‘The ClawBound are abroad in the forest to the north. More TaiGethen cells will be alerted. We can close this net on them. We must close it.’
Auum paused. Every eye was on him. Every thought was focussing. The gods would soon be busy receiving prayer. Now for the tasks.
‘Two TaiGethen cells will take each group of strangers. The ClawBound I ask to find the tracks that we cannot. To be our messengers in the days ahead. To bring down those that elude us. You will, of course, decide on the course that best serves us all. The Al-Arynaar, be ready to move on signal. Until then stay here, repair what you can, rebuild the defence and pray that we are successful.
‘My brothers, this is the biggest ever threat to the elven races. These strangers have taken sacred writings; you all know the tally. They have stolen the thumb of Yniss and broken the harmony in so doing. We must recover every page, every fragment. We know where they will head. First to the rivers and then to the northern coasts.
‘They must not reach their ships. Now join me in prayer.’
Auum prayed aloud for them all and all prayed for Auum. They prayed to Yniss to repair the harmony, to Tual for the denizens to help them in their search, and for Shorth to exact revenge through all eternity on the perpetrators of the desecration.
And when all their prayers were complete, they melted into the forest, leaving no trail and making no sound. In their wake, the forest began to sing again. Justice would be done.
Yron and Ben-Foran didn’t make the river until late in the afternoon. They were both tired and hungry, having been unable to spare the time to search for food. Ben-Foran hadn’t fancied the taipan that Yron had skewered with a dagger through the top of its head, and in truth the gruff captain hadn’t felt hungry at the time either. They’d moved quickly enough but the route to the tributary of the River Shorth had been tortuous and beset with swamps and one very steep climb and drop.
They had heard the fast running water an hour before they reached it and had stood on the bank for a time, just gazing at the beauty unrolled in front of them. They’d slithered down a water run-off and were standing ankle deep in the flow. Across from them, some fifty yards away, a sheer cliff rose what had to be five hundred feet straight up.
Creviced and cracked, it was home to a mass of clinging vegetation. Birds by the thousand flew its length, gliding and spinning on the eddies in the air it created, and at a dozen places along its length that they could see before it swept away into a fine mist, water cascaded over its edge. The falls tumbled down glittering into the river, plumes of spray leaping at their bases, plunge pools gouged out of the rock by the erosion of ages.
Before them, the river ran quickly through the narrow strait. Further up, it had been faster, thundering through a defile and bouncing off the rock before settling down into the gentle but pacey flow. Yron couldn’t see too far into the mist north and to his left but he was left hoping that the silt-laden water calmed further around the next bend. Either that or they were in for a bumpy ride.
‘Good news or bad news?’ he asked Ben-Foran.
‘Bad,’ said Ben.
‘It’s going to hurt.’
‘And the good?’
‘You won’t have to paddle, and until it settles down no crocodiles. ’
‘Piranhas?’
‘I’ll let you know.’ Yron grimaced. ‘Now, we need to find something to hang on to. Shouldn’t be too difficult.’
He waded upstream, through the relatively still waters at the edge of the river, looking for a pocket pool. After thirty yards or so, he found one, filled with silt scum and, as he expected, plenty of driftwood. Heaving out his axe, he hacked free the largest log and floated it back down to Ben-Foran, trapping it between his leg and the bank and guiding it with a hand.
Despite his confidence that there would be no crocodiles in such a fast-flowing stream, he kept an eye out ahead and behind, looking for telltale ripples and those bug eyes creeping above the surface. He shivered and blew out his cheeks at the thought of being stalked by something so merciless and efficient but forgot his fears when he saw Ben. The boy was white as a sheet, hugging his body and staring out into the river as if hypnotised.
‘Ben?’ The boy turned and tried to smile. It was a feeble effort. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Is it really necessary?’ he asked. ‘Can’t we lose our scent just wading down the side?’
Yron laughed. ‘Depends if you think you can outrun a panther or an arrow.’
‘Surely they’re well behind.’
‘You have no idea, do you?’ said Yron. ‘In some quiet moment out there in the middle, I’ll explain who these people are and why we should be as far from them as is humanly possible.’
Ben cast a frightened glance over his shoulder back up into the deep green mass of the rainforest.
‘What are you worried about, Ben? Can’t you swim or something? ’ Yron’s encouraging smile died on his lips as Ben raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. ‘Oh, no. Out of all the people I could have escaped with, I’ve chosen the sinker.’
But to his own and Ben’s surprise, he didn’t lay into his second in command for his lack of training, he just laughed, the sound booming off the rock opposite and then lost in the roar of water.
‘It isn’t funny,’ said Ben. ‘I just don’t like open water. Not to swim in.’
Yron crooked a finger and reluctantly Ben waded out the yard or so to him and the log.
‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ said Yron. ‘You won’t need to swim.’
‘No?’ Ben’s face brightened.
‘No. When the croc grabs you, you don’t get the chance.’
‘It’s not funny, Captain,’ repeated Ben. He was breathing hard and chewing his top lip. Yron saw him shiver.
‘Sorry, Ben, bad joke,’ said Yron. ‘But I was right about you not having to swim. All you’ve got to do is hang on for your very life. Reckon you can do that?’
‘Do I get a choice?’ Ben managed a weak smile.
Yron shook his head.
‘Then I’ll try,’ he said.
‘Good lad,’ said Yron. ‘You’ll be fine. Now let’s get out into the stream. Snap the lock over your scabbard. Don’t want you losing your sword.’
With that, he pushed the log away and plunged after it, Ben scrambling after him. The boy grabbed on tight, changing his grip again and again. Yron felt the tug of the current as they edged out into the flow. Gods knew if they’d survive but one thing was sure. If they didn’t put some distance between them and those chasing, they’d be dead in a day. Yron just prayed they didn’t escape one lot just to fall into the hands of those spread through the rest of the forest.
‘Oh well, only one way to find out.’
‘Sir?’
‘Nothing, lad. Just hang on, and keep your legs up as much as you can. This is going to be interesting.’
The main force of the current took them, the log gathered speed and they were dragged along in its wake, out of control and into the hands of the Gods. Yron wasn’t a religious man by nature; to him religion was a matter of convenience and a support for the weak. But there are some times when you are so small and helpless that you need something to hang your life on, however briefly.
So while he watched the cliffs rush by, the water crash down from high above, and the bank they’d left begin to rise sheer as the river narrowed again and angled down, he began to pray.
He hoped the Gods, whoever they were, were listening.
It was not the sort of news Blackthorne wanted. He was walking through the marketplace with Baron Gresse, talking to the fresh produce stallholders, who were seeing their profits shrink and their livelihoods threatened. He’d worked out a compensation scheme based on the prices he’d previously paid all suppliers for foodstuffs and was trying to ensure that those who sold what was grown or bred were not left high and dry. It was difficult to be fair and some felt aggrieved.