‘Keller!’ called Garan. ‘Are you set?’
Keller was in the air, directing his mages into a ring around the Gardaryn. He glided down to land next to Garan. Sildaan shuddered. Of all the things she had seen, the fire and the ice, this was the most unsettling. Neither man nor elf should fly. It was against faith and against nature.
‘Just say the word and we’ll secure your advance.’
‘Good.’ Garan turned to his men. ‘Squads three and four ready to approach the doors. No other access. Subdue escapees. Maintain the cordon. Keller, if you please.’
Keller shot back into the sky. ‘Shields!’
‘Shields up,’ came the call from around the Gardaryn.
‘Advance!’ ordered Garan.
Twelve warriors with two mages behind them moved quickly towards the doors. Shutters opened all around the building. Arrows flew thickly. Every shaft bounced from the invisible shields that surrounded the soldiers, the barriers spiking briefly with colour as they repelled each impact.
Voices rose in shock and surprise. Sildaan glanced round at the growing crowd filling the piazza. The humans moved on, ignoring the shafts that continued to bounce harmlessly from the magical shields. The two squads reached the doors. One man stepped forward and tested the great iron rings. He shook his head and withdrew. One of the mages moved up and began to make small gestures in the air in front of his face.
Garan called out another order. Men advanced on the open shutters, forcing them to close and the arrows to cease. Another order. Half of his men on the piazza side turned to face the crowd. Other men were running in to bolster the defence. Sildaan felt a little exposed. She gestured to Hithuur, and the two of them walked a little way closer to the Gardaryn. Helias copied their move.
The mage finished his preparation. He held his hands in front of his face, palms forward, and made a shoving motion. The doors, designed to open out, groaned against their hinges. Sildaan could see them bowing inward at the centre. The mage, his body rigid, his arms shaking, dropped his head to his chest and pushed again, deliberately and slowly.
The doors shuddered. Rivets on the hinges popped. The top of the lintel cracked. Timbers in the doors bent and shattered. The mage cried out with the effort, withdrew his hands and shoved again, hard. The doors blew in on a cloud of splinters. Iron and timber tumbled into the hallway and through into the main chamber. Sildaan saw elves diving for cover. The shutters in the front of the building rattled. One threw its fastening and cracked a hinge, falling open and hanging broken.
The two squads of men ran inside, their mages behind them once again. From within, Sildaan heard shouts and the clash of metal, brief and final. From behind her she heard the shouts of elves angry at the damage to this cornerstone of their city. Glancing behind she saw a concerted move forward. Next to her, Garan saw it too and barked orders to warriors and mages.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘They can’t get to you.’
‘Let’s get inside,’ said Sildaan. ‘Hithuur, get to records as quickly as you can. Helias, this is your building. Let’s not leave things behind we don’t want to.’
The four of them marched up to the shattered doors, Garan moving inside first. His men had subdued about twenty elves in the main chamber. The place was a mess. Blankets, discarded clothing and food, waterskins and rubbish were scattered across the floor. Sildaan picked her way towards the stage.
‘Don’t get too far ahead,’ said Garan. He turned and shouted outside. ‘Squads ten, eleven, twelve. Room to room. Move.’
More men ran inside, mages in the wake of swordsmen. Arrows flicked down from above, from the rafters where the TaiGethen used to hide. Garan did not flinch where Sildaan ducked reflexively, hands over her face. Garan stared up. There were multiple shapes of elves up there. He crooked a finger at them, speaking in clear common elvish.
‘Best come down before we shoot you down. You cannot harm us but we can certainly harm you. It’s your choice.’ He waved a mage to him. ‘Keep this chamber shielded. I don’t care if they make a stand up there or not. It doesn’t go well for them whichever way it works.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Sildaan looked up to the rafters. Those staring down at her did so with eyes that hated, eyes that found it hard to accept their betrayal. Desperate, hopeless eyes.
‘Do as he says,’ she called. ‘It’s too late to resist.’
Hithuur was at her shoulder. He was looking at the partially scorched tapestries.
‘We should keep these,’ he said.
‘Whatever for?’ asked Sildaan.
‘They are part of our history.’
Sildaan made a dismissive noise and pointed towards the administration and records offices through the back of the stage. She could hear a little fighting and a great deal of shouting and pleading.
‘Through there, that’s our history. At the museums, that’s our history. These… these are lies, the invention of a romantic story-teller. They will burn.’ Sildaan sat alone on the steps of the Gardaryn. Through the long hours of sunshine and torrential rain, the records of a nation had been removed box by box from the building, loaded onto requisitioned carts and driven away under guard to the temple of Shorth. And during a day that was declining towards an angry, clouded dusk, the crowds had thickened on the piazza and all approaches to the Gardaryn. Word had travelled quickly. Elves of all threads thronged to see the emptying of their most loved building. They’d tried storming the magical barriers. They’d tried deputations of protest and reason. She had refused to treat with any of them.
Most of them now stood silent or in prayer. Occasionally, a chant would grow, one of the old chants denouncing the Ynissul, demanding freedom and equality of power. Loud, emotional chants from the mouths of what had to be fifteen to twenty thousand elves. But futile.
Garan sat down beside her. His men were moving the last of the records from front and rear, each box making a further statement to the mass before them.
‘Where were they all hiding?’
Sildaan shrugged. ‘At home, I guess. Funny, isn’t it? Hithuur said it felt like the whole city had taken up arms and joined the mobs when Takaar was denounced, but it was hardly any of them really, was it? Most of them stayed home, unless they were forced to move, and hoped it would all blow over.’
‘Why did they think that?’
Garan appeared genuinely interested. Sildaan shrugged again.
‘We’ve had troubles before. We’re complex in some ways and ever so simple in others. But there’s always been a minority prepared to riot or march any time anything goes astray. We’ve had trouble with food shortages – unbelievable you’d think with the ocean here and the rainforest there – but it’s true. We’ve had very unpopular building and tax laws and we’ve had stringent preservation laws passed too. That’s to name but a few.
‘But there’s always been the Al-Arynaar to restore order and the Gardaryn in which to protest and hold the government and the priesthood to account. Now there isn’t, and they’re just beginning to understand that things are changing for good. This strikes so deep at the elven soul that I’m surprised so many didn’t feel it more plainly. But that’s elves for you. Close their eyes, most of them, and pray the nightmare is gone by the morning.’
‘Not this time,’ said Garan.
‘No indeed,’ said Sildaan. ‘How much longer?’
‘We’re almost done.’
‘Good. I don’t want the rain to spoil the show.’
Garan laughed. ‘Mage fire cares not if it rains or shines, my priest.’
Sildaan was worried by that statement and wasn’t completely sure why. Behind her, Keller sauntered out of the Gardaryn. He nodded at her.
‘Empty,’ he said. ‘What’s next.’
‘Fireworks,’ said Garan, getting up and brushing himself down. ‘Sildaan, is the order given?’