‘You I trust, but I cannot trust him or his magic.’ Sentaya sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. So much sense, so much he wanted to believe but so much danger too. He would be gambling with the entire Wesman race. ‘Enough. We will not fight. We will eat instead, although we will not sit at the same table.’
Stein nodded. ‘Thank you, Lord Sentaya.’
Sentaya turned his back on Stein only to see Gyarth striding towards him, a look of cold contempt on his face.
‘You remain uninvited,’ said Sentaya. ‘We are not done yet.’
‘Yes, you are,’ said Gyarth.
Sentaya tensed, gripping his axe more tightly. ‘What have you done?’
‘I have spoken to the cadre.’
‘How dare you undermine my authority! I am lord of these tribes.’
Gyarth sneered. ‘There has been a shift in power. A long-overdue one. They have put up with you for too long, Sentaya, and now an army is coming to drag you before them to bend your knee or be destroyed along with these creatures. They will be here in three days.’
‘Traitor!’
Sentaya raised his axe and chopped it through Gyarth’s neck. The shaman’s head rocked back and fell from his shoulders, taking with it Gyarth’s dying expression of outrage. The body collapsed to the side. Sentaya threw the weapon to the ground next to the headless corpse. He stared at Auum.
‘It looks as if I am with you whether I like it or not.’
Chapter 31
Yes, I can feel the earth energies, the magic of Ix. But I can feel the wind and the heat of the sun too. It does not mean Takaar is right about me.
Ystormun tried to ignore their voices while he sorted through clothes, weapons and the texts he could not be without on the trail. His servant was waiting to pack his chosen belongings and load them onto his carriage. But the clamour in Ystormun’s mind was growing louder and it stole his train of thought, making him forget what he was looking for when he pulled open drawer or wardrobe.
There were no words being howled into the centre of his skull, just the deliberately discordant chants of the cadre, growing in intensity, summoning him to the Hexerion. Ystormun leaned heavily on his desk, trying to focus on the parchments he was sorting through, seeking just one that would give him solace and strength when he faced those who had beaten him. The shame still burned within him.
The pressure grew and he slammed his fist on the desk. His servant whimpered and Ystormun spun round to face the wretch.
‘Pack what I have laid out. I will finish this later.’
The Wesman, too frail to be a warrior but possessed of an organised mind, had been a long-surviving servant. His eyes saw Ystormun’s pain and anger but he dared not speak of it. Ystormun didn’t require him to; his expression was sympathy enough and it warmed him unexpectedly.
‘All will be ready for inspection when you return.’
Ystormun, a little unsteady on his feet, managed a curt nod before walking carefully from the room towards the Hexerion. Their knowledge of his approach was signified by a change in the tone of the voices in his mind to a sneering superiority.
Entering the Hexerion, Ystormun was struck by the heat. All the fires were lit including his, despite his not having ordered it, and the smell of smoke hung heavy in the air. It was a petty act. They knew of his preference for cold; it had been that way since his return from the stultifying humidity of Calaius. He stared at them all in turn, caught their contempt and shrugged it off before pulling out his chair and sitting, his fingers knitted together and resting lightly on the table.
They had expected him to leap to his own defence and so he waited for one of them to speak and reveal his own ignorance. Perhaps it would be Weyamun or Pamun; both had trouble holding their tongues. He was a little disappointed when Belphamun spoke first. His voice was measured and calm.
‘We do not appreciate being kept waiting,’ said Belphamun. ‘Your presence, when demanded by the cadre, must be immediate, as it would be for any of us.’
‘I am not in the habit of abandoning a task half complete,’ said Ystormun.
‘Of course we understand that choosing travelling clothes is a task requiring the utmost in peace and concentration,’ said Giriamun.
Belphamun hissed him to silence without taking his eyes from Ystormun.
‘Are we not worthy of your immediate presence?’ he asked.
‘When we are to discuss matters that are open for debate, yes, of course,’ said Ystormun.
He felt the atmosphere tighten. Eyes that had been staring dismissively past his shoulders locked on his face and he felt the pressure of their combined contempt.
‘Your desire to weaken the cadre will always be a matter open to debate,’ said Pamun.
‘Your personal feelings are leading your mind in the weakest of fashions,’ said Weyamun.
‘Your decision may not be taken by you alone,’ said Giriamun.
‘You may not leave this temple without our express consent,’ said Arumun.
‘Your obsession with expunging your shame is truly pathetic,’ said Belphamun.
Ystormun had known it would be this way. He let their anger roll over him and made a show of acknowledging all their criticism. They said much more but the subject matter differed little. He waited until they subsided, satisfied that they were in accord and he was the pariah outside the cadre determined to see it break. Then he spoke.
‘What is most disappointing is that you fail to see that my actions will bring us closer than ever to ultimate victory. Now forgive me, but can we agree that victory, in this instance, is the clearing of the way to Dawnthief, capturing it unhindered and ensuring our dominion over the eons?’
The five gazed at him, baleful and contemptuous. One by one, and almost imperceptibly, they inclined their heads.
‘Yet you, Belphamun, have chosen to make an alliance of questionable gain with our greatest rival and our keenest enemy. Xetesk is simply using us to destroy its own rivals, thereby making it stronger when it eventually turns on us.’
‘Your understanding is typically myopic and flawed,’ said Belphamun. ‘The destruction of the colleges is key to our ambitions, and our alliance with Xetesk until we choose to break it allows us to retain great strength of arms.’
‘And you, Pamun, have utterly failed in your task to bring the Paleon tribes into line. Any reserve strength surely rests in Sentaya’s and Lantruq’s hands, and unless I am misled it is Sentaya who has just challenged us.’
Pamun could say nothing. Ystormun smiled.
‘And do I need to ask how the search for Dawnthief is progressing?’
More silence. Ystormun stood and spread his hands.
‘Auum has brought the remainder of his force into our lands and positioned them somewhere we can destroy them. This is my task, and I will see it done. Their destruction removes their magic and their most capable warriors. It will remove the elves from this conflict, and it is an opportunity that must not be missed. That is why I will travel and you will not stop me.’
Belphamun’s fists rattled the ancient tabletop, and lines of power spat along the cracks. The remainder of the cadre jerked their elbows or hands from the surface. The smell of burning snapped briefly in the air, dissipating almost immediately.
‘You will not leave this temple,’ he spat, all pretence at calm gone. Ystormun had won the argument but not the prize. ‘We will gather our powers together as we have always done and strike from a position of greater strength through the shamen. That is why we have them.’
‘You will not deny me this victory!’ shouted Ystormun. ‘It is mine and I have earned it.’
‘And should you fall, what then?’ asked Pamun.
Ystormun laughed straight into Pamun’s face. ‘Fall? The strength of my force could defeat an army ten times the size of the one I will face. And when I appear on the battlefield, invulnerable and all-powerful in the eyes of the savages, they will run screeching to their shamen to swear loyalty and I will face a handful of elves.’