Elves: Once Walked With Gods (24 page)

‘And what will this mighty warrior decide, do you think?’ asked Garan.

Sildaan’s hackles rose immediately. ‘She could kill you very easily, Garan. Don’t mistake her frame for weakness. Takaar didn’t choose her to lead the Al-Arynaar for nothing.’

‘I meant no offence.’

‘But in answer to your question, I think it might be fun to drop in on Shorth on our way to the harbour and find out, don’t you? What would you do?’

‘Take my chances with Llyron, I think.’

‘I thought so. I suspect Pelyn will not be so craven. Want to make a wager?’

‘With one who knows the elven mind so well? I think not.’

‘You know, I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or not,’ said Llyron. ‘I commend your beliefs and your courage. And I will of course pray for your souls, which will undoubtedly find mercy and warmth in the arms of Shorth. I just think it’s all a bit of a waste.’

Pelyn said nothing. She, Methian and Jakyn had said all they had to in the depths of the night. They had prayed, made plans and spoken the words that needed speaking. Now there was nothing left but silence and a chance to wonder a little at Llyron, whose tone suggested they’d merely decided not to attend a minor function.

The three of them lay on the floor of the hall, just in the shadow of the doors. They had been stripped naked and then sewn into their cloaks such that only their faces were visible inside their hoods. Ropes had then been wound around them to ensure there would be no escape.

‘It used to be called “podding”, you know,’ said Llyron. ‘I looked it up last night. The guilty elf was taken into the forest and left lying on the floor much like a seed pod fallen from a tree. Usually, it was the ants that got to work first. Beetles, leeches and flies too, of course. Biting lizards. Snakes were always fun, and then, inevitably, when the scent of blood and fear soaked the air, the panthers and dogs and monkeys would appear.

‘It was a very imaginative punishment. An able deterrent. Sort of a live reclamation, don’t you think? One I might well reintroduce. Still, the ants and snakes won’t concern you. Just the big sentient predators. Now then. Jakyn. You, I think I will give to the Gyalans. That works. They’re routinely bitter and you’re a strapping young Cefan. Methian, it has to be the Apposans, doesn’t it? Why is it that earth and rain never really got on?

‘Pelyn, it’s the Tuali for you. I understand you slaughtered a few of your own on the harbour yesterday. They are going to be terribly upset with you, don’t you think? I did consider the Beethans, but you know, they wouldn’t even give you begging-for-your-life time. They’d just butcher you on the spot.’

Llyron paused to shake her head at all three of them.

‘I trust you are extremely uncomfortable. Just remember, this is as good as the rest of your lives are going to get. Your carts are waiting for you outside.’

Chapter 20

A general places his army at risk whenever he stops to think again.

Each of them was loaded onto a separate ox-drawn cart and propped in a seated position. Before long, the carts containing Methian and Jakyn peeled away to their destination ghettos. Senior priests were in attendance. Pelyn continued down towards the Park of Tual, where the thread gathered before setting out to raid other parts of the city.

Pelyn supposed she should have been flattered. The grand red carriage carrying Llyron led her cart. The banners, the guard of Senserii and the instantly recognisable figure of Llyron drew two things like flies to a fresh corpse. Deference from every thread and an ever-growing crowd of curious onlookers, some clearly putting their differences aside to find out what was going on.

Public drives by the high priest of Shorth were rare in the extreme. The death of the high priest of Yniss, under normal circumstances, and the Festival of Departed Souls were the only ceremonial appearances. She could of course be seen at the Gardaryn during debates but the myth and aura surrounding Shorth’s high priest was the most enduring of the elven psyche.

Iads and ulas walked along behind Pelyn’s cart. It wasn’t long before the more curious moved closer to try and work out who she was and why she was trussed so comprehensively. It was a short step from there to the first volleys of spitting, abuse and threats. Of course they had no idea what faced Pelyn, but her lack of anxiety in the face of their promises only served to further enrage the more determined.

The Senserii and walking priests made no move to deflect the abuse. Indeed they made space for those who wished to get close and only moved to stop the regular attempts to do her physical harm.

From within her pod, Pelyn had plenty of time to stare out at the naked hatred and see their decision for the folly it truly was. After an emotional conversation with Methian and Jakyn, they had convinced each other that they would cow the baying mobs that faced them with reason and reality.

