‘And you think I’m just going to let you amble across my lands and swallow your temporary damage and unfortunate casualties, is that right?’
The forager straightened; Gresse hadn’t realised he was leaning forward. The other two turned their heads and there was another silent exchange.
‘We consider that you have no choice. We are Garonin. Stand aside. Our conversation is at an end.’
‘Damn right,’ said Gresse. ‘Captain, let’s cut these bastards down to size.’
Gresse heard the noise of the machine roaring back into life. He heard his captain order the attack. He even drew the sword one of Blackthorne’s men had lent him. And the last things he remembered clearly were the sensations of swift airborne travel and of heavy impact.
‘Take them down, take them down!’ yelled Blackthorne at his mages.
The baron was already running towards Gresse, who had landed in a heap and rolled three times before coming to a stop. Action was all that prevented Blackthorne from refusing to believe what he had just seen. A brief conversation, plenty of finger pointing and, latterly, drawn swords. But never mind all that. Lines on the armour of the figures had blazed with light which had lashed out at Gresse and his men.
The invaders themselves didn’t so much as move a muscle. Yet Gresse was hurled fully fifty yards back and he was the lucky one. Others who had rushed in more quickly were lying dismembered amongst the first row of vines. A few had survived the initial onslaught and were being ignored by their attackers while they screamed their agony clinging onto the stumps of hands, fought with boiling entrails or stared wide-eyed at terrible gashes. And all in the blink of an eye.
The invaders moved on. One stopped to brush what must have been gore from his boot and then all reassumed their long, casual stride, the machine following in their wake.
‘Get messengers back to the lodge. Every mage to be ready. Every horseman saddled and awaiting a message to take out to the cities and towns.’
Blackthorne shouted his orders over his shoulder as he ran headlong down the slope, using vines to break his speed. Gresse was moving but it meant little. One leg was broken at the knee and jammed under his body at a sickening angle. There was crimson staining the dry earth. The enemy would roll right over him.
Every fear that Blackthorne had for Balaia surfaced once more. Every nightmare revisited him in those few moments while he slipped and slithered to his friend. And all that Gresse had said so recently hung in the air to taunt him.
The air flashed yellow. Blackthorne turned to see God’s Eyes arcing high towards the enemy. Six of them, moving fast.
‘Catch those, you bastards,’ he said.
Blackthorne saw the trio tracking the skull-sized orbs of mana fire. They made no attempt to run and he got the impression they were merely curious about what was coming at them. They didn’t break stride, they didn’t flinch. The orbs struck them square on. Armour flared. Yellow light swept across the valley floor. An alien screech echoed out.
And when the light faded, Blackthorne could see the invaders lying motionless, burning brightly. Behind them, the machine and the animals that pulled it had stopped. Blackthorne jumped to his feet and punched the air.
‘Die screaming, you fuckers!’ he shouted, and cheers rose from the watching riders and mages.
At his feet, Gresse coughed. Blackthorne knelt to tend to him and found the older baron smiling.
‘You still can’t shake it off, can you?’ Gresse said, voice sounding strong and sure.
‘What, old friend?’
‘That gutter language Hirad Coldheart taught you when he was living in the Balan Mountains all those years back.’
Blackthorne chuckled. ‘He had a unique way with words, it’s true. Effective if a little lacking in sophistication at times. Right. Think I’d better arrange a stretcher for you. That leg looks bad.’
‘You should try knowing how it feels,’ said Gresse.
‘Lie still.’
‘I hadn’t thought to leap nimbly to my feet.’
Blackthorne stood and waved a rider to him. ‘I need four men and I need a stretcher rigged up. There’ll be plenty of material back at the lodge. Be quick. And send a mage. Baron Gresse needs his pain removed.’
‘I do not need a mage, thank you very much.’
‘Yes, you do, Gresse. Trust me on this. Go.’
‘Yes, Baron.’
The rider turned and put his heels to his horse. The animal galloped away. Blackthorne sat on the dusty ground next to Gresse and looked down over the valley. The corpses of the invaders still burned. Behind them, the machine was quiet and the beasts were still, staring straight ahead. Some of his mages were making a slow and wary approach. One glanced in his direction and he nodded his permission for them to continue.
‘I wonder who they were,’ said Blackthorne.
‘Garonin. Or I think that’s what one of them said.’
‘Well it’s a name, but I was thinking a little more widely than that.’
Gresse drew in a pained breath.
‘There’ll be a mage here soon,’ said Blackthorne.
‘I’ll try to contain my excitement,’ said Gresse. ‘So what do you think? From another dimension?’
‘Probably. Good to see them folding under spell attack, though. It means we can fight them.’
‘And win.’
‘Easily.’
A smell of burned mana drifted across them. A moment later the valley was crowded with Garonin. Blackthorne shot to his feet, gaping. Fifty and more of them where a heartbeat before there had been none. Materialising as if dispelling a massed Beyen’s Cloak spell. And these had not come merely to walk in front of the machine. As the beasts’ roars split the air and they began to walk, Blackthorne could see what he assumed were weapons in the hands of most of the new invaders. They advanced.
‘Gresse, I don’t think we can wait for that stretcher.’
Chapter 7
The mournful calls of the ClawBound soared above the anxious rainforest, a companion to Auum’s run north with his Tai towards Ysundeneth. The proud roar of the panthers, the guttural call of the elves combining to summon the nation to the Harkening. By day a clarion call to action. By night a haunting resonance that denied rest and demanded movement.
Every creature in the rainforest heard the song. For Tual’s denizens, it was an alien sound that kept them in hides, burrows and nests; for the elves, a sign of mortal peril that none dare ignore.
