jevin reached him, Ilkar had managed to turn onto his back and was gasping in air.

  'Ilkar?'

  'Jevin,' Ilkar gasped. 'Better… better get a boat over the side. Don't think Denser can float for too long.'

  The order was given. 'Where have you come from?'

  'Shorth Estuary. Flew all night.' He struggled to a sitting position. 'Explanations later.'

  He stopped to gasp in more air. His hair was plastered to his skull and his face was drawn and exhausted.

  'Xeteskians have desecrated Aryndeneth. They've destroyed the harmony. But we can stop them. Tell all the ships. They've got to take the elves to Balaia. A stranger is holding part of Yniss's statue. And we've got to get it back before the plague takes us all.'

  'And me?'

  'You're coming with us. Got some friends to pick up at the Shorth.'

  Jevin nodded. Answers were before him and his desire to help was satisfied.

  'Bosun!' he called. 'Signal the ships. I need to see the skippers and it has to be now.' Turning back to Ilkar, he grasped the elf's shoulder. 'Let's get your wet colleague on board safely, then you can both tell me over a goblet of wine just exactly what is going on.' The trio of Xeteskian vessels was under full sail, moving well across a swell of six to eight feet. The wind was strong and constant beneath thin rolling cloud and the acres of canvas billowed dirty grey.

  Captain Yron sat beneath the mainmast of the lead vessel on some netted crates, turning the fragment of the statue's thumb over and over. No one had dared come near him all morning. He must have looked a frightening sight with his hands and face covered in balms and bandages, but it wasn't that which kept them away.

  Throughout the night he had prowled the deck, unable to sleep despite his fatigue. Healing spells had been cast on him as he moved and the bandages were only there because Erys had made him stop for long enough. After the eighth or tenth man had congratulated him on the success of the mission he had exploded with vehemence enough to wake the slumbering on all three half-empty ships. It needed saying. As if any bounty could justify this loss, let alone the pathetic collection of parchments and texts Erys had brought out.

  One hundred and fifty men had journeyed into the Calaian rainforest, wreathed in mirror illusions of enormous complexity to obscure their progress from TaiGethen and ClawBound. And until they had reached the forward camp, it had worked. Now only two of those one hundred and fifty were alive to tell the tale and a further forty had perished in the defence of the estuary.

  Success? He had failed. Xetesk could go hang. The Circle Seven would greet his return with broad smiles and grasping hands. He had no doubt Erys's assessment of the importance of the documents he had retrieved was accurate.

  No. It was Ben-Foran. Ben, who had trusted him so completely and believed in him utterly. And Ben who lay dead because right at the last, he, Yron, had believed they were safe and had failed to take into account how fast a panther could run.

  Yron had never had a son, a family. He had never married. He was the classic soldier, too engrossed in his career to realise the swift passage of years. But in Ben he had seen a way to release the regret and frustration he felt. To take the boy and make him the man Yron knew he could be. To give himself something of which he could be truly proud.

  But he had failed. And the boy who could have rivalled the Lysternan, Darrick, as Balaia's most talented soldier… all that potential would remain tragically unfulfilled. The o
nly thing that could possibly give meaning to his death was the stolen writings. Otherwise it would all have been a waste. And Yron hated waste.

  The netting shifted to his right and he looked across. Erys had sat down next to him. He sat in silence, the only companion Yron would tolerate, the only one who could possibly understand. And he waited for Yron to speak, if he wished. After a time that was exactly what Yron wished.

  'It's not over, Erys. Not by a long way.'

  'The guilt will pass,' said Erys.

  Yron shook his head. 'That's not what I meant and no, I don't think it will. Not completely.'

  'Oh.' Erys was silent for a moment. 'Don't worry about The Raven, Captain,' he said, getting it at the second attempt. 'We'll be safe inside Xetesk before they've even set sail. Where's their ship? Ysundeneth at best.'

  'How old are you, Erys?'

  'Twenty-five, sir.'

  Yron chuckled. 'Thought so. Still at the young-and-talking-bollocks-at-every-turn stage, then.'

