Elfsorrow

Ben-Foran frowned. 'Honestly?'

'Of course.' Yron frowned.

'I think it's a shame to damage the statue. It's a beautiful piece of sculpture.'

'But needs must,' said Yron. 'And I don't think it'll be getting too many more visitors after we've left, do you?'

'Have you asked Erys? It might be trapped in some way and I've had enough wards to last a lifetime,' said Ben-Foran.

'Fair point. Erys?' Yron looked about and quickly saw the mage in the pool, his red hair darkened by the water. 'Any reason why I shouldn't lop the hand off this thing?'

Erys shook his head. 'It's aesthetically harsh but there's no magical reason, no. Seems a pity to spoil it.'

'Sod the pair of you,' said Yron. 'Right, clear away from here. Don't want any injuries from flying marble.'

He took aim, raised the pickaxe and brought it down on the wrist of the statue. Shards of stone flew in all directions, spattering into the pool and across the floor. Some of the men moved further away. Yron could see a few cracks emanating from the point of impact. He struck again and the cracks widened. All eyes were on him, all conversation had ceased, the sound of the pick striking the marble slapping off the walls of the temple. A third blow and he was sure he felt it give. A fourth and the marble sheared, the hand, some four feet long, toppling into the pool.

It had the desired effect. With the pipes broken beneath, water poured with much greater intensity into the pool, the noise of the trickle gone, to be replaced by one akin to a jug being emptied into a bowl.

'Gentlemen,' said Yron from his vantage point, 'I give you the waters of life!'

He dropped the pickaxe and jumped back into the pool, the cheers muted as the water closed over his head. Rebraal groped his way towards agonising consciousness. He was being dragged over the forest floor. It was full dark and the nocturnal denizens of the rainforest were all around him. He could sense their scuttling, their movement through the canopy and myriad wings of every size beating. Almost more alive than during daylight hours, the forest buzzed with activity.

He shook his head to clear the confusion encasing his brain. At the same time, his back connected with something sharp on the ground and he yelped. The dragging ceased immediately and he was laid gently flat. He heard footsteps and opened his eyes to see Mercuun leaning over him.

'Dear Yniss, you're really alive!' said the elf, a grin splitting his face.

'Just about,' said Rebraal. Memories crashed through his mind and he struggled to sit up but Mercuun restrained him.

'Don't. I'm only moving you because we needed to get somewhere safer.'

'But Aryndeneth? And what about the others? Meru, tell me.' Mercuun's grin vanished to be replaced by an expression close to despair.

'The strangers have the temple,' he said. 'All the others are dead and they have almost fifty guarding it now. They have fires and tents and they are resting inside.'

Rebraal felt sick. Strangers defiling Aryndeneth by their touch and their very breath on its sacred walls. And to use the great temple as a dormitory. Not even the Al-Arynaar would presume such, choosing to sleep in netted hammocks under thatched shelters in a clearing behind the temple.

'We have to stop them,' said Rebraal.

'We are but two,' said Mercuun. 'Alone, there is nothing we can do.'

Rebraal pushed Mercuun's hand aside and forced himself into a sitting position. His left shoulder was aflame with pain and he gasped, moving his right hand there to investigate.

'I removed the crossbow bolt but it was deep,' explained Mercuun. 'They must have thought you dead, as did I when I found you. Shorth have mercy on the others. Those bastards just left you all in a pile on the forest floor. No ceremony, no respect, no honour.'

'Then I was lucky. Tual has saved me for the task of retaking the temple.'

As if quoting the name of Tual, God of the forest denizens, had sent a ripple through the canopy, a jaguar growled nearby and above them the shriek of a monkey was taken up by an entire troop.

'See?' Rebraal's smile was grim. 'Tual hears me.'

'And retake the temple we will, but I have to get you to the village or you will die,' said Mercuun. 'The bolt wound is already reddening under infection and you're cut all over. I've treated your skin with legumia but you need a mage to knit the muscle of your shoulder, and you've lost too much blood. You know the signs as well as I do.'

'I don't want to go back there,' said Rebraal.

'Please, Rebraal, this isn't the time to dredge up old animosities. You must be well.'

Rebraal shook his head. 'Just don't make me talk to them. They have no faith.' He offered Mercuun his right hand. 'Help me up, will you? I'm not too sick to walk.'

But as soon as they started, he wasn't so sure. The pain in his shoulder built steadily as Mercuun's soothing poultice wore off, and his legs were cramped. He felt weak and light-headed and leant on his friend for support but refused to rest again until they'd put real distance between them and the strangers who had taken his temple, his life. Taking it back would be sweet. Every Al-Arynaar that had fallen would be avenged ten times over.

'Tell me how you fared, Meru,' he said, when he found the energy to speak and the pain had dropped temporarily to a numbing thump.

'I have announced the alarm. The Al-Arynaar are alerted and the word is spreading. I have stressed the need for our people to be aware north and I have asked for information from anyone who saw these people land. There is confusion about how the strangers found the temple and remained undetected for their whole journey. We fear the worst for the watchers in the northern canopy and uplands. But the ClawBound are walking and the TaiGethen are closing. These strangers will never leave Calaius.'

'How long before we are assembled to retake Aryndeneth?'

Mercuun sucked in his cheeks. 'Remember, Rebraal, we weren't due to be relieved for another seventy days. The gathering has to take place and the prayers must be spoken or we will anger Yniss. There are gaps in the net; people are on hunting expeditions and it is the season of contemplation. So many of those closest by are at hermitage.'

'How long?' Rebraal knew what Mercuun said was true, and knew the rituals must be observed. He felt a chill enter his body and a vision played across his mind of the desecration that could be visited on Aryndeneth in a few short days.

'Eighty will be ready to attack in twenty days' time.'

'Twenty days!' Rebraal's shout put birds to flight, and in the undergrowth animals scampered from the supposed threat. 'Gyal's tears, that is too long.'

He stopped walking and leaned against the rough bole of a fig tree under attack from strangler vines that were slowly enmeshing it. Eventually, they would kill it. He would have understood ten days, maybe even accepted the delay as inevitable, but this…

'Please, Rebraal, the Al-Arynaar are moving as fast as they can. But we are not the reactive force of our fathers' days. Our mage numbers are small and we cannot afford to go in without their support.'

'But in twenty days, all could have been lost. The cell of Yniss opens in fourteen. What if they are after his writings? Think of the cost. These aren't treasure seekers. There are too many of them. They want something they believe is inside the temple.'

Rebraal began walking again, quickly, his eyes piercing the night as surely as any panther's. He denied the pain that thundered through him at every footfall, praying to Beeth, God of root and branch, to keep him from falling.

'We can't wait, Meru. We'll have to get people from the village. I know they aren't true believers but we have already been betrayed or how could the strangers have found us?'

He had expected Mercuun to be happy at his sudden insistence on enlisting help from their birthplace, the place where his family were treated almost as outcasts because they would not relinquish what were now popularly considered to be old ways. Although every elf on Calaius believed in the harmony, and in Yniss its highest deity, they did not believe in the sanctity of Aryndeneth enough to honour the village quota and send every fifth child to the calling of the Al-Arynaar.