The hard facts of an enemy fleet approaching, an Ynissul betrayal and men walking tall on city streets. Empathy with those who had a common enemy but needed direction to see it. It would be a small miracle if any of them was allowed to open their mouth to do anything other than scream in agony.

Pelyn would have shrugged but there was no room for such an extravagant movement. Her limbs were cramped and the pain in her left calf was constant and deep. Her back was bouncing against a spur of metal in the back of the cart and she had the most excruciating itch in her scalp.

She looked to her left, watching the buildings pass by as she sat, back to the direction of travel. She noted the spires of the Gardaryn away to the right, climbing above the sculpted buildings of the Glade, Ysundeneth’s most wealthy residential district. Close now, then.

The Glade thinned into the artisans’ district, nicknamed the Mural. Next it was the central fine goods market and that small and beautiful square bordering the Park of Tual. Pelyn could smell ash and burning meat. They mixed with the scent of the sea and the more unpleasant odours of rot and mould. A good downpour would dampen them all but it seemed she was to be murdered before the sun rose on a stultifyingly dry morning.

The carriage and cart rattled across the market square. Senserii and priests closed in around Pelyn. Words were barked. Threats were made by the hooded guards. The following crowd, now numbering well in excess of five hundred, stopped as one. Pelyn watched them fidgeting and looking anew at one another. Beethan moved away from Gyalan. Apposan from Cefan. She almost pitied them but felt instead the stickiness of saliva on her face and wished instead for a riot.

‘Shorth take you all,’ she muttered.

The cart came to a jarring stop. She felt the driver and his mate jump down. From the park she could hear a good number of voices and the crackling of a fire. The driver and mate appeared at the back of the wagon and unchained the tailgate. They grabbed the bottom of her sewn cloak and pulled. Her head bumped hard against the timbers of the wagon bed and scraped over the iron rivets above its axles.

They stopped short of letting her drop straight to the muddy churned grass and picked her up one side each, marching her upright to where Llyron was standing before a now-silent group of Tualis. The sight of her brought a storm of abuse and a surge forward only curtailed by the mirror move of five Senserii.

Llyron held up her hands for quiet, the only Ynissul who could walk unhindered in Ysundeneth, let alone issue orders that would be obeyed.

‘Shorth’s blessing be upon you all, denizens and worshippers of Tual. My temple is open and welcoming to all at these times of conflict and anger. I am desolate for the pain unleashed by the denouncement of Takaar and pray hourly for its swift and peaceful resolution. Resolution I feel is close, though I doubt any of you can see it. And I bring to you a gift as night gives way to dawn and Shorth gazes down with relief on those still walking our land. While he rests, I of course may not.

‘Shorth blesses every thread, and in his temple all are equal and loved. Shorth takes to his embrace the souls of all who fall, the good and the wicked. It is he who judges the dead. And it is I who must judge those who defy the will of Shorth. Such defiance has been shown by Pelyn, Arch of the Al-Arynaar.

‘And, as is allowed under my powers, I hand her back to you, her people, to dispense the justice you see fit for heresy, for traitorous actions against her own thread and for the simple murder of those merely wanting food for the bellies of their children.’

Pelyn barked a laugh. ‘She will betray you! She is in the thrall of men. She—’

The foot of a staff slammed into her gut, doubling her over. Her minders kept her standing.

‘She ordered Lorius’s murder. She is the cascarg. Please.’

The driver’s fist took her full in the mouth, splitting her lip. The crowd cheered. Llyron raised her arms and cocked a smile at them.

‘Defiant to the end, eh? Now, where is the leader among you? Pelyn will be handed only to a recognised authority.’

The crowd quietened. Elves looked over their shoulders. A gap was made and one stepped forwards. Pelyn stared at the face of her executioner.

Helias, Speaker of the Gardaryn.

Less than a mile into the rainforest and the complaints had reached such a pitch that Katyett called a halt to the march, which had only ever been slow to grinding. She tried to sympathise with them. She tried hard. But walking up and down the ridiculously long, straggling column of the unready, the unfit and the frankly unworthy, she could see the damage to her forest increasing and the will of her charges bleeding away like a slash to the jugular.

‘Graf. Give the order to make comfortable. Or as far as possible anyway.’