  'Eh?'

  'Don't look hurt, boy; we've all been through it.' Yron turned to face the young mage. 'Thing is, when The Raven got going you were only ten. I know you'll have heard a few stories but, locked away in the college like you were, you missed the reality.'

  'So explain it to me then, Captain.'

  Yron paused and looked at the mage to make sure he wasn't being made fun of.

  'First thing you should have asked yourself is, why in God's name are they here? And, more unbelievable, why did they show up at the Shorth Estuary fighting for the elves? I mean, you're sitting there saying, "Oh look, it's The Raven but we've escaped them". You've got to think harder than that.'

  'I'll concede it was a big coincidence, but the point remains that we got away, so it doesn't matter.'

  'And that's what I mean by missing the reality. It always matters what The Raven are doing. Everywhere they've gone and everything they've done in the last decade has changed things. Not always world-shaping but significant. Always significant. And they aren't used to failing.'

  'Didn't stop the Nightchild dying though, did they?' Erys was still plainly sceptical.

  'Yes, but she died; she wasn't killed by Dordovans. There's a difference.'

  Erys shrugged. 'If you say so, Captain.'

  'You're young, Erys. And you think old warriors like The Raven can't hurt you. But you're wrong. Ask the people who faced them yesterday. They are awesome. And they aren't on our side. Mark my words, boy, it will worry the Circle Seven. When you report to Dystran, he will want to know what they were doing on Calaius. Because they sure as hell weren't taking a holiday. You got an answer to that?'

  Erys shook his head. 'None of us have. But then none of us should lose sleep over it either. I'm not going to be barring my bedroom window.'

  Yron sighed and pushed himself off the crates, feeling a growing sense of irritation. He'd thought more of Erys but he was just as blind as the rest.

  'So leave your window open. But I for one am worried because Denser knows me and The Raven are after us. And I want to know why he said what he said. And before you smirk, think on this. The Raven don't fight for money any more; they don't need to. They fight only when they believe they have to. And they never give up until they've completed their task. Never. It tells me that what we've started is bigger than Dystran would have us believe. If I'm going to be a target, I want to find out why and I strongly advise you to do the same.'

  'You're scared of them, aren't you?' said Erys, apparently surprised by his own statement.

  'Bloody right I am. But I'm also worried about the elves. We don't know why The Raven went to Calaius but they've ended up allies with the elves. Think about it, Erys. The Circle Seven will. Don't make yourself look a fool in front of them. Not after what you've achieved here.'

  Erys nodded but said nothing, his expression thoughtful. Yron walked away towards the bow of the ship, his anxiety growing now he had given it voice. He looked over the rail down into the frothing bow wave. Thirty yards off the beam, dolphins tracked their progress, sleek bodies sliding effortlessly through the waves.

  He understood Erys's scepticism. The Raven were after all only a tiny band. But, as had been remarked upon countless times and even noted by students of warfare, The Raven alone or as part of something larger made things happen the way they wanted them to. Erys hadn't seen them in action but Yron had. And he knew what would happen if he ever faced them, sword in hand. He'd die.

  Chapter 34

  By the time The Raven left the Shorth Estuary and put to sea they were three full days behind the Xeteskians. The Calaian Sun would make up some of that time but, with the best will in the world, they would reach Balaia at least a day and a half adrift.

  However, the enforced inactivity was not without its benefits and The Raven had time to rest, heal, train and talk. But any thoughts that the elves travelling with them would thaw in their attitude were consigned quickly to the desert of dreams.

  True, they sparred with the Al-Arynaar on deck, but their opponents were reluctant and there only because Rebraal had told them to be. But the six ClawBound pairs and ten TaiGethen cells who had come tentatively aboard with the thirty-eight fully fit Al-Arynaar were not so much aloof as invisible. They exercised at night, ate in their bunks and refused The Raven's offers of discussions on tactics. Hirad was minded to let them stew and was insulted at their lack of gratitude. The Unknown, however, was more circumspect and ensured Rebraal was present early one morning when The Raven spoke about the days to come, knowing he would report back.

