Elfsorrow

He threw the mage down, watching him cartwheel as he fell. The human prayed he hit the water. His Gods did not hear him. Sha-Kaan turned from the splayed mess far below on the deck and dived back after Nos-Kaan.

The wounded dragon was close to the surface now. Sha-Kaan swam under him and pushed him from below, moving him fast towards a nearby island with a beach on which he could rest. He could feel the pain through Nos-Kaan's mind. The dragon, who had never fully recovered from attack by Dordovan mages out in the Southern Ocean two seasons before, was dreadfully injured.

He heaved Nos-Kaan from the waves. The stricken Kaan laid his neck out on the sand, leaving his tortured burned body in the salty water.

Tell me, Nos. Your injuries, can they heal?

But he already knew the answer. Nos-Kaan's wing lay on the surface of the sea, outstretched, membrane ruined in so many places. And the scales along his back were puckered and oozing.

It has been a great adventure, Great Kaan. And I would have loved to rest back in our Brood lands, but it was ever a dream I feared I would never realise.

Then rest now, my brother. Rest now. You will be avenged.

But Nos-Kaan couldn't hear him.

Sha-Kaan rose up on his hind legs, beat his wings and bellowed grief, rage and torment. Birds took flight and lizards scattered on the beach. Back at anchor, the Xeteskian ship lay waiting. He decided not to keep them any longer.

But even as he rushed into the air to revenge himself upon them, a voice sounded in his mind. It spoke reason and sympathy and it took the edge from his rage. It told him that he must live. That the Brood Kaan would wane without him, that there were other places to fight the battle. It told him it loved him and that it would see the research into the hands that would help.

The voice was that of Hirad Coldheart, his Dragonene, and it surely saved his life.

Chapter 35

Dystran, Lord of the Mount of Xetesk, was in excellent spirits. He had enjoyed his lunch enormously and took the remains of his wine out of the dining room he had shared with the rest of the Circle Seven into the Corridor of the Ancients. Looking along the impressive line of portraits in the brightly lit corridor, he reminded himself to organise his own. Every other master on the walls was very old. A dash of youth would be just the job.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned. Ranyl was walking slowly towards him, pain obvious on his face but defiantly upright despite the natural desire to stoop to try and relax the pain from the cancer in his stomach. He smiled as he approached.

'My Lord Dystran, I have more news,' he said, 'concerning the search on Calaius.'

'Really?' Dystran's pulse quickened slightly. 'Good I hope?'

'I would welcome a seat and a glass of whatever it is you have.' Ranyl smiled.

Dystran raised a hand. 'I'm sorry, my manners.'

He led the old and dying master back to the dining room, where they sat at the end of the cavernous chamber away from the inquisitive ears of the rest of the Seven. Servants were clearing plates and glasses from the long rectangular table on which seven candelabra supported strong white flames. In the wood-panelled room, voices echoed loud so Dystran lowered his voice as he poured wine and sat down with his adviser.

'You'll be glad to hear, old friend, that our key researchers are even now returning to Balaia from Herendeneth. There was trouble with the Kaan dragons but they escaped intact. They'll land in approximately nine days and be in the college inside twenty. Fifty Protectors are with them. The answers are close, Ranyl. Very, very close. If we can hold our borders for just that little bit longer.'

'Well, Heryst's caution still plays into our hands though Rusau's unfortunate demise was regrettable. Intelligence indicates he is mobilising his forces. His strength could yet be pivotal. We should consider talks of some kind,' said Ranyl. He smiled as he drank from his glass.

'About what?'

'It hardly matters,' said Ranyl. 'As long as it stops any concerted invasion for long enough. Why not discuss the dispersal of the Herendeneth research? It won't stop Vuldaroq but it might give Heryst pause, and that is all we need to see our people home.'

'The timing will be important,' said Dystran, a warm feeling creeping into his bones as he saw the sense of Ranyl's plan.

'Indeed. We should act as soon as possible. You might try personal Communion with Heryst. Soothe his pain, so to speak.'

'My dear Ranyl, I will never find another to replace you,' Dystran said, and squeezed the old man's free hand. 'But this isn't what you wanted to tell me about. Calaius.'

'Ah, my Lord, the Gods are organising everything to speed your ascension,' rumbled Ranyl through a cough. 'I have had Communion from our fleet. They are on their way back from Calaius. They have the writings we need.'

'Are you sure?' said Dystran. He felt elation rush through his body.

'It was a difficult operation. We lost many lives but both Erys and Yron survived. Erys is as sure as he can be that what they have is the text you had in mind.'

'How difficult?'

'We lost almost one hundred and ninety people,' said Ranyl quietly.

'What!' Dystran's voice echoed across the dining room and stilled the hum of conversation from the remainder of the Seven. His next words were an angry whisper. 'What in all the hells happened? Did they run into a storm or something?'

'Elves,' said Ranyl. 'TaiGethen, Al-Arynaar. They are apparently far more deadly than the myths suggested they were.'

Dystran sighed. 'Yes, but even so, we had a complex enough illusion pattern. What happened to that?'

'It was fine until the mages started to get sick or exhausted,' said Ranyl. 'They couldn't keep it up. By the time they reached the forward campsite, it was unsustainable. Yron was surprised at the tenacity of the temple defence and from then on the elves were closing in. We were lucky anyone got away.'

Dystran drained his glass and refilled it, his earlier good humour ebbing away. He was still buoyed by the thought of the elven text he craved – the key to their longevity – but the scale of the disaster that had befallen his raiders would leave a bitter taste.

'What about the elders? When can we expect the demands?'

'I've no idea,' said Ranyl. 'But we can replicate the text quickly enough. We'll have the time. I'll word a particularly compelling apology.'

'Do that.' The Lord of the Mount stared at Ranyl, whose eyes were sagging, drawn with fatigue and pain. He'd be taking the loss of life personally. 'I'm sorry. You'll have lost friends.'

Ranyl shrugged. 'It's not so much that. There's something else you should know.'

'Someone drop the writings in the sea, did they?'

'The Raven were there. Fighting with the elves.'

Dystran was about to dismiss this final item of information with a wave of his hand but stopped in mid gesture, cold trickling across his mind. He almost shouted again but checked himself.

'How the hell did they get involved? Why?' He was blustering and he knew it, but their presence raised so many questions. 'How did they know what we were trying to do? And why, Gods burning, was I not told they'd left Herendeneth?'

Ranyl waited until he was sure Dystran had stopped asking questions.

'It's impossible for them to have known our mission to Calaius. I feel it was a coincidence, though admittedly a very unfortunate one.'

'I'll say it is.'

'Please, my Lord. Yes, it is unfortunate, but I think we should turn our minds to why they were in the middle of the rainforest at all. They're up to something. As to why you weren't told they'd left Herendeneth, it's because it wasn't a question that was ordered asked of the Protectors.'

The smile reappeared on Dystran's face. 'Well, we can soon put that right, can't we? Denser's still Aeb's Given mage, I take it?'

'Yes, my Lord.'

'Well, get to finding out exactly what The Raven were doing there. Find out what they know. Aeb can't refuse to answer a direct question.'