Katyett turned at a muttered curse and saw a couple cling to each other as one stumbled over a root. The
ula
’s face was swollen and deep bruising was coming out across his cheeks and neck. His nose had been comprehensively smashed and had been field-reset by one of the TaiGethen. The iad was crying quietly, had bruising all around her neck that looked like an attempted strangulation and a bleak look in her eyes from a memory that would never fade.

She knelt beside them as they flopped to the ground, supporting each other with the desperation of those who know they have absolutely nothing else left. At the sight of her so close, painted and camouflaged, the iad flinched away reflexively. Katyett’s heart missed a beat.

‘You never have to be scared of me,’ she whispered. ‘I am here to protect you. And I promise you this too. As Yniss is my lord and my life, when this is over, you will never have to fear anyone ever again.’

‘But why out here?’ asked the ula. ‘She has suffered so much. Now you’re asking us to walk through the rainforest for days. Is there really nowhere else safe other than Aryndeneth?’

‘Trust me,’ said Katyett. ‘All will become clear to you. I am sorry for every reluctant footstep you have to take because it is not your fault. But we have to ensure your safety. We have to ensure no one can get to you again to do you harm.’

Katyett leant towards the iad and drew a piece of clean cloth from a pocket. The iad took it to dab at her nose, which was bleeding a little.

‘Thank you.’

‘The TaiGethen hunt those who seek to destroy all we have built. Those who do not belong and those who would take us back to the War of Bloods. This we do in Yniss’s name.’

‘I don’t want you to kill for me,’ said the iad.

Katyett gazed at her. Humble and ordinary. Dressed in clothes from the rag and make market and with hands that had only ever held a quill, never a spade or a weapon. Inside, though, she was pure-bred Ynissul.

‘Yniss guides my soul, Tual my hands. We do what we must.’

‘You enjoy it,’ said the iad. ‘Don’t you? The TaiGethen way. Killing to make things right.’

Katyett frowned. ‘I enjoy the beauty of the rainforest and I enjoy the honour of being TaiGethen. Enjoy killing? No. But our enemies leave us no choice. And they learn that though I might not enjoy it, I am very, very good at it.’

The two iads shared a brief smile. Katyett kissed the other’s eyes before trotting away to the head of the column, whispering through the dense undergrowth. It began to rain. Hard. Thunder cracked across the sky

‘Now that, Gyal, is poor timing.’

Her Tais were trying to help any they could. They fielded questions and begged for patience. Katyett brushed past them all and found Pakiir kneeling next to Olmaat. Merrat was close and Katyett whistled her over. They dropped into the patter of the TaiGethen. Part ancient tongue, part click and chitter borrowed from Tual’s finest.

‘We’ve come far enough. Look at the damage they’ve done,’ said Katyett. ‘Merrat, what of the Ultan?’

‘We aren’t followed. All of them returned to the city.’

Katyett nodded. ‘Good. And are we sure our mark has slipped away already?’

Pakiir chuckled. ‘Barely lasted two hundred yards.’

‘Good. And the first cascarg? The one asking all the questions at the Ultan?’

Merrat raised her eyebrows. Katyett nodded again.

‘Good. All is well. Opinions. Are we clear to turn this walking disaster area around and get it to the staging camp?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Pakiir.

‘I think they’ve suffered enough,’ said Olmaat.

‘I agree,’ said Merrat.

Katyett smiled. ‘Maybe not quite enough. Let’s make it a lazy left turn, shall we?’

‘You are a cruel mistress,’ said Olmaat, coughing violently as he thought to laugh.

‘Calm yourself, my brother. And I don’t mean it. The iads in particular need some sort of security. Let’s not waste time. And let’s not tell them what’s happening. Not just yet. See if anyone else needs flushing out before we get there.’

‘How far away are we?’ asked Olmaat.

‘Well, we’ve been heading in a nice gentle circle ever since we left the Ultan,’ said Merrat. ‘We’re about four hundred yards away, I should think.’

Olmaat managed a pained smile, it cracked his drying salve.

‘Want me to lead the way?’

Helias waited until Llyron and her acolytes had disappeared back across the market and away towards the Mural before so much as looking at Pelyn. She’d been laid on the ground and the Tuali had circled her in almost total silence, like a pack of animals awaiting the pack leader to make the first bite. The silence was unnerving. Pelyn had tried to speak but sharp kicks and jabs with staves and clubs cut short any attempt to get through.