  'We've got to do this right,' said The Unknown. 'From mooring to travelling, to negotiating, to-'

  'Negotiating?' said Hirad, as if he'd just popped rotten fruit in his mouth.

  'Yes, Hirad, negotiating,' repeated The Unknown. 'You may be happy taking on the considerable might of Xetesk but I'm certainly not.'

  The Raven and Rebraal were in the Captain's room, sitting round a table covered with plates and goblets. A steaming jug of herb tea rested against the raised lip by Denser's right hand. Aeb was in a room forward, bathing his face and talking to his brothers in the Soul Tank.

  'So, your plan is for us to walk up to the gates of Xetesk and ask for the thumb back.'

  'In a nutshell, yes,' said The Unknown. 'You have an alternative?'

  'Not necessarily, Unknown,' said Hirad, 'but I think you're being misty-eyed about Xetesk's motives for wanting all the stuff they stole. It's hardly going to be so they can enhance their relations with the elven nation, is it? They are at war and they want all the advantages they can get.'

  'I understand that but I can't believe they knew what they'd be unleashing by taking the thumb. Surely they'll just hand it straight back. Even if they do want to dominate Balaia, there's no reason to exterminate the elven race.'

  'But look what they did to get it,' said Ilkar. 'We have to ask the question, could they have known? And so was the theft deliberate?'

  They all looked at Rebraal. Ilkar repeated the question in elvish and waited for the reply, his brother not yet confident enough to always express his thoughts in Balaian.

  'He says it was impossible for a stranger to know the effects of desecrating the statue. Most elves don't, and that includes me. But then he'd also have said the same about the location of the temple. He and all the servants of Yniss think it a deliberate act designed to harm the elven race; they are just finding it hard to believe anyone would do such a thing to them.'

  'We gathered that,' said Darrick. 'But that means Xetesk actually intends to destroy the elven nation, or at least deal it a catastrophic blow. I'm not sure I believe that.'

  'I'd like not to,' said Denser. 'I really would. And Xetesk may not have known the effect the theft of the statue fragment would have. But I'm afraid that things are rather falling into place.' His voice was leaden and low. Hirad stared at him, feeling for his sense of betrayal.

  'Would you care to expand on that?' asked Ilkar quietly.

  'Whatever Xetesk
wants to learn from the writings and the artefact won't be for anyone's benefit other than Xetesk. They'll be looking to gain an advantage over the elves, some knowledge of their inherent magical ability and make-up. Something like that.

  'They're on Herendeneth too. I know we had to bring them there to have any chance of learning enough to release the Protectors and repatriate the Kaan but they have shown their true colours now. What we wanted was a by-product. What they want is access to their dimensional magic again. Don't forget, Dystran is a specialist in inter-dimensional theory.

  'And, if all we hear is true, then Xetesk do want to rule magic on Balaia. Let's face it, they haven't offered any help to Julatsa, have they?'

  Denser stopped for a moment, his frown deepening and his shoulders slumping even more.

  'What I'm trying to say is that although they might not know what they've caused by their theft, I don't think Dystran will stand in the way of a plague wiping out the elves, should he discover that's what the theft has caused. After all, no elves, no Julatsa.'

  Hirad saw Ilkar's jaw drop as he took it all in.

  'And dimensional magics will make them almost unstoppable,' said Erienne.

  'Particularly if they continue to neglect to free the Protectors,' added The Unknown.

  'Still want to get the thumb by asking for it?' asked Hirad.

  The Unknown shook his head. 'I really hadn't seen all these possibilities. Even if Denser's wrong, we can't afford to take the risk. No, this changes everything.'

  'You really think Xetesk would willingly preside over racial genocide? ' asked Ilkar.

  'Not Xetesk,' said Denser. 'Dystran. He's thirsty for power and wants to see Xetesk the dominant magical force, perhaps even the only magical force, no matter what he says to the contrary. And he won't even have to see or acknowledge the destruction his actions have caused. All he has to do is not listen to the truth. Something he finds very easy, believe me.'