From every corner of the mighty rainforest they came. Temples were left untended. Villages and towns deserted. Crops abandoned and fishing fleets drawn up onto riverbanks. All making the journey that had existed before only in legend and myth, lost in the ancient writings of elven history. Still, some had personal memories of the time before they would rather forget. All gathering at the huge natural amphitheatre that the elves called Ultan-in-Caeyin, where Gods are heard.
The last gathering here had taken place in the aftermath of the Elfsorrow which humans had unleashed on Calaius and which other humans had helped defeat. Auum had not been in attendance. This time it had to be different. Then it had been in celebration, now it was in fear of extermination.
Ultan-in-Caeyin was a gem unearthed not long after the founding of Ysundeneth on the northern coast of Calaius. A huge bowl of stone and grass banks on the edge of the rainforest, carved by the Gods for their words to be heard. Ringed by sheer cliffs, bordered by river and ocean, it had been embellished over the years. A vast stage stood at the northern end away from the entrance. Bridges and paths had been laid for people to walk the short distance from the city’s western edge. Hundreds of brackets for torch and lantern had been hammered into the walls. Benching had been built in vast concentric arcs. Ultan-in-Caeyin could seat two hundred thousand comfortably.
Auum shuddered as he approached the wide entrance. Elves were streaming in and that was bad enough. But inside there were, he was told, upwards of thirty-five thousand already assembled. He stopped and stared at the masses inside. The gloom of evening was descending. Cook fires were being lit all across the bowl.
‘Is there no other way to the stage?’
‘Straight ahead is the only way,’ said Ghaal.
Auum looked over at the stage, impossibly distant through the throng and blazing with light that taunted him. The walls of the Caeyin appeared to press in, sheer and impassable, pushing the crowd in, shoving them towards him. He backed up a pace.
‘I don’t like crowds,’ he said.
Miirt exchanged glances with Ghaal.
‘We will make passage for you,’ she said.
Auum nodded his thanks. ‘You are sure?’
‘We were not born as you were,’ she said.
‘Tai, we move,’ said Auum. ‘Quickly.’
Elves outside the warrior castes stepped aside for he and his Tai to make their way to the stage. The faces that turned towards him were anxious but cleared on sight of him. He betrayed no fear, nodding at those who bowed their heads to him though he wanted no more than to close his eyes and have it all be over.
Word of his arrival spread like oil over sword steel and a hush descended on the Caeyin.
‘Even when they are quiet, they make noise enough to shatter bark,’ said Auum.
His Tai kept their silence, moving fluidly at his sides. He was glad of their attentions. Fine additions to the calling though none could ever truly replace those he had lost. He would forever mourn Evunn and Duele. At least their souls had made the journey to rest with the elders.
Rebraal was awaiting them on the stage. With a trembling hand Auum acknowledged the applause that broke out.
‘Why do they applaud?’ he asked, taking Rebraal’s arm and leading him to a dark corner at the back of the stage.
‘The great Auum is among them,’ said Rebraal a broad smile on his face. ‘Reluctantly. Why would they not?’
‘None of them knows me.’
‘There is nothing anyone hates more than unfounded modesty,’ said Rebraal. ‘Your reputation has no need of embellishment.’
Auum faced him. ‘All my work, I do for Yniss. These people are Tual’s people and Tual kneels before Yniss. That is enough.’
‘The world has changed since you first ran in the rainforest,’ said Rebraal. ‘Then, people feared the TaiGethen because they did not understand your purpose or your methods. Now, while they are still wary of you, they revere you also. They love you. It is you who protects them from harm.’
‘Not this time,’ said Auum. ‘That is why we are here. Shorth remains silent. Yniss cannot help us.’
‘He will always watch over us.’
‘Only if he is able.’ Auum gazed out over the crowd from the shadows. It had become obvious to most that he had no intention of speaking and the hubbub of conversation was growing once more. ‘So tell me, Lord of the Al-Arynaar, how soon can we leave Calaius?’
‘I’m just . . .’ began Rebraal, then he chuckled. ‘All right, point taken. Preparations are going as well as they can. There is scepticism and resistance as you can imagine but we are getting through to most of the people who matter. Ships are assembling. We have pledges from three hundred and we hope for more every day.’
‘That is nowhere near enough.’
‘I cannot produce ocean going vessels out of thin air. We should give thanks for the huge trade we have developed with Balaia or we’d be in a worse state.’
‘I know.’ Auum nodded. He felt weary. Like a two-day fever at its height. ‘You have the administrators of Ysundeneth working?’
‘They have some of the Ynissul amongst them,’ said Rebraal. ‘They understand.’
‘So few remain,’ said Auum. ‘Too many chose to die, thinking we were forever safe.’
‘You didn’t.’
Auum felt no satisfaction. ‘Elves are never safe from harm. What is it, Rebraal?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You are twitching away like a stranger bitten by a taipan. Speak your mind.’
‘We’re just running away. Can we really not beat them?’ The words came in a rush when they started. ‘We have lived here so long. We have beauty and we have peace. We have the rainforest. So much to lose.’
Auum shook his head, feeling every year he had breathed the air. ‘They are too strong. Even for us, and we have worked so hard to keep ourselves hidden and to build our strengths. They are relentless. A menace without conscience. Without mercy.’
He closed his eyes against the memories.
‘You faced them.’ Rebraal breathed in sharply. ‘Didn’t you?’
Auum blinked and opened his eyes onto the young elf’s steady gaze. ‘And I ran. It is easy for you who were born here to believe this your home for all time. I’ve lived through too much history ever to get comfortable. I have watched too many friends die.’
‘At least you have the blood to grant you all those years.’