Elves: Rise of the TaiGethen (35 page)

‘No time.’ Takaar shook her. ‘Tell me which way. Now.’

‘Or what? You’ll leave me for another hundred and fifty years?’

Oh she knows how to hurt you, doesn’t she?

Takaar drove her back and up against the wall, holding her feet from the ground. She kicked at his chest but they were feeble blows.

‘Don’t become part of the problem.’ Takaar stared into her eyes, holding her gaze until fear eclipsed craving like storm clouds moving across the sun. ‘Dying alone in this place would be such a waste.’

Takaar dropped her and she crumpled into a hunched position on the ground, hugging herself, caught between her longing for edulis and her fear of him. His heart screamed at him to embrace her, but his mind, this time, was stronger.

‘I have this one chance to save the elves from man; to build a new strength in our people. Help me begin to return what I took from us all.’ Takaar shrugged. ‘Or you’ll have to die. I can’t let anyone stand in my way. Not even you.’

She lifted her face to his. The sounds of the Tuali mob on the streets were echoing down the alley. They were closing quickly. If Takaar had expected the light of comprehension in her eyes, he was disappointed. There was nothing there but a base cunning.

‘Swear to me you’ll get me more nectar and I’ll help you.’

It is the only thing you can offer her that she will take. Do it, Takaar.

Takaar opened his mouth and betrayed her again.

‘Done,’ he said, the lie slipping easily from his mouth. ‘Now let’s move.’

The centre of Katura was built in a series of concentric rings, in keeping with the aspect of the palm of Yniss. Industry was based there. The city administration rubbed shoulders with forges, bakeries, butchers, potters and all manner of other goods and services. Temples to every god had been built and, for a time, harmony had reigned.

Every elf was granted land to farm, or hunt or log or even to mine if that was their desire. The population began to grow and the city threw out shoots into the forest where those who preferred the old ways could live, bringing their goods to trade in the market which blossomed in the heart of the city.

It was impossible to pinpoint when the mood had begun to change, but the silence from the old cities and from those who had sworn to fight on and liberate the enslaved had began to gnaw at Katura’s heart. Isolation grew and, alongside it, a sense of hopelessness, a knowledge that what they were building might be all they had left.

Their spirit began to fail. And where the spirit faltered, there were those willing to profit from weakness. Edulis was their weapon, and it was as powerful as it was destructive. Land changed hands and threads began to gather together. The descent had been terrifyingly quick, and while there were significant numbers who remained dedicated to their tasks, determined not to fail, the pressure of the thread gangs grew day by day.

Pelyn led Takaar out into the uneven sprawl of what had begun as attempts to build strong neighbourhoods but had become ghettos where a single wrong turn could be a fatal mistake. Takaar had seen enough to know that the Tualis were the dominant thread, but they did not desire to drive the others out, preferring to profit from their misery instead.

The streets beyond the central rings were tight and maze-like, as if mimicking the Warren district of old Ysundeneth. Most buildings were single-storey and all were of wood construction. Most were ill maintained but here and there pockets of smart houses rested within the dilapidated mass. Takaar shook his head. It was like walking back onto Hausolis before the Garonin came, before the War of Bloods took hold.

Pelyn stopped in the centre of a muddy street that twisted away ahead of them. Beyond the houses, the beauty of the falls, heights and forests that bordered Katura was undimmed. Down here, though, smoke mixed with foul odours; children grubbed about in the dirt, and the Ixii on the street bunched together, staring at the intruders.

‘I thought you said you were still governor,’ hissed Takaar.

‘They haven’t seen me in a while,’ confessed Pelyn. ‘I doubt they trust me these days anyway.’

Pelyn was shuddering from the exertion of the run. Her face was pale and covered in sweat and she was breathing hard. She looked at Takaar and spread her hands.

‘Well, here we are, the Ixii ghetto,’ she said. ‘What now?’

A good question.

‘Simply answered. Do they have a meeting place?’

‘What for?’ asked Pelyn. ‘Katura wasn’t built for segregation. That’s just the way it’s turned out.’

‘This’ll have to do then,’ said Takaar. He began to walk towards the eight or so Ixii gathered in a doorway a few paces ahead of him. ‘Please, I would speak with you. All of you. Every decent Ixii, and your Gyalan and Orran and Cefan friends too, in time. Will you listen?’

Parents beckoned their children towards them. The atmosphere cooled and suspicion reigned. No one moved to speak to Takaar. He raised his voice, using the Il-Aryn to aid him.

‘I am Takaar and I bring you new hope,’ he said, his voice echoing from the sides of buildings and running away into the side streets. ‘Come outside. Hear me. Hear about the gift I can bestow upon you. The power to fight back against those who seek to control you. You, the Ixii, have it within you to become a new power among the elves.

‘Please, hear me. I mean you no harm.’

A child began to cry. Voices were raised behind Takaar – Tualis who could not have helped but hear him. Doors opened along the street and curious elves looked out. Seeing others already gathered, they moved to join them, the pack mentality of the threatened thread strong within them.

Takaar had been counting on that. His ears twitched. The Tuali were close. He wondered if that would work to his advantage. He waited a little longer as the Ixii continued to gather. A hundred or more were moving in his direction or standing with their thread.

‘Pelyn is here. Your governor endorses me. All I ask is that you listen.’

Takaar began to move towards them, Pelyn came with him, unwilling but compliant, her craving and his promise dominating her mind. The Ixii bunched together and moved back, but not through fear of him; Tualis were spilling into the street behind him. They were well armed and drilled. Swords and bows were evident. Presumably, many of them had once been Al-Arynaar.

‘Go back inside. This criminal is ours.’

