Garan saw Sildaan was smiling. It was a wry expression and there was a minute shake of the head that he had come to associate with grudging respect.
‘What is it?’
‘Well, we didn’t find Pelyn among the dead in the park, did we? I wonder if she talked her way out of their clutches when Helias deserted them?’
A door opened a little further down the street. Garan drew his blade. A lone man came gingerly into the light, his expression when he saw Garan only just short of euphoric. He was terribly pale and clutched a blood-soaked cloth over his other hand. He half ran, half stumbled over, bringing with him the stench of excrement and urine. Garan saw the stains on his trousers and held up his hands.
‘I think that’s close enough. What’s your name, son?’
‘I’m Naril, sir.’ He had stopped and was staring about him at the bodies in the street. Unpleasant memories played out, his face a mirror of his earlier fear. ‘They fell on us so quickly. I never saw them until they spoke to me.’
‘They spoke to you?’ said Garan.
‘What did they say?’ asked Sildaan.
Garan loved hearing her talk the Balaian language. All her accents were wrong but it stirred something in his loins that he was a little conflicted to be feeling.
‘They warned me that we’d all die,’ said Naril.
‘Ah yes,’ said Garan. ‘One left standing to tell the tale. That’s something you and I have in common, young Naril. How many were they?’
‘Just two of the quick ones. Four others. Al-Arynaar but a bit shabby.’
‘Two?’ Garan turned to Sildaan. ‘Thoughts on who it might be?’
‘Not really. They only work in threes when they’re hunting. This was just a look about, I’m sure.’
‘It doesn’t affect our plans. Don’t worry about it, Naril. Get back to your ship. Find a mage to deal with your injury. Clean yourself up and get some rest.’
Naril bobbed his head and ran off in the direction of the docks.
‘Plans?’ said Sildaan.
‘Yep.’
‘I’m looking forward to hearing them at the Shorth temple this evening. I’m sure Llyron is too.’
‘Let’s hope I don’t disappoint you.’
‘Again.’
‘Sildaan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your humour. I was wrong about it.’ Pelyn was shaking like she had a fever. The shivers had settled on her not long after she ran into the staging camp. On her instruction, Tulan and Ephran had been disarmed and taken into custody by loyal Al-Arynaar. Similarly on her instruction, Methian was sleeping in one of the long dormitories. Pelyn herself had been sitting with Katyett when the shakes had come on. She’d been sure Katyett had something important to tell her but it had been forgotten when Pelyn’s teeth began to chatter.
Katyett brought her a hot drink from one of the tree-trunk steamers the TaiGethen and Ynissul had built. Clever pieces that boiled water for washing and drinking but which gave out almost no smoke or flame due to the dispersal of the former through hollowed roots into a nearby stream and the shielding of the latter by an ingenious bamboo system for feeding air into a small clay dome placed under the trunk.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ she asked.
‘Nothing that won’t fix,’ said Katyett. ‘You’ve been through a lot. Just take your time. Feeling cold?’
‘No.’ Pelyn looked out into the darkening sky. ‘Just not very clean. And why is everyone looking at me?’
‘Probably because your face is a bit of a mess. We’ll see to it,’ said Katyett. ‘And what do you mean, everyone?’
‘All the TaiGethen for a start.’
‘You’re imagining things,’ said Katyett, who wouldn’t catch her eye.
‘I’m shaking; I haven’t gone blind,’ said Pelyn. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Later. Let’s get you straight first. Let’s talk about something else and try and bring this shock out.’
‘So there is something going on.’
‘Pelyn!’
‘All right, all right. What do you want to know?’
‘Well, we could start with the state of Ysundeneth.’
‘All right, but you can start by telling me why you didn’t mention you were going to hide here? It would have been useful information.’
‘For Llyron too,’ said Katyett. ‘Anyway, we didn’t know who we could trust.’
‘Well you could trust me,’ said Pelyn, knowing she was whining.
‘Come on, Pelyn. You’re smarter than this. You, I would trust with my life. Others in your organisation-’ Katyett nodded at Tulan and Ephran, apart from everyone else and under guard ‘-were not so worthy. Besides, we needed to leak the information deliberately to some Ynissul we knew had to be plants.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Not enough bruising. Not enough trauma. Too calm and too measured. There were five of them that we took to the Ultan. All of them have reported back on our apparent direction.’
‘And you’re sure there are no more?’
Katyett shrugged. ‘We can never be completely sure. We’ve a couple of suspects but they aren’t going anywhere. This place is easy to defend from absconders and we’ve let it slip that anyone who leaves without permission will be in front of Shorth to explain themselves, not me. So, the city?’
‘You know almost as much as me. Merrat and Graf will have told you how many men are on the streets. They’ve set the place up brilliantly, you have to hand it to Sildaan and her ilk. There is no concerted defence. They knew the Al-Arynaar would be torn every which way. They probably thought we’d run with you. I wish we had. How many did we get out? A hundred and three? Pathetic. That means there are three hundred lost in there. Dead, captured or deserted. So many friends.’
‘How long before the city is under Llyron’s control.’
‘They’re moving very fast. The men are brutal and they have a coherent plan. They’re going from ghetto to ghetto, as far as we could make out. We think most elves are being confined in their homes or taken somewhere near the docks to makeshift prisons. I’ve no doubt the city’s prisons will be similarly employed when they’re captured. They’ll be in control by tonight. Tomorrow dawn at most.’
Pelyn took a long draught of the guarana and clove infusion. She understood why Methian enjoyed it so. It smelled wonderful. Each swallow brought her renewed energy.
‘Llyron,’ said Katyett through a sigh. ‘Do you really believe it?’
Pelyn laughed and shook her head. ‘Well I do now. Seriously, it gives you a lot of problems after this is over. The Ynissul are split from top to bottom. Who knows which other priests out there are of the same mind as the high priest of Shorth. Who are you going to appoint to the seat at Aryndeneth?’
Katyett blew out her cheeks. ‘There’s no point wondering about that right now. If they win, we’ll find Hithuur or Sildaan in the chair, I’ve no doubt.’
‘How can we win? There are so few of us. How many TaiGethen and Silent do you think will come?’
‘I don’t know. A hundred if everyone reads the call to muster. We’ll know in about eight days.’
‘Eight days?’ Pelyn’s shakes had gone completely now only to be replaced by a gnawing desperation in her gut. ‘By that time, Llyron will have the city sewn up completely. What chance will there be for a small force with none of this magic to call on and no defence against it? Tual’s tongue, they can even fly.’
‘Eight days will seem a long time to them too. Every night we’ll be mounting raids. We’ll kill men and leave their bodies laid out in their most secure places as warnings. We’ll undermine their moves to subdue the population. We’ll make sure there is no security for anyone in that city.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Pelyn. ‘I hope there is the will in the people to follow you, to go back to peace knowing their neighbours would have killed them the day before.’
‘But there is reason to hope. Or I think there is. And it isn’t me we want them to follow. I have to tell you something. It’ll come as another shock. It did me.’