Elfsorrow

'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some organisation to attend to.'

He turned and strode back to his father's house, his desire to prove Kild'aar wrong, to prove that those he loved were not mere strangers to be despised, burning hot within him. Heryst rubbed his hands over his face and leaned back in his chair in the great hall in the tower of Lystern. He seemed to have spent most of his time here in the last few days, meeting senior mages, desperately seeking a solution.

He felt the weight of responsibility bearing him down. In the many clear and frightening moments he experienced when he was alone, he saw himself as the only man truly capable of halting the appalling spiral of the war. But the chances for peace were slipping through his fingers and there was seemingly nothing he could do. His delegation in Xetesk was making no progress and all he heard from Dordover were demands to ally to save Balaia. And they were demands he was finding it increasingly hard to refuse.

'You're tired, Heryst,' said Kayvel, who sat next to him, an unfailing support. 'You should rest.'

'It's not even dark yet,' he replied. 'How can I be tired?'

'It might be something to do with the fact that, to my certain knowledge, you haven't slept for three days, my Lord,' chided Kayvel gently. 'Take an hour. It won't hurt.'

'I'm afraid there isn't time,' said Heryst.

He could feel war advancing like a virus. The hideous events in Arlen were still so fresh. The spell Xetesk had used was a statement, if any such was still needed, of their intention to crush Dordover. And would they stop? Vuldaroq was sure they would not. Heryst was scared he was right.

The violent clearance of the refugees from the gates of the dark college was another clear message and now there were reports of the fighting moving into college lands. Dordovan and Xeteskian supply hamlets and farmland were being fired, college militias were strung out defending vulnerable lands and the opportunities for conflict were growing by the day. And behind it all was that nagging feeling that Selik and the Black Wings would be the only real beneficiaries if the four colleges were dragged into all-out conflict.

It was time for big decisions.

'I'm going back to Dordover,' he said.

'My Lord?'

'I want you to contact Rusau in Xetesk, make sure he keeps up the pressure to meet the Lord of the Mount. But mind him to leave the moment he feels he is under threat.'

'And what will you be saying to Vuldaroq?'

'That we have to look to protect what is left of the balance of the colleges. That we must despatch forces to the defence of Julatsa and that we must consider a blockade of Xeteskian lands. It may be the only way to force them into negotiation. We all understand what they are trying to do and we cannot let them have free run of everything they need through Arlen. And that includes the return of the mages from Herendeneth. We are not strong enough to take them on alone.'

'You will ally?'

'I will take practical steps to ensure Lystern is not destroyed.'

'Ever the politician.'

'I have entered alliance with Dordover before. I will not make the mistake of such a formal arrangement again.' Yron didn't know how long they been running when they at last collapsed off the path, legs like jelly and lungs heaving in tortured chests; he thought they had at least bought themselves an hour or two. But he knew they couldn't stop. Heading off at a gentler pace once they'd got their breath back, he led Ben-Foran east, away from the camp and towards a tributary of the River Shorth that would lead them eventually to the main force of the river and then to the estuary itself.

As they moved, he urged Ben to be as quiet as he was able, to disturb as little as he could and to keep his eyes peeled for anything that might indicate they were being followed. He knew all were futile gestures but it kept Ben from thinking about what had happened at the temple.

He wondered if Ben thought they had left the threat behind them, whether the boy considered the possibility of others in their path. This consumed Yron now, as they tramped through dense forest, ducking branches, vines and great dangling leaves and picking a path as best they could, trying to follow the sun through the thick canopy above when the cloud cleared.

Yron looked at his hands, thankful he'd ordered Ben to don his gloves too. The leather was caught and torn by thorns and bark and the Gods knew what else. His leggings had fared no better and he was pretty sure some snags had penetrated the material to scratch his skin. His light leather coat had kept the worst from his upper body and arms but his face was cut in half a dozen places he could feel and no doubt marked in many others he couldn't. It raised a problem. Two problems, actually.

At their next rest stop, perched on a hollow log that Yron first checked for anything poisonous, he tackled them.

'Ben, look at me,' he said. 'Now, describe every cut you see.'

'Eh?'

'I'm going to do the same for you. We don't need infection and we don't need blood traces.'

'Eh?'

'Are you practising some primate mating call, Ben?' asked Yron. 'And it's "Eh, Captain." '

'I'm sorry, sir, but don't we just have to rest and go? You've nothing but a couple of thorn scratches. Nothing to waste time over.'

Yron cleared his throat and stood up, stepping over to a rubiac plant he'd just spied and plucking the fruits from it. 'Ben, take this as more teaching. Teaching which won't be a waste of time because we're both going to survive this. Always, always plan to survive. And in an environment like this planning is everything. Now tell me, what are we going to do when we get to the river?'

'Jump in, you said,' replied Ben-Foran dubiously. He shivered. 'Something like that. To shake our scent from those panthers.'

'Correct. And it's a dangerous enough move at the best of times. But these aren't the best of times. I counted eight scratches on your face that have drawn blood. Eight scratches that unless we treat before we jump in the river will attract not only every water-borne disease you can think of and twenty you can't, but the even more unwelcome attention of piranhas. And believe you me, these are not the sort of little fishes you want to go swimming with if you're cut.'

'Oh, I see.'

'I'm glad,' said Yron. 'So we take half an hour here. Count our cuts, pick the fruit, make the poultices and apply. All right? Good.'

'Sir?'

'Yes, Ben.'

'Are we going to survive this?'

'Do you consider yourself lucky, Ben?'

The younger man shrugged. 'Recently, yes.'

'Me too. So I think we can. As long as our luck holds. And if you believe that, you'll do something else for me right now.'

'What's that, sir?'

'Keep your hands exactly where they are,' said Yron. 'Don't put the left one down because there's what I believe to be a taipan sliding right by your thigh.'

Chapter 21

Auum waited all day while they gathered. The TaiGethen, the ClawBound and the first of the Al-Arynaar relief. As each arrived, he ushered them into the temple to show them the desecration of the statue. And the news had continued to get worse. More of the daily and weekly contemplation chambers had opened to reveal their contents plundered. Auum's mood, already dark, plunged into new depths. Every stranger would be made to pay for the crime.

He did not begin his chase immediately. The ClawBound pair had already departed to follow the two he had spared temporarily. But now the need to find the others was just as important. So he waited all the day, praying with his Tai or alone. Or sitting in quiet contemplation both inside and outside the temple, focussing his energies, honing his mind to peaks of concentration to allow him to connect with Tual's denizens.