Auum half sat, half fell back into his chair, his energy and his ire well and truly spent.
‘Unless we stop them,’ he muttered. ‘Yniss save us all, but this is a nightmare.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Stein. ‘I wish it could have been any other message I carried.’
Drech was frowning. ‘If Auum is right — ’ Auum growled, Drech smiled briefly ‘- and we must assume he is, why are the Wytch Lords fired up about invading Calaius? They should be focusing all their efforts on finding Dawnthief.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ said Stein. ‘The Wytch Lords, even backed by Wesmen muscle, are by no means certain to gain the victories that would leave them free to search for the spell. And now they see an alliance between Julatsa and Calaius, they see you as a threat. They want to snuff out that threat.’
‘You’re saying that us sending Il-Aryn to Julatsa has led directly to the Wytch Lords planning another invasion?’ asked Drech.
Auum shook his head.
‘Actually, I think it’s far simpler,’ he said. ‘We remain the resource-rich land the Wytch Lords need to fund their war effort. And Ystormun hates us with a passion I’m sure has remained undimmed across the centuries. It’s the simplest of equations. He’s been waiting for his chance and now you idiots and your precious Dawnthief have presented it to him.’
Auum grabbed his mug, tossed out the few dregs remaining after the spill and refilled it at the cauldron.
‘Well, thanks for placing everything I’ve striven to achieve over the last seven hundred years at mortal risk. And on behalf of every innocent elf and human, thanks for creating the means to kill us all on a whim. Now I need time to think. Alone. One last thing: how long have we got?’
‘Until what?’ asked Stein.
Auum blinked. ‘You really need me to clarify that?’
Stein blushed. ‘No, sorry. They could be at sea now. We were attacked on our way to warn you they were preparing ships, ready for their strike. I’ve been here for three days, plus four on the wing. I think it’s safe to assume they’re either on their way or leaving imminently.’
Auum nodded. ‘Go,’ he said.
Stein was out of his chair with the speed of a panther. Drech stood too, but a little more slowly.
‘While you’re thinking, there’s something else you should add to the mix,’ he said.
‘Oh yes?’ said Auum. ‘Please heap on more reasons to hate you.’
‘It’s obvious we’ll have to travel to Balaia with Il-Aryn and the TaiGethen.’
‘Very obvious.’
‘We have to take Takaar with us.’
Auum’s heart was stone. ‘Absolutely not. If I have to kill him myself to stop him boarding a ship, I will.’
‘I know how you feel about him, Auum, but without him, you will not bring half the adepts with you. You’ll be ignoring the extraordinary talent he possesses.’
‘He will undermine everything we try to do. He’ll undermine you, Drech, you know he will. And sometimes he won’t even mean to. He isn’t strong enough to fight in Balaia. Yniss knows I’m not sure I am. I don’t care that he’s the most talented, or that he’s your spiritual leader, we’re going to be sailing into the teeth of a massive conflict, and if he freezes or disappears inside his head at the wrong moment it could be catastrophic.’
‘And if he doesn’t come, every adept who still agrees to travel will sail with little or no confidence.’
Auum sucked his top lip. All those centuries of bizarre behaviour, and there must have been many more episodes than Auum was aware of, and still they held him in mythical, almost godlike awe. The only one of them who had really seen the light was Drech, and Auum pitied the path he trod, notionally leading the Il-Aryn but playing a poor second to Takaar at the mad elf’s whim.
‘What does he know about Dawnthief?’ asked Auum.
‘As much as any of us,’ said Drech. He nodded at Stein. ‘Julatsa shared the text of the theory with us, and he’s certainly read it.’
‘And that doesn’t worry you? It doesn’t make you wonder why he’s so intent on getting to Balaia?’
‘He wants to rescue the adepts trapped in Julatsa,’ said Drech.
‘And you don’t think he’ll be after the spell too?’ Auum searched Drech’s face for support but even he seemed blind to the obvious. ‘What an opportunity this gives him. Balaia presumably in total chaos, all eyes on the Wytch Lords and none focused on the search? For anyone with the ability, this is a good time to make progress unnoticed.’ Auum sighed. ‘Look, Drech, I don’t think for one moment that Takaar would want to cast the spell, even if he were able to. But I think he’d tinker with it, try and understand it, and he is not of sound mind. Worse, he’s clever enough to uncover it and deranged enough to leave it for someone else to pick up. On every level I can think of, we cannot afford his sort of liability.’
Drech shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Auum, he has to come.’
Auum jabbed a finger at Drech. ‘Then he’s your patient. Keep him out of my way and off whatever ship I find myself on. And when he detonates, as he is sure to do, pray that you can confine the blast.’
Chapter 6
An elf born to life beneath the canopy is uncomfortable beyond it. You wear clothes. Would you feel at ease if they were denied you?
Ystormun’s consciousness travelled inside the body of a shaman and with the strike force sailing across a heavy sea to Calaius. The Wesman spiritualists had proved so amenable to mind control and so accepting of Wytch Lord magics. They were given little choice of course, and the effects of long-term use of their minds and bodies were unfortunate, but there were plenty of other subjects available when they were beyond use.
It amused Ystormun to watch the Wesmen work. They were unskilled as sailors, particularly of ocean-going vessels, but they were enthusiastic and strong, and their sheer energy made up in good part for their lack of experience. Enough skilled sailors had been put on board each of the ten ships to ensure they could survive the crossing, and the rest was left to the fates. Not even Wytch Lords could tamper with the elements. Not yet, anyway.
Ystormun walked his host body all the way to the prow. Wesman sailors and soldiers alike made a path for him, seeing all the signs of possession in his face. He stared through the shaman’s keen eyes and could just about make out the dark on the horizon that was Calaius.
He found himself experiencing a thrill that pushed aside the thoughts of revenge and the memory of his humiliation. Ystormun found he could recall the scents of the rainforest and the sounds echoing night and day in the deeps of the canopy. He could taste the sweetness of Calaian fruit and herbs, the potency of their root alcohols. And he could hear the screams of elves dying at his behest.
Ystormun allowed himself the briefest of hidden smiles. Incredibly, he had actually missed the place, and there was some form of faint excitement at the thought of his return, however vicarious.
How long he had waited for this moment to come; his pleas to the cadre, his plotting and planning, his aborted attempts to defy them and mount an invasion of his own to make himself independent from them. And now, thanks to Septern, his spell and the wars engulfing Balaia, the full force of his fury could be unleashed. This time slavery would be replaced with the glory of genocide. Wesmen would sail the barges, wield the axes and skin the animals for their rich fur. This time Calaius would be the wealth mine it would already have been but for the cadre’s endless meddling.
But first the elves would suffer, and he would force two of them to watch it all before he freed them. Free to endure their failure for the rest of eternity, to know that their gods had deserted them. Ystormun had pondered so many excruciating tortures but none other would provide the end he desired for them: endless mental pain, now that was a delicious thought.