Takaar’s eyes fell on the
ula
who had spoken.

‘What is his name?’ he whispered to Pelyn.

‘Calen,’ said Pelyn, and there was admiration in her voice. ‘Looks like I won’t need you for my nectar after all.’

Takaar took Pelyn’s hand. ‘Stay a while.’

Well. If you wanted an audience, you’ve certainly found it. All this time I’ve been urging you to kill yourself. Silly me. All I needed to do was wait until your ego did the job for me.

Takaar smiled. He was so close to the Ixii that he guessed the Tuali would not use their bows. They were forty strong at least, but there were a couple of hundred Ixii behind him and more were hurrying to join them.

‘Calen,’ said Takaar. ‘I’ve wanted to talk to you.’

Calen ignored him. He had a savage bearing. One ear was ripped and its tip hung out, broken. He wore dark clothes and a pale brown leather coat. His hands were latticed with scars and there was an ugly tear on his forehead.

‘Pelyn,’ he said. ‘We were worried about you. What are you doing with this coward? He abandoned you long ago. You’re with us now.’

Pelyn tensed to move and Takaar tightened his grip.

‘She’s fine right where she is. We have business with the Ixii, and then you and I must talk about the defence of Katura.’

Calen laughed. ‘The Ixii are weak and hide in their hovels while those of us who remain strong keep them safe. You talk to no one unless I say so.’

Takaar glanced over his shoulder. The Ixii stared on, most not knowing what to think.

‘Oh?’ said Takaar. ‘But Pelyn is governor of this city, is she not?’

A ripple of mirth ran through the Tualis. Takaar shook his head and turned to the Ixii.

‘Let me tell you why I am here and why you must come with me.’

‘There are ten bows trained on your back, Takaar,’ said Calen. ‘You will turn and respect me.’

‘Shoot, Calen,’ said Takaar, not turning. ‘Will they all hit me? Or will some strike Pelyn or the Ixii you say you protect. Will you stand there when they rush you to avenge a murder? Shoot.’

Calen did not give the order. Instead he called on his people to advance. Takaar smiled, continuing to ignore the Tuali and to address the Ixii. He could sense the swirling potential of the Il-Aryn in them. He had to make them feel it for themselves.

‘You will know nothing of the Il-Aryn. It is a power that runs through you, which you can harness to make you stronger. I have been studying it ever since man took our cities and I have teachers waiting to help you learn to use it. You have nothing to lose. There is a world of wonder awaiting you, should you free yourselves, and if nothing else, I am offering you a way out of the slow death you face here.’

The point of a sword pricked the back of Takaar’s neck.

‘Don’t make this difficult,’ said Calen. ‘I had to force Lysael to leave and I will do the same to you. It is over.’

Takaar dropped to his haunches, spun and stood, one hand grabbing Calen’s sword arm, the other placed over his face. Takaar fed the Il-Aryn along his arm, focusing it to a fine point and seeing, in his mind, a surging pale crescent that spun to a blur. He gave it freedom.

Fire encased Calen’s head. The Tuali screamed and clawed at Takaar’s hand, his strength already failing. The flames blackened his flesh in an instant and scored the hair from his head. His body juddered and twitched as the heat seared through his skull and into his brain. Steaming blood exploded from his eyes and mouth while his ears melted.

Takaar closed his hand, crushing Calen’s skull into fragments. His body, smoking from the neck and what remained of his head, dropped to the ground. Takaar wiped his hand on his trousers and looked at the Ixii, who, like the Tualis and Pelyn, had backed away from him.

‘Who wants to learn how to do that?’

Chapter 27

Even at the speed of a TaiGethen, the run to Katura took five days. The humans would be there in no more than another ten. Auum had left two cells to harry the enemy, to try to slow them just by being seen, to pick off hunters and stragglers too, but it was no more than token action.

They had lost six in the disaster in the Scar while many others who ran with Auum were injured both in body and spirit. Without the two cells following the Ysundeneth army, and Corsaar with his two cells still presumably tracking the Shorthian force, Auum would reach Katura with only twelve cells. He gathered them to him in the last cover before the land opened up to reveal the palm of Yniss and its scarred beauty.

‘We are hurt by our defeat but we are not beaten by it,’ he said, putting an arm around Grafyrre’s shoulders and pulling the warrior close. ‘We are a family and the mistakes we made yesterday are understood and must be put aside. Today begins the final task. Should we fail, the elven race is finished. Should we succeed, and succeed we will, then the liberation of our people is at hand.’

Auum paused and looked into their faces.

‘We have all heard the stories of what has happened in Katura. We all know the crimes committed against Lysael and we will avenge them. But not every soul in that place is evil. Strength and purpose are only obscured by a veil of despair and the lack of hope. Tear that veil aside and we will see the true spirit of elves once more.

‘We must see it, because we cannot do this on our own.’

Auum released Grafyrre, kissing his forehead.

‘Make no mistake. We are going to take control of Katura. There will be resistance and we must not hesitate to break it. Not one among us wishes to strike down another elf, but I can see no path before us where that will not happen. The vilest of criminals hides there and they will not meekly set their influence aside.

‘Pray that the good and the wavering listen to us. Pray that the harmony is not torn beyond repair. Pray that those we love and have left for too long are still alive.

‘Pray with me.’

Ystormun lay on his bed, his sweat soaking the sheets. The Communion was desperate and painful. He felt fear in the cadre’s minds for the first time and it did him great physical harm.

‘You have not acted fast enough,’ accused Giriamun.

‘How dare you,’ replied Ystormun.

‘Then how far from their goal are they?’ asked Pamun.

‘A maximum of twelve days. Less if the ground eases.’