Elfsorrow

'None of the Al-Arynaar have learned ShadowWings. It's a pointless spell in the rainforest. We can all do it and that means we can scout a wide area very quickly. Look, I'm not talking about overflying Xeteskian or Black Wing positions, but there's a mass of open ground on the route they'd have taken trying to get back here. We'll find them, I can feel it. And if we leave a few hours before dawn, we can be beyond Izack's lines before sunrise and practically on top of where Yron and Merke's Tai came out.'

'Then you'd better sleep,' said The Unknown. 'All of you. And if there's anything you can do to boost your stamina, use it. Because if I'm not mistaken, none of you could cast wings big enough to lift a mouse right now.'

There was no argument but Darrick wasn't satisfied.

'Ren, can I borrow you to translate for me?'

'Sure,' she said. 'What?'

'Well, whatever we say, the elves are going to disengage and Ilkar is right about how the Xeteskians will react. So Ren and I are going to have a little meeting with Auum, Rebraal and the Dordovan command where I will explain how to conduct a phased withdrawal. Because if they don't do it right and get enough Dordovans in to fill the hole, Izack will have a new army to fight and I'm not having my people left exposed like that.'

'Ever the general,' said Hirad.

Darrick shook his head. 'No, Hirad. Just feeling guilty.'

Chapter 45

While he'd been unconscious, they'd blindfolded him and tied him across his saddle. He came to his senses at some point during the ride that followed, a ride that he thought would never end. They took him off his horse when they stopped for the night but didn't untie his hands, remove his blindfold or feed him. And they wouldn't speak to him, just gave him infrequent mouthfuls of stale water.

The crossbow wound in his thigh was excruciating. Periodically, he could feel the blood flow down his leg but he ignored it, such was his general discomfort and the racking jolts into his stomach which came with every stride of the fast-moving horse. He was certain he was being caused probably fatal internal damage and the blood he coughed into his mouth periodically was all the evidence he needed. It left him glad they'd starved him. He'd only have vomited anything solid up anyway.

When at last they stopped, after the dull thud of hooves had become an echo off buildings and he'd heard the sound of many voices, of hammering and harsh laughter, and he was pulled from his horse to lie flat on hard mud, he knew he'd travelled his last. Wherever they'd brought him to. Whatever town or village they were in, the Black Wings were in control and he wasn't going to be leaving.

All that kept him alive was the elven salvation he had in a pocket. And even that was taken from him when he was marched somewhere quiet that smelled of old ale, with timbered floors and a high ceiling. After the search that revealed so little, he was forced into a chair, his arms were untied and the blindfold pulled roughly over his head.

He didn't know what to do first so he tried to do it all. He blinked to get some focus into his gluey eyes, tried to move his arms and massage life back into his hands and fingers and felt at the wound that thudded with every weary beat of his heart. It all became confused so he stopped, took a breath and decided looking at his situation was the best start.

He forced one arm up to his face despite the protestations of his shoulder and elbow and used the stiffened fingers of the hand to gouge at his eyes. Slowly, painfully, he brought the room into bleary reality. He was sitting on a straight-backed chair across a table from a man. The man was flanked by two others. On the table were tankards, a jug and a plate of bread and dried meat. The look of the food repulsed him, his stomach turning over and sending renewed nausea swimming through his body.

He was in an inn – the shape, smell and remnants of a bar told him that – but it was an inn that had not seen custom for a long time. Heavy drapes covered window holes and he could now make out sounds from the outside. They were to his left and he got the impression he was as far into the building as he could get.

Focussing on the man's face in front of him in the dim light, it seemed distorted. One of his eyes was white and his mouth was downturned but just on one side. He had never met the man before but knew exactly who it was.

'Selik,' he said through a mouthful of old blood.

'Captain Yron, Xeteskian soldier,' replied Selik, his voice a little slurred as if he was drunk. 'Quite a mess you made of my valuable patrol, so I'm led to believe.'

Yron managed a dry chuckle though he had never felt less like laughing. 'I tried to warn them.'

Selik raised a hand. 'Well, we'll get on to all that later. First, I'm sure you could do with water. I'd offer you wine but I'm afraid this place ran dry a long time ago.'

'Where are we?'

Selik poured him a tankard of water and he gulped at it, feeling its chill freshness revitalise his throat. He spat on the ground.

'A place of legends,' said Selik. 'Hard to believe I know, but so much that has shaped us happened here in years gone by. And is doing so again. I'm surprised you don't recognise it even from this small sample. I'd have entertained you in my office but the compound is being used for drilling men and it's all very noisy at the moment. Much more peace here.'

Yron had a better look round, took in the empty room scattered with broken wood and the dark of night through the door at the far end. There was only one place he knew as dead as this but still standing. He'd drunk here once.

'Understone.'

'Very good,' said Selik. 'I see the ride hasn't jellied your brain though I see from your colour the same cannot be said of your gut. Shame. The bread is fresh.'

Yron was tired. He wanted to sleep or die. Either would have done. But he could see that Selik wanted to toy with him. Well, he didn't want to play.

'What do you want, Selik? I've just about lost everything except my life and I'm none too keen on that, so don't go threatening death to get your answers. Giving me back to Xetesk holds much more fear.'

'Hmmm.' Selik tore off a corner of bread and fed it into the right side of his mouth, chewing carefully. 'Yes, that was one of the things I wanted you to help me with. That and a few details about the layout of your beloved college. And, more out of curiosity than anything else, why you're carrying bits of carved marble in your pocket.' Selik indicated the thumb which lay on the table next to Yron's empty holster.

'Is that all?'

'For now.'

'Where do you want me to start?'

'How cooperative.'

'You haven't heard me answer yet, boy.'

'Just before we get on, I think I should make it clear that the only people who could ever call me "boy" were my parents. You will address me as "Selik", or "Captain".'

Yron scoffed. 'Selik it is, then. You're certainly no captain. That's a term reserved for soldiers of rank, not self-styled peacocks like you.'

Selik smiled thinly, ignoring the barb. Yron wasn't sure if he was pleased at that or not. He didn't want to endure more pain unnecessarily but he had to know how far he could push.

'I should make a couple of other things clear. You are going to die here. And I will get my information. It is merely a question of how easy you want to make your last hours.'

Selik sipped his water, looking at Yron over the rim for a reaction. Yron made sure he saw nothing but calm acceptance.

'I think your men have already helped me along that path,' said Yron, feeling his gut. 'Ask.'

'I'm intrigued,' said Selik, 'why a Xeteskian soldier should be found running from his college in the company of elves and not as their prisoner. I have heard of these elves in the past days. Are they not fighting against Xetesk?'

'Xetesk has committed a great crime – unwittingly at first but now with full knowledge – and it has to be righted. The college would not do it so I took it upon myself. You stopped me. Us.'