The Mayor raised his hands. 'Pheone, please, don't overreact. I am merely expressing the range of emotion that the people will express. The history of Julatsa is well-known to all here. And I concede that much of what we have here is credit to the college.'
'Good of you to say so,' muttered Lempaar, the old elven elder.
'Indeed,' said the Mayor, smiling. 'The glory and the destruction. It is the way of cities. Korina grew because of its docks, those required to service them and those using them for profit. But wheels turn full circle. Surely the pattern of trade is such that the docks now serve the people, should they ever be rebuilt. And perhaps it is so with the college of Julatsa. The world moves on. And my city is saying to me, how long can we support this college? This elite gathering that in the last decade has brought us so little but cost us so much?'
Pheone could not quite believe what she was hearing. The Mayor had begun with a confused message. Now his opinion was becoming unfortunately clear.
'Mister Mayor, we don't have the time to debate theories and attitudes. We need to know what it is the people of Julatsa intend and what you will recommend. We have to make plans quickly.'
The Mayor's expression hardened. 'Then I will not delay you.
Clearly the complex feelings of the city are of no real concern to you.'
'That is not-'
'I understand,' he said. 'The college comes above all considerations.'
‘Iam talking reality, not theory. Xetesk is coming.'
But the Mayor was enjoying himself. He looked to his council who, Commander Vale excepted, nodded their support.
'This city is so much more than its college. This city is its people. And those people are tired of being targets in conflict, tired of suffering for the good of the college, and tired of being hated for things beyond their control.
'All across our country, people are starting to put their lives back together. After the magic-inspired storms we all suffered, crops are growing again. In the baronial lands, towns and villages are being rebuilt, farms are working. Perhaps you have been disconnected from life outside of the college lands but I have not. No one wants this war. In fact there is no war outside the mage lands, barring what we might call normal baronial disputes. Even Arlen, practically destroyed by Xeteskian forces, has been ceded back to its few survivors.
'Why should we Julatsans suffer one more day of conflict? Why should innocent people in any college city do so? I understand who is coming here. I understand what they want. I also understand that I cannot stop them. But I will not stand by while they destroy what little we have left. Our esteemed city guard's commander is out on a limb, siding with you.' He didn't look across as he spoke, focusing solely on Pheone. ‘Iwill not have fighting in the streets of this city. If he wants to stand with you, he can do it on your walls. If Xetesk has come to tear down the college, I will not ask my people to stand in its way.'
Pheone nodded. 'Am I to understand,' she said into the void, 'that you are going to chaperone an invasion force to its target? Is that right?'
The Mayor shrugged. ‘Iwon't stand in its way. Indeed, I will be trying to organise matters such that it makes its way through my city peaceably. There will be no battle on these streets, in the parks or squares. The message I will send to the people of Julatsa is simple.
They will have nothing to fear from the Xeteskians. If they wish to leave for the time being, they can. If they wish to fight with you, they must join you here.'
'Gutless coward,' snarled Geren.
'Geren, stop,' snapped Pheone. 'Insults get us nowhere.'
'You had better hope Xetesk prevails, hadn't you?' Geren said ignoring her.
'Are you threatening me, boy?'
‘Iam theorising,' said Geren nastily. 'About what might happen to the balance of power in this city if my college repels the invasion. And repel it, we will.'
‘Ihope you do,' said the Mayor, though his voice was cold. ‘Ihope still to count you as friends. But I must look after my people. They are not to be sacrificed on the altar of magic'
'Friends?' said Geren. 'Friends stand together. You are no friend of this college.'
‘Ido not like your tone,' said the Mayor.
'You aren't supposed to.'
Pheone just watched and listened as the clamour grew, unwilling and unable to stop it. Commander Vale stood and walked out, brushing aside the council members who sought to stop him. He shook hands with her and the elders before striding purposefully from the lecture theatre.
But what could he really do? The Mayor was popular and his views shared widely. If he had his way, ordinary Julatsans would not lift a finger to help them and her thoughts of the enemy being hounded on every street corner went up in smoke. Dammit but this man would practically escort Dystran to the gates of the college. Pheone bit back the tears of anger and frustration but felt, as a physical pain, another nail being hammered into the coffin of Julatsan magic.
Chapter 33
Night was falling over the mage lands north of Xetesk. Auum had found the run a release after the cramped passageways of Xetesk's catacombs, and they had made good progress. He and Rebraal had organised their forces into scouts, flank and rear defence, and hunter-gatherer parties, while the mages were defended by Al-Arynaar swordsmen supported by TaiGethen.
ClawBound did as they always did. They took no orders but knew instinctively where to be, what to watch and when to report. The loss of two of the dozen pairs, along with three TaiGethen in the earlier attack, had hurt them deeply; and the ClawBound calls that echoed across the miles of charmless damaged countryside were laced with mourning. The information they carried, though, was important and welcome. The Xeteskian forces had stopped and set up camp. Fires were lit, tents were pitched and horses picketed. This was not a brief halt.
But there was an undercurrent of anxiety in the communication. Not every enemy was in the camp and some were sensed and not seen. There was danger everywhere, some of which would melt out of the night to strike. They could not lower their guard for a moment.
Auum had continued the run for another hour before his forward scouts reported a perfect site for a camp. Flat ground along the banks of a river was bordered on the other side by steep crags and with narrowed access front and rear. While he was only too aware that Xetesk could attack from the sky, the assassins, he had been told, would be on foot. They would find their task harder tonight; he would see to that.
Offering a prayer of thanks to Yniss for their fortune, he led his people in. One by one, his hunting parties returned and, though the meat was not plentiful, an abandoned farm had yielded some root vegetables among the weeds and they would have broth before the fires were doused.
Auum and Rebraal saw to the structure of the camp defence, positioning elves on riverbank and crag heights as well as front and rear. The mages were scattered through the camp in groups against the risk of spell attack and the ClawBound rested or scouted as they pleased.
Satisfied, the pair walked to the centre of the camp where The Raven sat, their horses picketed nearby. Their fire, like all the others, was soon to be doused but while they could, they enjoyed its light and warmth under the cool, cloudless sky.
Auum still wasn't sure about them. For humans perhaps they were exceptional and it was true that their actions during the days of the Elfsorrow made them friends to all elves. But he couldn't help but blame them for the problems they encountered in Xetesk. They were too driven by their emotions, and in combat, Auum did not believe that was the way to win. Even so, he was forced to concede the truth of history. They still fought, and won, sixteen years after they had started.