The night was humid and, as ever, still. Stars scattered the night sky delivering nothing in the way of light and the house itself had few lanterns burning. Nyam walked through the damp-smelling corridors to the wing where the Al-Drechar, Diera and Jonas slept. Two Guild elves stood guard at its entrance, barring his way.
'I apologise for the unpleasantness of the hour but I have news concerning The Unknown Warrior that Diera must hear.'
'She is sleeping,' said one of the elves in heavily accented Balaian.
'I know, and I would normally keep news until the morning but this she must hear now. He is in serious danger.'
'You would worry her this much about things she cannot influence?'
'She has always said she would know everything,' countered Nyam. 'Please. Come with me to her. Ask her yourself before I even see her. At least give her the option.'
He knew they had no choice. He knew he looked innocent and sincere. One shrugged, the other nodded and the door was opened for him. He was accompanied the short distance down the corridor by the elf who had spoken to him, arriving at Diera's door where he was told to wait. Further down the corridor, more Guild elves stood guard in front of the Al-Drechar's private rooms. Shortly, the elf reappeared and beckoned him in. As they passed, the elf caught his arm.
'Do not wake die child. Do not betray our trust,' he said. 'You are here but we do not want you here. Remember that.'
Nyam nodded and walked inside. Diera was sitting on the side of her bed, a light shawl draped over her shoulders and covering the top of her nightdress. One hand stroked her sleeping son's head. A lamp, wick turned low, was enough to reveal her anxious face and knotted hair. Gods but she was so alluring. A woman just woken. How sweet it would be if she were to beckon him to her.
Of course, she did not. She stared at him with a mixture of trepidation and contempt.
'Tell me about my husband,' she demanded. 'And make it quick. I may need to talk to Sha-Kaan.'
'Of course,' said Nyam. 'And I am truly sorry for the intrusion.' She waved away his apology. 'And I am sorry for worrying you but it is not your husband who is in danger. It is Erienne.'
He held his breath for her reaction. There was none barring a coldness across her face.
'If my husband is not in danger, then neither is Erienne. I suggest you provide better reason for this unwelcome visit.'
Beside her, Jonas stirred. She stared at Nyam meaningfully.
'The power the Al-Drechar help her contain,' he said, all the time studying her face. 'They are not strong enough any more. We can help. Xetesk wants the One to grow.'
‘Idon't know what you're talking about,' said Diera, but there was no irritation in her voice and a flicker across her eyes gave her away.
'You do,' said Nyam gently. ‘Iknow you do.'
'Go,' said Diera. ‘Ican't help you.' She pulled the shawl tighter around her.
Nyam leaned forward and grabbed her upper arms roughly. 'Damn you, woman, you will help,' he hissed, seeing her moment's shock give way to fear. 'We cannot afford to have her running around unprotected by us. If the Al-Drechar were to fail, Balaia would be devastated all over again. My reports are it is already starting. Why do you think I am waking you now? Whatever it is the Al-Drechar are doing right now, it isn't enough. I must be allowed to see them, observe them, so we can lend our strength.'
'Then why not talk to the Guild elves or the Al-Drechar themselves if you are so genuine?' she asked.
'Because without you with me, they won't believe me. They will deny everything fearing what we will do. But all we want to do is help Erienne live.'
'Let go of my arms.'
He did so. ‘Iam sorry. Please Diera, for all our sakes?'
'You must think me very stupid, deaf or both,' she said, meeting his gaze. 'Do you think I talk to no one? Do you think I know nothing of Xetesk's desires? I am not the dim wife and mother you clearly think me to be. I am the wife of The Unknown Warrior. And you are in more trouble than you can possibly imagine.'
Nyam knew that already. A sense of calm had descended on him. He shrugged.
'The time for such fears is past. Xetesk has a war to win. Control of Erienne will bring us that victory.'
'She's just one Dordovan mage.'
Nyam smiled. 'Diera, I do respect you and your strength. Sol could not have chosen better. But respect me too. Erienne is very much more than just one Dordovan. Deny it all you like but we will prove it. Now, are we going to visit the Al-Drechar together?'
'Why should I move? All I have to do is shout.'
'Diera.' Nyam's lips thinned with his patience. 'My actions might bring about my death, I'm not sure. One thing I am sure of is that if you don't help me now, they will certainly bring about yours.' He reached a hand down to Jonas. 'Such a lovely boy. He needs his mother. Don't you think?'
Gylac knew he was close to the breakthrough. It could see him to the Circle Seven on Ranyl's death. The prospect excited him more than it should but he couldn't help it. He'd begun to notice the links in the elven texts two days before. Amongst the partially translated passages and the tracts of so far indecipherable script, there was a pattern emerging.
This Aryn Hiil was so much more than the history and practice of a religion expressed in ancient elvish. He was sure of that now though in truth, Dystran and Ranyl had always suspected it.
His initial theorising had been backed up by independent research from another member of his staff. It built on the centuries-old notion that the elves were inherently and dependently magical. All of them. The Elfsorrow had proved that beyond question but had run its course before they could synthesise it as a spell.
Now it looked as if they wouldn't have to worry about the loss of that opportunity. Because if he was right, and the magical theory supported him, there was a way of unpicking an elf from the mana that made him vulnerable. The elven nation would become Xetesk's new thralled race. Never mind Protectors, this would be a weapon infinitely more powerful. And it would be infinitely less risky than making pacts with demons.
He wouldn't sleep 'til he had the answer. After all, Ranyl didn't have long to live.
Gylac heard the door behind him open. He turned in his high backed chair, placing his quill on his note book.
'So, have you-'
What he saw in front of him was impossible. Laughable almost. He wasn't sure if he smiled or not. He felt a hot, incredibly hot, lancing pain in his throat. His body was flung back, connecting with the edge of the table. He scrabbled at the pain, trying to look down. He saw the shaft of an arrow and felt the hot pumping blood on his hands. There was a roaring in his ears.
They were all around him now, soundless like spirits. He was pushed aside, heard a short exclamation. They had the Aryn Hiil. His prize. His safe passage to power. He grabbed at an arm.
'You can't,' he gurgled, or thought he did.
A face stared down at him, so cold. The eyes held a hatred that made him shudder. He heard some words.
'Shorth awaits you.'
His grip slackened.
Ranyl barely had the strength to be scared, the pain in his stomach had intensified and his breath shortened. But even he could not help but respect the tenacity of this most deep of the thorns in Xetesk's side.
'You are persistent, I grant you that,' he said. 'We had thought you hidden outside Lystern somewhere.'
'Hiding is not in our nature,' said The Unknown Warrior.